#the this should be canon and I think it will be canon and here's why

[valenteal]

Okay I actually really hate this take I’m sorry. Anakin was not possessive or selfish and that’s not what the Jedi taught him.

The way I think of it is that Jedi pursue inner peace by disconnecting themselves emotionally from situations, they feel empathy in a very detached way. That’s what having no attachments means. It’s in the word. The Jedi are Detached from reality as it is perceived by humans.

The Force gives Jedi a glimpse of what it is to be a 4th dimensional entity with consciousness no trapped in a single moment in time. So to a certain extent they don��t actually perceive time linearly and thus do not feel they’ve lost something because it still exists in the past.

So now that we’ve established that yes Jedi are detached from the present let’s move onto the more problematic statement about selfishness and possessiveness.

It is not selfish to want unconditional love. That’s basic human nature. Anakin, a person who clearly suffers from borderline personality disorder which comes with symptoms such as fear of abandonment, an unstable view of the self, devaluing or overvaluing relationships to the point placing of one’s self-worth entirely in another person’s hands, and more, literally needs unconditional love and support. And he developed this disorder in large part because of the Jedi order and the way they treated him. He was simultaneously considered the “chosen one” and considered a burden or a problem. He had to change everything about the way he thought to fit the prescribed mold of what a Jedi should be, and he was held to higher standards because of his perceived “chosen one” status and people were disappointed when he failed to meet them. I know from experience how truly awful it is to be told “i know you can do better” in a disappointed voice when you’re honestly trying your best.

And that’s not even touching on how in Phantom Menace he created strong bonds with both Qui-Gon and Padmé only to have both of the ripped away right after he’d left behind everything he knew and loved. After the movie he was around nothing familiar or comfortable. He didn’t know Obi-Wan and he knew that Obi-Wan hadn’t actually wanted him as an apprentice or even in the Jedi order. So he was surrounded by a bunch of people who all thought he didn’t belong and only let him stay because of a dead man’s wishes. He was NINE and being told that everything he ever learned was wrong and backwards and leads to being evil and that he needs to be perfect for anyone else to think he belonged because even the smallest mistake would just confirm their preconceived beliefs about him.

And that’s not even mention Sidious’s manipulation. Anakin never would have become anything like Vader without Sidious leading him.

Also! There is a difference between possessive and protective! Anakin is protective! He has lost so much he’s clinging desperately to what he has! He wants to protect the one good thing in his life. He doesn’t try to control Padmé, they actually have a very healthy relationship, it’s the situation that’s toxic. Anakin doesn’t view Padmé as a possession, I don’t know why anyone would think that. Oh wait the Clovis arcs. Right. Those exist and other people actually consider them canon. That’s a whole ‘nother rant about writing that I’m not going to get into here. But let’s make this one thing clear, Clone Wars Anakin and movie Anakin are 2 totally different characters psychologically because of the awful reception of the prequel trilogy when it came out.

"no attachments" in SW literally just means "don't be selfish and possessive". that's it. that's all there is. doesn't mean jedi can't have friends and loved ones. they can. just. don't be possessive and selfish about it. don't murder thousands of people in an effort to save one.

[firstkanaphans]

I've noticed this (as a majorly JD fan) that most people like to complain about fixed cps when it comes to FirstKhao only! It's more apparent when there are mostly no (or less) talk about it when long term CPs keep doing shows together (I mean OG are having their 7th show as a pair coming this gmmtv 2025 and they will be very much welcomed).

There is even demand for CPs that are no longer together to come back (like MaxTul -btw I love them and would love them to so another show together although I know Tul is retired from acting and so that's not gonna happen).

In short- why is there demand for FirstKhao to do works separately and not as a pair? (They have only 2 shows as a pair til now. THK is going to be their 3rd.) Is it because The Eclipse or Only Friends were not that well received?

The Eclipse and Only Friends were both incredibly well-received and were two of the most popular BLs GMMTV has put out in years, so it’s definitely not that. I’m hesitant to tell you what I really think because I’m worried I’ll get canceled for it, but I’ve already blocked everyone who disagrees with me and I’ve now reached the anger stage of my election grief so hey, what the hell.

If you want my honest opinion about why FirstKhaotung seem to be the primary target for this War on CPs, we need to go back to the Only Friends era. It’s important to note that this particular argument against CPs seems to be entirely isolated to Tumblr. Plenty of people dislike CPs or think there should be more mixing and matching of pairs, but that’s not the argument I’m talking about. What you see people saying on Tumblr is that CPs are actively ruining the industry and that writers and directors are going so far as to obstruct themselves creatively just so CPs can end up together. The first time I ever heard rumblings of this was during Only Friends.

Here’s the thing about Only Friends. Before it aired—and even in the beginning stages of it airing—a bunch of the more, ahem, “intellectual” fans seemed to have some very grand delusions about what it was and what it wasn’t. Delusions that were never supported by the canon or anyone involved in the creative process. Throughout this, a bunch of us “fangirls” (gender neutral) tried to fight back and tell them they were misreading the text, but the general consensus was that obviously we didn’t know what we were talking about because we were just fangirls.

But then guess who turned out to have interpreted the text correctly all along?

All of our predictions came true while none of theirs did and instead of admitting that maybe they weren’t engaging with this particular piece of media the way it was meant to be engaged with, they started inventing conspiracy theories about how the series would have ended differently if only it weren’t for those meddling CPs! The FK fandom has a huge faction here on Tumblr and I fear FK took most of the brunt of their anger—and is still taking it even now.

I just…imagine thinking Jojo Tichakorn secretly hates CPs and is being forced to use them against his will. Jojo Tichakorn? The same Jojo Tichakorn that’s been tweeting about SkyNani nonstop for the past month?! This man is inventing CPs that don’t even exist yet! He is one of us.

My truth is that most of this anger at CPs is actually just thinly veiled misogyny because it revs up anytime a true romance starts getting attention (such as We Are). Romances have always been overlooked and seen as “less than” simply because it is a genre enjoyed by women, but romances have just as much value as any other genre of media and despite popular belief, fangirls are capable of critical thought.

My advice? Just go on a blocking spree before THK airs because it’s only going to get worse. People hate to see women enjoying things.

