#that's exactly it this is the first conscious choice they make!!! we NEED to see it

[wistfulwatcher]

#i am so with you on that one#i still hope we somehow get that explanation in the final#and up until now they've always used every minute in those 1h episodes#because if we really don't get any explanation how suddenly EVERYONE was on board with slicing the throat open#gutting and fucking eating one of their friends?#an actual LIVING person??#i can't#then i guess they lost me#no matter how much i love this show#cause the slow progression over these two season was all for nothing if they don't show the literally first conscious decision of the group (via @bb-bechloe-bonding)

i've sat with the episode for two days now, and i'm still just genuinely so disappointed and bewildered by lottie's suggestion that they sacrifice one of the survivors. as presented, lottie's reasoning for the need to offer one of them to the wilderness is because they're all struggling as adults. just struggling, not facing any real and true dangers like the threat of starvation they were facing in the wilderness. she wants one of them to die - the very thing she wanted to prevent natalie from doing A WEEK AGO! - so that the other 5 survivors' lives get a little happier.

sacrificing one of them so they can all eat in the wilderness makes sense. it's an ugly and brutal choice, but it's understandable. lottie's plan is not. and the thing is, they did have an opportunity in this episode to justify lottie's 2021 suggestion, and they just...didn't. because, presumably, the reason for lottie making the suggestion in 2021 falls under the reason the ritual began in 1997. but we didn't get to see that ritual discussion.

understanding their motivation for the sacrifice is crucial. it's been crucial for the past two seasons, it's been what we were building to, and it's the bedrock of their new religion. we know they needed to eat, and that the sacrifice was a practical one. but how did they decide that one life was worth more than another? that a group of lives were more valuable than one? philosophy nerd misty was in that room; did she explain the different schools of thought? did they decide that the overall health of the group was more important than a single life? did they decide that the group as an entity needed to survive? and what does "survive" mean? physical satiation? emotional stability, making a choice they could all live with? did they discuss their possible future selves? the idea of happiness, since that's essentially what lottie is pitching in 2021?

lottie's whole pitch is that they need to do this - LITERALLY DIE - to survive, so that is exactly what they needed to define in the ritual discussion for this episode to make sense. and they didn't.

[lockes-woods]

Kinktober '24 Day 14

Request: Zoro x Reader Jealousy Sex, Praise Kink, Choking. Reader seems to be getting too close to Sanji for his liking, as the reader helps prep meals as the crew got larger. The final straw is when she lets out an unintentional moan at Sanji’s food.

Request by: Author's Choice

WARNING: Choking, PIV, Jealousy Sex, Praise Kink

A/N: Sorry for the late update, I'm going to still try to post day 15 today.

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

“Where are you going.” Zoro groaned, voice still husky from sleep. Actually, he may not even be fully awake yet. It was always hard to tell with the lights off and Zoro’s ability to fall asleep easily. His hand reached out and cuffed your wrist.

“I’m going to help with breakfast prep with Sanji,” You answered softly, you were very conscious of your voice volume as Nami and Robin were most likely fast asleep on the other side of the wall. Originally the women’s quarters were just one big room, but after the first time of Nami walking in on you and your boyfriend having sex a wall was quickly constructed. Your room made up 1/3 of the space while Nami and Robin still shared a room that took up 2/3. While your room was on the smaller side, you were just happy they didn’t fully kick you out of the women’s quarters all together.

“Why does Mr. Prince need help with? He’s the cook.” Zoro dismissed, his grip on your wrist remaining firm, but not enough to bruise.  

“Baby, Sanji agreed to be the cook when there were only six of us, now there are eleven. It doesn’t matter how skilled he is that kind of volume is overwhelming.”

“Does he even let you cook?” he grunted.

“No, but I don’t really want to cook in front of a professional. I just help with prep and cleaning up.” You answer placing your warm palm over the hand Zoro was gripping your wrist with, “I’ll see you at breakfast. Okay? Why don’t you get some more sleep, we went to bed pretty late.”

“Exactly, it’s only been five hours since we went to bed,” Zoro argued, making no move to release your wrist.

“Oh? And whose fault is that Mr. Just-The-Tip.” You asked, quirking a brow.

“That’s funny because I remember a certain someone begging to cum a second time.” Zoro shot back; a smirk clear in his voice.

“Regardless I promised Sanji I’d help. Do you want to make me a liar?” You asked.

“Absolutely, if making you a liar means we get lay together for a few more hours” Zoro answered plainly. You roll your eyes despite knowing that he couldn’t see you,

“Baby,” you all but begged, “Please.” You asked softly.

Zoro sighed in response; he pulled your hand to his face kissing your palm softly before releasing his hold. You smiled down at him and pecked his lips before getting up.

“This better be an amazing breakfast,” Zoro gruffed, before rolling over to face the wall and go back to sleep. You slid out of bed, and quickly changed out of your pj’s (Zoro’s Shirt) into your normal clothing. You hummed to yourself as you lightly closed the door and headed over to the kitchen.

That’s how you spent the better parts of the last two weeks. Unbeknownst to you it had been wearing at Zoro’s patience. He grew a little more irked day by day until his feelings came to a head. It wasn’t just you helping him prep for the day’s meals ahead, but the soft smiles you’d share with the cook, the time you took out of your day to help him clean after each meal that used to be spent with him, and worst of all were the sweet noises you made while taste testing for the cook. You were always very vocal, not just in airing opinions, but also literally humming absent-mindedly, laughing with your gut, and of course during sex. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Sanji offered you the first taste of a new dessert. Zoro had just happened to be walking by when he heard a familiar sound; one only he wanted to ever be on the receiving end of. He barged in the kitchen at the sound of your second moan.

“Hey, love you have to try this new cake recipe Sanji i-” You couldn’t even finish your thought before Zoro grabbed you by the waist and threw you onto his shoulder. You squirmed and tried to protest until he began to descend to the lower decks. Recognizing you would never win this fight, you relaxed into his shoulder waiting for his next move. He barged into your room throwing you on the bed so hard you bounced.

“Zoro, what the fu-” You were once again cut off as his lips found yours in a fierce kiss, that he easily dominated. He was all over you, holding you down by your throat while also jamming his leg between yours grinding against your clit. You gasped in response giving him prime access to your mouth that he immediately took full advantage of. You couldn’t help but moan as he deepened the kiss and pushed his leg further between your legs. He smirked into the kiss as he felt you rolling your hips against his leg chasing the stimulation. You whined as you felt his firm grip on your throat. He wasn’t gripping strong enough to harm you. His hand worked as a collar of sorts. He just gripped you tight enough to keep you present in the moment.

You panted heavily as Zoro finally pulled back.

“Wha-Why?” you questioned, looking up at your boyfriend.

“You’re always such a good girl, helping at the drop of a hat, but sometimes you’re too nice,” Zoro said, resting his forehead against yours.

“How can you be too nice?” you questioned, pants finally dying out.

“You’re so keen on helping that shitty cook, that it’s taken up all your free time,” he replied. While he said it in his normal deep tone, his words themself were a bit whiney.

“Baby are you- are you jealous of Sanji?” you asked, mildly amused.  

“No,” he bites out, “I just think I should be the only reason you’re moaning like that.”

“But baby, you’re the only one who makes me moan that deeply. Do you know how many times Robin and Nami have complained about the way you have me a moaning mess during sex?” You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “You’re always so good when I need a firm hand, or other disciplinary actions to keep me in line”

Zoro grunted in response, looking away with a deep blush staining his cheeks.

“I’m not very good at hiding my emotions, trust me if I wanted to be with Sanji you would know.” You started with a smile, “Also...” you started before trailing off.

“What,” he asked, ever so slightly tightening his grip.

“I don’t think Sanji would be able to satisfy me like you do.” You confessed, “I’ve never cum harder than when I am with you.”

“Really?” he asked, smirking back and present on his face.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “are you feeling better now love?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m sorry I came so hard down on you earlier.”

“That’s okay,” you replied smiling up at him, “I’m always a fan of you cumming down hard on me,”

Zoro shook his head, a smirk stretched across his face. It was moments like these when it made him laugh when people assumed he was the most dominant and in-charge partner. Those who knew you both well enough could see that even in a submissive role you were in control. Zoro was very aware of the fact that he was only able to be the dominant partner because you allowed him to do so.

“Now,” you started, rolling your hips against his thigh, “Are you gonna finish what you started, or am I gonna have to go take care of myse-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Zoro began to strip you down as fast as possible while sucking and nipping down your body. You could only moan in response as he marked you up. He flipped you onto your stomach once you were fully nude. You could hear him panting behind you, as he worked his pants off before he nudged your knees further apart to make room for him. You couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed his swollen tip up and down your slit.

“Fuck, Zoro please,” you whined as he took his time easing into you. All his feelings of being left out, replaced, and him being possessive melted away as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he grunted as he pulled back and pounded back into you. You couldn’t do much but enjoy the ride as he gripped your hips keeping you steady as he thrusted into you like his own private toy. You lost yourself in the feeling of his cock bullying its way in and out of you, that even you are caught off guard by your orgasm slamming through you. You gasped as you squeezed against Zoro’s cock so hard that you trigger his orgasm. His hold on your throat tightens, only adding to your orgasm. He’s tactical with his last few thrusts, making sure that he’s fully flush with him before pulling out and slamming back in, cumming deep inside of you.  

“Fuck,” you moaned as Zoro stayed sheathed inside of you. A deep whine escaped you as he slowly eased out, before flipping you so you were now on your back.

“Shit,” Zoro groaned, but not for the sight of his cum trickling out of you, or your fucked out expression; his eyes were locked on your throat.

“Fuck, baby why didn’t you tell me to let go?” he asked, stroking your throat.

“Because it felt good,” you whined as he continued to run his fingers over your bruised throat. He shook his head, an amused smile on his lips.

“Did it hurt at all?” he asked.

“Only a little, but it felt really nice when I was cumming.” You answered, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You shared a smile, before pulling him in for a loving kiss.

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

A/N: Thanks as always for taking the time to read ^-^. I think this is my least favorite of all the one-shots I've written this month. If it weren't for the challenge I'd for sure delete it. But what can you do. Stay tuned for some Dom! Mihawk x Sub! Reader later today.

[greenqueenhightower]

Alicent's Harem of Useless Boys: A Green Council Scene in 2x05 Analysis:

The scene opens with a shot of Alicent’s hands on the small council table. As the camera slowly moves upwards we see Alicent's worried expression. Grand Maester Orwyle reports on Aegon's condition and adds: "There are more injuries within, injuries we cannot see." Alicent flinches. How much does this comment describe the state of her own soul.

"I'm not sure he will ever wake". Alicent makes a conscious effort to appear strong and obscure any display of emotion that might make the male council members think of her as vulnerable and weak. As much as it pains her to think about the possibility of her son's death, the small council isn't the place for her to expose her agony. She is sitting on that council as a Queen and an advisor. She must put any personal feelings aside. She is ready to play her part as a politician.

"We must name a regent to take his place until he recovers. Or does not." Alicent self-regulates by tapping her nails on the hardwood before her. She stands up and states how the small council ought to proceed next. They should capitalize on the battle at Rook's Rest and let the smallfolk hear about the King's heroic deeds. Then, it is she who first recognizes the need for a regent to rule in his place.

"I myself served in this role for my husband. I am well-prepared to do it again." Alicent knows it will be difficult to take all the council members to her side as she vies for herself as a regent. The camera cuts to all of them, Ironrod, Orwyle, Tyland, her son Aemond, Larys, and Criston, as Alicent reveals her eagerness and readiness to rule. I'm exceptionally struck by the shot where Alicent has stood up, presenting herself as both a sacrifice and a means of salvation, evidently stating: "Here I am, your new regent" and the council does not even dare look at her. They are unwilling to consider the possibility of having Alicent, a woman, rule over them let alone lead or save them. They have no need for a female Messiah, no more than they require a female King.

"And here I had forgotten." Alicent responds sarcastically to Ironrod's comment about her unfitness to rule, having only done so in a time of peace. Alicent is no stranger to difficult circumstances. Her restraint from impulsive violence, trained leadership qualities, and acute sensitivity towards the good of the smallfolk are exactly what this realm needs. Why don't they see her point? Who else has ruling experience? Certainly not Aemond, whose rash actions have caused two catastrophes already? Doesn't anyone fear what else Aemond might be capable of if he gains more power and the authority to exercise it any way he likes?

"The obvious choice is his immediate successor, Prince Aemond." The council members willingly blind themselves to the dangers of naming Aemond as regent. There is a moment of awkward silence as Alicent seeks supporters within her council. She turns to Criston who avoids her gaze yet again.

"Experience is valuable, yes, but the Dowager Queen is a woman." Grand Maester Orwyle is the only one to speak in her favor but is quickly silenced by Ironrod and Tyland who imply a lack of strength for their side if a woman is to rule. Alicent affirms how suited she has proved to be for the role before she turns to Larys, her ally, for support.

"What would it say if, in response to Rhaenyra's crowning, we raised up a woman of our own?" Alicent breathes more heavily as she understands that the nature of her being completely sidelined and bypassed for her unruly son is political. They are not expected to be taken seriously by their fealty houses and allies who have offered their support precisely because they dislike the idea of having a woman sit the Iron Throne. The basis of the Green agenda has come to be reduced to the patriarchal principle. Aegon should have been crowned instead of Rhaenyra because he was the first-born male heir. Any male heir in his place will do for the Green cause, regardless of whether he is the best choice and irrespective of any consequences to the realm. It simply does not matter.

"It's agreed then." Alicent sits back down and Aemond assumes the place of regent. Scorned by her lover, her allies, her son, and the rest of the council, Alicent experiences disillusionment with her own political ambitions. Right in front of her eyes, the men in her life conspire to silence her as they pursue their own goals. Larys did not miss a beat to expose Criston's betrayal to sting her. Does he hope to salvage a relationship with her? Does he now gloat over his triumph for making her feel like a complete fool for sleeping with one of them and doing favors for the other? Does he relish seeing her tower of trust in them both crumble, as the power slips through her fingers? Larys' gaze seems apologetic; Criston cannot bear to face her yet again.

"No one is to leave or enter, save with our consent." As the men in the council resume making their plans, the camera is fixed on Alicent who recognizes the little value placed on all she's done and sacrificed because she’s a woman. Alicent, who the entire time effectively hid any emotional vulnerability associated with femininity, now disassociates, shakes her head in dismay, breathes heavily and tears up, reveals her anguish over Aemond's decisions, and has the pangs of utter rejection engraved on her face. Alicent knows that closing the gates is a bad idea, yet she says nothing. Does her advice have any value anymore? Alicent finally discovers that her political prowess as a ruler is reduced to that of a spectator. There will always be someone contesting and undermining her grasp for power because she was born out of the Targaryen male-dominated world. But what hurts more at the moment, is the revelation that she supported it.

Or worse, that she gave birth to it.

