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verstappentime · 1 month ago

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The video keeps going. The commentary is in French; it's frantic, but Max can't understand it. They play a radio message, in English: Are you okay? Charles, are you okay? There's only choppy, pained breathing. A cough that sounds horrible. Then nothing.

max/charles. it’s 2017 and max finds out why he stopped hearing about charles leclerc. part two of ??? (part one here)

*warning: graphic-ish description of charles' crash.

He finds the video on Reddit.

r/formula1 2 yr. ago

Does anybody have the vid of that Leclerc kid crashing in F3 Euro?

user456783 • 2 yr. ago

here's a link. this one made my stomach turn. he was awake when they took him out, don't know if that's a good thing tho.

redflag5 • 2 yr. ago

woof, i don't know if i'd recommend watching that.

ferrariferrari22 • 2 yr. ago

kid was incredible karting. hope this isn't career ending. scary to watch

Max, who saw Jules hit that crane the same year, clicks the link.

It's bad.

It's Germany. Charles hits debris from another crash as he's climbing the hill; the car goes flying, flips twice, and lands horizontal across the track. Another car is coming, can't see him until it's too late; they drive head-on right into his sidepod.

The car snaps in two. The front half hits the wall. For a moment, everything goes still.

Marshals rush onto the track. An ambulance comes. Charles is trying to pull himself out; paramedics are frantically waving for him to stop. Max wants to scream. Get him out. His heart is hammering. He knows what happens, but he needs to see – needs to know that Charles hasn't been cut in half.

He remembers that Charles's mum was always at home with his brothers during race weekends. He wonders if she had to watch this.

They bring a stretcher up to the car. Finally, finally, two paramedics lift him up. Max imagines Charles screaming as his shattered leg was pulled out of the crunched metal.

When they get him out, Max can't help where his eyes go. Charles's right leg is twisted in a sickening angle. He slams his laptop shut.

&&&

Max breathes for a moment, then opens his laptop back up and goes back to Google. There's an interview with Charles on the F1 website. He wants to hear it from Charles. Say you're okay. I didn't even know I might never have seen you again. Say you're okay.

He clicks in.

Setup for a comeback: Karting champion Charles Leclerc returns to F3 3 years from tragic accident

Charles Leclerc was a winner just about everywhere in karting, and ran a successful Formula Renault campaign. A few races into what was supposed to launch a star career, a crash at the Nurburgring in 2015 ended his time in the Formula 3 European Championship – and threatened to end his racing journey altogether. In a surprise announcement Tuesday, Prema Racing announced they would sign Leclerc to make a GP3 run in 2017. Find Laura Winter's full interview with the 19-year-old below, where they talked about his recovery and how he battled back into a race car.

LW: Charles, we're sitting at Magello right now. Tell me how we got here.

CL: Oh, wow. (laughs) It's a very long story isn't it? I don't know where to start. I had nine surgeries on my right leg after my crash. I had to get in all these screws and plates and, um– they call it, I think, reconstruction? Then I had an infection and all of this. It took me four months to walk on it for the first time. Then probably a year of therapy to be able to walk normally how I could before. It's crazy how it happens, people probably don't know. Your muscles atrophy and then you have to learn again how to— um, how to put your foot and things when you walk and not to only step on the good side, things like this. It was hard.

LW: You shared a lot of your journey. It was emotional.

CL: Yes. (laughs) Maybe a bit too much, but I was very, very bored. It was good to talk to some people, even if it was through the phone. Anyway – I missed two seasons of driving, but my manager and sponsors were still in touch. I did some local karting this year to test it out. I think still I have the skill. So Prema offered me an opportunity – I have never been so grateful for anything. I did a few testing days in the F3 car, and they offered the seat to me.

LW: What was the first day in the car like?

CL: I was in tears. The first day in the kart was really special. Just to drive at all. I was a very bad patient sometimes during my recovery. Always I'm having to be reminded I need to rest if I want the fractures to heal properly and this. It felt very special to know that it felt okay, that I could drive and not be hurting, I knew it all paid off. Then to get in that F3 car – wow. It was really emotional. Even more.

LW: Did you always know you could do it?

CL: I always said I will drive again. If you saw my x-rays, maybe you would say, no way. But the best drivers do not give up. I always remembered that. Growing up, you know, sometimes you crash in karting, whatever. My dad always told me, Charles, keep going. You have to believe you can win, even if yesterday you crash, even if you start from P20, whatever. So I always believed.

LW: It's a remarkable story, Charles. Really. We are so excited to see what you can do. Now that you're back, how long do you think we'll be hearing about Charles Leclerc?

CL: (laughs) Oh, wow. Well. I really hope I will go all the way to F1. And then I hope to be world champion. I am behind schedule, but that doesn't mean I can't catch up.

LW: You used to race Max Verstappen, correct? And some others?

CL: Yes! Pierre, Estaban. And a lot of people who are in F2 this year – Nicholas, Alex Albon.

LW: And you beat them!

CL: Yes. Even Max. (laughs) So I think, one day, I will join them, I hope.

LW: I've heard driver's academy rumors.

CL: It's too soon to speak about these things. I'll get on track first. Then we will see.

LW: You got this far. The rest is going to be easy.

The mention, the reminder that Charles remembers who he is, too – which rationally, he knows, because Charles watches F1 – makes his heart, so stupidly, skip a beat. There's a carousel of photos of Charles and his Prema car. Max wants to stare at them. He feels like he's turning fucking fifteen again.

He closes the window, feeling, at least, like he's caught up to the present. There's only one F1 race that coincides with F3 this year, but maybe they'll see each other. Maybe he can say hi. It makes no sense that it feels so urgent all of a sudden.

It's 3 a.m., and he needs to sleep, so he tries to make himself forget. But once he puts his laptop away, his phone screen lights up.

There's an Instagram notification. charles_leclerc has followed you.

He follows back, tells himself it's a coincidence, and can't stay awake long enough to think on it further.

&&&

By the morning, Max has nearly forgotten the notification.

When he goes to check the time, there's a DM from Charles.

#lestappen #lestappen fic #f1 fic #my fic #puppy love au #f1 rpf #read me:)#you probably want to read part 1 first #injury //#the complete thing will go on ao3 someday

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.9k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn’t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x y/n

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wandasreallover · 6 months ago

Text

The reunion

Warnings:angst, kinda nean lizzie at first, internalized homophobia

Summary: the reader breaks lizzies heart for what she believes is the ideal life only to realise that isnt what she wants for her and her daughter. She meets lizzie again and realises its always been her but not it might be too late.

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The room buzzed with conversation, the kind that hung in the air at every fashion event. Models and designers, photographers and celebrities, all mingled beneath the glittering lights of the New York City skyline. The clinking of champagne glasses echoed off the walls, but Lizzie barely heard it.

She stood near the bar, dressed in a sleek black ensemble that seemed to blend in with the shadows, her hand wrapped around a cold glass of water. Lizzie hated these events—hated the false small talk, the performative glamour—but it came with the job. Tonight, though, she was here for business. Some sort of press tie-in for a campaign her team was working on. And while she wasn't one to shy away from her public persona, there was something unsettling about tonight. A tension in the air that had nothing to do with the flashes of cameras or the hum of expensive conversations.

She hadn’t expected to see her tonight.

Across the room, talking with someone from Vogue, was Reader. The same Reader she hadn’t spoken to in nearly six years. The same Reader who had shattered her heart at NYU, leaving her with nothing but a curt, "This just isn’t what I want."

Lizzie had heard the rumors, of course. Reader’s marriage to a tech billionaire, their opulent life in Tuscany, the birth of their daughter. The life she had chosen over Lizzie. It was all public knowledge, splashed across glossy magazine spreads, Reader in her perfectly tailored wedding dress, standing in some sprawling villa with the same smile Lizzie once knew by heart.

And now, Reader was here. Not across a TV screen or the pages of Vogue—here, in the same room, breathing the same air. It felt suffocating.

“Lizzie?”

Her name snapped her out of her trance, and she turned to see scarlett, one of her co-stars, waving a hand in front of her face. “You alright? You looked like you were about to pass out.”

Lizzie forced a smile, the kind she’d perfected after years in front of the camera. “Yeah, just... tired. Long day.”

Scarlett eyed her suspiciously, then glanced over her shoulder. “Oh. Her.”

It seemed like everyone in their friend group had known about Lizzie and Reader. They had been inseparable back in college, the kind of couple that everyone assumed would make it. Lizzie’s friends had warned her about Reader, though. They’d said she wasn’t ready for the kind of commitment Lizzie wanted, that she had her own battles to fight. But Lizzie had been so sure, so in love.

Until the day y/n left.

“Do you want to leave?” scarlett asked gently, her hand resting on Lizzie’s arm.

“No,” Lizzie said, setting her jaw. She wasn’t going to run. Not now. Not again. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t, but she was a master at pretending she

Lizzie kept her distance from y/n for most of the night. She caught glimpses of her in conversation, laughing, talking about fashion with some of the other designers. Reader looked... the same. A bit more polished, perhaps, a little more poised. Her hair was styled differently, but her eyes—those eyes that Lizzie once woke up to every morning—still held that same spark.

It was maddening.

"Alright, everyone!" A voice boomed from the stage. "Thank you all for coming to tonight’s charity auction. We’ll begin soon, but first, a huge thank you to our co-sponsors for the evening—Cortez Fashion Group and the one and only Elizabeth Olsen!"