[lovemyromance]

(Not a troll ask please don't shoot :D - genuine question)

But I feel like it's really downplayed how much Gwynriels gaslight the fandom. I joined ACOTAR bc I saw Gwynriel fanart and thought they were cute. I Got all the way to ACOSF still hoping for Gwynriel and got a whole lot of NOTHING. And honestly I think Elain is as interesting as cardboard (sorry), but you'd have to be downright blind to ignore she had something going on with Azriel.

Then I saw on titktok about the bonus chapter, everyone going in saying omg thats where gwyn & az are mates! So I cracked it open, read it - and bruh - HE'S OUT HERE TRYING TO GO DOWN ON ELAIN??

How can you put THAT interaction & the conversation he had with Gwyn side by side and people are walking away from it saying Gwyn & Azriel are mates?

I'm so genuinely confused why someone would start that nonsense. The way I ate up Gwynriel art/fan theories it was like she was a major character there from the start and they'd already had 8 kids and a HEA.

Then I open the books and they barely even have a conversation??

It was honestly really annoying. felt like a scam, like one of those authors peddling their book on social media and then you realize its a wattpadd fic written by a 12 yr old not an actual book

If it helps - we're all confused. Nothing has been proven yet about any remaining couple so idk why the Elucien and Gwynriels are out here straight up inventing fiction and trying to pass it off as fact to anyone willing (and even unwilling) to listen.

This ship war could've just been - "Hey I like Elucien more!" Or "I love elriel!"

But instead of just accepting these are all opinions and not actually what is in the books - people decided to straight up gaslight and claim that Elucien are a couple and Gwynriel are mates.

If you cannot point to it on the page where such a thing it explicitly happened - then it is not canon.

Lucien & Elain? They're mates. That's canon.

What's also canon - is that not all mates are a good pairing and end up happy together.

Whats also canon - is that the cauldron was wrong.

It shouldn't be hard to reach accurate conclusions if people stopped treating their wants and headcanons as fact.

Like for gods sake - let's just look at fanart. I'm not saying that every piece of fanart is canon or even should be canon - but elriel has much more canon fanart. Thats literally a fact. They have multiple major moments together - on the page.

What is canon Elucien fanart? When she falls out the cauldron - naked and humiliated and he gives her his cloak? When they sit together over a tea service acting uncomfortable? When she avoids him every other time she sees him?

What is canon Gwynriel fanart? When he gives her boss a secondhand necklace to give to her or anyone else? When he - and cassian and everyone else - watch her cut a ribbon she sees as an enemy?

I've seen so many people open up these books expecting some grand romance between Elain & Lucien and end up disappointed because... she doesn't even want to be in the same room as him.

So many Gwynriels with similar stories to yours expecting some entertaining Gwynriel love story only to also end up disappointed because Gwyn doesn't even exist till the last book and she and Azriel barely interact.

They chose to believe in a nonexistent ship and are trying to compete with canon Elriel evidence. Like ok - tough shit? But you can't just start making shit up.

Until Elain accepts that bond - or even gives Lucien the time of day - they're not a couple. They are nowhere close to endgame if everything she has done and said has shown us she doesn't want him.

Until Azriel himself declares Gwyn is his mate or vice versa - they're not mates.

And yeah I'm gonna get a lot of backlash from the "foreshadowing and crumbs" crowd.

But let me ask you this:

There are some Elriels who think the mating bond between Lucien & Elain is fake. There is plenty of evidence and similar language used about their bond that resembles the fake Rowan & Lyria bond. Plenty of signs showing their bond isn't quite right.

do you think Elriels can then claim it's canon that the Elucien bond is fake?

"We have crumbs and foreshadowing and similar language used" too. But do you see us going around claiming it's canon?

No.

We are very clear about the distinction between canon and headcanons. About what's in the books, and what is just pure guesswork and theory.

"Sparky spark" and "elucien is endgame" are both theories until proven. They are NOT canon.

Wish they'd just learn the difference. They'd be a lot less unhappy fans.

[clairescotcoutts]

So, about The Veilguard.

This post is:

Long.

Spoiler full.

Read at your peril.

So.

The fact that I devoured the game in virtually less than three days should speak for itself; I was worried about the playing style, I was unsure about the combo system, and having only two companions travel alongside the MC felt a little alien to me and also added to my anxiety. (Yes, I’ve played Mass Effect, yes, I’ve been in a fighting trio before, but never in Dragon Age.) I thought, “There’s only three of us?! We’re gonna die so much and so hard.”

Turns out I didn’t die so many times as I’d expected, so yay me.

I had refused to watch anything that had to do with the plot, with the exception of the trailers, because I wanted my experience to be fresh and untainted by expectations. Of course, I had hopes — but other than that, I dove in blind and without any sense of direction.

As you know, the depths of the ocean hold both horror and beauty, so here are mine; I shall start with the horrors so all the bad air is cleared out first.

My primary horror is that, save a few points, the game very clearly follows BioWare’s own canon, in which the Hero of Ferelden must have died to stop the Fifth Blight, and thus there is no Kieran. Morrigan plays a pivotal role yet again, but her presence implies that the decisions made in previous games are… well, your own, but not the world’s own. So, no Kieran, and it is heavily suggested that it was Morrigan who drank from the Vir’Abelasan. Even if she hadn’t, turns out she ends up with a piece of Mythal inside her anyway, granted by a regretful (and finally gone) Flemeth.

Story-telling wise, well, I don’t know if it was the best choice— I just know it bummed me out a bit to find some of my decisions discarded, not considered at all.

My second horror is the absence of either Hawke or Stroud. The events at Amaranthine are mentioned, but (unless I missed a codex entry) there’s no word on what happened to the brave soul left in the Fade to fight that giant monster demon. Since I always leave Stroud behind (because Alistair is and always will be a king to me), I can’t say I’m suffering to know his fate, but it would’ve been nice to confirm something. 

At the end of Inquisition, Morrigan narrates that should Hawke live, they go to Weisshaupt, but soon all news from there ends. What happened?! Am I missing something found only in the comics or books?

Also what happened to the rest of the companions? What about the woman made Divine in Inquisition? Whether it’s Leliana, Cassandra or Vivienne, you’d think the Divine would have something to say about two ancient elven gods turning the world tits up.

What about the Qunari who are not part of the Antaam? Are they in agreement with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain? Is Seheron torn asunder like Minrathous?