She is once again a prisoner to the narrative that she so wished to escape, and her captors sit right next to her at the same table.

[laundryandtaxesworld]

I personally don’t have the money to donate to the Trevor Project, at this point, but I wanted to just give my thanks to Lou and all of my fellow BuckTommy’s.

So here’s my 911 journey….

I started watching 911, this year because I was looking for something new to watch and I was like “why not, let me try this fire fighter show.” I did enjoy the show at lot when I was first watching it, and interacting with the fandom on here, though my interactions were very limited at the time, but overall I enjoyed my experience. After awhile though it seemed like the show was going in circles with their characters, so I was losing interest.

Then season seven came out, and it changed so much for me. I got to see Buck learn about himself, and I was so happy because it felt like Buck was growing as a character.

I also got to see Tommy and I loved him from when he was flying the 118 through the hurricane. His scrunchy smile and his dry humor had me hooked. (To be completely honest, I did not realize it was the same Tommy as in season two because I forgot that was when he was first introduced and that he was a character in the first place.) I was literally beaming ear to ear with a smile as Buck and Tommy’s relationship started out because I was so happy that I could see this relationship on mainstream television.

As season seven aired I was both a Bvddie shipper (as that’s what I felt like I needed to ship when I first came into the fandom) and a BuckTommy shipper because I love Buck and Tommy together but at this point, didn’t want to let go of Buck and Eddie together romantically. But as season seven finished up, I got no more joy out of Bvddie and some of the Bvddies had become mean and toxic, and I didn’t want to be part of that. So I stopped shipping Bvddie (cue the death threats) and dove headfirst into BuckTommy and I haven’t regretted it at all.

It has been so amazing connecting and making friends with other BuckTommy shippers and I’ve felt so welcomed and loved by everyone, it truly has been such an amazing experience. I also am so happy that I got to make new friends that share my interests because I can just ramble about Tommy and they will all know exactly what I’m talking about. I wish all of my lovely friends an amazing 2025, and can’t wait to talk to you EVEN MORE about Tommy and Lou.

Onto my spiel about Lou.

I want to thank him so much about how much he cared about Tommy. We could all see how he wanted to play Tommy so delicately and how he was very conscious about his acting choices.

I also love his scrunchy smile because it gives me so much joy to see him happy, I hope he has a wonderful 2025, and knows that there are a lot of people that support him and his future projects.

Love y’all,

- Via 🩷

@alliwantforchristmasislou

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 27: You’ll Be In My Heart

Words: 1000

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

Rating: T

CW: Language

Summary: Time is running out to tell Eddie how you feel.

@corrodedcoffinfest

“We did it! We’re going on tour!”

The smile on Eddie’s face when he told you the news was the biggest and brightest you’ve ever seen on his face. The smile on your face was forced and fake, but attempting to be as convincing as it could for your friend’s sake.

This was his dream, what he’s been working towards for years. There was no way you could let him know how devastated it made you. That the very words crushed your heart and suffocated your soul.

“That’s amazing, Eds! I’m so proud of you!”

The first half was a lie. The second half was not. But it was worth it with how he pulled you into his arms and squeezed you tight against his body.

Keeping up a smile around him became harder to do with every day that passed. To appear as excited as he was while depression was eating you from the inside out was a challenge.

Other friends knew how you were feeling inside. It was hard to tell if it was because they knew how you felt about Eddie, or you’re just not a convincing actress.

“You should tell him,” Nancy advised you more than once. It wasn’t as simple as she made it sound, though.

Tell him what, exactly? How you’re desperately in love with him and have been since the day you met? How the thought of him being gone for months makes you wish you could go into a coma until his return? How the thought of all the pretty girls that will be all over him has made you vomit into your toilet every night for the past week?

None of that would go over well.

“Besides, it would be even worse,” you told Nancy, “to confess how I feel and then still have him choose to leave.” Because that would be a conscious choice of leaving you over staying with you. It would be harder to delude yourself that way, as well. To tell yourself that maybe if he knew, he would’ve stayed, even when deep down you know it’s a lie.

“It’s only a couple of months,” you tell her. What you don’t say is that you’re sure after this he’ll be leaving Hawkins for good. How could the band stay here if they wanted to be successful? It’s impossible in a small town like this. They’ll need to be in Chicago, New York, or Los Angeles.

So, you hold it all in. Every jab to the chest you feel whenever he brings up going on the road. The nausea that churns through you constantly, since you can never keep it off your mind.

Time worked funny leading up to the band’s departure. Waiting for the agony of saying goodbye felt like it would never arrive. Poking you in the heart every day saying, remember what’s coming! But at the same time, moments with Eddie felt fleeting. Every movie you watched with him felt like it was over in a blink. Every meal together it seemed like the food disappeared as soon as it was in front of you.

Finally, the day comes and it’s excruciating to pull yourself out of bed.

Even though the original plan was for you to help load up the back of Eddie’s van with all the equipment, it’s all finished when you get there. Further evidence of how excited he is to get the hell out of Hawkins.

Friends gather outside the trailer, Wayne standing amongst them with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Eddie grins as he begins to hug those who have come to see him off, starting with Dustin. Nancy stands next to you and it’s getting harder to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you from the corner of her eye. Willpower being at an all time low, you turn your head in her direction. Her eyebrows raise in question.

You shake your head.

Disappointment floods her face and last minute indecision fills your brain. Should you tell him? So at least he knows? You’re going to be heartbroken either way when he drives off, so is it worth the risk?

You blink back in to focus as Eddie steps in front of you. He gives you a sad smile and pulls you in for a hug.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” you mumble against his shoulder. Pressure builds up in your eyes and you don’t have the energy to hold it back.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he whispers.

You nod, not trusting your voice. But as he takes a step away from you, your hand reaches out without permission, grabbing onto the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Eddie?”

He turns back to you with a curious look in his eye.

“I…”

Most of the others are talking amongst themselves but you can feel the heat of Nancy’s gaze on you.

“I, um.” You swallow, looking into those molten chocolate eyes that haunt your every thought.

“I love you.”

A small yet genuine smile crinkles his eyes and he pulls you in for another hug.

“I love you, too.”

He gives you another squeeze and a pat on the shoulder before he moves on to say goodbye to Max.

Tears fall heavier now.

“Are you okay?” Nancy whispers from behind you.

You don’t have an answer for that, though. Everything has gone numb. The words that laid heavy on your heart for so long came out, but he didn’t get it. It’s not within you to debate whether or not that was for the best.

Goodbyes all said and done, Eddie gives one last wave before he hoists himself into his van and starts the rumbling engine. Your eyes don’t leave the rusty old gas guzzler until it pulls out of Forest Hills and leaves you standing there. Surrounded by friends but feeling utterly alone.

“No,” you whisper, barely audible to even yourself. “I’m in love with you.”

[demigod-shenanigans]

Summary: “Where’s Jason?”

The moment the words left Leo’s mouth, Piper crumpled against him, sobbing uncontrollably.

Leo wrapped his arms around her, more impulse than conscious choice. His trembling fingers bunched up the fabric of her shirt.

“Piper, what the hell happened?” he asked. He looked around, and, seeing everyone’s grave expressions, he felt like he was eight years old again, sitting in the back of an ambulance, waiting for the paramedics to tell him that his mom was gone. He couldn’t breathe. “Tell me- tell me he’s not-”

He couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t even begin to consider what it would mean if he’d failed to cheat the prophecy—if after everything they’d been through, he would never get to see Jason again. To his immense relief, Piper shook her head.

“He’s not- but Leo, it’s bad. Jason is really, really hurt, and we don’t have any stupid ambrosia left, and-” The rest of her sentence was swallowed by another bout of sobs. She was trembling like a leaf in Leo’s arms. “We’re not sure he’s going to make it.”

Written for @lost-trio-week Day 6: Reunion

Word Count: 6k

Rating: Teen and Up

TW for major character injury (Jason for the love of god please stop getting stabbed so much)

I did say I wanted to post two fics today, and I stuck to that, despite the fact that it’s currently absolutely unreasonable hours of the morning. I allowed myself exactly one heavy angst fic for the event, and it’s this one! Lots and lots and lots of hurt/comfort in this one. As with the other ones, some Valgrace that’s tied into a larger plot focused on the fact that all three of them care about each other so, so very much.

———

Leo could tell something was wrong the moment Festus touched down on the beach.

Everyone was looking at him, sure, but it was almost like they were looking through him. Not a single person managed to make eye contact.

Leo honestly wouldn't have minded this—direct eye contact felt really uncomfortable to him a lot of the time—but he’d learned over the years that when other people avoided eye-contact, it usually meant bad news.

For a moment, he was too caught up in his relief that Lester and Meg and Piper were fine to really let himself think about this, though.

He just went through the line of people and hugged everyone.

He paused in front of Piper—there was so much he needed to say to her, and he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate a hug before he’d properly apologized.

“Pipes, I-” he started, but then she looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and everything stopped. Terror grasped his heart. “Where’s Jason?”

Leo hadn’t registered Jason’s absence as weird at first. He hadn’t known for sure Jason would be here. With everything going on in the demigod world, there could have been plenty of reasons he was busy elsewhere.

Please let it be that, he thought.

But the moment the words left his mouth, Piper crumpled against him, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Leo wrapped his arms around her, more impulse than conscious choice. His trembling fingers bunched up the fabric of her shirt.

“Piper, what the hell happened?” he asked. He looked around, and, seeing everyone’s grave expressions, he felt like he was eight years old again, sitting in the back of an ambulance, waiting for the paramedics to tell him that his mom was gone. He couldn’t breathe. “Tell me- tell me he’s not-”

He couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t even begin to consider what it would mean if he’d failed to cheat the prophecy—if after everything they’d been through, he would never get to see Jason again.

To his immense relief, Piper shook her head.

“He’s not- but Leo, it’s bad. Jason is really, really hurt, and we don’t have any stupid ambrosia left, and-” The rest of her sentence was swallowed by another bout of sobs. She was trembling like a leaf in Leo’s arms. “We’re not sure he’s going to make it.”

“Pipes, hey, breathe,” Leo said gently, trying and failing to take his own advice on the matter. He couldn’t get a handle on his racing heart, but his arms around Piper felt a little steadier now. Hurt, even badly hurt, was a million times more manageable than dead. “Jason’s going to be okay. He’s way too stubborn to just die on us after everything we’ve been through.”

He said it with more confidence than he felt.

“It’s a miracle he’s even alive at all,” Lester said quietly. “But with the condition he’s in-”

“He’s going to be okay,” Leo repeated, because the alternative was unthinkable. Jason was going to be fine. They’d survived a lot of impossible shit together. He had to be okay.

Besides, Apollo— Lester —wasn’t the god of medicine right now. He wasn’t really the god of anything right now. That was sort of the point. 

What did he know, anyway?

“Where is he?” Leo asked, trying to ignore the anxious lump in his throat. “Can I see him?”