Applause rang out, and Lizzie smiled stiffly, raising her glass. She hated these forced recognitions, but what could she do? It was part of the business. Part of the image she had to uphold.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw y/n turn toward her. Their eyes met.

Time stopped. The noise of the room fell away, leaving only the heavy thud of Lizzie’s heartbeat in her ears. Reader’s expression was unreadable, but Lizzie could feel the tension from across the room, like an invisible thread pulling them together against their will.

She broke the gaze first, setting her glass down on the bar and excusing herself from scarlett’s side. She needed air. She needed space. She needed to not be in the same room as Reader.

The terrace outside the venue was quiet, with only a few people here and there. Lizzie leaned on the railing, breathing deeply, trying to calm the storm raging inside her.

“Lizzie.”

She froze. That voice—it hadn’t changed. Slowly, she turned around, and there she was. Y/n. Standing just a few feet away, hands clasped in front of her, looking unsure for the first time that night.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” y/n said softly, her voice a bit hesitant. “I just... I saw you and thought—”

“Congratulations,” Lizzie cut her off, her voice cold. “On the divorce.”

Y/n winced, her face tightening. “Yeah, I figured you’d heard.”

Lizzie crossed her arms, her heart thudding harder now, anger simmering just below the surface. “Of course I heard. Just like I heard about the wedding. The honeymoon in Tuscany. The baby. It was all very... public.”

Reader looked down, the weight of Lizzie’s words settling between them like an unspoken truth. “I didn’t come here to rub anything in your face.”

“No?” Lizzie said, her voice sharp. “Then why are you here?”

y/n took a step closer, the tension between them palpable. “I work for Cortez now. It wasn’t planned, I swear. But... seeing you here...”

“Seeing me here, what?” Lizzie snapped. “What exactly did you expect, y/n? That I’d just... welcome you back with open arms? That we’d pick up where we left off?”

Y/n flinched at Lizzie’s words, but she didn’t back down. “I didn’t expect anything,” she said, her voice quiet. “But I needed to see you. I... I didn’t realize until it was too late how much I threw away.”

Lizzie’s chest tightened, a flood of memories threatening to break the surface. The late nights, the plans for their future, the love they shared. She had given everything to Reader, and in return, she had been left behind. Forgotten. Replaced by a life that was more acceptable, more "normal."

“It’s too late for that,” Lizzie said, her voice cold but trembling at the edges.

Y/n took another step forward, her eyes locking onto Lizzie’s. “Maybe it is. But I’ve spent the last five years trying to convince myself I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life. And now... seeing you here... I know I did.”

Lizzie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because part of her had wanted to hear those words for so long. But it didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t erase the years of hurt.

And just like that, the weight of the past hung between them—heavy, unspoken, and impossible to ignore.

A week had passed since the event, but the conversation with y/n replayed in Lizzie's mind on a loop. No matter how much she tried to focus on her work or immerse herself in her life, y/n’s words lingered.

“I know I made a mistake.”

Lizzie wished she could shake it off, wished she could be stronger, but the truth was, y/n had always been her weak spot.

Then, the unthinkable happened: y/n called.

It was professional, of course. The merger between Cortez and another fashion group had led to a lot of crossover with Lizzie's current projects. There was no avoiding it. Y/n was now a permanent part of her professional life.

At first, Lizzie remained distant, keeping their conversations short and strictly business. But y/n didn’t push. She was respectful, even remorseful at times, careful not to overstep the fragile boundaries between them.

And little by little, despite everything, the walls Lizzie had built began to crack.

Lizzie sat in her office, staring at the email. It was a simple invitation, nothing extravagant. An industry mixer that Cortez Fashion Group was hosting—a routine networking event. Y/n had sent it with a formal tone, nothing out of place. Still, Lizzie hesitated.

It wasn’t the event that bothered her. She’d been to hundreds of these gatherings before. It was the idea of seeing y/n again, in a more intimate setting, that unsettled her. Ever since their encounter at the charity event, Lizzie hadn’t been able to get y/n’s words out of her head. “I know I made a mistake.”

Lizzie had spent years convincing herself that she’d moved on. She was successful, admired in her field. Her career had taken off, and on the surface, she seemed perfectly content. But there was a hollow space inside her that had never really healed, a space that y/nhad left behind.

After a long moment, she sighed and typed a quick response.

I’ll be there.

The mixer was held at an upscale rooftop bar overlooking the city. It was an invitation-only event, which meant it was packed with the kind of people Lizzie had learned to tolerate—high-profile designers, executives, and influencers whose smiles never quite reached their eyes. She walked in alone, feeling the familiar weight of expectation settling on her shoulders.

As she entered the venue, her eyes instinctively searched for y/n. She spotted her quickly, standing near the bar in a fitted dress, laughing softly with a group of executives. Lizzie noticed the change in her posture, more composed and reserved than the girl she had once known at NYU. She seemed more controlled now, as if life had polished away the rough edges that had once made her so unpredictable and exciting.

Lizzie was about to turn and grab a drink when she noticed her. Their eyes met, and y/n’s smile faltered, just for a second. Then, she excused herself from the group and made her way over.

“Lizzie,” she greeted her, voice soft but steady. “Thanks for coming.”

Lizzie nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak yet. She wasn’t sure what to say. The last thing she wanted was to fall into the same emotional pit she had climbed out of years ago. But there was something about her presence that was disarming, almost painfully familiar.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before y/n cleared her throat. “I know this probably isn’t easy for you,” she began carefully. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult. But I’m... glad you’re here.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. “You’re glad?”

She glanced away, fidgeting with the edge of her clutch. “I just... I’ve been thinking a lot since we talked. About everything.” Her voice dropped, as if she was speaking more to herself than to Lizzie. “About us.”

Lizzie’s heart gave a painful thud in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. She’d heard all this before, years ago, before everything fell apart. And she wasn’t going to let herself get sucked back in.

“yn,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “You can’t just come back into my life and expect things to be like they were.”

Y/n flinched, but she nodded. “I know. I don’t expect that. I don’t... deserve that.” She looked up, meeting Lizzie’s eyes. “But I’ve changed. I’ve had to change.”

Lizzie took a breath, folding her arms across her chest. “What do you want from me, y/n?”

Y/n was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, more vulnerable than Lizzie had ever heard it. “I want to fix what I broke.”

The words hit Lizzie like a punch to the gut. She had spent years wishing Reader would say something like that, years hoping for an apology, for some kind of explanation. But now that it was happening, all she felt was exhaustion.

“You can’t fix it,” Lizzie said quietly. “What we had... it’s gone. You made your choice.”

“I know,” y/n whispered, her gaze dropping to the ground. “But I made the wrong choice.”

There it was again, that spark of regret, of honesty that Lizzie had craved for so long. But she couldn’t let herself fall for it. Not again.

“You got the life you wanted,” Lizzie said, her voice firm. “The husband, the child, the perfect little family.”

Y/n’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “It wasn’t perfect.”

Lizzie almost scoffed, but stopped herself. She had seen the pictures, the lavish lifestyle, the curated Instagram posts. It all seemed so perfect from the outside.

Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I thought I wanted it,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought if I followed the path everyone expected of me, if I lived that ‘traditional’ life, I’d be happy. But I wasn’t.” She looked up at Lizzie, her eyes filled with a deep, quiet sadness. “I haven’t been happy since I left you.”

Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that level of honesty. She wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“I’m not asking you to take me back,” she continued quickly, as if sensing Lizzie’s hesitation. “I know I don’t deserve that. But I need you to know... I never stopped loving you.”

The words hung in the air between them, raw and unfiltered. Lizzie swallowed hard, feeling the weight of them settle deep in her chest. For so long, she had convinced herself that y/n had moved on, that she had left their relationship behind without a second thought. But hearing this—knowing this—was almost too much.

Lizzie turned away, looking out over the city skyline. She couldn’t trust herself to look at y/n right now. “You hurt me,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “You broke my heart.”

“I know,” y/n said, her voice cracking. “And I’ve lived with that every single day since.”

Lizzie closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to let out all the pain she had bottled up for so long. But she couldn’t. Not here, not now.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” Lizzie admitted, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I even want to.”

Y/n took a shaky breath, her voice thick with emotion. “I understand. But I had to try. I had to tell you the truth, even if it doesn’t change anything.”

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the city lights flickering beneath them. Lizzie didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process everything that had just been laid at her feet.

Finally, she turned to face y/n, her expression softening just a little. “I need time.”

Y/n nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Take all the time you need.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Lizzie alone on the terrace, her heart a tangled mess of old wounds and new possibilities.

Weeks passed, and Lizzie couldn’t shake the conversation from the mixer. She tried to immerse herself in her work, throwing herself into her latest projects, but the once love of her lifes words kept echoing in her mind.

“I never stopped loving you.”

One afternoon, a message came through her assistant that y/n wanted to schedule a meeting. Business, of course. She was working on a new fashion campaign, and they needed Lizzie for an endorsement. It wasn’t unusual, but the idea of sitting in a room with y/n again filled Lizzie with a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

She arrived at the office, dressed sharply in her usual understated style. As she entered the conference room, she was already there, looking over some documents. When she saw Lizzie, she smiled—soft, almost shy.

“Thanks for coming,” y/n said, standing up to greet her.

Lizzie nodded, trying to keep her cool. “Let’s just get this over with.”