Why is nobody remarking on the fact that the Crows buy (or used to buy) people?! I love the Antivan Crows, I do, but one cannot forget Zevran and all he told us about them.

Those are my particular points of horror. 

Now, to the rest.

Veilguard is a game that doesn’t hold back. It’s out to punch you in the guts and kick you in the feelings, and boy does it do it brilliantly. The sacrifices are real. The choices are heavy and carry weight on them that slumps you down (especially if you’re extra sensitive, like me) throughout the game. The dilemma and problems your companions face are heart wrenching, and you want them all to thrive. Yes, even the one who was hardened because you can’t bloody be in two places at once. These companions are well fleshed-out, they’re alive, they’re complex and they are so beautiful to live and travel with. The emotional moments they have, I felt them, I suffered with them, I cried. I /cried/, which had never happened to me with a videogame before. And not just because this companion is my favourite or that topic hits a bit close to home— not just that. It’s because they’re amazingly written and acted out. They feel so real.

The locations are gorgeous (I especially fell in love with Treviso), and I love how much you’re able to explore. I love that you can pet animals. I love that you can interact with the world in front of you. I /love/ that you don't miss dialogue even if you get into a fight because the companions re-start conversations now.

The NPCs? My children. Isabela is fire, as always; Antoine, Evka, Viago and Teia have my whole heart. The Mourn Watch is fascinating and the Shadow Dragons are bold, united and righteous. I really like that the Veil Jumpers don’t diss on the Dalish just because they know more— they understand that, as a people, they are one. And they’re accepting of everyone, not just elves!

I simply adore Rook as a protagonist. Not just because they give purple Hawke, and I love Hawke, but because again, they feel human and real. They know this is well above their paygrade, and they’re in way over their heads, but they still step up and lead because damn, someone has to. Iron Bull would be so proud. They are fun, they are caring, they are talkative and they know they’re drowning, but can’t afford to stop swimming.

Both in Origins and Inquisition it felt as though we were The Chosen One, even if in the latter one tried to swear it off and deny any possible divine intervention, but in DA: 2 and here, we are just people trying their best with the worst circumstances, and to me, that’s beautiful. Rook is a delightful protagonist.

The game allows you to choose who you’re going to be and /how/ you’re going to be thus. You can be cis, you can be trans, you can be neither and you can be both. No limits now.

Which leads me to another point I simply adored: how the questions of gender are treated. It’s really big to have an NB character go through their own acceptance process before our very eyes. While in Origins (and a bit in Inquisition too) you have the choice to be shocked that there are people who like their same gender, this game is Thedas saying “The world is big, the world is complex, and people everywhere are not defined by your expectations or rules. It’s not even an option. Deal with it.”

Regarding the magic, I’m not even mad it looks and feels different. After all, Dorian used to say that “the South is so charming and rustic”, and now I see that’s because what he saw in Ferelden and Orlais was not what he is used to. Even in Absolution we see that the way Tevinter used magic is distinctly unique and not how it is done south of Arlathan. I understand it. I like it. It’s not as if there had been no changes in the designs of demons and darkspawn before, and now that’s what they look like. It’s fine. Time has passed and people are allowed to make different creative choices.

Now, to Solas… Solas. Oh, Solas. I understand you so much better now.

Veilguard really helps put into perspective some bits of dialogue from previous games. Why does this 8-ball care so much about spirits and the Fade? Gods, because he /is/ them, and the Fade used to be his home. Every time he has to hear that spirits are monsters or unreal he takes it personally, and how could he not? People are saying he’s a monster, he’s not real, and nobody knows any better because they wouldn’t believe him anyway. Now I understand why he gets so worked up if you make Cole more human—you’re doing to him what Mythal did to Solas himself. You’re forcing him to be something else and Solas knows it hurts. (Also, Cole is happier as a spirit— “Thank you for helping me find this again. For believing in me. You don't know what it means”, he says, and now it hits so differently.)

I have to remark on some things I’ve read that have shocked me— first of all being the interpretation of Solas and Mythal’s relationship. Like Taash, you can assume “they were doing it”, however, I don’t think they ever loved each other like that. Their bond, to me, is that of a queen and her most loyal knight, a “king and lionheart” sort of situation if you will. Solas knows her better than anyone else, certainly, but the way I see it, that right there is his commander, inspiration and also, his heaviest shackle.

Their relationship merits another post altogether, I believe, as does Solas and Lavellan’s.

All in all, the good, to me, far outweights the bad.

Give the Veilguard a chance before you discard them, enjoy the appearance of some of the characters you love, enjoy getting to know the new heroes. Give yourself the option of having an informed opinion before you love or hate.

Also, petition for Solas to let his hair grow out again.

That's it, for now.

[thecoolerliauditore]

saw you mention gender for a bit - i wonder why grian is feminized so much? it's of course because of the feedback loop of fanon but how did it snowball so much? it would be funny if it's from him using the alex player model

I'm probably not the guy to ask for this just to be clear right off the back. I love observing fandom trends but I'm just not keeping an eye on Grian stuff more often than not. Grain (lol) of salt, blah blah blah.

So first off I think we should tackle what "feminized" means in this context because I can see that argument being made for both the default-ish generic young anime guy grian I have in my head when I think "fanon grian" and. well. arianna griande and the like (I'd argue cuteguy falls into this latter category)

I'm gonna start with the first one and use my own Grian as an example because I think he's pretty much as standard as you can go in the former category, and that's more or less on purpose. Pictured here in all of his tiny anime twink glory (next to Joel and Cleo who are also meant to be pretty short!)

So while I can't read the minds of other Grian artists, I can offer what went through my head when I designed mine and try to have a guess at how much other people thought the same.

First things first I do think this specific brand of Grian is "feminized" -- if you compare him to the CC. The goal at least for me was more to communicate youthfulness than femininity, but those traits tend to go hand in hand with male characters due to them having pretty much the same features (no facial/body hair is a big one).

Artists in this fandom tend to swing on the younger side, and people tend to base their designs unconsciously (or consciously tbh) on themselves or media they like, the latter being very likely to be media aimed at their age group and thus having a cast of characters around their age. Doesn't help that most popular animated things are made for younger audiences, so chances are most people are basing their art styles in media where the casts age range is 12-25.