“Inside. Coach Hedge is with him,” Piper said immediately, slowly breaking the embrace. “Come on. Let’s go see Jason.”

~~~~

The former McLean mansion felt like a setting straight out of a horror movie. It was way too big, all the furniture was gone and the floorboards creaked as they walked inside. Piper’s hand was trembling in Leo’s as she led him down the hall to a room that smelled strangely of a mixture of disinfectant, mushrooms and gatorade.

Much like the other rooms, this one also didn’t have much furniture, with the exception of a lonely mattress. It was the most makeshift sick room Leo had ever seen. A bunch of supplies were loosely strewn about—some meds and bandages that had clearly been taken from a regular medical kit, along with what looked like sticks and moss and various other plants that he guessed were Hedge’s contribution.

Leo barely had the brain space to take in any of it. Instantly, his attention zeroed in on the mattress. 

Jason was pale as death. What Leo could see of his chest was wrapped in bandages. It rose and fell slowly, which was the only outward sign that Jason was alive at all.

Coach Hedge was sitting at his bedside and pressing a piece of cloth to his forehead.

“Still no change,” he said somberly. “The nature magic I used barely helped.”

“Thanks for trying,” Piper said quietly, squeezing Leo’s hand so tightly that it hurt. 

Leo had no room to complain. He was squeezing back just as hard.

“Yeah. I’m sure Jason appreciates it,” he agreed, trying not to think about the way Hedge’s attempt at sports medicine had looked and smelled when he’d tried to help with Piper’s broken ankle.

He knew the satyr meant well, and besides, Jason looked like he could use all the help he could get.

Hedge whirled around. 

“Valdez?” His eyes were wide with shock. “We thought you died!”

“Yeah.” Leo shrugged, eyes wandering back down to Jason’s too-still form. “I got better.” 

“I’d kick you across the room, but luckily for you, Mellie’s putting Chuck to bed right now,” Hedge said, his expression an attempt at fury that was dampened slightly by the fact that his eyes were misty. “He should be here for this. I need to set a good example,” he continued before Leo could attribute the first statement to the fact that he might not want to wake his sleeping child or something equally absurd.

“Good to see you, too,” Leo said, giving Hedge a weak smile. He dragged Piper along as he kneeled down by Jason’s side. 

“Hey. I’m back,” Piper said, gripping Jason’s hand. Her voice was quavering. “Leo’s here, too.”

Jason didn’t react. His eyes stayed firmly shut. 

Leo carefully reached out to touch his friend’s face. Jason’s skin felt cold and clammy, and it made Leo ill with terror.

But being so close to Jason meant he could at least hear his breaths.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

“We managed to free the Sibyl,” Piper continued, undeterred by the tears that had started to stream down her cheeks again. “She’s safe now. We couldn’t have managed it without your help.”

Jason’s unconscious form was unmoved.

“I’ve got some nectar left. It’s not much, but it’s probably better than nothing,” Leo said, rummaging through his bag for his flask. He cursed himself for not refilling it before he’d left Camp Jupiter. 

He hadn’t even considered asking if they could spare any. Not with the amount of people that were wounded. Not with another battle still looming on the horizon. Besides, he’d figured what he had would be enough, considering he’d be heading out of danger. 

Gods, he was such an idiot.

Piper’s face lit up just slightly when he produced the flask, despite the fact that it was nearly empty.

“We should wait until he’s a little more conscious, but yes, this will help.”

“What happened to him?” Leo asked, not sure he actually wanted to know the answer. 

“I-” Piper gulped, hard. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but her eyes had gone distant. He pulled her back into his chest.

“Sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too hard.” 

“I don’t know the details,” Hedge took over for her, “but he got a spear through his chest and a bunch of ocean in his lungs. Ocean generally isn’t great for children of Jupiter, even when it’s not in their lungs. He’s been out cold since yesterday.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t wake up.” Piper’s voice was awfully broken and quiet. 

Leo couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand any of this. Not the way she obviously blamed herself. Not his own fear. Not Jason’s pale face or his bandaged chest or how ragged his breaths sounded.

What Leo said next was reckless, and stupid, and also horribly insensitive. He couldn’t say he cared very much. He’d spent ages traveling, trying to get back to his friends. The only reason he’d made it through all these months of fighting monsters and camping out in the wilderness, which had been terribly reminiscent of the time he spent on the streets, was thinking about this—being back with Piper and Jason. Finally having a home to go back to where he’d be welcomed with open arms, mad as the inhabitants would probably be at him for disappearing for so long.

He didn’t have it in him to be sensitive or reasonable or smart when there was still a chance he’d have half that home ripped away from him.

“Oh, he’d better wake up. I’m never talking to him again if he doesn’t,” Leo said, crossing his arms. He was furious. At himself for leaving and at the world who kept ripping all of his loved ones away from him and especially at his stupid best friend and the fact that he always had to play the fucking hero. “You hear that, Jason? I swear on the Styx, if you die on us right now, I will spend our whole afterlife ignoring you. I mean it. I did not go through all that nonsense with the physician’s cure for you to croak the moment I get back here.”

He learned later that a broken Styx oath was half the reason they were in this mess. He had time to feel a little bad about what he’d said, then.

Right now, though, Jason’s fingers twitched in Piper’s trembling hands, and Leo couldn’t bring himself to regret a damn thing.

****

The sun had dipped below the horizon an hour ago. 

Piper was curled up in a sleeping bag, staring intently at Jason’s sick bed.

Her father was in one of the other rooms in an old sleeping bag of his own, probably fast asleep. He was trying his best to help—he had made her and Leo a truly disastrous meal in an attempt to make sure they ate—but it was clear he didn’t understand the situation. Piper wasn’t sure what the Mist was showing him, exactly, but it must have had a hell of a time trying to make sense of the fact that they’d chosen to treat their severely injured friend with homebrew medical supplies in the house they no longer owned instead of calling an ambulance. 

Hedge and Mellie had left for Aeithales a few hours ago, hoping to fetch some more demigod-grade medical supplies. She doubted they’d be back before tomorrow afternoon. 

It would have been more effective to just take Jason there— safer, too —but they couldn’t move him while he was in this state, so this was the best they could do. 

Piper had offered to come, hoping that doing something proactive might help her feel a little better about everything that had happened, but Mellie had put a hand on her shoulder and told her “your friend needs you. Both of you,” and that had been that.

Piper was exhausted, so she probably should have slept, but she didn’t. It had been three days since she’d last so much as napped for half an hour.

She couldn’t bring herself to sleep. Couldn’t bring herself to take her eyes off her injured friend. Guilt was gnawing at her, hollowing out her chest until there was nothing left. 

She was supposed to protect Jason like he’d always protected her, and she’d failed him, in the same way she always seemed to fail her loved ones.

She was fifteen and her absentee goddess mom had to save her father because Piper wasn’t strong enough. 

She was sixteen and Leo didn’t trust her with his plan or the real physician’s cure, and then he was gone, and she couldn’t do a damn thing. Couldn’t find him, no matter how desperately she tried. 

She was almost seventeen and Jason was comatose because her powers had failed her when she’d needed them the most. 

Her mother was the goddess of love, for crying out loud. Her love for her friends should have been her greatest strength. 

It wasn’t. Her love was a dagger that she only ever managed to point at her own chest. Piper loved herself bloody, and it was never enough.

Every time she closed her eyes, she was back on that damned yacht. She saw the determined expression on Jason’s face, then the spear through his chest. She saw Jason stumbling into the chasm where the yacht was breaking apart, dropping like a rock.

She knew she couldn’t change what had happened. 

She still tried to reach for him every time. And every time, her hands grasped empty air.

She kept having to remind herself that Tempest had slowed Jason’s fall and dragged him back out of the water, but it barely helped. Nothing really seemed to help, with the exception of watching the slow rise and fall of Jason’s chest. Any time she turned away from him, she was afraid she might have imagined it—that she might turn back and find his body utterly still.

“Pipes?” Leo asked, looking up from where he was sitting on the floor. “You good?”

Having Leo back by her side should have been comforting, but it felt much the same way Jason’s survival did—like a dream she would wake up from any moment now.

Piper was used to waiting. She had spent much of her early childhood waiting for a mother who had never come back. Later, she’d spent ages waiting for her father—to come home, to visit her at school, to remember she existed for more than a few days a year.

She was great at waiting for things that would never happen. She had no previous experience with waiting for things that did.

She’d stopped hoping Leo would come back a long time ago. Now that he had, she wasn’t sure how to handle it. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Leo to dissolve into Mist like the rest of her life had.

“Fine,” she lied, moving closer to where he was sitting. Leo wasn’t doing much better than her, sleep-wise, but unlike Piper, he’d at least found himself something useful to do. Currently, he was in the process of inspecting one of Aurum’s diamond eyes that had come loose. Piper looked down to where the two dog automatons were lying in sleep mode, heart clenching again. “How’s it looking? They’re gonna be okay, right? Reyna will probably kill me if any of the damage is permanent.”

Aurum and Argentum had gotten pretty banged up dragging Calligula off Jason. They’d retaliated, getting in a few nasty strikes that would have been satisfying to watch if Piper’s heart hadn’t been dropping to the bottom of the ocean at the same time. Now, the damage they’d taken was just another item on the ever-growing list of Piper’s failures.

She hated the thought of anything happening to the dogs. She’d seen the way Reyna interacted with them—the fond smiles and head scratches and the inadvisable treats she snuck them whenever she thought no one was looking. 

To say Reyna struggled to let herself be soft would be the understatement of the year. But it was obvious to anyone with eyes that she loved her dogs to death, and after everything that had happened to her, the last thing Piper wanted was for her to lose them, too.

“‘Course I can fix them. But you know Reyna wouldn’t have given you the whistle if she hadn’t wanted you to use it, right?” Leo asked, putting aside the diamond before reaching out to touch her arm. “One of the first things she did when I got to Camp Jupiter was ask about you, and not in a ‘I’m worried she’s gonna wreck my automatons’-way.”

“I just…” Piper balled her hands into fists, losing the fight against her tears. “All of this is my fault. If I had-”

“Beauty Queen, hey. Don’t be stupid,” Leo said gently, pulling her into his arms. “There’s lots of people you could blame. Calligula is a really obvious one. Or Lester and his dumbass oath. Or, you know, me. Never yourself, though. None of this was on you.”

Piper looked at him with a startled expression. “Why in the world should I blame you? You weren’t even there.”

Leo deflated against her chest. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“Leo…” 

“I thought I could cheat the stupid prophecy,” Leo sniffled, holding her tightly. It was like her crying had made his dam break, too. “But I couldn’t. And now Jason’s hurt, and I- I wasn’t there.He could have died because I wasn’t there.”

“I think you did cheat your prophecy,” Piper told him, squeezing him back just as tightly. “It’s not your fault we failed to cheat ours.”

“The gods really seem to have it out for us,” Leo said, huffing a half-laugh, half-sob against her shoulder. He felt warm, in the nice, soothing way he always had. “Why else would we get so many shitty death prophecies, huh?”

“Yeah. I think we should get a refund on this whole demigod experience. I want my money back.”

“Tell me about it.” Leo opened his mouth to say something else—likely to make another joke, no matter how hollow it rang—but then he froze. “Jason?”

Piper turned, feeling cold as ice at the realization that she’d taken her eyes off him for a moment. She was terrified of what she would find.

But Jason’s chest still rose and fell steadily. More than that—he was moving his head, blinking in obvious confusion.

Leo and Piper were by his side in an instant. 

“Hey buddy,” Leo said shakily. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts,” Jason rasped, wincing when Piper touched his face.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” she told him, her lip wobbling. Jason’s eyes were glassy, and his skin felt way too warm. “Shit, I think he’s running a fever. Leo, we need-”

“On it,” Leo announced, already elbow-deep in his tool belt. 

With all the months they’d been separated, Piper had almost forgotten how naturally these things came to them. 

She remembered sitting at Jason’s bedside, re-bandaging the stab wound in his abdomen that refused to heal. Remembered Leo handing her bandages and disinfectant and holding Jason’s shoulders steady to make sure he didn’t move too much.

They’d done this before. They hadn’t needed words, then. They wouldn’t need them now.

For the first time in months, Piper actually felt like things might be okay.

****

Jason woke up tasting cocoa. He only knew three things for certain. One: from what he remembered, him waking up should not have been a thing. Two: everything hurt. Three: everyone was mad at him.

Things had been hazy and painful for a while. He could tell that people were speaking around him, but despite the fact that his aching head couldn’t seem to properly process the words, he could tell that the voices sounded upset. He was pretty sure that was his fault.

Everything was blurry and dark and a cold, wet thing was on his forehead and he couldn’t make sense of any of it.

“You’re gonna be okay,” someone said from the darkness, barely more than a blurry shape. Jason knew the voice, but he couldn’t remember how he knew it. He tried to make out the person’s features, but the harder he tried to focus, the more the image in front of his eyes swam. “What do you need?”

He registered he was trembling, mostly because it made his pain worse, but he couldn’t get his body to stop.

He wanted to ask for- Jason wasn’t actually sure what he was going to ask for. Something warm, probably. A blanket, maybe. Something to make the trembling stop.

But that wasn’t what came out of his mouth when he opened it.

“I wanna go home,” he said instead, feeling incredibly childish. “Please.”

There was a pause.

“You mean camp?” a different voice asked. It was just as familiar as the first, but something about it was strange, too. Jason hadn’t heard that voice in months. He didn’t know why, but hearing it kind of made him want to cry. “Dude, you got skewered less than a week ago. We’re not making a fucking cross-country trip right now.”

“No,” Jason said, feeling whiny and desperate. He didn’t care about camp right now. Camp hadn’t felt like home in forever. “I just want Piper and Leo.”

“Oh,” the second person said, voice quavering. Hands gripped his. Strangely, one of them felt several degrees warmer than the other. “Jeez, how out of it are you?”

For a moment, Jason struggled to process the question—which was probably an answer in and of itself. But then he remembered. 

Remembered that Leo had been gone for months and the only way he’d be seeing him again was making it to Elysium. Remembered the prophecy that had told him it had to be him or Piper. And he’d woken up, which meant it hadn’t been him, no matter how much he’d wanted it to be. 

If he was alive, that had to mean-

Jason wanted to cry. His lungs wouldn’t work right. The already blurry world grew even blurrier around him. 

“Jason? Jason, you’re okay. Breathe.” The hands squeezed his tighter. Fingers combed gently through his hair. The voice was so sweet that all thoughts vanished from his head until he could remember nothing except how to breathe, despite the horrible ache in his lungs.

“There you go. That’s better. No more stupid moves, alright, Superman?” the other blurry shape told him. “Piper and I are getting real sick of patching you up constantly.”

Finally, the voice slotted into its rightful place in Jason’s fever-addled brain, and now he felt like crying for a completely different reason. 

“Leo?” he asked weakly, then coughed a few times, which did really awful things to his aching chest.

“Gods, it’s been, what, six months? Did you already forget what I look like?” Leo asked, teasing and concerned and alive.

“No. You're just really blurry,” Jason told him, attempting to blink the spots out of his eyes without any success. Like he could ever forget what Leo looked like. Like he hadn’t spent the past months filling an entire sketchbook with portraits because he was terrified he’d forget the slightest detail. “My head hurts.”

“Of course it does.” Leo sighed. “Please tell me he didn’t get concussed again. At this rate, it’s a miracle he even remembers his own name.”

“Actually, I’m the one who ended up concussed this time. We decided we needed some variety,” the other voice said, and this time Jason knew it was Piper. She was okay. They’d both made it. 

“Yeah, I get it. Gotta switch things up occasionally,” Leo joked.

Jason was exhausted and everything hurt, but he didn’t care. Piper and Leo were right here with him, and nothing else mattered.

He was home.

~~~~

The next time Jason woke, someone had switched on the sun and his surroundings weren’t nearly as blurry.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Feeling better?”

Leo was leaning over him. Jason could properly make out his features now that it wasn’t the middle of the night and he wasn’t quite as hazy with fever.

Leo had strange highlights in his hair, and it had grown a little longer since Jason had last seen him, but other than that, his best friend looked almost the same he had eight months ago. With a sting in his chest that was entirely unrelated to his injuries, Jason realized Leo also looked worn out in the same way he always had back on the Argo. His shoulders were slumped and he had deep rings under his eyes.

Jason couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn’t process the fact that looking at Leo was a thing he got to do again.

Leo raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you checking me out?” he teased, smiling widely despite his obvious exhaustion.

The next thing Jason did was probably ill-advised, medically speaking, but he couldn’t stop himself. Wouldn’t have wanted to, even if he could have. He pushed himself up into a seated position and wrapped his whole body around Leo.

The pain came a moment later, bad enough to almost be blinding, but Jason didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, he was never letting Leo go again, no matter how badly it hurt.

“We thought you died,” he said breathlessly. The tears came unbidden. 

Jason had never really allowed himself to cry much. He hadn’t had time for it, and besides, it hadn’t felt like his place when he was supposed to be the brave, competent leader at all times. 

Crying in front of other people wasn’t a thing he could ever remember doing.

But he was past the point of caring about that right now, because his best friend was alive and breathing and so, so warm against his chest, and that was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Dude, stop!” Leo said immediately, eyes wide with alarm. “You’ve got two broken ribs and a hole in the middle of your chest! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“I don’t care,” Jason insisted, holding him tighter. “I thought I’d never get to hug you again.”

“I love you to death, okay?” Leo told him, sounding exasperated. He squeezed Jason just slightly, for barely half a second, before he expertly wiggled himself out of the embrace. “But it took me days to finally coax Piper into getting some rest. If she wakes up and you’re worse off than you were when she went to sleep, she’s going to kill me, and I doubt I can get her to nap for as much as half an hour again if that happens.”

He gestured vaguely to the other end of the mattress where Piper was curled up like a cat, snoring softly.

She was alive. All three of them were alive. 

Jason still couldn’t fully believe it.

“I’m not going to-” Jason started, wincing when he lowered himself back down onto the mattress. “Ow.”

“Told you so,” Leo commented, but he didn’t look very happy about it. “Take it easy and get better, okay? Then we can maybe renegotiate the hugging thing.”

“You suck,” Jason told him, but he couldn’t stop smiling. 

Leo was okay. They were all okay.

“Oh, I know.” Leo grinned. “I’m about to suck a lot worse, too. Hedge made more of that sports medicine stuff. Full disclosure, we’re not sure if it really does anything, but at worst, I figure making you take shitty meds will discourage you from getting stabbed a third time.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Jason grimaced, but he did drink obediently. 

Swallowing sucked. His throat hurt and his mouth felt parched and the strange liquid didn’t really help with either of those facts.

But, weirdly enough, he didn’t mind the taste too much.

“This actually isn’t that bad.”

Leo looked at him strangely, then turned towards where Piper was sleeping. 

“Pipes, are we sure he isn’t concussed?” She just continued to snore softly in response. “I’m gonna take that as a no.”