They sat across from each other at the long conference table, discussing the campaign in careful, professional tones. But beneath the surface, there was something else, something unspoken that lingered between them.

After the meeting, as Lizzie gathered her things to leave, but hesitated when she heard her name called “Lizzie?”

Lizzie looked up, meeting y/e/c eyes. “Yeah?”

“I... I’ve been thinking about what you said,” y/n began slowly. “About needing time. I just want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait, for as long as it takes.”

Lizzie didn’t know how to respond. She had spent so long building walls around herself, so long convincing herself that she was better off without her. But now, with the very person that forced those walls upon her, standing in front of her, offering her vulnerability so openly, those walls didn’t seem so impenetrable anymore.

“I don’t know what I want,” Lizzie admitted quietly, her voice betraying the uncertainty she had been feeling for weeks.

Y/n nodded, her expression softening. “That’s okay. I’m not asking you to decide anything right now. Just... think about it.”

Lizzie sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve been thinking about it. Too much, honestly.”

There was a beat of silence before she stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She didn’t touch Lizzie, but she stood close enough that Lizzie could feel the warmth radiating off her.

“I meant what I said,”

Y/n’s words hung in the air between them, laden with weight, with promise. “I meant what I said,” she repeated softly, her eyes searching Lizzie’s for any sign of openness. “I’ll wait.”

Lizzie’s heart ached at the sincerity in her voice, the vulnerability she hadn’t seen in so long. Part of her wanted to reach out, to close the distance between them, but another part of her—the part that still nursed the scars of their past—held her back.

She looked away, trying to steady herself. “You can’t just wait around for me, y/n. That’s not fair—to either of us.”

Y/n stepped back slightly, respecting Lizzie’s space. “I know it’s not fair. I’m not asking for guarantees. I just... I need you to know that I’m here. If you ever want to try again.”

Lizzie exhaled, feeling the emotional weight pressing down on her. Try again. It seemed so impossible, like trying to stitch together fabric that had been torn beyond repair. But then, hadn’t she always known that y/n held a part of her that no one else ever could?

She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know it’s not,” y/n said, her voice still soft but firm. “I just... I want to do things right this time. I don’t expect you to forget what happened. I’m not asking you to. But I want to be honest now in a way I wasn’t back then.”

Lizzie crossed her arms, trying to keep her guard up. She had to protect herself, didn’t she? She had spent so many years building this life on her own, without y/n, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone.

But standing here, with her so close, that wall she had built seemed to waver.

“I have to think about it,” Lizzie finally said, her voice steady but laced with hesitation. “I don’t know if I can trust you again. And I’m not sure if I want to risk getting hurt.”

Y/n nodded, her expression unreadable. “I understand. I really do. Take all the time you need.”

And with that, Lizzie walked out of the room, leaving ynstanding there, watching her leave for the second time in their lives. But this time, there was no finality to it—just a promise of more complicated emotions to come.

Days turned into weeks, and Lizzie found herself caught in a whirlwind of thoughts she couldn’t control. No matter how hard she tried to focus on work, on her personal life, her mind always drifted back to y/n.

Their past together felt like an old movie reel, scenes flashing through her mind in vivid detail—late nights studying at NYU, the playful teasing, the quiet moments where Lizzie felt like she had found her person. And then the bitter end, y/n’s sudden departure, the feeling of being left behind.

One afternoon, Lizzie found herself sitting on her couch, a cup of tea in hand, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t even realize she had been looking until she found herself on y/n’s social media page. Pictures of her and her daughter filled the screen—a little girl with bright eyes and a wide smile, playing in parks, dressed in miniature designer clothes. There was no trace of her ex-husband on the page, only yn and her child, a life that seemed carefully crafted for the public eye.

Lizzie’s heart clenched. She had always known yn wanted children. It was one of the things they had talked about during their relationship, their future together. But at the time, she hadn’t been sure how it would all fit into her life. Lizzie had tried to plan for it—had even looked into adoption options, but yn had seemed hesitant, unsure of the path forward.

Lizzie scrolled past a few more pictures, then stopped at one caption that caught her eye:

“Building a new chapter for both of us.”

She set her phone down, staring at the wall in front of her. You had built her new chapter, it seemed. But what did that mean for them now? Could they really create something new out of the wreckage of their past?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. Lizzie frowned, setting down her cup and walking to answer it. When she opened the door, she froze.

Yn stood there, dressed casually in jeans and a jacket, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers. “I’m sorry for showing up unannounced,” she said quickly, her expression nervous. “But I couldn’t wait anymore.”

Lizzie blinked, caught completely off guard. “What... what are you doing here?”

She gave her a hesitant smile, the kind that looked almost apologetic. “I wanted to talk. Face-to-face. No meetings, no events. Just us.”

Lizzie stepped aside, letting her in, still trying to process what was happening. They stood in the living room, an awkward silence hanging between them. Yn glanced around the apartment, taking in the cozy atmosphere, the personal touches.

“Nice place,” Reader said softly, her fingers brushing over a framed photo on the mantle.

“Thanks,” Lizzie replied, crossing her arms. “Why are you here, yn?”

Yn’s smile faded, and she looked down at the flowers in her hand. “I... I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. And I realized I’ve been waiting my whole life to make things right with you.” She handed Lizzie the bouquet, her eyes full of meaning. “These are for you.”

Lizzie took the flowers, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure what to feel—gratitude, anger, confusion? All of it swirled inside her, but as she stared at the wildflowers in her hands, something softened in her.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” Lizzie admitted, setting the flowers down on the table. “It’s not that simple.”

Yn took a deep breath, nodding. “I know it’s not. But nothing worth it ever is.”

Lizzie’s eyes met yn’s, and for a moment, the weight of their past seemed to fade. All she saw was the woman standing in front of her—the woman who had hurt her, yes, but also the woman who had loved her deeply. The woman who was still willing to fight for them, even after everything.

“You really think we could work things out?” Lizzie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yn stepped closer, her eyes soft but filled with determination. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try. And I promise, this time, I won’t run.”

Lizzie felt her heart tighten, a mix of hope and fear fighting for dominance. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but something in yn’s eyes told her that this time, it could be different. This time, it could be real.

“I’m scared,” Lizzie confessed, her voice trembling slightly.

She reached out, gently taking Lizzie’s hand in hers. “Me too.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the silence between them thick with emotion. And in that quiet, Lizzie realized that maybe, just maybe, some wounds could be mended. Maybe some threads, once unraveled, could be woven back together—stronger, more resilient.

Finally, Lizzie squeezed yn’s hand and whispered, “We’ll take it slow.”

She smiled, her eyes shining with hope. “Slow is fine.”

And in that moment, for the first time in years, Lizzie felt like she was on the verge of something new. Something that was worth the risk.

The next day with sun was barely breaking over the Los Angeles skyline lizzie found herself Inside a chic coffee shop, the air was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the gentle hum of conversations created a cozy atmosphere. Elizabeth sat at a small table, her hazel eyes fixed on the steaming mug before her. She was lost in thought over her interaction with yn, swirling the latte with a delicate hand.

It wasn’t until Scarlett, her co-worker and confidante, slid into the chair opposite her that Lizzie snapped out of her reverie. Scarlett had a knack for reading her moods, and today, that look was amplified tenfold—concern was etched on her striking features.

“Hey, you okay?” Scarlett ventured, glancing around to ensure their conversation remained private.

Lizzie hesitated, fiddling with the sleeve of her oversized cardigan. “I don’t know, Scar. I’ve been thinking a lot... about Y/N.”

Scarlett raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “You mean your Y/N? The one you were so resolute about distancing yourself from?”

“Yeah,” Lizzie sighed, her breath catching slightly. “It’s just… It’s complicated. I thought I had it figured out, but now…”

“Now what?” Scarlett pressed, sensing her friend’s hesitation.

“I think I want to let them back in,” Lizzie admitted, her voice low as if afraid of the weight of her own words. “But I’m terrified.”

Scarlett leaned back, processing Lizzie's confession. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Always,” Lizzie replied, her eyes searching Scarlett’s for guidance.

“Okay,” Scarlett began, choosing her words carefully. “You know Y/N means a lot to you. It’s clear they care deeply for you too. But was the distance necessary because of a mistake, or was it something deeper?”

Lizzie took a deep breath, the memories flooding back. Her relationship with you had been intense, marked by genuine connection, laughter, and love. But the pressures of their careers had created barriers. “It was both,” she sighed. “I pushed them away because... well, it felt safer than being hurt again.”

Scarlett watched her closely. “And now, you feel different?”

"Now I just feel lonely,” Lizzie admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "Life feels hollow without them. I can't help but think... maybe I was wrong to shut them out.”

Scarlett nodded, understanding the complexities of the world they inhabited—the constant scrutiny of their lives, the expectations of being in the public eye. “But are you prepared for the possibility of getting hurt again?”

“I have to be.” Lizzie’s heart raced at the thought. “They’re worth the risk.”

Scarlett smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. “Then you should talk to them. Just be honest about yhe way you feel. It’s the best way.”

Lizzie felt a rush of determination surge through her. “You’re right. I can't let fear guide my decisions anymore.”

Time skip

Its autumn now and the leaves had begun to change, painting the city in warm hues of amber and crimson as autumn settled in. New York, with its bustling streets and vibrant energy, felt like a different world. The air was crisp, filled with promise, and the skyline sat against the setting sun like a canvas smeared with gold.