For me I do think most of my designs have a little bit of added in youthfulness/femininity unless I Really want to get across age/masculinity. It's a lot easier to separate the 30 year olds from the 40 year olds if the 30 year olds look a bit closer to 20, doubly so when most of the stuff I like (and thus reference from purposefully or not) has casts full of 15 year olds. Alot of this also applies to the other younger men in my designs aside from Grian, like Joel who's next to him.

But Joel is still drawn with stubble and a bit taller than Grian, so what gives about Grian specifically?

For me personally, I draw everything with the Life Series in mind, especially Third Life in Grian's case. And the character who Grian plays off the most in that series, especially in Third Life, is Scar.

While I do think the aforementioned age factor also impacts a lot of Scar designs (as well as younger artists' tendency towards shyness when drawing muscles), I think most people see Scar's masculinity as a key trait of his. I think I'm kind of unique in that I take descriptions of their appearances ingame as somewhat canon (e.g. Scott being canonically referred to as "handsome") but Scar really lays it on thick with "Hot Guy" and the abs and so on that it's pretty much screaming for acknowledgement when you're designing him.

Grian is also short irl and this even gets mentioned by Joel in the first WL episode, so it made enough sense to me that should be something exaggerated with Desert Duo's designs to make them look better next to eachother.

This is also maybe getting a bit into headcanon territory but when I think Grian I don't necessarily think predator or brute force, I think of him setting his traps and giggling maniacally and manipulating what he wants out of people with his words instead of his sword. And him just being like. a little gremlin thing compared to his Big Strong Man partner in crime whilst also, actually being arguably the more dangerous of the two feels harmonious.

If we do a layer deeper into headcanon land, I've also always seen him as more frail and physically weak due to Martyn's concern for his safety and his own more anxious nature in 3L as one of the first players to really consider having to defend himself -- if you're dropped into a death game arena and you're the smallest one there, you would naturally be a lot more nervous than the big guys and come off as more "insane" for wanting to set up seemingly unnecessary defenses or striking first. (<-- this is why I don't talk about Grian much btw all of my thoughts regarding him are seeped in headcanons lol)

Alot of Grian artists are also Desert Duo artists and while they might not be operating by the same logic I am I have to assume there's some common points.

I've seen this meme used a lot when people make fun of other peoples DD art and it's almost always people with very little self-awareness. it's funny to me (and this probably could be its own discussion about queer tropes and xenophobia, but whatever haha funny it's literally them so true so true.)

One final note on this is I think this specific brand of twink Grian might be dipping in popularity? I've been seeing a lot more Grians that are chunkier or entirely throw out his anime-main-character-ness by making his glasses or curly hair heavily exaggerated. Which is cool I especially loveeee the more cartoony puff ball grians that have gotten more popular. Idk if it's necessarily in response to the anti-twink-propaganda or if it's just a new stage in Grian design development as we get further away from the Third Life Desert Duo meta, but it's fun and I think speaks the feminizing not really being an intentional trait and more of a consequence of other things.

As for CuteGuy/Griande I can't really offer as much insight since I don't really get the appeal either lol except that I think it's fun in the way drag is fun.

I think what a lot of people need to remember when they ask for more masculine designs is that masculinity irl is often synonymous with less customization. Alot of it is practical (like short hair obviously you can't style like long hair) and especially outside of queer circles a lot of it is just gender roles -- alot of men will refuse to wear literally plain mens t shirts if it's an eye-catching colour.

There's a great Derek Guy interview where he talks about how men tend to misunderstand what "fashion" is and how most cishet men actually care deeply about fashion. He makes the example of offering two pairs of jeans -- one is a regular pair of blue jeans that costs fifty dollars and another is free of charge but happens to be pink, and how most men despite "not caring about fashion" will go for the fifty dollar blue jeans.

If you want an example of mens fashion and its "boring" aesthetics made more to fit into a crowd than to stand out, just go on instagram and look at pictures of the Empires CCs together and watch the guys get absolutely mogged. This isn't me calling the men badly dressed (in fact I've actually noticed before that CC Joel is like. super well put together) but more of a statement on how womens clothing is designed vs how mens clothing is designed.

I know where my eyes go first, at least. (self indulgent note: Pearl is kind of an exception to the rule for reasons but I cannot say lest I betray my own moral code. however my eyes go to her first anyway because she is stunningly beautiful she could wear a potato sack and it'd work)

And while I don't agree with this sentiment (I actually loveee menswear deeply it's. a thing), in the world of fandom artists who typically are big fans of the gay gay homosexual gay and more into high-decorative, sexier stuff, clawing at any ounce of femininity that these men exhibit is probably an opportunity hard to pass on. This also happens with Jimmy on occasion I think, with stuff like the maid dress. And Ariana Griande is like Drag Drag, not just a dress but a whole persona, so that in combination with feeding into yaoi tropes for popular ships like Scarian and Grumbo, I'm not surprised there's such a gap between actual screentime and fanmade content.

Also is Griande even like. That popular anymore? I also don't think I've seen CuteGuy all that much unless it's DDVAU stuff specifically.

I'd be interested to hear my artist friends comment on this too since again I feel like I'm not the right person to ask lol. Take this as an invitation to yap I would be fascinated hearing your perspectives.

I also think his popularity and younger audience might be playing a big part in this especially in conjunction with the first point about drawing characters younger-looking but this is getting fairly rambly already lol

Go follow the menswear guy (@/dieworkwear) on twitter if you're interested in menswear btw he's very insightful and funny

[verecunda]

I personally see that "torture" conversation again as gaslighting from Annatars side, to be honest. Because (I double checked again to make sure i am not mistaken) "Never in Tolkien's lore does Morgoth torture Sauron. Some moments could imply such an act, such as in The Silmarillion where it is mentioned that Morgoth would have, if victorious, destroyed even the beings that followed him" - So to me it has that even ... Crueler twist of Annatar just trying to gaslight Celebrimbor again. Maybe that is just me though! And maybe in the series Morgoth really did unimaginable to Mairon. WHO KNOWS

Hi, Anon! This got long-winded, so bear with me here. XD

That is certainly a viable reading of the scene, and I definitely think we should never take Sauron at his word because, well, he’s Sauron. But honestly, I think it’s much more interesting, much more horrifying, if he is being honest here.