“Is Piper okay?” Jason asked, trying to sit up again to take a proper look at her. “She didn’t get hurt, did she?”

“Nuh-uh. None of that. You’re resting,” Leo protested, gently pressing his shoulder back down onto the mattress. “Piper’s not hurt. She’s just really tired. I think she’d be significantly more fine if her dumbass best friends would stop dying in front of her face, though.”

Jason winced. “I promised her I wouldn’t do anything stupid. But we were all going to die, and I just- I couldn’t lose anyone else.”

“Dude, Piper’s the one you have to apologize to, not me. I may not be happy about it, but I get it. I did the same damn thing, remember?”

Like Jason could ever forget. Like he hadn’t spent months dreaming of the burning sky. 

He reached out to grip Leo’s hand—warm and calloused and just enough to remind him that Leo was fine.

“Let’s just agree not to do that anymore, okay?” 

“Yeah, deal. I’ve died more than enough for one lifetime.” Leo grinned, but then his smile wavered. “So, you’re- uh- you’re probably wondering where the hell I disappeared to for so long.”

“Leo-” Jason started, trying to express just how little he cared in this current moment. That the only thing that mattered to him was that Leo was alive.

Leo went on talking like Jason hadn’t said anything.

“No, I get it. It’s a fair question. Also, you’re allowed to be mad at me. Everyone’s mad at me.” Leo rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “I sort of went back for Calypso.”

“Oh.” 

Something clenched in Jason’s chest. He hoped it wasn’t showing on his face—Jason’s messy feelings were his problem, not Leo’s—but from the way Leo’s face fell, it was obvious he could tell something was up. 

“See? Told you you’d be upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you. I just-” Jason sighed. “Are you two…?”

Leo looked confused, then utterly baffled in a way that immediately melted the ice in Jason’s chest. 

“I didn’t go back for her because I was in love with her. I knew this girl for like, a week, tops.” Leo laughed. “I went back for her because she’s been stuck on an island for three thousand years and that fucking sucks.”

 “Oh.” Now Jason just felt like an idiot. “So you’re not dating?”

“Nah. We’re not even very good at being friends, honestly. We argued almost the whole way back here. But she’s free now, and the Waystation seems to make her happy. She deserves that.” Leo shook his head. “Did you seriously think I ditched you guys to get a girlfriend? Wow, if that’s what everyone assumed it’s no wonder I got punched so much.”

Jason froze.

“What do you mean, you got punched?”

“Everyone at Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter was really mad at me for disappearing the way I did. People lined up to hit me. It was a whole thing.” Leo shrugged. The nonchalant way he said it made Jason feel nauseous. “So, yeah, if you think you’re feeling good enough to punch me, you and Piper still get a freebie. If you wanna yell at me instead, that’s cool, too. I’m not picky.”

Before Leo could say anything else, Jason had wrapped him in his arms again.

“Jason! Seriously, stop sitting up! This isn’t- if you make yourself worse-” Leo protested, but this time Jason didn’t let him go. He didn’t care that it hurt. He couldn’t just lie there and listen to Leo talk about himself like that.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason said, holding him tightly, feeling incredibly angry at the fact that he lived in a world where Leo needed that reassurance at all. “Nobody should hurt you just because they’re mad at you.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Leo insisted, but he was trembling slightly against Jason’s chest. “Besides, I sort of deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Jason spoke softly into his hair. “You really, really didn’t.”

Leo didn’t say anything else. He just let his head drop onto Jason’s shoulder and cried.

A moment later, the mattress moved and another pair of arms wrapped around both of them.

“Gods, I let myself sleep for three hours and suddenly you’re not resting and you’ve managed to make Leo cry. What in the world did you two get up to?” Piper complained groggily. 

Jason wasn’t surprised they’d woken her up—they hadn’t exactly been quiet even before Leo had broken down sobbing. 

There were so many things Jason probably should have said to Piper. 

Thank you for saving me, for one. And, sorry I got myself stabbed.

But he wasn’t sure how to say any of those things. Since the breakup, he’d barely known how to talk to her in general. Things had been so weird between them in the last few months, and he had no idea how to fix that.

He ignored everything he didn’t have words for, and instead chose to just say “Leo got punched.”

“What?” Piper blinked at him. “Did he annoy Hedge or something?”

“Not right now,” Jason explained, then relayed everything Leo had just told him to Piper.

Unlike Jason, who had been more concerned than anything, Piper just got angry.

“Names. I need names,” she demanded immediately. “Whose idea was this? I swear, when I’m done with them, they’ll wish-”

“Okay, calm down!” Leo let out a startled laugh. “Guys, I appreciate this, seriously, but can we just group hug for now and put the murder plotting off until later?”

“I guess,” Piper grumbled. “As long as we will do it later.”