It was three years since Lizzie had decided to take that leap, rekindling a flame that had flickered but never extinguished between you. Despite the years apart, the memories of those carefree days spent at college were etched in both of your hearts. Back then, you were two ambitious students pursuing your dreams, often tethered by affection, laughter, and late-night conversations in tiny dorm rooms. Those moments laid a foundation, but after graduation, life had scattered you down different paths. Both of which ended in heartbreak yet now as two different people time has found its way of untangling the knots created. Lizzie’s boldness in reconnecting had not only reignited your relationship but transformed it into something far beyond what either of you had imagined. Both of you had grown, carving out identities in Hollywood and beyond, yet the bond never felt stronger.

As you walked hand-in-hand on the familiar streets of Greenwich Village, Lizzie wore a smile that lit up her entire face, her dark hair catching the light in a way that made her look ethereal. You had gone out for coffee, a simple outing that had turned into a leisurely exploration of the city. With every corner, every shop you wandered into, memories fluttered back—like the time you both tried to decipher the obscure art at a gallery, only to end up laughing at your lack of understanding.

“Do you remember this place?” Lizzie asked, stopping in front of a quaint little café framed by twinkling fairy lights.

“Of course,” you replied, the smile on your face widening. “You insisted we try that ridiculous pumpkin spiced latte because ‘it’s autumn, and we must embrace seasonal flavors.’”

“It was delicious!” she defended, laughing. “Well, until I spilled half of it on my sweater.”

You chuckled at the memory, how cute she had looked trying to clean herself up with paper towels, the barista’s confused expression as you both burst into fits of giggles. “I think that’s the night you made me promise to always be your coffee buddy.”

Lizzie squeezed your hand, a glint of mischief lighting her eyes. “Do you still promise?”

“Always,” you said softly, looking into her eyes, feeling the weight of your words. The world around you faded, your laughter mingling with the air, wrapping you both in a cocoon of nostalgia.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the skyline a glorious shade of orange, Lizzie suggested walking toward the waterfront. You obliged, knowing how much she loved the view of the Hudson against the backdrop of the city.

On the dock, the water shimmered, reflecting the dwindling light. Lizzie leaned against the railing, staring out at the horizon, her profile capturing the light perfectly. It was moments like this that caused your heart to swell with joy and deep affection.

“Remember when we stood here in the middle of the night?” she asked suddenly, cutting into your reverie. “We talked about our dreams—about being actors, artists, and how we wanted to change the world.”

“Yes, and you were so passionate about the roles you wanted to explore. It was inspiring,” you said, recalling how fervently she had spoken. “You’ve certainly made an impact.”

Turning toward you, her eyes sparkled with a blend of nostalgia and ambition. “And you were there through all of it: the auditions, the chaos, even the times I doubted myself. You never let me give up.”

“Just as you never let me lose hope when life tried to knock me down,” you replied, stepping closer.

You shared a long, quiet moment, your hearts beating in rhythm. It was in these silences that conversations bloomed, where you understood each other without words. Then Lizzie spoke, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about… us, the future.”

You held your breath, sensing the significance of her tone. “What do you mean?”

She shuffled her feet, glancing down for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “When I first reached out to you three years ago, I was terrified. I was afraid of ruining what we had, afraid that we might not be the same people we were back then.”

“And look at us now,” you said, warmth flooding your chest. “We’ve built something beautiful.”

Her eyes glistened with tears—happy tears. “I know. And I realize that taking that leap to be with you was the best decision of my life. You’ve helped me grow, and I hope I’ve done the same for you.”

“Always,” you echoed again, your heart racing.

With a sudden rush of determination, Lizzie stepped away from the railing and reached into her pocket. Inside, she produced a small velvet box, holding it with both hands as if it contained the weight of the world.

The air buzzed with electricity, and your breath caught in your throat. “Lizzie…”

“Three years together—it’s been everything I dreamed of and more. I can’t imagine my life without you by my side,” she said, her voice steady even as her hands trembled slightly. She knelt down, the evening light framing her face in a divine glow. “Will you marry me?”

Time stood still. The world around you blurred, and all you could see was her—beautiful, courageous, and vulnerable. You nodded, tears of joy spilling down your cheeks. “Yes! Yes, a million times yes!”

Lizzie’s face lit up like the fireworks you had once seen together at the Fourth of July, pure happiness radiating from her. She slipped the delicate ring onto your finger, and in that moment, everything felt right. The past, the struggles, the joys—they all converged into this singular moment of love and commitment.

“You make me the happiest person in the world,” she whispered, her eyes shining.

“You make me the happiest too,” you replied, pulling her close, feeling the warmth of her embrace.

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving a canvas of stars overhead, you both stood wrapped in each other’s arms, ready to embark on an incredible new chapter. This was love, powerful and transformative, and the best was yet to come.

#elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen fluff #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader angst #lizzie olsen #wanda maximoff angst

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pink-onyx-au · 7 months ago

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Community Translation Campaign

All who help will be credited in the final results.

So many people have offered to help that I just had to come up with an idea to make it easier on everyone, even to offer ways to work together. So, here is the plan!

The English for the episode is posted here, in order, for you to read. State which language you’re using, and donate as many words as you like to the project! When a language has a complete translation and is double-checked, I can take care of the editing. Thank you to everyone! 🧡💕❤️

Words to clarify intention or clarity in the statement that were not said within the dialog of the comic will be presented (like this) to better help translations. Any questions, just post and I will get back to you as best as I can!

Episode 1 - Antipathy (English Script)

If it matters in your language, Steven is masculine-form grammar. Jasper is feminine-form grammar. The Diamonds (not Steven) are feminine-form grammar.

Steven: No. I’m sorry. Where is- Jasper, I (‘m sorry) I can’t find (her) It has to be here. It is here somewhere. I have been holding (myself) back!

I have to do something about this.

Steven: Jasper. Please. I want to talk

Jasper. What is it, my diamond?

Steven: Please! I just want to talk. As equals. Please…

Jasper: In order to do that, you’ll have to get on the dirt (or ground). Now that you’re down here with the dust, what do you want to talk about?

Steven: I can’t sleep. So much has happened since- my meltdown. Everyone is hovering over me every hour of the day, but, I need to apologize for how I acted that day. You were just trying to help me, and I did the worst possible thing (to you).

Jasper: I told you before, don’t apologize!

Steven: Why?

Jasper: I wanted to see the full extent of your power, and I got my answer. You let yourself go. That’s what I wanted.

Steven; But jasper, I- (shattered you)

Jasper: Shattered me? Why does that bother you?

Steven: Why doesn’t it bother you

Jasper: Soldiers are shattered (killed) all the time, Steven. It’s why we are made. To win, and replace. That’s why the one thing I don’t understand - is why you brought me back (revived me) after you got what you wanted.

Steven: "What I wanted!?" I- I didn’t want to shatter you! It was a mistake!

Jasper: The moment a gem is permitted to act to their fullest is when they show what they really want. It is absolute. From pebble to diamond

You may say you didn’t want to shatter me, but based on the look in your eyes, something did.

Steven: I-I don’t know what that was! I mean, I do now but I-

Jasper: You don’t understand it, so you came here. Just like last time. Why do you keep coming back here to find answers? That the only thing I’m good for to you? Told me yourself you want to high to do with me otherwise.

Steven: No! No. It’s not that. You’re… just the furthest thing from what I know about my world. And you act like that’s normal for you. So when nothing in my world makes sense, it just makes sense to come here.

Jasper: Well, at least we agree on one thing.

Steven: What do you mean?

Jasper: My world doesn’t make any sense to me anymore, either. Nothing my diamond has done makes sense to me anymore. Start a colony just to preserve it? Start a war just to lose it? Die to become(be reborn) as you? I was made to win a gem-war for a diamond with power so destructive that the other diamonds hesitated to give her a colony in the first place. A diamond with so much strength that a word from her could shatter. The closest you ever came to making sense to me is the day you finally cut loose. Then, like everything else, your colony, your court, your status, your form, you tossed me aside and moved onto the next thing. Told me to ‘find something better to do with my life’ when my whole life has been fighting for you, my diamond.

Steven: Jasper I-I’m, I’m sorry

Jasper: Stars ("god";swear form), shut up with that! You did what you wanted every second you’ve been out of the dirt!even this human form! Even being here right now! Until you get that, this conversation is going to be a waste of both of our time!

Steven: I-I just.. I’ve done such a horrible thing, and I can’t sleep because it keeps replaying, and each time I see it, it scares me to death because I hate how good it feels.

Jasper: Come (with me). If you’re going to start this, then we’re doing it out here. I don’t want me den destroyed. Listen carefully, Steven. Is this what you want?

Steven: No.

Jasper: Then focus on what you want.

Steven: I don’t want to hurt you

Jasper: Then calm down!

Steven: Sorry. How are you okay with what I did to you?

Jasper: Honestly, Steven, I don’t know why you aren’t (okay with it). I don’t throw a punch without intent to hit something. Let alone regret it after the fact. You’re just going to have to live with the idea that we will not understand one another.

Steven: I want to though! That- that is what I want.

Jasper: And how do you intend to get that? by coming here and begging for answers I don’t have?

Steven: Maybe there is a way, but, I-I have a way. That we can both get answers. If you want answers. Also.

Jasper: Go on.