First, to get the lore stuff out of the way: agreed, nowhere in the books are we told Morgoth ever tortured him. But at the same time, we’re never told he didn’t. Sauron was obviously his most valuable and trusted servant, but he still was that - a servant, an underling, subject to his master’s caprices. And we don’t have any scenes of them interacting directly that allow us to gauge their relationship; we just have a handful of references that can be extrapolated in multiple ways. (For full disclosure: I’m an enthusiastic Angbang shipper, and I tend to view their relationship as more or less positive, one of the only good things they have going for them, but I try to keep an open mind on what canon does/doesn’t tell me.)

Most notably, take the scene where Sauron is defeated by Lúthien and Huan. She tells him she’ll send his spirit back to Angband : “There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes.” Whereupon Sauron flees, and we hear nothing more of him till after the War of Wrath. We don’t know anything that he does in the meantime; we don’t even know if he returns to Morgoth’s service (the Lay of Leithian does suggest it, but the published Silmarillion gives us nothing either way). Whether or not Morgoth would actually punish him for his failure is probably beside the point: the point is that Sauron clearly believes punishment is a likely outcome. There are other ways you could parse this bit (and I do have Feelings about it!!) but the most obvious reading is that it’s terror of his master’s likely response that sends Sauron into hiding. So overall, it’s an ambiguous scenario, but there is certainly room to interpret a darker take on their relationship, and even allowing for deliberate ambiguity, it does seem to me that the show creators have chosen to explore that darker take.

To return to this particular scene, I don’t think he’s trying to deceive Celebrimbor any more - now that his true identity is revealed, outright deception is no longer going to work, because why would Celebrimbor believe anything else he says? Better to reel him back in with the truth. In that scene, I think Sauron is actually trying to make him understand his grand vision for the “healing” of Middle-earth. We already know he believes that's what he's doing. I don’t think he views Celebrimbor as an equal, no way, but I think he does consider that Celebrimbor’s ambitions chime with his own.

But crucially, his failure here is that in baring his soul and talking about the genuine suffering he’s gone through, he inadvertently reveals just how warped and ultimately irredeemable his own mindset has become. We actually saw this first with Galadriel at the end of s1: Sauron reveals his relief at Morgoth’s defeat, his feeling that a “great, clenched fist” had been released from about his neck - yet just a couple of minutes after that, he repels her because he admits that he sees saving Middle-earth and ruling it as the same thing.

It’s the same in the tower scene. Revealing his torture by Morgoth does engage Celebrimbor’s sympathy, but he loses it almost at once when he starts talking about his pain being a triumph of his own willpower, then especially when he breaks out all the textbook abuser lines about how Celebrimbor has “forced” him to hurt and deceive him. I don't think he would have said all that if he was just lying. All that self-justification strikes me as the response of someone who has suffered, but has never found a healthy way to process any of it, and who has ultimately gone on to continue the cycle of abuse. And when Celebrimbor demolishes all these self-justifications - “You can deceive even yourself” - I think Sauron's expression there speaks volumes. That’s the look of a Maia who has just been hit where it hurts, because rather than being taken in, Celebrimbor has just confronted him with exactly how damaged and fucked up he really is.

[kaythefloppa]

Wild Kratts - Bumblezzzz - Thoughts

This episode airs on TV tomorrow, but was released online in the PBS Kids Video App. So if you're planning on watching it on television, or unable to access the videp app, you may want to scroll off for spoilers

I was aware some bees come in blue (hi Martin). But GREEN???? The fuck?

The epitome of "waking up and choosing chaos."

I envy Chris's organized manner.

Bros went from Salamander Streaming to a Salamander Snack ☠️

This raises - so many questions and thoughts.

Apparently there is a "Villain Weekly" magazine that is sold in copies? I mean there's a Finding Your Inner Villain Seminar so I guess that tracks but... just how many people are stanning, supporting, and funding these villains who, I should specify, NEARLY FLATTENED THE AMAZON. You can't just... walk backwards from that without a serious career-and-possibly-life-ending PR disaster.

(Actually I just remembered that Elon Musk exists and has his share of supporters despite how awful he is to the point where it borders on cartoonish, which I guess kinda tracks here)

2. The magazine has a picture of Donita on it, which implies that it's about her. Why would Donita have a COPY of a magazine featuring her? Why would she have to buy it. Do I not know enough about advertisements in the magazine industry?

3. Why would Donita trust Zach with anything? ANYTHING? He regularly gets his inventory mangled by the enemy every week as a result of his own ineptitude and often steals whenever said inventory is too shitty for his own good. She really shouldn't be surprised that he forgot to give it back.

4. Donita canonically lives in New Hampshire. Zach lives in Massachusets. That is an hour and a half away just by driving. Even if Zach isn't by his mansion, still he could've just flown his plane over to Donita's mansion. Or if he was too lazy, he could've hired his bots to do so. Inversely, Donita could've just come and have the manequins collect.

5. DONITA THREATENING ZACH WITH MOB VIOLENCE BY SICCING DABIO ON HIM IF HE DOESN'T RETURN THE BOOK WHAT THE HELL???

I feel like I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, this is the same person who quite possibly forced Martin to undress and into new clothing whilst he was in suspended animation in her debut appearance (and also sicced Dabio onto him when he resisted), nearly drove lemurs to extinction all over a dress in the Season 3 finale, attempted to skin salamanders alive for a fire-proof suit in S5, and oh yeah, was instrumental in the attempted destruction of the Amazon Rainforest. But still, this was so out of nowhere, and the fact that Dabio smiles; (and remember, according to Season 3, his ancestors have been working with the Donatas for generations, so this shit was a family business) This one scene, if all others haven't, single handedly manage to show Donita and Dabio as arguably the most brutal, nasty, and vile villains. It's just one scene, but I see these guys in a pretty different light now.

Also, I mentioned this before. If she's willing to do all that previous stuff mentioned above for her own gain, if she's willing to do this to Zach over a petty book loan, what the heck is she gonna do to Paisley when she finds out about her betrayal? What's she gonna do to Rex if he eventually redeems himself?

As someone who has made it my legal obligation to analyze the timeline in Wild Kratts, I will definitely say that this episode takes place on June 20th, the first day of the summer season. That means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things.

I don't even think I should explain how terrible of an idea this is.