Jason had a feeling the later in question would be applied to a variety of things beyond murder plans, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to think about everything they’d still have to deal with. Not when things were finally starting to feel normal again.

~~~~

Jason had managed to tear his stitches. 

Leo and Piper would not stop chiding him about this for the following half an hour as Mellie patched him back up and redid his bandages, which she covered in truly ridiculous amounts of aloe vera for reasons Jason didn’t entirely understand. If nothing else, at least the sensation was soothing.

In the end, he was sentenced back to bed rest.

When he told his friends he didn’t really feel like sleeping because he’d already spent the last few days unconscious, Piper suggested they watch a movie, so that was what they did. Leo got a miniature projector out of his tool belt that painted a large rectangular image on the ceiling, and then the three of them just laid there together, watching the movie and sharing the snacks that also came out of Leo’s tool belt. The movie was about talking cars that were also large robots, which Jason was pretty sure would have gone entirely over his head even if he hadn’t still been slightly feverish and his aching chest hadn’t made it impossible to focus. He didn’t really care that he didn’t understand the movie, though. Leo had picked it, and therefore he’d already decided he was going to like it, even if he couldn’t follow the plot.

Leo spent the first thirty minutes of the movie quietly mouthing along the words, which was endearing beyond anything Jason had ever witnessed. Then, suddenly, he was fast asleep with his head on Jason’s shoulder, radiating a soothing warmth. 

Piper didn’t speak. For a brief moment, Jason thought she might try to start a conversation about everything that had happened, but then she closed her mouth again, maybe deciding to save it for when he wasn’t distracted by pain and she wasn’t exhausted.

Instead, she just reached out and took his hand, squeezing it hard.

Jason knew she would forgive him, then. 

Lying there sandwiched between his best friends, the pain in Jason’s chest ceased to matter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so completely safe and content.

Home had meant a number of things to Jason over the years. As a small child, from what little he remembered, home had meant people arguing and only ever feeling safe in his sister’s arms. With Lupa, home had meant protection in exchange for him proving his worth. Growing up in New Rome, home had meant chores and responsibilities and others looking to him for guidance. 

Jason was still getting used to the fact that it could mean other people taking care of him, too. That it could mean just existing in other people’s spaces and being loved for it, even if you had nothing beyond your own love to give in return.

And the quiet, selfish part of him that grew steadily louder told him that, given him the choice, he would always choose this—that he would always choose them —for as long as he lived. 

———

Fic Notes:

-Hey, I had to do at least one angsty piece of Injury Hurt/Comfort fic for this event, right? I’ve got a brand to stick to.

-Fun fact about this fic: I originally came up with the concept in the context of a completely different, far sillier valgrace fic that I have yet to finish. Part of the reason I didn’t finish it at the time was that I wanted it to be silly but then I started coming up with the backstory and it got way too angsty, lmao. So maybe that’ll be easier now that the backstory is a fic of its own.

-The reason Reyna’s automatons are here is Jason’s whole comment about how the word at the end of the prophecy has to be “die” because “one of us will dog” makes no sense. It’s immensely silly and I’m pretty of proud of that one. I feel kind of bad that they just disappear halfway through the fic, but Jason didn’t know they were there at all, so he doesn’t notice. Please assume Leo finished fixing them up while Jason was conked out and they’re doing well and are off doing Tyrant’s Tomb stuff with Reyna currently.

-Also yes, I did specifically put the punch line thing in because the fact that it happened at all makes me angry. People lining up to punch a kid we know suffered abuse in foster care is not very funny to me, actually. I’ve seen several angsty posts about how “Jason didn’t even get to punch Leo for disappearing 3” and I felt the need to point out that a) Jason wouldn't have punched him and b) he’d be horrified Leo would even suggest it at all.

-I’ve got one, potentially two more fics I’d like to set in the same universe as this (one of them being the aforementioned silly Valgrace fic), but I’ve always got too many fic ideas at once, so we’ll see if and when I get around to actually writing those.

Thank you so much for reading!! As always, feedback is immensely appreciated.

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

Further proof of Our King's anxiety and trauma: His body language. He has a habit of putting his hands behind his back. It's a self-soothing and self-preservation gesture. But then when he's more relaxed, he doesn't do that.

Case in point: Look when he meets Asha. At first you don't see his hands. They're behind his back. When he does bring a hand out briefly, it goes behind his back again. But when he warms up to her, his hands come out.

The same goes with when he's addressing his people about the magic. His hands are behind his back, and they stay there unless he brings one hand out to do something and then he puts it right back. He's uncomfortable, he's guarded and it shows.

Which is why his people should have known that something was VERY wrong when he came out on stage possessed. His body language was VERY different. He was stumbling around drunk, but his hands were both visible. His body language had drastically changed because he was essentially inebriated on dark magic. That should have been a BIG clue in that something was WRONG, not that the king was suddenly evil.

YES! THIS! 🤌🏼

I've been stressing from the beginning about this! While hands loosly clasped in the back can be a sign of confidence and relaxtion, Magnifico's way of hiding his arms is different most of the time.

Now, I have always been good at reading people but then I studied psychology for a while and trauma conditions, the mental impact it has and how it shows.

Magnifico oozed trauma the very first minute I saw him. And when he mentioned what happened, plus the burned wall-rug, I knew it was deep! All his behavior clicked for me.

That is also a big part why haters villanizing him gets me fuming mad. If I was to follow their logic, then Elsa is a villain for running away and leaving her kingdom to freeze die, or Maui, who stole Tefiti's heart and caused destruction, or abuela Alma, for treating Mirabel like trash, or Imelda for forbitting music in her family, Abuela Elena for smashing Miguels guitar!

The hypocrisy is off the charts!

And the worst thing is exactly what you mentioned last. The people of Rosas not being able to see that something was horribly wrong with their king. He was so clearly not himself and no one gave a toot. It's easy to explain though. The didn't know their own king and nor did they care. All they cared about was their wishes. Their needs. Their desires. Magnifico was just their source for favors and when that well ran dry, they dropped him like a stone. Talking about selfishness!

Magnifico was never evil. Did he make some wrong choices because of his trauma? Yes. But nothing he ever did made him a villain. The only villain there was, was the book! The book, or rather, the evil force/entitiy in in! And yes, we saw that demon-thing drawn on the page. Not to forget the green clawed hands! No, magic itself isn't a conscious living, thinking being, it's a supernatural ability used by a fessel. And as a christian I can tell you the only thing behind "dark magic" are demons.

You will see this whole topic deeper explained in the upcoming cooperation post "the Magnifico case". But here is a little thing from it.

This isn't Magnifico

This is!

This isn't him

This is!

The fact that people cannot differentiate between this and understand what a possession is ...

Anyway. Anothing very interesting thing I wanna draw attention to is what comes out of Magnifico's mouth once he is full on possessed. He says things that are 100% contradictory to everything he stood for and fought for.

See the reflection thing in the fountain? It's where the quote "I win!" Falls! Why is this so deeply unsettling? Because there is nothing he won! All Magnifico ever truly wanted was happiness and savety for others around him. Magnifico's trauma had caused him to be immensly fearful and paranoid when it came to the savety of others because what happened to him left scars in his soul as deep as a canyon and he wanted no one else to ever have to suffer like he did. He didn't want power, he didn't want fame! He only wanted what's best for others and in return get some love and respect for what he did. Which, yes, he deserved anyway!

Back to my two cents of my christian opinion. It's pretty clear that the evil side does nothing but steal, kill and destroy. It's all it ever wants. To hurt and wreck. That thing that has been trapped in that book must have waited eagerly for who knows how long to get a victim it can use to destroy and use to destroy. So when that thing had taken control over Magnifico's clear consciousness, it obviously said "I won!"

Even sadder is that we could see the exact moment, the entity leaves Magnifico and he is left with confusion and panic because all he sees are the wishes floating away into the nightsky.

Also, where did the green enter and leave? Into and from his heart!

This is the same fear only increased!

And NO! God NO! It is not "Ah, no, I don't wanna lose my power and control over the people because I'm a malicious beast and I wallow in their suffering and enjoy them not being able to make one of their wishes come true!"

No. Just. No. This is ignorant, this is stupid nonsense. This is seeing evil where there is none. This is villanizing trauma!

And then some people go "Oh God, what a monster! What a evil man! Poor kid! It deserves to swim! How dare he not let the kid swim!"

Compare this to a father, who previously had lost a brother or even his first child to a drowning accident. Now the next child is old enough to swim and is running towards the water. Everyone knows the kid will jump in, swim and have fun, but all the father can think of is the potential danger of his child drowning as well. Maybe it will get a cramp, or a shark will bite it, or it gets stung by a jellyfish, steps on a venomous sea urchin, gets a heart attack, gets pulled away by a current ...

You see where I'm going?

And then the father runs, sweaps the child in his arms and forbids it to go near the water and swim because it is too dangerous. He tells his child.

"You stay here with me, as long as I deem it saver! I'm your father, it is my responsibility to keep you as safe as I can! I only want the best for you!"

And of course the child is pouty.

"

"Well, if there is a shark, it can be stopped. I might just bite one leg off of the child ...oh well...The father clearly doesn't know what he's doing! And I must know, I don't even have children!"

"Everyone call the police! Let's put this father behind bars! He's so cruel and abusive to his poor child!"

"And good heavens! He snapped at the child for saying it is old enough to decide if it wants to swim or not! And he replied that he decides if the child swims or not! What a narcissistic psychopath! He needs to be stopped!"

Anyway, I'm very excited to soon share that big boy of a post with you, where I dive into each and every aspect as deep as ever with the help of Magnificolover from instagram. 🎶

How does that sound? And now imagine one of these judgemental, entiteled, selfrighteous, ignorant people calling the police. And the police arrests the man and no one at the beach does anything. No one thinks "wait a minute! This is wrong!"

I can already smell the haters cooking new arguments 😂 feeling snubbed at their toes cause we defenders are right! And you know what? We will only get louder! We are already the vast majority! Including children!

They're mad at us and our defense? Good! Maybe then it is time to ask themselves why it is that the majority is on Magnifico's side! Or why children starting by the age 5 (my cousins son for example) can clearly conclude that the only reason Mags went nuts is because of the evil book. Better yet, they see that Asha and the people of Rosas are in the wrong how they treat their king. And children are brutally honest.

Stay loud my fellow defenders! 🔥

[tangerinesgirl]

The Birds and the Bees

Herr König x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: König wants to continue his preservation efforts, you're left with no choice but to volunteer yourself.

Rating: 18+, NSFW

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: spoilers for Cuckoo (2024), somnophilia - I better warn of possible non con with this jic even though both parties consent to it beforehand, you're both freaks but that's alright, I'm so sorry, breeding kink, lots of fluids, p in v, voyeurism, bit of a pregnancy kink, also technically monster fucking?, God complexes

Notes: honestly, I was tempted to leave this one in drafts, but I have zero other ideas for a König fic atm, and I wanted to get something out there.

🐦

König had shown you what exactly the resorts purpose was as soon as you started dating. He was very passionate about these creatures and could see their potential. You remember watching your first mating ceremony, a silent tear falling from your left eye.

"What is it my dear?", he asked, noticing how moved you were at the spectacle.

You shake your head, eyes focused on the glass in front of you. "They're beautiful", you stare into the young girls eyes, it was like looking at a starless night.

König notices how moved you are, he holds your hand to comfort you. He let's out a small sigh of relief as he brushes away your tear.

__________

Years pads and the resort is getting quieter and quieter. König is busy experimenting, coming up with ways to make the result of the ceremonies more successful. A creature that is part human, who doesn't need to be controlled.

__________

"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't one hundred percent certain my dear".

You swallow nervously, "one hundred percent?"

He nods. You've both tried searching for new people to join the resort but you've pretty much drained the German alps population. You don't see any other choice, and you trust König with your life. He knows the creatures more than anyone, spending most of his life studying them.

You read the consent form König drew up for you, when you asked for the science behind it and exactly what the test entails. You look up at him, his deep blue gaze piercing straight through you, yet somehow comforting. He reaches out to put a comforting hand on your thigh.

"You don't have to do this, we can figure someth-"

"No. It's okay. I ... I trust you", you sign the document and let out a shaky breath. Even though you're telling the truth, there's a tiny doubt inside you that you're not sure what's going to happen. Or how it'll feel. The document does mention headsets and safe words, and König will have his eyes on you always.

König stands up and moves over to you and embraces you. "You are so brave, my love, history will be made".

___________

König opens the doors, and the creature enters the room. Your mind jumps back to when you first saw this exact room all those years ago. At first, you didn't think you would be here, but on the other hand, it somehow felt inevitable. Like König always had a plan for you.

The creature approaches you from behind. You're sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the inevitable. The lady claps your head between her palms as you fall backwards onto the bed.

You're semi conscious as you hear König summoning the young cuckoo lady with his flute. You can hear him through the headset as well as the speakers in the room. You're grateful you have no other staff in the room, but some on standby in another room, just in case.

You look down the bed and see her offering her seed to you. You throw your head back onto the bed in exhaustion as she inserts her hand into you.

"That's it, good girl", you hear over the headset. You can hear König breathing heavily, and a very faint sound of clothes rustling, "you're so pretty like this, you're taking her so well, my beautiful angel". You can tell he is maturbating to you from his groaning, you spread your legs wider accepting her gift, arching your back, letting her in. And also giving König a show.

Once she has planted her seed, König signals for her to leave, and locks up the door from the control room. He then walks over to you, your eyes struggling to stay awake.

"You did great my love", he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You try to look up at him through your eyelids and let out a small smile. He walks around the bed and you can feel it dip as he straddles over you. You reach out to hold his cheek with your hand, but fail to keep your arm upright. He places it gently on the bed above your head. He removes your headset, hushing and reassuring you that everything's okay.

He strokes your thigh and dips his fingers under your dress, feeling the slick left by you and the lady. He smiles noticing that you enjoyed the encounter. The feeling immediately makes him hard, as he removes himself from his white pants. He begins to align himself at your entrance and inserts his length slowly. He let's out a deep guttural moan, trying not to cum on the spot. It was like he's dreamed about this moment.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head feeling König inside you. The slick and his cock feel amazing, you moan his name as you try to wrap your legs around his waist, looking for more friction.

König touches your thigh as a signal for you to stop and let him do the work. You mind flashes back again to when he did this the day you signed the paperwork allowing this experiment. Although in this moment, it didn't feel like an experiment, it felt like nirvana.

He starts to thrust into you, as you continue to drift out of consciousness. He notices you trying to fight the sedative, "it's okay my sweet, don't fight it, I've got you". With that, you begin to pass out, the last image of König looking at you in awe.

König continues to thrust into you, he can't help but think that you're somehow even prettier asleep. He can feel himself getting close as he thinks about the events of the evening, the slick of the creature covering his cock, and also fucking the love of his life who is just as enamoured with the preservation of these wonderful creatures as he is.

He starts to play with your clit to make sure you're also having as good as a time as he is. He's not sure if you can feel it, and can't wait to ask you about it afterwards. König's rhythm starts to go unsteady as he slows down reaching his peak as he cums deep inside you. He places a hand on your stomach, feeling himself releasing his seed inside of you. He groans, milking himself of every last drop, and collapses on top of you.

He waits a moment before carefully removing himself from you. Replacing his cock with his hand, making sure very little of the fluids escape you.

He sits down with a sigh on the corner of the bed with his hand still cupping over your vagina. He looks behind him and notices your still fully passed out. He looks at his cock, covered in slick and cum. The sight is enough to make him hard again, as he rubs his free hand around his cock.

__________

"Wake up, my dear", you can hear König ushering you awake, you realise you're cradled in his arms on the bed, with him looking down at you. "How are you feeling?". You stretch as you groggily wipe away the sleep from your eyes.

You let out a little content smile, "I feel...fucking amazing", you laugh. You're usually careful with your language around König, with him being so well spoken.

He smiles too and rests his hand on your stomach. "I believe our preservation efforts have been a success".

Even though it's still too early to tell if the seeds have taken hold, you can't help but feel invincible, like a God, hopefully carrying one of these creatures inside you. You place your hand on top of his. "I think so too".

[m4rdb]

An insight into the characters based on their approach to the “Allie problem”

If good writing means that every scene has the potential to say something about a character at their core, then the girls' attitude towards the "Allie problem" is an interesting example.

Taissa

The one who comes up with the very plan. This establishes her as ambitious and extremely rational, but it’s the type of rationality that without grounded moral principles could degenerate into violence and cruelty at any time. It’s what we see with adult Misty and Walter, who are both so practical-minded that resorting to murder is nothing more than a smart option to choose to them.