Steven: Maybe if we feel what it’s like to be each other

Jasper: What are you implying?

Steven; Ah, I’m implying! That we could fuse, if you wanted to do that. Too. Maybe?

Jasper: That was the most pathetic request to fuse I’ve ever heard. I am not fusing with someone who whimpers like some under-cooked pebble. So, if that’s what you really want, show me you have the guts to take it!

Steven: Fine, jasper. Then, As your Diamond: Fuse with me

Jasper: Much better!

Jasper: Should have known you were full of dirt ("shit";swear)

Steven: I don’t know what happened. I’m usually good at (doing) this.

Jasper: You ran (away)!

Steven: No I, I think something poofed us.

Jasper: Well, it wasn’t me! So, whatever that was and to come from you!

Steven: It’s going to be ok. We do this together next time.

Steven: I have an idea but, I need some time to prepare. I’ll be back tomorrow right at dusk. It will give us the whole night.

Jasper: You’re kidding me. You issued a diamond-order and now you’re leaving me behind again? Seriously?

Steven: I know. I’m sorry. One last time, then I’ll make sure this works. I promise.

#pink onyx au #community translation campaign #translation

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elavoria · 1 month ago

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Ascended Isanna’s final form, in all her glory and with her full suite of weapons. <3

Lines and brief weapon descriptions under the cut~

Her main scimitar is a flaming burst dawnfire scimitar; the other is a dancing keen ghost touch ghost iron scimitar. Her third scimitar is a merciful scimitar, and she has a sunsilver dagger as a backup weapon. Finally she also has a hand crossbow and an adamantine morningstar for situational purposes! She's a walking arsenal and loves being self-sufficient. :3

Despite having ascended, she still pays homage to Sarenrae and continues to receive spells and the sun domain [revelation subdomain] from her, while granting access to the glory, good, law, and protection domains and the archon (good), archon (law), heroism, honor, and redemption subdomains.

#pathfinder #pathfinder wrath of the righteous #aasimar #angel #inquisitor #wrath of the righteous campaign #shattered star campaign #my art #my oc #isanna #good gods did this take forever #this is most properly shattered star to wotr isanna but she can go in the main wotr tag as a treat #she is my commander after all and a lot of aesthetic inspiration is from the angel path #i don't think i quite captured the pastel blue she prefers to wear once she ascends but ah well

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1helios1 · 2 months ago

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The sky bent for Her. The stars, like good little soldiers, fell into line, and all lines converged on the locus that was Her.

#oc #whisper #pathfinder #shattered star campaign #heroforge

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rolfedewolfefan16 · 2 months ago

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Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

VILLAIN ROLFE AU OFFICIAL STORY

Chapter 9: Rolfe went home that night, satisfied with his work. He tossed the bodies in a storage closet and scrubbed the blood off the ground, careful not to make the events of that night evident. He washed his suit with cold water and tossed it in the dryer. Rolfe was absolutely certain that the crowd would forget all about the band once he’s on stage…He drove to the pizzeria the next morning, eager to see what the people would say.

“Rolfe! Have you seen the rest of the band?” The Manager asked, with slight worry in his voice.

“I don’t know. I was at home, sick. Only thing I know is that they were here last night…” Rolfe responded. The Manager looked around anxiously and sighed.

“Well, we’ll give them some more time to show up. You can wait on your stage for the meantime,” The Manager said.

“And if they don’t?” Rolfe asked.

“Then the show must go on,” The Manager replied. Rolfe gave him a sad pout and headed to his stage. That pout quickly became a smug smile, a smile he couldn’t help but have.

“I wonder where they gone…” he said with a laugh. He stood in his dressing room. His mirror was shattered with the table’s contents scattered everywhere. Dook’s blood still coated the fragments of glass. He also spotted his space hat under the table.

“Shit,” he whispered. He kicked the hat aside and threw a scarf around it. If anybody asks what happened he'll just say the mirror fell….Rolfe heard cars parking outside. This was it! Rolfe would finally be the star he always knew he deserved to be.

“Raul and mom were wrong. They’re going to be wishing I came back with how much money I’m going to make,” Rolfe told himself, setting everything up. If he could get noticed it would change his life forever! He thought about the millions of fans he’ll have. Money doubling by the hour. Campaign after advertisement after party after award. Rolfe was so close. He just needed to pull it off. He needed to pretend the murder never happened.

“Hello everybody and welcome to ShowBiz Pizza! Um, it seems we’ve got some technical difficulties so the Rock afire Explosion won’t be performing. We are trying to reach them but for now let’s give it up for Rolfe!” The Manager announced. There was some confused applause, the kids wondering amongst themselves. Rolfe hit his cymbal and bowed.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to the Rolfe and Earl show, starring your favorite star of the show himself, Rolfe DeWolfe! Did you hear that everyone!? How could you possibly have favorites if it’s just me?” Rolfe asked. He realized how dark this sounded after the room fell quiet. He quickly moved on.

“Hey! Let’s get this show on the road! Now little Earl, why don’t you tell me h-” Rolfe began. He was interrupted by a little girl complaining to a young boy.

“Where’s the rest of the band?” She asked. The little boy shrugged and slouched his back.

“I wanted to see Billy Bob,” he replied. Those words ricocheted inside his brain.

“What?” Rolfe whispered, beads of sweat sliding off his forehead.

“It's not fair mommy! I wanted to see the Rock Afire Explosion! Not Rolfe! Rolfe’s a jerk!” Some kid whined.

“No, it's an act! I’m a good person!” he said to himself, looking around as the room filled up with complaints.

“What a gyp! What kind of a scam is this?” a man asked, walking to the door, dragging a wailing child.

“I WANT BILLY BOB!” a little girl screamed. The crying. The horrible crying. The voices became loud. TOO LOUD. Rolfe led out a deep growl that progressively got deeper and deeper. The crowd’s protests died down as soon as Rolfe led out a yell of fury. Rolfe grabbed his cymbal and crashed it on the ground. It fell with a piercing KSSSSSSSH! Earl hit the ground and the crowd screamed convinced he was alive. Rolfe tore off his tinsel background, kicked the cardboard rainbow behind him, and shattered his mirrorball to thousands of pieces. He growled, he snarled, he barked, he hissed like a ferocious animal.

“IT'S NOT FAIR!!!” He screamed. He realized how silent everything has become. He looked behind him, the people were frozen in shock. Once the sound of crying children sliced the air everybody grabbed their kids and left. Rolfe knelt down on his torn apart stage and sobbed.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen! Why! Why couldn’t I just have one moment to myself!? He saw 4 employees take him by the arms and drag him away.

“What are you doing!? Let go of me!” Rolfe demanded. The Manager stood behind him, surprisingly calm. He lifted Earl off the ground and followed the employees.

“It’s such a shame you blew up your big opportunity,” he said. Rolfe stared at him with watery eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re doing! Mange, help me!” He pleaded. The Manager laughed.

“Help you? Why would I do that, when you scared off my customers?” he asked. Rolfe saw as they headed to the storage room. The same room where he stuffed the corpses of his friends.

“Please! PLEASE! I didn’t kill all of them for nothing!” Rolfe confessed.

“So that’s where they all went,” The Manager said calmly. The employees threw Rolfe inside.

“I don’t understand! You made me like this! You told me to be selfish! You told me I had a chance. YOU SAID I WAS A STAR!” Rolfe cried.

“Rolfe, I simply suggested to make your own way in life, not…all of this. You misinterpreted me. That’s not my concern,” The Manager said.

“No! y-you told me to be selfish! You gaslighted me, admit it Mange!” Rolfe snarled.

“You are selfish, that’s the thing. You are truly the most egotistical person I ever had the misfortune of meeting. But I guess in the end we are what we are, right?,” The Manager added. Rolfe snarled.

“You're full of shit! I’ll kill ya like I did with the others!” He leapt at him. The Manager pushed him in the stomach and Rolfe fell down on his back.

“I’m sorry but this is your life now. Life’s not fair, is it, Rolfe? The Manager asked, tossing him his puppet. The Manager shut the door and locked it shut.

“NO! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME IN HERE! AARON!” He screamed. He pounded on the door as he howled for help.

“HELP ME! PLEASE! I’M SUPPOSED TO BE A FAMOUS! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE A STAR!” Rolfe hollered. He kicked and pounded on the door for hours until he tired himself out. The sad reality hit him then as he felt his body go still. He was just another soul in the back of a pizzeria…

Chapter 10: Oh, how lonely it was in that storage room. Rolfe would pace around, trying his best to decipher everything in it. Pounding on the door became a frequent thing for the first couple of weeks before Rolfe gave up. How long has it been since he’s last seen a light? Since he last heard a voice? Weeks have passed, months, years.

Rolfe grew unbearably hungry, but he didn’t die, he couldn’t die, no matter how long he waited, how much pain he was in, his body just wouldn’t give. It was almost as if this was his punishment. Rolfe managed to survive the first couple of weeks by feeding off things he could find in the room, that’s saying the corpses he hid, gradually went missing. But whatever he ate, would always come back up, leaving him to sulk in the corner, while hugging his stomach. He wanted to tear his stomach open and pull out his insides, so that the insatiable hunger could leave him alone. But it didn’t. It only came back to haunt him as soon as he awoke.