This is plain biology and a fact of life, but since they missed the opportunity to make a Bee Movie reference, I will take this as such as compensation.

Because I didn't say it earlier, I'll say it now: Bumblebees are so. Fucking. Cute.

AAAAAH!!!!!!!!!

Not enough screengrabs to convey this but the brothers are obviously trolling Zach here and I love it.

For all of you angst writers, here's some new ammo. Because I'm fairly certain that this can unoequivically KILL a human being if bumblebees were as big as us. In fact between this episode, and the next episode, Chimpanzee and Me, I'm convinced that the only reason Zach's robots are henchmen is so that the brothers can get away with being as violent as fuck towards them in so many beautifully creative ways without any actual bloodshed.

The fuck even is this episode 😭😭

CONCLUSION:

PROS:

The humor, once again, is amazing. It didn't get in as much laughs as the previous one, but still.

The Bumblebee Suit. It's such a breath of fresh air from the more uncanny looking Creature Power Suits in the modern seasons

Bumblebees are indeed highly endangered. It's good that this episode brings light on that and how important it is to protect them

CONS:

This entire episode's plot goes by... way too damn fast. Seeing the bros immediately get themselves into the jam, and then also immediately seeing Zach, and even the brothers quickly explaining bee features to Aviva. It all feels like this episode is just on fast-forward, even though it's a regular-length episode. It really could've been paced better.

Zach's motivations are stupid as ever, and he is at his peak bitchiness here. But again, the fact that such cartoonishly bullshit evil like this happens in the real world (which WK cleverly delivers a giant middle finger towards), and the fact that Zach gets his ass kicked for his genuinely awful plan mitigates a LOT of damage.

Final Ranking: 7/10. Still pretty good. I've been anticipating a Bumblebee episode for the past year after seeing leaks of a magazine featuring the Creature Power Suit, and it did not disappoint.

[trashrattt]

I totally think Code lyoko should have it's talked about reboot, mostly because

- when it came to Carthage, the most canon explanation from Franz himself, the explanation only lasts about 1 minute and 25 seconds, and nothing else comes of it

Sure, we knew why Xana was created, but like, Franz never really said Xana stopped it as it was his main intended purpose, why Xana was made to begin with, so like, that's a real issue in canon consitering Franz wanted to stop the project but never got to consitering Xana gained autonomy and all

And like, Carthage was kind of hinted at to be a bad thing too, you'd think that could be a real issue in universe

- spent 3 whole seasons building on this one character only not to do much with it at all and give him a really bad rep in universe afterwards

Okay, you know me, I like William an abnormal amount, but with all things considered, he wasn't a character to begin with, neither was a plot device imo

Yeah, he absolutely has no personality, argue with the wall if you need to

So like, yeah, he got posessed, but then what? Sure he was used to try to throw Aelita into the Digital sea, but like, tarantulas could do the same thing with those long ass arms, they could just use them as bats

And you've literally seen megatanks push her closer to the digital sea when she used a energy field as a sheild of sorts, so really, what was the point of him to begin with of other monsters could do the same thing no problem

And after a whole season of dawdling around, the writers rushed the whole "set him free" arc after ignoring it for basically the whole season, like there wasn't any episodes besides cold sweat where the characters actively try to break him free, you'd think there would be a little more give from the characters considering how #depressed Yumi was

(and yes, I know the show says, "I made ___ program" but let us see the FAILURE!!!!)

Even then, when he came back, the characters all decide "fuck this, you ain't shit to me" and dropkick him back to his life without any support, like dude lost months of his life without something he either remembers or blanked out on

- character writing in season four

Okay, this isn't really a reason why, it's more of saying "Why did you make your characters worse, we deserve better"

Because Odd in season four just became an absolutely terrible person, man

Constantly throwing his freinds under the bus just for some scheme he pulled or literally abusing the fact that he knows about Lyoko as a point to say to the others "This is why we're friends!!!1!@1!!" Even though at this point their friendship is downright terrible, like to the point where they just want to get Lyoko dealed with so they can fall apart like a poorly put together cup with scotch taped all over it

Imo nobody seemed to like each other as opposed to season 1 and 2 where they talked casually, like they had an actual friendship going on, not like "so, what's new on Lyoko, I want this shit dealt with today..." they were actual friends who did stuff together and had fun, I miss that :<

Anyways that was a more personal take, but season 4 just leaves a bad taste in my mouth with that rushed ending of theirs

Uhm oops, this was a long rant of what I dislike about the show, I was supposed to make this post simply to tell you guys what I'd propose for a continuation

Here's what I'd do:

Consitering Carthage was an abandoned idea from the depths of season 2, we build on that again

I'm imagining a non-terribly written Evo mixed with the chronicles, like bitch I actually love the idea of Ulrichs dad being tied in with Carthage simply because like, it would make so much sense (absolutely don't pull a chronicles though making EVREYONES mothers under the sun being tied in, that was stupid)

I'm also thinking, the antagonist we have is still a program, but it isn't Xana like in main series

Sure, they're simular, but it's a remnant from Carthage that has the same ideas as Xana, but worse (this is all first draft, but that's like the main idea that could work)

Also, give Will and actual personality this time, not just this "I'm soooooo sad" attitude that any traumatized character has, he has the potential to be COMPLEX!!!!

Kids cartoons nowadays are getting complex so don't say "Oh no they can't, it's a kids cartoon"

Anyways I'm hoping they build off of Carthage because that would be a PERFECT continuation aauaghh

Enjoy (?) My unexpected rant, idk

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello! Could I have a head canon or drabble (which ever you feel more inspired to do/makes sense) for Sandor x Stark!fem!reader for what things might have been like if she’d gone with him when he was leaving during the Battle of the Blackwater? Thank you friend, I appreciate it! 💛🙏

(yes of course! I feel like both work so this is headcanons plus a bonus drabble x I love Sandor so always got to do the most for him! enjoy!)

(also it's been forever since I watched this show so this is definitely not accurate events for the Battle of Blackwater episode lol)

(Sandor Clegane x fem Stark reader - warnings for typical Game of Thrones stuff, slight angst but mostly fluff)

King's Landing had always been dangerous, especially for people like you and Sandor. You knew it better than anyone after the things your family had gone through at the hands of the king.

Sandor had also tasted the cruelty that Joffrey was capable of, and neither of you were keen to exacerbate it.