Like Jackie says, Taissa has so much fight in her. The way she handles the Allie situation shows that if she has a goal, she’ll do whatever she finds necessary to obtain it.

How does that translate into their time in the wilderness?

Taissa’s the first to make the call that they should leave the plane and find water. She’s the one who sleeps in the attic when everyone else wouldn’t, she’s the only one who tries to tell Jackie she shouldn’t leave. And in season two, she’s the one who says, “We need to find a way to stay alive, and it can’t be her [: Lottie]”.

Then we see them drawing cards. We’re not shown how they get to that very decision exactly, but it’s important that we know that the two things are tied. The hunt that follows, their first conscious hunt (let’s not forget about Travis), wasn’t supposed to happen—it’s rather the consequence of the designed sacrifice refusing to take on the role.

Though there’s an obvious religious aspect to it, drawing cards isn’t just letting fate/the wilderness decide in their place so that they don’t blame themselves. It’s also the girls’ attempt to give the ritual some semblance of logic and structure—on a normal day, they would draw cards to decide who gets which task. They’re using the same mechanism, except that they’re now deciding who should die and get eaten. And it starts with Taissa’s very rational and straightforward remark about needing to survive.

Natalie

She openly and passionately goes against Taissa’s plan. Despite being presented as the outsider who doesn’t really engage with the team and disregards rules by smoking and doing drugs, she’s the one who fights to play fairly. She most likely doesn’t care about Allie personally, but she’s a teammate, and they should treat her as such.

While Tai’s ultimate goal is winning at Nationals, Natalie doesn’t want to win more than she wants to be a team (T: What’s your plan, then? / N: I dunno, play like a fucking team and win? It’s worked so far.).

It’s quite ironic—yet not that surprising—how, despite being opposites, Natalie and Jackie share a similar mindset about this.

The scene establishes Natalie as a sympathetic character with grounded and noble moral principles, no matter the adversities. In the wilderness, she’s the first and possibly the only one who acknowledges Travis’ grief and sees through his unsufferable attitude and understands that, as much as questionable his methods are, he’s trying to make sure Javi gets over their father’s death and wants to live on.

It's also meaningful that Natalie’s not there when Jackie and Shauna fight and Jackie ends up leaving the cabin. The night earlier, Natalie was the one who let her out when Lottie and the others locked her in and went to hunt Travis down. Natalie basically saves the girl who just had sex with Travis being perfectly aware that it would hurt her, and she doesn’t even know. Viewers do know, though, and we’re instinctively led to think of her as even more noble and deserving of empathy.

Jackie’s death certainly comes from an irrational choice, but the deepest reason is the others’ lack of sympathy towards her at the end of the season. It could be delusional, but I can’t see Natalie turning a blind eye on the whole thing, had she been there.

Jackie was their captain when they had a normal life. Natalie becomes their leader thanks to the constant effort she’s put into the group ever since they landed there—and possibly, as the matter with Allie shows, even before that.

Lottie

Lottie’s phrasing for her refusal is telling. She says, “It doesn’t feel right.” It’s not that she thinks it is, or that it seems like it is. She feels like they’re not meant to go through with it. A simple yet fitting choice of words foreshadows Lottie’s spiritual nature and her connection to the wilderness as well as her role of prophet/messiah.

It’s also important that she’s not shown as particularly proactive. She does express her opinion, but she’s not as passionate as Natalie about it, who instead actively tries to convince them what a terrible idea it is and interferes with Taissa’s plan on the field. This shows how Lottie never cared be a leader, but rather follows where her feelings lead her.

Van

We’re not really shown Van’s reaction until they’re in the locker room after the scrimmage. We just learn that she’s impressionable, as she almost throws up at Nat’s mention of Allie’s bone being visible, and that she’s so devoted to Tai that she won’t let Shauna talk shit about her at the party.

Laura Lee

Of course, nobody would even dream of telling Laura Lee about an act of such misconduct. She would never go along with Taissa’s plan, she wouldn’t even fathom doing something like this. She’s more clueless than Jackie, because Jackie at least did notice something was off on the field. Even at the party, Laura Lee is the only one who still has no idea there were such tensions.

Her blissful ignorance keeps her kind and pure, apart from the ruthless tendencies of the team. It doesn’t change once they’re in the wilderness—Laura Lee dies trying to help her friends, and she fortunately never gets to witness their worst moments.

Shauna

Unsurprisingly, Shauna’s a tough one. Her attitude towards the Allie situation is as ambivalent as it will be for the rest of the story towards everything else.

Shauna keeps her thoughts for herself until Nat and Lottie leave and it’s just her and Tai, and even then, the first thing she says is, “Jackie’s not gonna like it.” The moment she’s asked to make a personal decision, she talks about what Jackie would think, and it’s not because she herself doesn’t know what to think, it’s just what she chooses to say outright. If anything, Shauna isn’t against Taissa’s plan entirely, and bringing up Jackie rather sounds like an excuse so that she doesn’t dwell on her own dark thoughts.

When Taissa says, “Then we probably shouldn’t tell her,” we expect that to upset Shauna—she wouldn’t keep things from Jackie, right? They’re best friends. While it does upset her, it still doesn’t stop her. We understand why later in the episode, when we discover that she’s no stranger to keeping secrets from Jackie, between her affair with Jeff and the admission letter to Brown (it also recontextualizes their first scene together in Shauna’s car, where Jackie addressed literally both).

On the field, when Taissa plays aggressive and forces Allie to play under pressure, Shauna tells her, “It’s not helping,” and once Allie’s on the ground, she’s one of the girls who runs to her first and tries to comfort her. Even though she didn’t openly disagree with Taissa’s plan, she didn’t want or expect things to escalate the way they did. She’ll make the same mistake when Jackie leaves the cabin, Taissa tells her to go talk to her, and Shauna just goes to sleep, underestimating the consequences of it.

Her ambivalence—if not hypocrisy—is shown later that night at the party, when she tries to pick a fight with Taissa while drunk. I think some part of her felt guilty to an extent, so she tries to fight with Tai out of remorse and because she wants to make her look like the only culprit, since she hates that she was so close to being complicit in it. Who calls her out when she defends Nat from Taissa’s slut-shaming at the party? Natalie herself slams in Shauna’s face that she is complicit.

If Shauna had told Jackie, she would’ve put a stop to it for sure. In the 2019 script for the pilot, Jackie says, “You should have told me about Taissa and Allie.” Shauna’s choice to keep the secret directly anticipates their falling out towards the end of the season. Shauna’s continuous lying drives Jackie mad until she explodes and they have that fatal fight.

Shauna’s the one who tries to act as a person who has it together but really doesn’t. She has the potential to be a good person, friend and mother, but she ends up flunking everything and she barely understands why.

Finally, she tells Tai that she’s “a fucking sociopath”, which, considering everything that happens later in the series, is sort of rich.

Jackie

Like Laura Lee, Jackie has no clue the whole “freeze Allie out” strategy is even happening. Shauna didn’t tell her, she was left out, and she doesn’t find out until Allie’s already hurt and there’s nothing she can do about it.

She watches the others as they rush to help and comfort her and handle the situation, but she doesn’t partake in it because she’s too shocked to move. After the scrimmage, she tries very hard to do as Coach Martinez told her—as captain, she’s meant to glue them together (“When it gets tough out there, these girls are going to be looking for someone to guide them. Can you handle that?”). It’s more than that, though—the way Coach put it, if Jackie can’t do that, then she isn’t really anything special. She’s not as fast as Shauna and her footwork isn’t as good as Lottie’s, and there’s something else that Taissa’s better at, too, though Jackie stops Coach before he can tell her that bit. But nobody seems to care about what she’s saying, and Natalie storms off.

Jackie’s inability to handle the Allie situation and lift the others’ spirits foreshadows her incompetence as well as her progressive loss of influence in the wilderness—in Lottie’s words, “You don’t matter anymore.”

Allie’s accident marks the beginning of Jackie’s downfall even before the plane crashes.

[horizon-verizon]

I'm still on my self-imposed Tumblr writing break but I had to share this comedy gold mine where Condal tells us all about "impostor syndrome" before I'm overtaken by the urge to write an essay on it instead. I have no time to cook. Fortunately, we've been served a meal on a silver platter.

https://bigthink.com/high-culture/house-of-the-dragon-ryan-condal/

House of the Dragon, which premiered in 2022, might have continued that [Game of Thrones] trend. Instead, the show proved a return to form, offering the same Shakespearean dialogue and political intrigue that made people fall in love with Martin’s fictional universe back in 2011. The second season is just as good, if not better.

I can see that this is going to be a very fair assessment of Condal and his work.

“Every day,” Condal confesses when asked if he suffers from imposter syndrome. “For me, though, it was less the scale and scope of House of the Dragon and more its visibility that intimidated me."

😭😭😭 It's okay! He wasn't worried about whether he'd do a good job! He was just worried about how visible his ingenious work would be.

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

The business major is about to tell us about historiography. The question is, does he understand historiography? Or does he think he's inventing a new concept?

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated.

Yes, we know. It's actually very related. Especially the way Condal does it. I'll also point out here that his university was a private Catholic institution. I don't feel the need to connect those dots right now.

"I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there."

I... this tells us two things about the writing process and attitude behind it. Two things we already knew. But... it's sure telling.

"I was able to navigate challenges that some of my colleagues with filmmaking and art history degrees maybe weren’t prepped for."

In theory, nothing wrong with this^ statement. But in context...

While some criticism is valuable, too much can lead to creative paralysis. “I tend more towards the negative than the positive, so I made a conscious decision to stay away from social media when I got this job,” Condal says. If anything, he believes the healthy distance he maintains between himself and his audience has improved the show: “Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

I repeat my prior sentiment.

Ultimately, Condal’s own passion for Martin’s writing outweighed any doubt he had about his own. “I’m trying to make the type of show I would enjoy as a fan, which I am. And while I realize my ideal fan show will be different from someone else’s, I still think that it’s a good true north heading on my compass. Actually, I think that’s why HBO hired me in the first place.”

Oh, we know.

“It was hugely intimidating, moving to a new country [the U.K.] and working with a new but also hugely talented crew that I had to — not tell them what to do, exactly, but lead them; collaborate with them. I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show — those relationships were easy to establish.”

Make it stop.

The most important part of making a successful fantasy show isn’t the sets, costumes, or special effects, but lore. Fictional places like Westeros have their own unique cultures, customs, and social institutions, all of which help create the illusion that this fantasy world is as real and complex as our own. To transfer that illusion from page to screen, the writers must know Martin’s work as thoroughly as Martin himself. “It’s not just me,” Condal says. “We are all deeply entrenched fans of George. One of our writers has worked with him for many years. If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

Well that explains why they're worse than Gyldayn.

Condal: “Textual references are best done in light touches to remind people that this is a fully realized society with hundreds of years of mapped-out history to it. And you don’t need an entire scene to do that. Instead of writing, you can communicate details environmentally through props like heraldry. For the fans, these little touches tell them they are in good hands. Better yet, they know the details are there just for them, the hardcore fans. For everyone else, the casual viewers, this stuff is flying by 100 miles an hour, and they probably won’t notice it. But it’s there.”

Again, there's nothing wrong with this^ in theory. In. Theory.

“I’m definitely an architect,” says Condal, “and I think I have to be as a screenwriter, because our life is so deadline-driven. The literal definition of a playwright, W-R-I-G-H-T, is ‘one who builds plays.’ A dramatic writer is almost by necessity a structuralist, and I very much fall into that camp.”

Now wait for it... wait for it... Keep in mind these are Brinkhof's (article author) words. But wait for it.

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall. Sticking to Martin’s analogy, “gardening stories” grow like trees, their narratives branching out in an exponential number of paths, making them difficult to finish. As of today, Martin has spent more than 14 years on the next installment in the Song of Ice and Fire series, his prolonged bout of writer’s block forcing Weiss and Benioff to come up with their own ending.

No words. Now back to Condal.

“The advantage we have over them is that we’re dealing with a finished text, where they were working with an unfinished, living work,” Condal says. “Where the Game of Thrones team had to trim down 5,000 pages into a few dozen scripts, we’re challenged in the opposite direction, turning around 100 pages into a multi-season arc of television, and that requires a lot of invention.”

Oh? So... you do know where it's going. Which means your "inventions" should... probably lead there?

Condal treats Fire & Blood like a real-world historian might treat a manuscript from the Middle Ages. “These three writers all had personal agendas which, to me, seem to reflect one of the main themes of our show: powerful women living in an unbreakable patriarchy. The writers, particularly the priest, appear to blame the war on the squabbling between Rhaenyra and Alicent.”

No comment for now. No... comment...

House of the Dragon pretends to show the real history that Fire & Blood recorded and distorted. Some events happen the way the one of the three authors describe it, while others contain elements of all three conflicting accounts. Others still indicate that none of them got it right. As a rule, every character in the show is far more complex than the jester, maester, and priest made them out to be.

I... I... I... I... I...

“Alicent can be the stereotypical evil stepmother at times,” says Condal, “just as King Viserys, played by Paddy Considine in season 1, can come across at weak. However, the thing that in-universe historians don’t get about Viserys is that he was carrying the burden of a prophecy passed down through generations and couldn’t tell anybody about it. A lot of his supposedly weak decision-making was actually in service of this secret prophecy. We were trying to show that there was more to him, that multiple things about him could be true at the same time.”

Must... Resist... Urge... To... Write... Essay...

“We have to arrive at the same endpoint as the book,” he reminds himself. “Whoever George said becomes king must become king at the end of the war. Hopefully, though, we have a bit of latitude leading up to that, to show how history has been interpreted differently at different times by different historians. I realize I’m playing with fire, but it does excite and fascinate me — to be able to comment on how history is made, not just this fictional history, but all history. It’s all propaganda to some degree.”

😭 The clownery.

Historiographers weep.

@rhaenin-time, you must be stopped. Ryan should be , too, but you have decided to bring me in close proximity to this nonsense. I am sitting here, eating chewy ChipsAhoy, and you came in here like a wrecking ball with this news....I hate you. [read, this is a joke]

I don't think I'll be able to address every thing I want to address in this. I want to be done with this show, I have been tired since the 6th epi of the last season.

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated. [...]

I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there. [...] Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

Who tf does this man think he is?!!! Yes, I needed mother-son coochie eating. I needed to have a brown girl erased for a rapist to become a family man with a sick child. I needed Cole fucking Alicent at least 3 times instead of a brown haired Targ make instrumental alliances with more people to add to his stepfather's armies in the Riverlands. I needed to see nonexistent and sterile parallels. I needed to see a black woman be burned alive when she actually died at least surrounded by family, her ignored by her husband so his later marriage to a white girl be that much more special. I needed to see a disabled man jerk it over a queen's bare feet like she's in OnlyFans and doesn't know where her next meal is. I needed to see a pretteen prince jerk it over a window and barely even tell what his brother was doing later with Vhagar, instead of another preteen girl bond with the most powerful dragon of the then living ones. I needed to see a woman so much more hypocritical than her book counterpart be framed as one of the wisest women to exist while she praises Jaehaerys I of all people for having a peaceful reign, as if his decision to have that council has no responsibility for the now burgeouning war--OR that she still wouldn't be more resentful of Jaehaerys' actions ot pass her over, yes even now when they are deliberating war..bc praising Jaehaerys itself is NOT as important or more moral than her feeling "some type of way"...why did we need Jaehaerys praise now instead fo actual strategy?!--coming up right now.

He can't even properly write character ACTION as opposed to REACTION (Seth Abramson's article on substack):

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

And yet Daemon dislikes his daughter or grow impatient with her bec she doesn't have a dragon....while he only claimed one at 16 or a bit younger with Caraxes AND Targs don't actually bond with dragons in the cradle that often, actually usually doing it in preteens to teens AND Aegon I definitely had to bond later in life as well. And said that Aegon I lived/was alive when Old Valyria still existed. Allowed Criston Cole to be called Dornish both by Alicent and the fans without giving us any explanation or exploration of that identity esp when canonically he came from the Stormlander part of the Dornish Marches. "Encyclopedic" my nonexistent ballsack! He has no authority to claim that F&B is so unreliable that he can't tell truth form agenda-motivated fiction and then claim himself intelligent or "brilliant" at the same time!

"avant-garde"...yes bc it's so revoluntionary and creative to have a man lick his former home from his own mother in a "vision". As if making a woman her son's character tool wasn't something HBO already did with its female characters and perform male gaze....okay...As if he's special and different from other male writers and it not just keeping with ASoIaF adaptation tradition. It added so much to the story other than the sick eroticism of something already cleared up last season.

I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show

No you didn't. If you did, you wouldn't have had a such a problem with the pacing, the numerous inconsistencies, plotholes, the [if true] possible merge of Rhaena and Nettles and many episodes would't contradict each other as if one writer disagreed and vetoed another. And you'd see why/how show!Rhaena's purpose must be kept more or less the exact same as her in the bk for the post-Dance environment. We'd have Maelor. We'd have Daeron mentioned and described much earlier, not as some sort of random ass surprise that is bound to thrown so many locals off when he does appear.