“It hurts. My stomach hurts so much,” he mumbled. He felt a sour feeling in his stomach. He gagged and retched out the stomach acid that tore up his intestines. He couldn’t stop gagging. His eyes welled up with tears until he hit the floor and spat out the rest of it. He led out a groan as he rolled on his back.

“Fuck,” he gasped. He held his weary stomach. To be sincerely honest, he wasn’t sure he could call it a stomach anymore. It felt more like a half stuffed pillowcase. Rolfe couldn’t see himself but he was sure he looked awful. His fur seemed to droop over his skinny body, his ribs penetrated off his chest, his face was beat up and scratched and he lost most of the healthy fat around the face making him look like a frail corpse. He reeked and his fur had gone stale. His legs have also failed him too. He had to make an effort to drag himself to a corner to rest. Most of the time, he couldn’t even move his arms.

“I wish I never killed the Rock afire Explosion! I would have preferred being their side part rather than being stuck here another minute,” he said. When Rolfe really thought about it, fame didn’t sound all that worth it. The day he dies his name will slowly fade away and his spot would be reclaimed by someone else. He held Earl up in front of him.

“The whole world’s goin’ crazy. And there ain’t no reason to fuss. Ya ain’t no fun ‘less your crazy. Cause no one’s as crazy as, no one’s as crazy as…us,” Rolfe sobbed. That song was the only memory he had of Earl.

“You’re a geek, Rolfe!” He heard Earl say. Rolfe gasped and tossed him.

“Earl!?” he asked.

“A geek, geek, geek! That’s all you’ll ever be! Why did you have to kill them!? I always knew you were a jerk, but not that much of a jerk!” Earl spat.

“I don’t know…I was just tired of being everyone's last choice,” Rolfe said, looking down at himself, replaying the memories of the shows.

“Then why didn’t you leave?” Earl asked, he sounded very angry.

“Because-well, because…I think I secretly loved them. They showed me hospitality when I needed it most and Billy Bob…he helped me out during one of the darkest points of my life and I hated him for it. Maybe…I wasn’t jealous of him…maybe I just wanted to be him,” Rolfe replied. Earl shook his head.

“You're such a moron,” he said. Rolfe growled.

“I missed the couple seconds ago when you couldn’t speak,” Rolfe said.

“I miss the couple years ago when we were up on that stage, you know, when all our friends were alive?” Earl teased.

“Can it, Earl!” Rolfe demanded.

“You’re just a geek, I tell ya. A GEEK!” Earl barked. Rolfe grabbed him by the arm and tore his head off.

“And you’re just a puppet,” he responded. After a couple seconds of staring into space, he looked at the mess he made. Then at the storage closet. The only thing left in there was Billy Bob’s head, which had already decomposed into a mushy mess.

“I’m sorry Billy Bob and Looney and Fatz and Dook and Beach Bear and Mitzi,” he said.

“I just wanted the limelight…just once,” he whispered. He realized how stupid it sounded. A desire like that couldn’t have possibly been a motive for such a terrible act. Suddenly he heard a rattling sound. He heard muffled voices of men outside the door. Rolfe dragged himself near it as it opened, the light of the pizzeria blinded his tired eyes.

“Are you Mr... Rolfe DeWolfe?” A man in a security uniform asked. Rolfe nodded.

“Yes, that’s me! Please get me out of here!” He pleaded, falling to the man’s feet.

“What year is it? How long has it been? How did you find me!?” He wanted to ask a billion questions but decided it was a waste of time.

“It’s May 30th 1990,” the man replied. Three years. He’s been stuck in there for 3 years.

“We saw you on the television, the day you went haywire. From our interview with Aaron, your manager, he said you were striving for fame,” the man explained.

“You saw that?!” Rolfe asked. He remembered how Marty told ‘em he couldn’t wait to see him on TV. Even though it did happen, that wasn’t necessarily what he meant. Marty probably already lost the restaurant and Rolfe had no way of knowing.

“Yeah. And what’s more, this place has gone bankrupt. We’re building an even better place! How would you like to be our mascot?” The man asked. It was hard to make out anything of him. To Rolfe, he was a talking silhouette.

“Yes! I’ll do anything to be the mascot! Just get me out of here! I can’t stand another moment in the dark!” Rolfe moaned, gripping at the door’s hinges in an effort to stand up.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix you right up and your face will be remembered for many years to come! All you have to do is give us your soul. Deal?” The man asked, giving Rolfe a hand. Rolfe thought about this. It was either this or being stuck in this room for another 3 years.

“Deal,” Rolfe agreed, taking his hand and shaking it. Rolfe would finally be a star, even if it meant being someone else…

THE END

#showbiz #rolfe dewolfe #rock afire explosion #villian au #earl schmerle #wolf pack 5 #original story #alternate universe

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is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not · 1 month ago

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Condensed excerpts from The Phoenix Clans: Blood Spirits and Wolverines in the Era of the Third Star League

By Professor Alexandra Holt

Unity City University Press, Terra | Published 3160

Chapter 8: The Impossible Restored – The Return of Clans Blood Spirit and Wolverine

The rebirth of Clans Blood Spirit and Wolverine in the closing months of 3153 marked a defining moment in the evolution of Clan society, shattering long-held assumptions about the permanence of Annihilation. For decades and centuries reapectively, these Clans had been written off as footnotes in history, one condemned by ilKhan Nicholas Kerensky himself, the other cast aside as a casualty of shifting Clan politics. Their reemergence, orchestrated under the leadership of ilKhan Alaric Ward and facilitated by the complex web of allegiances forming around the reborn Star League, not only rewrote the past but signaled a future where the Clans would no longer be prisoners of their own rigid traditions.

At the time of their restoration, the reformed Clans faced a daunting challenge: to prove that they could stand among their peers as equals, rather than mere relics of a bygone era. Today, in 3160, Clan Blood Spirit reigns over a new domain, controlling many worlds, among them the Devil’s Rock, Pollux, and Castor systems, securing not only strategic positions within the Inner Sphere but also key industrial capacity: it is they who hold the remains of the superheavy 'Mech production lines on Devil's Rock. Their holdings even extend into the former Clan Protectorate, where they share governance over key worlds with their allies. Clan Wolverine, meanwhile, has cemented its place within the Grand Council once more, integrating its unique martial traditions with those of the modern Clan structure. These Clans, once hunted to extinction, now stand unshaken in the new era of the Clans.

The Resurgence of Clan Wolverine

For over three centuries, the story of Clan Wolverine had been one of silence and erasure. Declared Annihilated in 2823, their legacy had been reduced to whispered warnings, a cautionary tale of the cost of defying the Clans. Even speaking their name had been considered a crime among the Clans, a final act of contempt for those who had dared to resist Nicholas Kerensky’s vision. But the truth had never aligned with the myths told among the Clans. The Wolverines had not been destroyed. They had endured.

The Clans had long assumed the Wolverines met their end on the Deep Periphery world of Barbados, but in reality, they had slipped beyond the reach of their pursuers. Their escape was costly, and by the time they had found refuge among the Belter communities of the distant Periphery, many of their warriors had perished, including Khan Sarah McEvedy, whose body succumbed to the lingering effects of radiation exposure from the nuclear firestorms that had nearly consumed them. Even with the Belters’ advanced medical technology, she could not be saved. Her son, Owen McEvedy, was left to guide the survivors, a task he would take up with remarkable determination.

McEvedy and his people moved among the shadows of history, never revealing their true origins, never drawing attention to their cause - save the brief raiding campaign of the so-called "Minnesota Tribe". Over time, the majority of their number filtered through the Inner Sphere and settled on McEvedy’s Folly, a Rimward Periphery world named for an ancestor of Sarah’s from the days of the original Star League. There, they rebuilt, blending their traditions with the knowledge of the Belters, adapting, but never forgetting. By the time the Clan Invasion struck the Inner Sphere in 3050, some of the Wolverines had taken on a new guise, operating as the mercenary unit Barghest Company. Their hatred for the Clans had not waned, nor had their skill in battle, and when they took the field against the Wolves, their fury was unmistakable.

Yet it was not until 3153, during Operation TOUCHDOWN, that their secret was finally uncovered. Commanding General Melissa Hazen had long suspected the Wolverines had survived, having been party to the discovery of fragments of evidence allthe way back in 3024, when she had fought in the Aurigan Civil War. She had pursued the truth for decades, and during the first phase of the Helios campaign, she confirmed what many had dismissed as legend - not only was Wolverine still alive, but so was Owen McEvedy, all of 313 years old and still in his prime. When she presented her findings to ilKhan Alaric Ward, he did not hesitate. The Grand Council was called into session, and after a brief but historic debate, the decree of Annihilation was rescinded. The name of Wolverine was spoken once more, not in whispers, but in honor.

On October 9, 3153, with a vote of 12 for to 1 against, Clan Wolverine was reborn.

The Return of Clan Blood Spirit

The story of Clan Blood Spirit’s return was even more improbable. Unlike the Wolverines, their fate had been sealed not in the early centuries of Clan history but in 3084, when they were systematically destroyed by Clan Star Adder in an act of ruthless pragmatism disguised as a Trial of Absorption. Haven and Honor, their last holdings in the Colleen system, had been annihilated by orbital bombardment, and their genetic legacies reduced buried in the ashes. The Clans had moved on, and for decades, there was no indication that even a single Blood Spirit had survived.

But history had once again miscalculated.