Which is why you'd spent months dancing around feelings for each other.

You were lucky that Joffrey had set his sights on Sansa rather than yourself, but as a Stark it was too much of a risk to openly court Sandor. No matter how badly you wanted to.

You also wouldn't dare risk causing him harm in that way. You knew any associates of yours would sooner or later be targeted by the Lannisters.

Sandor was usually your escort in the Red Keep. No doubt the king found it amusing to have his dog guarding the wolf. He was quiet and brooding, but seemed to enjoy your presence at least a little, though you couldn't be sure whether you had imagined the tension between you. Aside from that, you weren't certain of his feelings until the Battle of the Blackwater.

You were far too stubborn to allow yourself to be corralled into a safehold with the women and children.

Fortunately, Cersei didn't much care about your fate should you be caught in the consequences of the battle, so you remained in your room in the keep.

Truthfully, you were waiting for Sandor. You didn't know whether he would return or not, but you couldn't sit around and do nothing while he fought.

You busied yourself with gathering your essential belongings, in case of needing to flee in an emergency, until a blaze lit up the horizon through your window.

You just prayed that he was alright...

Your nervous pacing was enough to occupy yourself until you heard thundering footsteps from the hall. Fuck. You had no way to defend yourself if someone should come to take you, and it was far too late to hide now, and-

The door burst open.

And it was him.

He looked a little worse for wear, but mostly unharmed, and you practically threw yourself at him knowing he was alive.

Not quite registering how he froze up in surprise for a moment, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, just needing to feel him there despite the armour that stood between you. His hand moved to your shoulder as you pulled away, much gentler than you'd expected him to be.

"I'm leaving."

Your heart dropped.

"...Oh."

You blinked back the tears that were threatening to form and swallowed your pain as best you could. "Where will you go?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere's better than this fuckin' city."

You nodded and looked down, not knowing what else to say without betraying your feelings.

"Little wolf." His fingers hooked under your chin to make you look up at him, with eyes clouded by tears. "You'd miss an old dog that much?"

Your voice seemed to shrink as a tear rolled down your cheek. "I just... I don't want you to go..."

Sandor brushed it away with his thumb and smiled, almost imperceptibly, but it was there. "Do you really think I'd leave you to the lions? You're coming with me."

In that moment, Sandor felt he could live in the way your eyes brightened.

"You really mean that?"

"Get your things. I'm not staying here long enough for them to find us."

You grabbed your bag of essentials that was already lying on your bed, breathing out a laugh and shrugging when Sandor raised an eyebrow at your preparedness.

"Maybe I was hoping you'd come back for me."

"Always will, little wolf."

The gentle feeling of your lips against his cheek sent warmth through his body, and Sandor was determined to not let you out of his sight again if this was the reward.

[snzunii]

goodnight n go ( ran h. ) — part two.

it's really bad that you get along so well.

tags. romance, angst, betrayal, hurt/comfort, established relationship, explicit sexual content, bonten!ran, detective!reader, canon-typical violence, crimes and criminals, drugs, smoking, drinking, illegal activities, EIGHTEEN PLUS ONLY.

“Baby. Wake up.” you stirred in your sleep, trying to pull the blanket over your head just so you couldn't hear your boyfriend, whispering in your ear to get the fuck up. “YN.”

“Leave me alone, Ran.” you mumbled, getting anything that you could reach just to cover your face but he’s one step ahead of you, there's nothing left for you to cover your head with. “Fuck.”

You heard him laugh, you felt the bed sink as he sat beside you. “Breakfast’s ready. Come on.”

But you didn't want to stand up. You just want to stay in bed and rot with him. Is that so bad? You haven't had the chance to see and be with each other this long, is it so bad to have one day for the two of you? 

It isn't, right?

“Can we just stay in? We don't have to go to work today, right?”

You weren't that serious—okay, maybe you are. But you didn't think that Ran would lay down beside you and go along with what shenanigans you wanted to do today, “Okay.”

“What, okay?”

“Let’s stay in today.” 

“Really? Aren't you like, needed for work because, I don't know, your boss is a pain in the ass?” you asked him with a wide smile, you looked at him and you saw his pretty eyes looking at you—you suddenly felt conscious, you just woke up, you haven't even brushed your teeth yet.

But he’s still looking at you like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. 

“Yeah. But that’s a problem for tomorrow.” he smirked, leaning in to kiss you but you pulled away and that made him frown, “What?”

You covered your mouth with your hand, “Bad breath.” you said with a muffled voice.

“The fuck I care, kiss me.” he says and pulls your hand away, you giggled and let him press his lips gently into yours—he bites your lip, and you close your eyes, draping your arm over his neck, pulling him close to you.

You both pulled away, gasping for air. “Yeah, you should brush your teeth.”

“Ran!”

“Kidding.”

You rolled your eyes at him and he just laughed at you, “You’re such a brat.”

“But you love me.” you said, closing your eyes again.

“Hmm. You’re going to sleep again?” you feel his arm slipping under your head, making it your pillow, “Don't you wanna eat first?”

“Too sleepy.” you murmured, “Wake me up in five minutes, ‘kay?”

You didn't hear him answer but  it’s not long until you hear him say your name again.

“YN.”

You open your eyes, and there you are in front of him—with a gun in his hand. How the fuck did you get here?

“Ran.”

Ran held your wrist, pulling you away from the watching eyes. He knows they're not going to do anything—and they know that Ran’s not going to let you go that easily.

Even though you’re his girlfriend, Ran is in too deep in this shit—yeah, they think he’s stupid for having a detective girlfriend—but they know he wouldn't turn that easily, maybe.

You compromised their location, you found them. You could’ve called for back up the moment you saw the guy that you arrested back then, but all that you were thinking of was Ran. You could just easily point your gun to any of them but you didn't do any of that.

They know you wouldn't do that to Ran. They don't know you that much, but the look in your eyes was enough for them to know that you wouldn't just give him up—even if it’s the right thing to do.

You didn't pull away or protest—you didn't push him away, there were no arguments as he pulled you into the other room, with no other people, just the two of you. “YN—”

Instead of you speaking, your palms met his face over and over. “Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you—”

“Stop.” he says, holding both your wrists. “Stop, YN.”