If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

....what the fuck does this even mean?! There are no fucking graduates of anything in Westeros and there are no archmaesters of real life bc the set ups in education of EU medieval history vs Westeros are so different it's not even funny. there are no universities for one to even imagine there are Westerosi "graduates", and there is no way you can tell if a graduate would be more or less educated than a grandmaester, bc we don't have rules of "graduation" or gradations of maestership exactly like the modern one. There are archmaesters, the Gran Maesters, acolytes, novices, and finally regular maesters who may or may not go ut to be the personal assistant and tutor in other lords' households. The modern school system can never be properly equalized in structure or depth or habits to Westerosi maestership, the instituton.

Therefore trying to create some sort of analogy as if grads exist in Westeros by immediately using "grandmaester" for another you're aligning yourself with is just so stupid. Worst part is, I know exactly what he's trying to say, but his use of this device is so wrong that I'm mad and sure people will just take this at face value instead of see how inept this man is with literature analysis and thus creative writing. Reminds me, ironically, of his saying he's inspired by PARADISE LOST in writing S2...if you don't sit yourself down to hell, sir!

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall.

And there it is, Ryan is prepping to use the ole fan excuse of "not much story left" excuse people had for D&D, and it makes sense how he would considering how F&B is considered to unreliable to adapt even the clearest events and characterizations as they are given....

[the-himawari]

A3! Seasonal Event Translation - A Mechanical Christmas (4/11)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Homare: “Behold. This is my final and absolute best creation—a snow machine!”

Masumi: “Is this… snow? It’s cold, white… and it melts as soon as you touch it.” “This is the first time I have seen something so fleeting yet beautiful…! I see, Master. So this was the precious sight you spoke of!”

Homare: “…Indeed. This is the final thing I wished to show you.”

Masumi: “—! Master, master…!”

Homare: “…”

Masumi: “…Yes. I was certainly able to see it. Master’s first smile…”

Izumi: …

Itaru: That was a rough run through, but I guess it flowed well?

Tsumugi: Right…

Homare: …

Izumi: Homare-san, are you having troubles with this?

Homare: Ah. Director-kun and Tsumugi-kun noticed after all.

Tsumugi: …If I can be candid, I felt like you were showing a bit too much emotion for the role.

Homare: So you thought so as well… I am purposely trying to keep my emotions in check. However, perhaps I am too conscious of it that it’s showing instead. I am certain that my past self would…

Omi: We still have time, so we’ll be fine for the show if we start making small adjustments now.

Kumon: Exactly! Let’s go over it again!

Homare: …Mhm. Could we please go over the last scene one more time?

Tsumugi: Of course. We’ll rehearse it as many times as you’d like.

Masumi: …

-pause-

Izumi: Okay, let’s call it a day here. Great work, everyone!

Homare: Good job. Now then, I shall excuse myself.

*door closes*

Izumi: (Everyone has their own things to work on, but I wonder if Homare-san will be alright…)

Itaru: GJ.

Kumon: Thanks for the rehearsal!

Omi: I’ll look forward to tomorrow.

*door closes*

Masumi: …Tsumugi, do you have a second?

Tsumugi: Yes?

Izumi: Are you two going to practice some more?

Tsumugi: Yes, just a little bit.

Izumi: Go ahead. I’ll be heading out first then.

*door closes*

Tsumugi: Could this be about Homare-san?

Masumi: …Yeah. I’m worried about Homare’s acting.

Tsumugi: I see. That makes sense. You’re the one who interacts the most with Homare’s character.

Masumi: If we keep going like this in the days we have left, then we can put on a decent show. But that’s not what I’m aiming for. Homare probably knows that too.

Tsumugi: I’m sure Homare-san is worried since he also wants to make it the best it can be.

Masumi: Homare said that his character resembled his past self. Honestly though, I can’t imagine that. That’s why I wanted to ask you, Tsumugi. You might know something since you’re in the same troupe as him.

Tsumugi: …I assume you thought I would have some clue to solve the current issue?

Masumi: …Yeah.

Tsumugi: I do know some things, but… I don’t think it’s something that I can speak about.

Masumi: …

Tsumugi: That being said, if you’re really worried then why don’t you try asking Homare-san directly?

Masumi: Would Homare even tell me if it’s not something you can share with me?

Tsumugi: Hmm, I can’t say for sure. But… if it’s the current Homare-san, then he might tell you.

Masumi: Ask him directly… That reminds me, Homare said he’s been to Punk Park a long time ago.

Tsumugi: Oh, right. Perhaps something happened at that time. If that’s the case, then maybe going back there would help.

Masumi: Me and Homare going there together…

Tsumugi: You don’t need to make that face. It’s to prepare for your role. And speaking of which, I’m sure everyone else would go along with you. I know I'd like to check out the venue in advance and take a look at the stage size and snow machine while I'm at it.

Masumi: (I guess that’s Tsumugi’s goal.) (But if we want to break through our current situation, then we have no choice but to go…)

---

previous | next

[ninadove]

If the woman next to Nathalie is indeed Amelie and Emilie is still dead, how do you imagine Amelie and Felix will redecorate The Agreste Mansion? (Assuming that they move there since Amelie is now Adrien’s only adult relative left.)

Oh my gosh Anon. That is SUCH a cute ask, but let me tell you, you have opened Pandora’s box and unleashed 50 levels of overanalysis upon the world. Time for me to turn into an architecture and interior design major for the sake of this post.

In order to get a good sense of Amelie’s taste and of the massive work that needs to be done, let’s compare the shared spaces in the Agreste mansion to those in the Graham de Vanily penthouse.

The first thing that strikes me is that the palettes are exactly the same: white and black are the dominant hues, with a pop of colour coming from earthy tones. And yet, the two atmospheres could not be more different! In my opinion, this boils down to a few key elements: lighting, shapes, space, and purpose.

1. Lighting

The most obvious one. Just look how miserable the Agrestes’ living (?) room looks in comparison to the Graham de Vanily’s. There’s an interesting subversion here when it comes to lighting sources.

The Agrestes’ mansion relies mostly on natural lighting, which gives it a greyish, depressing look. Windows are everywhere, and they’re big, but they aren’t meant to let the sun filter through; instead, they ressemble a cage keeping Adrien in.

Sunlight represents the outside world, which Gabriel "No one matters except us" hates. In his mind, whatever looms outside of the mansion is dangerous. Hawkmoth’s attacks always start with letting the light in, the same way he welcomes his victims’ negative emotions; while he keeps Emilie safe in the crypt, as far away from the sun as possible (even when we do see it fully illuminated, it has to come from an artificial source).

Emilie’s cosy little basement, Gabriel’s office and Nathalie’s room — the adults’ world — are the only spaces that get the courtesy of significant artificial lightning. In other words, there is not enough light and joy coming in from the outside, and definitely not enough coming from the inside to compensate. Which is super sad if you ask me.

Now onto the Graham de Vanily penthouse. We do not get many shots of it, and most of them are taken at night time, which I (want to) believe is a very conscious choice on the writing team’s part.

While Gabriel refuses to let sunlight, and everything good it symbolises, into his son’s life, Amelie welcomes the night and the potential dangers it carries with it. The windows make up two entire walls, offering a full view of the outside world.

Notice how the moon and stars are nowhere to be seen in this shot, yet the penthouse remains significantly brighter than the mansion on the sunniest day. The abundance of artificial light in the Graham de Vanily home, light that comes from within, is a symbol of the love they share as a family.

So obviously, we need to get Adrien some lamps, urgently.

2. Shapes

The thing about the Agreste mansion is, it has potential.

No really. Hear me out.

The use of straight lines (vertical in the overall architecture, expanding like sun rays in the minimalistic decor) is reminiscent of Art Déco, which is a very fun style. For instance, it gave us the Chrysler building:

But here, it’s just… Not working. In fact, these same lines are what makes the entire building look like a cage — not just the windows I mentioned above, but the entire structure of the place, trapped between vertical lines like behind prison bars.

On the other hand, the Graham de Vanily penthouse is ruled primarily by horizontal lines, which expand the space instead of compressing it. It’s smaller, but it feels bigger and more breathable.

This difference in structure directly contributes to my third point:

3. Space

More precisely, how it is organised to make the mansion look threatening, and the penthouse cosy.

And by that I specifically mean this AWFUL NO GOOD TERRIBLE STAIRCASE.

It’s the first thing we think about when picturing the mansion; how it towers over the characters and crushes them. There’s a reason Marinette’s act of defiance in Pretension was to rush up those despicable horrifying very very bad stairs to find Adrien; they are a symbol of Gabriel’s power over his world, his fans, his son, his victims.

Interestingly enough, the penthouse is also built on several levels — which we can infer by the presence of a very discreet mezzanine. This implies the existence of stairs, right??? Where are they???

It’s very blink-and-you-miss it — the exact opposite of the Agreste staircase. To the Graham de Vanilys, stairs are just stairs: a necessity for their comings-and-goings, a useful infrastructure in their day-to-day life as a family. Not a display of power and control.

Oh? Is that a transition I sense? Absolutely, for it is time to move on to the last part of our analysis:

4. Purpose

Just like the staircase, every single piece of furniture in the Agreste household serves a purpose. Adrien’s room is the best example of this phenomenon.

On top of the essentials (bed + desk & computer combo), we immediately notice:

- A plethora of trophies, reinforcing the message that Adrien has to be the best at everything he does, always;

- An impressive bookshelf, illustrating the top-notch (and somewhat elitist) education Adrien has been receiving at home.

"But Nina!" you might ask, "What about the fun stuff? What about the arcade games and the basketball hoop and the climbing wall?"

I hear you. Those things look pretty cool, don’t they? Until you remember that Adrien has spent his entire life in isolation. These are all appliances that would normally be found outside of the house, giving him an opportunity to socialise. In other words, they are meant to deter him from seeking enjoyment in the “real” world. If, like me, you were obsessed with N Harmonia as a pre-teen, you might notice some striking similarities to his cage room:

Still not convinced? Say hi to our friend the foosball table!

Meanwhile, on the actually loving side of the family, you get an entire piano and AN ACTUAL ABSTRACT PAINTING:

It’s not even figurative — unlike the portraits of the Agreste family members or the statue in the garden, constantly reminding us of Emilie’s absence. It’s art for the sake of art, which makes a massive difference. Things are allowed to be there for no reason other than Amelie and Felix like them.

So now that we’ve established that

How would they redecorate the mansion if given the chance?

1. Lean into the Art Déco aesthetic for a much needed dose of actual (yet elegant) fun. There are so many lines and curves to play with to get rid of this feeling of imprisonment we get from the pillars!

2. BLOW UP THOSE FUCKING STAIRS. No, really. We can find a much cuter, less pretentious alternative to whatever kind of power trip that was.

3. Get rid of the stupid bars on all those windows. Replace them with literally any other option that doesn’t make you want to choke on a pancake.

4. Also, get some lamps. Lamps EVERYWHERE, on the walls, on the ceiling, on the furniture. The resident vampire is GONE, we can have some goddamn light in this goddamn place.

5. Indulge in the pleasure of buying things just because they’re pretty. Trash the paintings and put up some actual art (abstract or not) instead. Exorcise Emilie’s ghost and Gabriel’s tacky tastes out of this place. This process has already begun, given that the statue in the garden is now gone!

6. Let Adrien decorate his own room, and have fun with it. This part may be tricky because our boy doesn’t know what he wants, but you know what, it’s part of the process! Giving him total creative control over his own space is a first step towards his making bigger decisions for himself, like choosing what he wants to be when he grows up. As requested by my ✨ awesome girlfriend ✨ @paracosmicfawn, he can also redecorate the entryway, which carries sooo much trauma for him. Maybe he can put up some cute cat statuettes along the new staircase, or something equally cheesy.

7. Build a pool, apparently

8. Last but not least, block all accesses to the basement and the attic. Hide them behind these new Kandinsky paintings they just bought. Pray to Gimmi Adrien never finds out (he will).

And that, my friend, is how you take a prison and turn it into a home full of secrets!

[sorrowful-hyacinth]

Twin Terrors

[Next] -- {Masterlist}

Content: Siren Whumper, Pirate Whumpee, Humiliation, Forced to Choose, Lady Whumper, Defiant/Reluctantly Submissive Whumpee, TW Threats, TW Blood, TW Restraints, TW Nudity, TW Cuts/Slashes, TW Bruising, TW Suggestive Call Back to Rape, TW Begging, TW Fear.

+++

Malik couldn’t remember the last time he was this cold. This stiff. This heavy. It brought back those suppressed memories of the orphanage. The days when he’d get in trouble daily. The days when he would be locked away for days as a punishment. The days when he made choices of his own even if they led to some pain. They were his choices, his to make, his to deal with the consequences after. His freedom.

Where did that all go?

When did these shackles manage to slither their way onto his wrists and ankles? When did he get stripped down to nothing but his trousers? When did he get strung up like meat being left out to dry? Being held up by his trembling arms, raw wrists above his head, bruised feet dangling off the floor. Blood trickling down from his chest and thighs, the daggers having dug deep to prolong the bleeding.

His head was so light and yet the invisible weight made his chin press to his chest. The only mercy, he thought, was the occasional times when he’d manage to sleep from his fatigue forcing him into unconsciousness. It never lasted long. As if Caspian could sense when he’d have a moment of reprieve that he couldn’t allow. He just wanted to rest, just for a few minutes.

“You’re not dead yet, are you, big guy?”

An involuntary strained whine escaped his dry lips when he heard a voice. Just a few more seconds, please. The voice sounded different, some part of his subconscious taking notice. His glued eyes fluttering open slightly as his head fought against gravity just to manage a small tilt. Enough to see the figure. Caspian. No. Close, but not exactly. As the presence moved closer to him, he naturally tensed and his arms screamed at him from the sore movements.

“He really did a number on you this time. Must’ve talked your mouth off, huh?”

Soft. A softer tone than he’s had this whole time he’s been here. Flinching away at the warm feeling of skin grazing his cheek only to lean into it subtly. Still fighting in his mind. Don’t give in, don’t give up, you’ve been knocked down worse than this before. As his vision clears slightly from the haze, he sees the… woman. He would’ve mistaken her for Cas. He had mistaken her for him, but seeing her now more clearly, he could see the differences. Though the features were generally the same, she had softer eyes. Her hair was longer, reaching down to her hips. She was slender and looked more delicate. Not that he’d be fooled by appearances anymore. He once thought the same of Caspian.

“Hey… it’s not very nice to glare at people you just met. Do people on the surface not have manners anymore?”

Her voice almost playful with a light tone. Her thumb absently rubbing his cheekbone. He hadn’t even realized his expression, just being so used to feeling anger towards Cas that it was a natural response. He just averted his gaze to the side and tilted his head away from the woman’s hand. Finding himself more conscious of the situation and not trying to fall into any traps. “It’s hard to find myself being polite while I’m strung up like cattle.” His voice slightly gravelly and muddled.

“… what’s cattle?”

Malik’s eyes widen a little as he looks back towards the woman. Seeing the genuine confusion on her face. His eyes flickering slightly as he tries to remember the fact that these were merpeople. Half of them have probably never even been close to land before let alone know about land dwelling animals. “It’s… an animal. We eat them and sometimes they’re drained of their blood first. They hang kind of like how I am.” He didn’t know why he was bothering to explain, but just something about they she looked almost innocently curious while listening to him made him relax a bit. He needed a moment without fearing something anyway.

“Ah, I see. We do that with people sometimes.”

She admits casually like it’s normal. Of course it’s normal for her. He looks over her figure slightly. Not in a manner with ill intentions, but just to size her up. Was she really as innocent as she seemed? No. She’s a siren just like Caspian, and most likely related to him in some way. She can’t mean anything good. Then why did he feel calm enough to breathe around her? “… what do you want?” His caution getting the better of him.

The siren looking seemingly hurt by his direct tone and clearly not trusting her, but she puts on a soft smile anyway.

“Nothing much. Just… wanted to meet the man my brother is so obsessed with. Well, not an obsession in your interest obviously, but I was just curious. Malik, isn’t it? ‘Captain of the Seas’.”

She says that last comment with a light giggle in her tone. Like she thought the title amusing. She must not be very well acquainted with pirates, or she’s playing dumb. “I guess I don’t need an introduction… but you do, princess.” Malik’s voice holding a hint of disdain towards the royal family of this fuckfest of fish he’s found himself stuck in the grasps of.

“Oh. You’re very right. How rude of me. I’m Nerissa. Princess of the Glaucus kingdom and twin sister of your gracious host.”

She says with a bit of flair as she jokingly bows as if introducing herself in the highest form. Malik just looked on with a tired expression, not caring much for the theatrics or how hard she’s seemingly trying. “Twin… that explains a lot I guess. Are you just as deranged as your psychotic brother?”

The change wasn’t subtle. Her expression transitioning to a blank gaze before a smile returned. Only it wasn’t warm or kind. More of a smirk that pulled at her lips in an unnatural way. One that made her eyes almost sharpen as she looked up at Malik past her lashes.

“I would advise you not to talk ill of my brother. In front of me or even alone. You’d be surprised by what you think isn’t being heard by someone here.”

That was… a threat? Malik’s gaze hardened slightly. There really wasn’t a single siren in this place he could catch a break from. Not that he didn’t expect it, but she was a good actress for the first few minutes. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from a sister of Caspian. “I don’t give two shits what anyone hears. Your brother is nothing but filthy, pathetic caviar whose too much of a coward to face me in a real fight. You’re not that far off from him either siren. Why don’t you turn that fish tail around and leave while I still have the pati— Ack!”

His abdomen spasmed and his wrists burned when he squirmed from the deep slashes that appeared in an instant. Looking down, there were three very visible and irritated scratch marks that were almost as deep as the dagger wounds. His breath shortening as he looks towards her with a glare mixed with a strained wince.

“It seems my brother still hasn’t managed to break you in completely quite yet. No offense to his skills, but I’m sure I can help speed up the process a little.”

Her smile turning almost cheery now after putting him in his place. She saunters over towards the wall behind him. The pit in his stomach already deepening out of instinct knowing what’s back there and what it leads to. His heart rate skipping with each of her steps. Struggling was pointless, he knew that already. His wrists raw and bruised enough already and yet the fight in him still hadn’t died yet. Twisting and squirming in the air as he grips the chains connected to the shackles, hoping they’ll give way. Hope was fleeting in a place like this.