Hannah Lewis, a Star Commander of the Blood Spirits, should have perished in 3076, when a Star Adder WarShip fired upon her vessel during a skirmish in the York system. Her compartment was breached, and she was ejected into the void, left to die in the cold embrace of space. But as fate would have it, at that precise moment, the Blood Spirit JumpShip she had just been aboard attempted an emergency K-F jump. Hannah, still within the field radius of the ship’s jump drive, was pulled into hyperspace - the first, and to date only, known instance of a human being surviving a K-F jump outside of a spacecraft.

But what happened next defied every law of physics understood by modern science. While the Blood Spirit craft completed its jump correctly, Hannah Lewis misjumped.

Hannah was thrown forward in time, and emerged from hyperspace not in 3076, but in 3147 - and far, far from where she was meant to be. Somehow emerging on the surface of the Periphery world of That One, over 1900 light years from where she started. Alone, displaced from everything she had known, she adapted. She wandered the Periphery as a mercenary, harboring a seething hatred for Clan Star Adder, the architects of her people’s destruction. It was not until she heard the call for warriors to join Operation TOUCHDOWN that she saw an opportunity to reclaim her purpose.

Upon enlisting with the SLDF, Hannah found something she had never expected—a future. In the first week of the campaign, she did what no one could have predicted: she declared herself Khan of the reborn Clan Blood Spirit. Rallying new converts - including her lovers: her eventual saKhan Amber Ryder, and Xerxes Truscott, Totem Warrior of Clan Star Adder - the very same Clan that had destroyed Blood Spirit decades before. Starting with these and a handful of others, Khan Lewis began to rebuild her Clan, even in the midst of a war.

With Melissa Hazen’s support, Hannah’s claim was brought before the Grand Council. Unlike the fierce debate surrounding Clan Wolverine, the decision on the Blood Spirits was immediate. Every Clan in the Inner Sphere—Wolf, Jade Falcon, Ghost Bear, Snow Raven, Sea Fox, Smoke Jaguar, and Hell’s Horses—voted unanimously in favor of recognition. Clan Blood Spirit was reborn, with Hannah as its Khan and Amber Ryder, as its saKhan.

In the years since TOUCHDOWN, Clan Blood Spirit has carved out a formidable new domain, securing Devil’s Rock, Pollux, and Castor as their core holdings, taking joint control of key worlds in the former Clan Protectorate. Their control over the Ares superheavy OmniMech production lines has cemented their economic and military resurgence, ensuring that they will never again be a footnote in Clan history.

The Phoenixes Reborn

The restoration of Clans Wolverine and Blood Spirit was more than an act of reconciliation; it was a fundamental shift in Clan identity. Their return proved that Annihilation was no longer absolute, that history was no longer immutable. It was the ultimate testament to the evolving nature of the Clans in the era of the Star League, a bold declaration that the sins of the past could be forgiven, and that even the most broken legacies could rise again.

#battletech #mechwarrior #operation touchdown

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fio-renze · 7 months ago

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Fiorenze hadn't been sure what to make of this gargantuan cavern. Her people were of the sun, her magic was of the stars, and here there were neither. Talon had found them a fine contract on the far northern edge of the territory at a series of farms that sat on the edge of a darkness that was extremely violent; the wayward settlers had a curious network of lightwells and braziers set up to keep it at bay, but that could only do so much — especially as the population dwindled from being quite literally picked off one, or sometimes five, by one.

Their own camp out on the fringes had set up a makeshift one, as had the camps of other companies further down the acreage. It wouldn't do, after all, to set up tents in these people's crop fields where the established light could reach. Everything had been going well enough so far — they had set up an internal rotation to tend their central brazier and keep the lamps around the perimeter lit.

She had just settled back into her tent after a quick patrol when a great commotion erupted and Talon's voice boomed from what sounded like the camp's edge, "RUN INTO OUR LIGHT! FIGHTERS WITH ME, GET THEM INTO OUR CAMP! EVERYONE ELSE KEEP THAT LIGHT GOING, HELP THE WOUNDED, AND CALL BACK OUR NIGHT SHIFT TO HELP!”

Someone's light had gone out.

Fiorenze grabbed her staff, the white wood bark and sin'dorei silk grip she'd wrapped around it was smooth under her palm as she sprung out of her tent in the direction Talon had taken off with some of the other fighters.

Beledar was in void shift and the inky dusk that had settled on the path made the rest of the crew's dim firelights look radiant in comparison. As she ran to catch up to her group she shifted into her astral form to access greater power. Her spectral body glimmered with stardust — even if she couldn't see the sky itself the strength of the cosmos remained with her, unwavering. Stars burned brightest in the dark, after all.

Tinnaire fell into lockstep beside her, flinging fire expertly at targets that came into view along their flanks. Her friend had military training and fit so well with the ex-Argent Crusaders and former military that made up the bulk of their band. Still, the two of them together as a secondary-line was familiar enough. They had done this before, in previous campaigns, back when Fiorenze had herself been a fire aligned mage. Fighting side by side was like putting on a well fitting silk slipper again.

The rimesong of frost magic echoed off the low cavern ceiling as Talon froze a few chittering assailants in place. Those unfortunate creatures were hastily shattered from great swings of Dicenne's maul. There were more, still, that hadn't been affected — swarms, after all, were meant to overwhelm. Fiorenze grit her teeth and reached down with her nature magic, deep beyond the topsoil and further still to find greater roots to call up and ensnare a few of the lightless horde.

It seemed, at least, to help.

She managed not to startle as a hooked pincer swung out toward her face, only for it to be blown away by a single, expertly aimed shot. They were terribly lucky to have Stellan watching over all of their shoulders.

There would be time to thank him later — for now she needed to focus on the task at hand: ending as many of these monsters as possible.

Sheizara's long ears slanted flat back as the call to aid went out. Chaos erupted before she had time to really wrap her mind around what was actually going on — not that she was the only one. Her eyes immediately went to Garren, her friend and occasional companion, stuck in place and without any support. She started toward him, but then the first few bloodied soldiers stumbled into their camp and immediately collapsed, chests heaving with the effort of catching even a hint of breath.

"Cirrus, make a loop!" she pointed out toward the camp's perimeter and her cloudrook perked, his mistwoven feathers perking up in anticipation before the strange stormbeast loped off to defend their space while the majority of their own fighters were downslope doing what they could to find and send survivors back their way.

She dashed toward the healers' tent, eyes wide and hands empty. A near immediate direction came to start unloading bandages and stock them at every station. Then prepare bowls of sterile water. Set aside potions and syringes.

Her money had paid for a lot of this — the Tel'vaiel fortune. It felt good to put it into something worthwhile. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she heard the anguished, agonized wailing of one of the rescued fighters as they were dragged unceremoniously into the tent. Something was very wrong; it took five seconds too many for her brain to finally piece together what, but reluctantly she realized the other woman was missing most of her leg.

"If you're going to vomit or pass out, leave," the lead healer's tone brokered no argument and Shei realized she must have gone a little too pale. Nothing like this had ever happen on the tradeships, or out on storm-chases.

She finished her final dressing settings with shaking hands before ducking out the back.

Casualties were starting to pile up. It was past time to grab her bow. That, at least, would give her something to grip until her knuckles went white with effort. Was it any real comfort? She clung to the familiarity of it as she watched people with greater physical strength than her writhe and die, unable to survive with their injuries with their healers overwhelmed as they were.

One of the other ex-Argents grabbed her by the shoulder and guided her in the direction of the communal tent, "Start putting together bed rolls for these folks, will you? They're going to need them."

It was a kind sort of escape, one she hadn't expected — but one she'd embrace willingly. She was going to set up the best fucking bedrolls.

@themercenaries / @talonoa / @dicenne / @kharrisdawndancer / @inistellan / @sheizara / @garrennorassin

#mercenary group #tww #tww spoilers #fiorenze story

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did-someone-say-aliens · 1 year ago

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(new!) pinned post bbgs!!

i am unable to donate to any Gaza/genocide campaigns because i’m a minor, AND I HAVE NO MONEY. but i’m more than willing to reblog and platform campaigns!!

CURRENTLY WORKING ON A VISUAL NOVEL CALLED COIN SLOT PASSION!! :D

Dni List: Homophobes, Racists, 18+ content or blogs, Sexists, Fujoshis, MAPs, ableists, proshippers, nsfw agere, Transphobes, TERFS AND RADFEMS >:/

Accounts: @kinnie-central (i only post on there once in a blue moon) I post kinnie bingos on there. and @costasella is an rp blog for my pressure oc :) @cr-polls is where I do. well. cookie run polls :D

Other socials: Itch.io (I mostly post emulator skins) , Bluesky (Barely ever post)

Pronouns: my main pronouns are they/he/it/xe :]

Extended pronoun list: Bug/clown/alien/cat/paw/kit/aer/elau/delau/cupcake/glitter/snail/rain/plant/dino/worm/dragon/draer/draerself/rocks/xe/xyr/scene/:3/gloo/kandi/honk/xir/ze/ne/ nym/nis/nim/ner/phey/phem/ve/vem/ver/vim/ce/cir /moth/mothself/ghostself

emoji pronoun list: 👽/👾/🐝/🪱/🐛/🐌/🦕/🪼/🐟/🐳/🍄/🥀/🍮/🎲/♟️/🎥/📼/🎞️/📺/📻🕰️/🗝️/♠️/🍓

Roleplay info under the cut! :D

Fandoms I rp: I love roleplaying and my dms are always always always open! Absolutely NO nsfw. NONE. I may not always answer super fast. I get demotivated really easily too just fair warning T-T

ROLEPLAYS: closed for now!