“Mm, now he’s only ever really beaten and cut you down. Which is fun in its own right, but there are many other ways to play. Let’s see…”

A few moments later, Nerissa came back into view as she walked to the front of Malik. His eyes flittering down to the tool in her hand. Weapon? Didn’t matter when it was going to be used to hurt him either way. It looked like a sickle. The curved blade recently sharpened. The handle being tossed between her fingers as she plays with it with a practiced ease.

“… now if I heard correctly, during my brothers time on your ship, he experienced rather horrible hospitality. Especially from your crew during the wee hours of the night. And yooouuu, Mr. Captain, allowed it all to happen. Encouraged it even.”

Malik swallowed thickly, already having a feeling where this was going but didn’t want to give any ideas so this wouldn’t be worse than it needed to be. Watching the tool carefully in her hand while she spoke. Feeling his chest tighten at what she was implying. “He didn’t… mean anything to us. My crew was bored, and… it doesn’t matter. You’re all just fish hiding in the depths. You’re beneath us and we can do whatever we fucking please with you. Your brother should be grateful he even got the luxury of getting any attention when I could’ve simply killed him.”

“My, my. Entitled. The spitting image of a pirate captain. Only, you’re not so invincible now are you?”

“Maybe let me down and I’ll show you what I’m a capable of, krill.”

“I do love a good challenge. It gets so boring down here… but we’ll save that for another day. I will offer a choice as I am a bit more merciful than my brother.”

Nerissa steps closer to Malik. Brandishing the sickle before guiding it down and trailing the back of the blade along his thigh. Seeing his muscles tense under the cold steel and silent threat.

“For bad mouthing my brother and well… my family essentially. Why don’t we consider these options. One, I slice off your tongue and you’ll never speak another word again. Two, for putting my brother through non consenting activities, I’ll cut your little buddy off. So… Captain. Choose.”

Malik felt his mouth dry up. Not even noticing the way his face looked right now. His expression clearly nervous, eyes widened a bit and lips pursed. His eyes trained on the sickle and watching where it went. His breath hitching when she glides the blade up to his trousers. Circling over his bulge lightly, teasingly. His head naturally shaking no without his control. Extracting a light chuckle from her as she brings the sickle up towards his face. His attempt to lean away from the impending danger in vain as she brushes the point of the metal along his chin. His shiver not going unnoticed, his eyes squint as the fear starts to build up and he purposefully clenches his jaw more to keep his mouth shut. A disapproving tsk leaving her lips.

“Now, now. You can’t not choose one. You know why?”

She moves in closer, as if telling a secret that he couldn’t already guess just from all the torment he’s already been through.

“Because I’ll choose both for you.”

The blade grazes up his lips slightly in a way that makes them quiver out of fear. Feeling the need to take deeper breaths from holding them in but the anxiety keeping his mouth shut. He’s tries to muster up a glare. He was a Captain, a Pirate. He shouldn’t be succumbing to mere threats like this. He’s been through a worse. He has. He just needs to— “agh… f-fuck.” The blade making a slice along his bottom lip and causing some blood to surface.

“Taking too long, big guy. Guess you can’t make up your mind.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer as she crouches down in front of him and is eye level with his pelvis. Her touch deceivingly gentle but her claws act as a reminder towards the danger she poses. Dipping under his waistband along his hips before tugging his trousers down around his thighs. Having to stifle a whimper just to keep himself from falling into his fear. “Don’t you fucking dare, kelp.” His tone trying to hold any sense of authority but failing to.

Her hands gently coaxing out his member and leaving it on display. Malik not being able to help the mix of humiliation and fear. Her left hand cupping it while her right hand tilts the sickle down to carefully caress his length. Making his breath quicken as his body stiffens in order to not make any sudden moves. His throat was thick but his fatigue and terror was starting to give way. Not being able to hold back when the curve of the sickle wraps around his circumference. “W-wait wait I-I… p-please you can’t, I’ll bleed out if you do that so just fucking think for two seconds with whatever small brain you have.”

“Mm, so it’s your tongue then?”

“No you psychotic bitch!”

“Then it’s this instead. Very easy choice, good job.”

She pushes the balde down more firmly, pressing her left hand up to apply more pressure and press it up into the tool. Making Maliks thighs start to tremble as the fear takes a hold of his body and he can’t contain the whimper from his soft flesh being close to being cut. “P-please please, N-Nerissa. I’m s-sorry. Okay? I won’t talk shit about your brother again, o-or you.”

She doesn’t show any signs of stopping, carefully slicing the blade in a circular motion around his member, digging in enough to cut a light line that makes his whole body run cold as he hisses and bites his lip. Until he winced from biting into the cut that’s on his lip too, making it bleed more. She was already going in for another cut before he could take a breath. His voice coming out so fast that some of his words were mumbled and loud out of panic.

“N-Nerissa please don’t please, m’sorry I’m really sorry, I promise I’ll never say anything bad like that again, I’ll hold my tongue, I l-learned my lesson I swear. I can’t control what already happened to your brother but please d-don’t do this. I-I c-can’t… I d-don’t want to lose it please, f-fuck I’m sorry…”

The tears pricking at his eyes weren’t lost on him, but he couldn’t care less right now when he was hyperventilating and trembling all over. Nerissa pausing finally after some consideration. Gently extracting the sickle away and letting him breathe fully for once. She lets go of the soft flesh and stands back up fully. Looking up at him with that same, almost, innocent gaze that she had when she first came in. A soft smile on her face as her left hand comes up to cup his cheek.

“What a good boy you’re being. Already learning so quickly. You don’t deserve this mercy, but perhaps I’ll be lenient today, considering it’s your first day with me. Are you going to behave the next time I come back?”

He desperately wanted to lean away from her touch. His body rejecting her presence, not being fooled by the act anymore, but he knew better than to piss her off again. Reluctantly staying still as he listened to her. Behaving was something he despised. He doesn’t behave, he’s a pirate for crying out loud. But those days were farther than he would’ve liked. Those days felt like an aching memory of what he used to be. Those days when the sea was at his beck and call. But for now, for this second, for this moment that he was given a sliver of mercy. He’s never begged for anything in his life, and yet, peace was as sweet as a sirens song.

“… yes.”

+++

Date: November 2, 2024

Taglist: @paperprinxe, @melpomenelamusa, @gala1981, @starsick1979

[epiphainie]

hi! anon about buck and eddie’s facial expressions back here. I agree with everything you said. Particularly this part:

“If you look at it like it's subtext that is meant to one day come to surface, as some sort of proof that this is not the actual story, you're either too deep in your world that you treat these characters like they have agencies and thoughts and feelings and are not, yknow, fictional - or that actors are making the conscious choice to layer their performances with breadcrumbs for a plot that doesn't exist at the time.”

I think so many people fall into this trap of consistently looking for subtext in their words, expressions, and body language because they’ve convinced themselves that buddie is happening and it is in the words and it is exactly what the writers are writing towards. I think this belief has gotten worse/stronger since bi buck because people have taken on the assumption that bi Buck happened as the first step in making buddie happen. That it would not have happened if buddie wasn’t the plan. Or that, if they can make bi Buck happen, surely they can make queer eddie happen, and by proxy, buddie. (I think this is one of the reasons they especially don’t like tommy. because “why is he here when buddie is supposed to be canon”). I largely disagree with that line of thinking and I also think with what we’ve been hearing in the interviews from the actors and Tim, Im not sure how people are clinging so tightly onto those beliefs.

I also think people forget to consider that there’s a general audience out here who are NOT there to read subtext within expressions and words, especially not in an network procedural. They’re going to take what’s being said at face value unless it is explicitly identified that someone may have *other* intentions through musical cues, obvious dialogue, expressions that don’t need to be paused on, etc.

Another thing I wanted to talk about and sorry to bombard you, is long term couple and the endgame conversation. I know endgame conversations aren’t fruitful because the shows still ongoing and external factors can affect situations, but when I look at buck and tommy and what they’ve set up with them, and with what I hope they can do in season 8, I can see them being “endgame” in the same regard as the other solidified couples on the show. Even with those couples we don’t necessarily know if they’re endgame since the show is still going and things could change, but in the world of the show, in the writing of the show, and in our minds, those couples are endgame and are each others other half. Like Maddie and Chim are it. Athena and Bobby are it. Hen and Karen are it. Just like that, I think Buck and Tommy could be it too, in the sense of the writing and not considering external, factors out of creative control.

I think the endgame conversation is different for shows like greys anatomy for instance where there was a revolving door of LI and couples and characters and you just never knew what you were going to get and where you were going. 911 is so different in that we’ve been with the same people since the very beginning and the three main couples have also been with each other since the very beginning. The only two characters who’ve had some what of a revolving door of LIs are buck and eddie, buck more so than eddie. Now going into the 8th season of the show, they’ve found someone for buck who feels largely different than his past LI in many ways and i think if it was earlier on in the shows run, I might be more hesitant to say they could easily be long term and in the running for endgame, but because we’re on s8, 911 is not cheap to make, the stories are seemingly running out, actors may want to move, etc etc, I think what they’ve done with tommy or tried to do with tommy is create a LI and by proxy a relationship that has the same lasting power as the already established relationships on the show. A relationship you can hopefully by the end of s8, see alongside the others, and think yeah this is just as good and believable as the others, albeit in their own unique ways!

Hi anon!

You're not bombarding me, don't worry. Sorry I'll keep this one short as I touched a lot of the points you make here in a previous ask about BuckTommy's potential. Like you said, I find endgame talks very moot but BuckTommy has so much potential that none of Buck's or Eddie's previous love interests had. I think the biggest fail of all of these relationships was how hard it was to bring these women into the fold of the main plot and the group dynamic. Tommy already has so many established relationships with the characters. As a first responder, and specifically air op, he could open up the plot to so many new emergencies. And like I said, they laid the foundation for the romance so well that if they treat them with care in s8 like they did with Madney in s2, at the end of the season, they could make them feel as established as those relationships regardless of endgame conversation. So if they break it in s8, it wouldn't be because of a lack of potential but because a lack of execution imo.

And I totally agree with your point about the general audience. There are some shows that require the audience to look close, to interpret themes and events differently than what has been presented (one of my favorite shows, Black Sails for example, is brilliant at this). 9-1-1 is not that. This is not a diss or me bashing the show, it's just basic recognition of what type of media we're consuming here.

Thanks for your asks!

[thewertsearch]

TG: i just want to know whats really going on here TG: before i decide to start choppin off the heads of outrageously good looking snoozing dudes [...] TG: something about this doesnt add up

Dave knows Terezi well enough to know he's being fucked with. What's her game?

TG: i dont remember sleeping on this bed TG: or reaching the god tier im pretty sure thats something id remember TG: so is he from the future [...] GC: NOP3!

I think I know what Terezi is trying to do.

This is an offshoot Dave. He's from a doomed timeline, and fate decrees he must die. Even if Dave Prime spares him here, it won't matter in the long run - the game simply can't abide his existence.

Now, when I first heard about this concept, I wondered if there was a way to rules-lawyer your way out of this predicament. Davesprite seems fine, and it's possible that his doom was suppressed or nullified by the Kernelsprite's resurrective properties. It can bring back the dead, so why can't it save a dead man walking?

The Quest Bed is an incredibly powerful device, and its capabilities aren't quite clear yet. This one is designed to resurrect Dave Strider - but can it only resurrect Dave Strider? Will it work for any Player, or any Knight of Time? Is it picky about which Dave Strider it resurrects? Can it undo an alt-Dave's death, or overrule it before it takes effect?

These things are worth looking into. Terezi seems to agree, and she's perfectly willing to sacrifice a few kids in the name of scientific enquiry - lest we forget the last doomed timeline she made.

GC: 1T 1SNT 34SY FOR 4NYON3 TO F4C3 TH31R OWN D34TH GC: 3V3N 1F TH3 CONS3QU3NC3 1S TO TH31R B3N3F1T GC: NOT 3V3N 4NY OF US M4N4G3D TO DO 1T GC: W3LL, 3XC3PT FOR ON3 TG: who GC: T4K3 4 WILD GU3SS!

Vriska, I assume. It's been strongly hinted that she tried to convince Tavros to kill her, and I've been wanting to talk about that for a while.

I think her motivation was pretty clear.

Vriska desperately wants her victims to hate her, but Tavros just wants her to fuck off. He's too passive to make any grand gesture of revenge - so Vriska decides to manufacture one. She needs him to kill her, because then they'll be even, and she can put it all behind her for good.

GC: YOU WOULDNT STOP BUGG1NG M3 [...] GC: 1 TOLD YOU YOU WOULDNT B3 4BL3 TO F4C3 YOUR D34TH GC: 4ND TH4T W4SNT GOOD 3NOUGH FOR YOU! SO H3R3 W3 4R3 TG: what exactly did you do

She cloned you, Dave. She cloned you, dropped the clone on a sacrificial slab, and told you to murder him.

Don't piss off a Scourge Sister.

GC: OK, R3M3MB3R WH3N YOU W3R3 4SK1NG M3 4BOUT TH1S GOD T13R STUFF GC: [...] SO 1 G4V3 YOU 4 CHO1C3 GC: TO F1ND OUT NOW, OR F1ND OUT L4T3R [...] TG: ok but you didnt actually give me a choice TG: you just flipped a coin GC: Y34H GC: 4ND 1 L3FT TH3 D3C1S1ON OV3R TH3 OUTCOM3 OF TH3 FL1P 1N YOUR H4NDS! >:]

Terezi's coin flip happened in the Veil, so it can't split Dave's timeline. Come to think of it, we've never heard about any offshoot timelines in Sgrub's postgame.

Plus, I'm not actually sure if flipping a coin would split the timeline. Each branch we've seen so far has been the result of a conscious decision, rather than an uncertain event.

The current Alpha Timeline was split off from Davesprite's when he made the decision to go back and save John.

The red-suited Dave's timeline was born from his decision to stop DD from stealing the Sburb Beta.

Quest Bed Dave, as we're seeing now, was born from a decision made by Dave during his conversation with Terezi.

[utilitycaster]

Something that I find misses the point so completely it is breathtaking is when people are like "this player hates engaging with their backstory" about the CR cast. It's pretty much never true, and what's worst is that I've seen it the most about Travis and Taliesin, two of the players who I think have the strongest grasp on how to create and engage with a backstory.

The choice to have a character who avoids elements of their past can be a valid, informed, and deliberate character choice. People run from their pasts! People decide not to pursue things for a number of reasons - because it hurts too much, because they're scared to know the answer, because they think the people around them don't care, and because their interests change. Caduceus very much is an avoidant character. He has access to Sending by the time we first meet him, and he never uses it to try to contact his family. That's not Taliesin being stupid or avoiding. That's Caduceus making a conscious choice to not ask the question "is my family dead" because he is terrified the answer is yes. He waits for a concrete sign to go after his family to the point of deep loneliness and self-harm out of this fear. That's a crucial trait that you need to understand him as a character! Ashton is also on some level similar in that he engages in no shortage of harmful, wallowing, and self-indulgent behaviors - and that is a choice. They also have obviously messy feelings about the Hishari and it's pretty plain to see they feel extremely conflicted about their growing bonds with Bells Hells because now they'll feel bad if Bells Hells leaves them. So of course he's hesitant to bring this to Orym, because then he's entrusted Orym with this information, and he has to care, and again, this is a major part of who Ashton is.

The same goes with Fjord and Vandran (and Sabian). One of the core themes of Fjord's story is deciding whether to run from or embrace your past, and which parts of that past you want to bring forward as you change, which means that to explore that, he has to do some running! He makes efforts to learn more about where they are (going to search for Vandran during the Zadash downtime; hiring a bounty hunter for Sabian) but those get interrupted by Fjord's shifting feelings about Vandran, and fact that this is an ensemble and the story naturally shifts.

Which brings us to the practical element. Fjord doesn't want to release Uk'otoa at the time, so it makes sense to return to the mainland and process next steps, and the focus of the story then turns to rescuing Yeza, and then finding Yasha, and rescuing Caduceus's family, and changing Veth back, and brokering peace, and TravelerCon, and Eiselcross. Through this, he still in fact does quite a lot of backstory work (changing patrons and taking a paladin oath, asking Jester to contact Vandran), as well as an immense amount of character growth and engagement with the ongoing story, but Travis doesn't wrench everything off its natural course just to check off every box on Fjord's list, because that would be selfish, obnoxious, and not fun to watch. And Caduceus achieves exactly what he set out to do! He found and rescued his family and found a way to hold off the corruption! Despite his avoidance, he covers all the bases! And as for Ashton...we've had precious little time to cover anyone's backstory in depth other than Imogen's, and we've actually seen a decent amount of Ashton's backstory regardless with their contacts in Bassuras and their interactions with Jiana. There simply was not time in Bassuras to stray from the main objectives and search for the Nobodies, and I think if we had people would be annoyed since that arc already took a very long time (and, for what it's worth, rather like Fjord, Ashton has explicitly asked after The Nobodies. Do not mistake lack of payoff for character disinterest).

It is, to me, incredibly telling this criticism is most commonly seen about the two players who I think also get the most "well they had an central arc/more focus than my fave" criticism.There's no way to make everyone in the fandom happy, and I think Travis and Taliesin are the players at the table who most understand that and give the least fucks about what the fandom thinks, and who (possibly relatedly) have some of the strongest grasps of narrative and what it means to play in an ensemble. Which is in my opinion a major factor in why their characters are so good - even the ones I do not vibe with are fully realized and well-crafted, because the players are not trying to make likeable characters, but rather interesting ones, and they're not trying to take center stage, but rather be generous at the table.