Roleplay Information! Just to skip past the whole HUSTLE BUSTLE OOH what character do you want to be oh but i wanted to be that character, I'll list the ones I usually play as for the fandoms I roleplay :) If there is more than one listed it's not because I rp all of them in the same one, it's if you wanna be that character then I can be a different one and I'll be ok with it :)

Aggretsuko: Shikabane, Fenneko

Ace Attorney: Apollo, Edgeworth, Ema Skye

Amphibia: Marcy, Dr. Jan

Adventure Time: Fern, Magic Betty, Simon

BSD: Dazai, Ranpo, Edgar, Fyodor, Nikolai, Kyōka

Battle Kitty: Orc, Zaza, Kitty, Aeon

Cookie Run: Pure Vanilla, Mystic Flour, Elder Faerie, Espresso, Affogato

Dsaf: Dee

Danganronpa: Sayaka, Mikan, Chiaki, Nagito, Kokichi, Angie, Tsumugi

Undertale/Deltarune/UT AUs: Dream/Shattered, Ink, Fatal Error, Geno, Blueberror, Alphys, Sans, Papyrus, Muffet, Napstablook, Kris, Jevil, Seam

DDLC: Yuri, Sayori

Dogman: Any

Dandy's World: Astro, Razzle & Dazzle, Twisted Glisten

Death Note: L, Near, Misa, Teru (sometimes???)

Dialtown: Phonegingi, Karen

DHMIS: Yellow Guy, Sketchbook, Lesley

ENA: Ena, Merci, Shepherd

FNAF: Charlie/Puppet, Sundrop, Moondrop, Eclipse, Withered Bonnie, Lefty, Lolbit, Ballora

Ghost and Pals: Christopher, Arc, Cakey, Creative Piko, Kennith, Epta, Evelyn J.

Hello Puppets: Riley

INMIMB: Embry

Invader Zim: GIR, Gaz, Zim

Lalaloopsy: Rosy Bumps N Bruises, Bea Spells A Lot, Spot Splatter Splash, Crumbs Sugar Cookie, Pillow Featherbed, Charlotte Charades, Dot Starlight, Furry Grrs A Lot, Haley Galaxy

MLP: Fluttershy, Twilight Sparkle, Sci-Twi, Starlight Glimmer

Max & Ruby: Max

MHA: Tsuyu Asui, Mei Hatsume, Tamaki Amajiki, Kinoko Komori, Anan Kurose (Thirteen), Reiko Yanagi, Mawata Fuwa

Monster High: Frankie, Twyla, Draculaura, Rebecca

MCSM: Olivia, Jesse, Xara

Night in the Woods: Mae

Omori: Sunny, Basil

Over the Garden Wall: Any

Octonauts: Peso, Tweak

Ouran High School Host Club: Haruhi

Project Sekai: Nene Kusanagi, Mafuyu Asahina, Rui Kamishiro, Ena Shinonome, Emu Otori

Pressure: Any

PPG: Bubbles, HIM

Popee the Performer: Eepop, Popee

Pokemon: N, Kieran, Allister, Piers, Klara

Portal: Any

Raggedy Ann: Any

Regretevator: Party Noob, Prototype, Scag, Bive

Splatoon: Any

Sesame Street: Any

Stardew Valley: Maru, Krobus, Shane

Star Vs. The Forces of Evil: Eclipsa, Celena

She-Ra: Entrapta, Double Trouble

Sanrio: Any

Sonic: Silver, Tails, Shadow

Skullgirls: Painwheel, Marie, Squigly

Steven Universe: Spinel, Peridot, Blue Diamond, Blue Pearl, Rainbow Quartz 2.0

Smile For Me: Kamal, Questionette, Dr Habit

Shopkins: Any

Steve Saga: Green Steve, Rainbow Steve

TTS/Vat7k: Cassandra, Varian, Nuru

TTATC: Tack

TWF: Banny, Susan, Billy

TMC: Any

TMA: Michael (Pre-spiral and spiral), Helen (Spiral), Nikola Orsinov, Anabelle Cane

The Lego Movie: Benny, Unikitty

Trolls: Any

The Stanley Parable: Any

TOH: Hunter, Raine, The Collector

TMNT (mostly rottmnt): Donnie

TAWOG: Any

Vocaloid: Fukase, Yowane Haku, YohioLOID, Vflower

Welcome Home: Wally, Sally, Poppy

Wordgirl: Dr Two Brains, Toby, Wordgirl

Yuppie Psycho: Tiki-Taka

Yandere Sim: Oka Ruto, Amai Odayaka, Supana Churu

Yo Gabba Gabba: Plex

FANDOMS: (oh boy here we go. I have no life can you tell?)

Purple- Fandoms I love to roleplay!

Orange- Fandoms I roleplay sometimes.

White- Fandoms I don't roleplay (but am still in)

Animal Jam, Aggretsuko, Animal Crossing, Ace Attorney, Avatar the Last Airbender, Angel Hare, Alice in Wonderland, Amphibia, Adventure Time, Angel Beats, A Short Hike, Animaniacs, A Mall Near You, Ann, Attack on Titan, Bungo Stray Dogs, Bigtop Burger, Bandori, BURNER, BFDI, Bendy and the Ink Machine, Bluey, Blue’s Clues, Battle Kitty, Bonnie’s Bakery, Baldi’s Basics, Blackout Hospital, Cookie Run, Crowscare, Cemetery Mary, Camp Here and There, Critterspace, Captain Underpants, Corpse Factory, Cuphead, Creepy Tale, Dayshift at Freddy’s, Danganronpa, Deltarune, Doors, Doki Doki Literature Club, Dungeons & Dragons, Dogman, Dandy’s World, Death Note, Dialtown, Demon Slayer, Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared, Death and Taxes, Death Mark, Ensemble Stars, ENA, Ever After High, Five Nights at Freddy’s, Fundamental Paper Education, Fatum Betula, FNF, Ghost and Pals, Gorillaz, Good Omens, Genshin Impact, Ghost Eyes, Gravity Falls, GRIS, Gavril, Hello Charlotte, HFJONE, Happy Tree Friends, Honkai Star Rail, Hooky, Homestuck, Hello Puppets, Hero Hours Contract, House, Hypnospace Outlaw, Harmony and Horror, It’s Not Me It’s My Basement, Inside Job, Inanimate Insanity, Invader Zim, Indigo Park, John Doe, Kirby, K-On!, Littlest Pet Shop, Lego Monkie Kid, Lego Batman, Lord of the Rings, Lalaloopsy, Lucky Star, Lain, League of Enthusiastic Losers, Little Nightmares, Looking Up I See Only A Ceiling, Lost in Random, Leftovers, My Little Pony, Max and Ruby, Minecraft, Marionetta, My Hero Academia, Monster High, Moon Phase, Minecraft Story Mode, Mad Father, Milk Inside a Bag of Milk, Milky Way Prince, Mario, Night in the Woods, Ninjago, Nimona, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Needy Streamer Overload, Nana, Ni no Kuni Wrath of the White Witch, Omori, Over the Garden Wall, OK K.O, Octonauts, Ouran Highschool Host Club, One-Eyed Lee and the Dinner Party, Project Sekai, Pressure, Parappa the Rapper, Powerpuff Girls, Pepper’s Playhouse, Popee the Performer, Pretty Cure, Pokemon, Portal, Regretevator, Raggedy Ann, Rumbling Hearts, Resident Evil, Rythm Heaven, Splatoon, Secret Alliance, Star Trek, Sesame Street, Stardew Valley, Strawberry Shortcake, Star Vs The Forces of Evil, Sailor Moon, She-Ra, Spooky Month, Sanrio, Spiderverse, Studio Ghibli, Saiki K, Sonic the Hedgehog, Skullgirls, Steven Universe, Sally Face, Smile for Me, Shopkins, Steve Saga, Tangled the Series, The Sun and Moon Show, The Future Diary, Twelve Forever, The Thief and The Cobbler, The Walten Files, The Mandela Catalog, The Magnus Archives, The Lego Movie, Tattletail, The Muppets, Toilet Bound Hanako Kun, Trolls, The Stanley Parable, The Case Study of Vanitas, The Legend of Zelda, Twisted Wonderland, The Hobbit, The Owl House, TMNT, The Amazing World of Gumball, Transformers, The Prototype, Undertale, Undertale AUs, Underverse, Unikitty, Vocaloid, Varian and the Seven Kingdoms, Welcome to the Night Vale, Watamote, Wander over Yonder, Welcome Home, Wordgirl, Yuppie Psycho, Yandere Simulator, Your Turn to Die, Yo Gabba Gabba, Yu Gi Oh, Yume Nikki

KIND OF fandoms that I'm in kind of/have been in/am no longer in/know of: TADC, Hazbin/Helluva Boss, Musicals, Encanto, Barbie, SCP, Naruto, Scooby Doo, Care Bears, Jujutsu Kaisen, Dragon Ball Z, Dead by Daylight, Red Dead Redemption, Peach Girl, Amanda the Adventurer, Calico, Connection Haunted, Delicious in Dungeon, Our Wonderland, Dead Plate, Therapy With Dr Albert Krueger, Vincent the Secret of Meyers

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