“Why the fuck would you do this to me? How could you?” your voice was small and shaky, your tears falling continuously, “Why the fuck would you keep something like this from me? You know how hard I worked, you know all of it, then you…?”

You look at him, and you see that he’s Ran… but he’s different. He’s like a stranger, a stranger with a familiar face. A stranger that you touch, you hold, you confide in—that you know—a stranger you love.

Ran couldn't find the words that he wanted to say. He hid this from you because he was selfish—he wanted to keep you, he wanted to be close to you.

If he could live this double life forever just to keep you, then he probably would. 

He was different when he was with you, but that doesn't change the fact that he’s a horrible person who’s done a lot of horrible things, right? That’s how you see him now. “I wanted to protect you—”

“Protect me?” you laughed bitterly, “You really think that you keeping all of this from is protecting me? No, you're lying to me! Deceiving me, you were there every night! Listening to me struggle and you’re one of them?! Why, Ran? Why—”

“Because!” he slammed his hand on the table, “Because I fucking love you! I know it’s bullshit, I’m a fucking horrible person! How the fuck am I capable of love? But I do! I do love you and it’s so frustrating hiding all of this from you!”

You ignored what he said. Because if you did choose to acknowledge all that, you would’ve easily run into his arms—turn your back on your morals and just go with him wherever.

You’re too stupid and heartbroken to think straight that all you wanted to do was to touch him. You wanted him to hold you in his arms and tell you all the things he’s said before, that he’s there… that you’ve got nothing to worry about as long as you’re with him.

You can feel your chest closing in on you, it’s like you’re being suffocated to death that you needed to get out. “I need to leave.”

“You can't do that.” he said, holding your wrist when you were about to walk out the door. You tried to swat his hand away but he kept his hold on you, well, you really can't leave this place—it’s not that easy.

And maybe, he was afraid that if he let you leave—if he let you walk out that door, you’d be gone forever. 

From him… from his life. 

“Let me go!” you yelled, trying to wriggle out of his touch, but he pulled you into the couch, “The fuck—”

“I can't let you do that!” he shouted back, “Do you think you could just walk out of here? Do you think they wouldn't fucking kill you the moment you step out of this building?”

“Okay.” you said quietly, almost a whisper but enough for him to hear you, “Can you just please… let go of my hand.”

Ran sat in front of you, on his knees. “YN. Listen to me.”

“What?” your voice cracks, your tears still falling at the side of your eyes, you try to look at him, but every time you do, you feel like sobbing—so you look away. 

“I love you.” he whispered, “I love you.” 

That was all he could say because that is the truth. The only thing in his life that he didn't lie about to you.

You finally look at him, he smiles at you like he didn't do anything wrong—like with just one smile from him, everything will be okay.

And it’s not. Nothing’s ever going to make this okay.

“I love you, YN.” he cups your cheek and you don't pull away, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. His touch was familiar, it was comforting—just how it was before. “Please, don't leave. Just stay, hm? Stay.”

You have never seen him so… desperate, that he might just die if you didn't give in. But he had to try, if losing his dignity was the only way for you to stay then he would.

But it was a big thing. It’s a big selfish thing to overlook all the things that he had done, and you don't know if you could live with yourself with all of this.

But, it’s Ran. How could you do this to him? How could you leave him?

It’s Ran, for fuck’s sake. It’s Ran, you love him. You’d do everything for him. You’d jump off a cliff for him. 

It’s him, you were going to build a family with him. He was there for you, the only one there when you were basically empty. When you had nothing, he was the only one there. So… how?

How could you even think about this?

It’s Ran. 

There’s no question about that. 

Fuck, YN. Think.

Think.

“YN—” you cut him off by pressing your lips into him, you drape your arm over his neck to pull him close. 

You tug on his tie and deepens the kiss because fuck it. You both pull away to breathe, he presses his forehead against yours, you close your eyes and just try to feel him.

Just try to forget all the things that were happening. 

His lips find yours again, but this time he was kissing you so hungrily, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip as if he was craving you for a very long time, your fingers unbuttoning his suit—you feel the cushion on your back as he towers over you.

His kisses travel down your neck, his hands unbuttoning—no, more like ripping your blouse, favorite blouse, open and pulling your pants down—ridding you of your clothes, you bite back a moan when his hands squeeze the swell of your clothed tits. 

“Let me hear you.” he groaned, you can feel the vibrations on your skin, it’s as if you feel the nerve impulses all throughout your body. “Fuck, please.”

“Please, baby.” here you are legs sprawled open, under him but he’s the one pleading you, was he always this desperate for you?

His hands sets your panties aside, his fingers finding your swollen clit, drawing circles, trying to get just one fucking noise from you.

Finally, you gasp, your fingers gripping his hair as he pushes his fingers in and out of your cunt. Fuck, yes he was always this desperate.

Always so desperate to make you moan his name, always desperate to see your finger-fucked out face—he’s the only one who could make you like this, what makes you think that he would ever let go of you?

Why would he ever let go of you when you're so beautiful and helpless under him? Getting fucked ruthlessly, your legs hanging on his shoulder as he pump his cock in and out of your pussy?

“R-Ran, fuck! Please, slow down—ah!”  you were a fucking mess, sobbing—mumbling all the right words that should come out of your mouth when he’s hitting all the right, sensitive spot inside you. 

But it seems so hard to hear all your pleas when his hips slams into you like this, both your skin slapping, your wet pussy squelching when his dick slams inside you—it was too good, too good for him to stop, too fucking good to listen to you plead him to slow down, not when he can feel your cunt sucking him in.

You weren't sure anymore where you are, all you could see was your boyfriend’s face, fucking the life out of you.

Every grunt he was making passes through your ears and travels throughout your body. It was too much, you were exhausted—too exhausted to be in the right mind. Too tired to think if this is even right, if you should be even getting fucked right now.

You were already mumbling incoherent words when he switch your positions out, you were all on fours holding on the cushion while he fucks you raw from the back, he leans forward, squeezes your tits and pushes you against his chest.

“...too much, baby, slow down.” you whimpered, if only you could see the look on his face, “Ran, baby, please.”

“Tell me you’re mine.” he grunts, his voice hoarse—his breath was warm against your skin, “You're not going to leave, are you? ‘S too good, right?”

“‘m not, baby.” you gasp, your stomach churning as you feel his thrusts slow down, so agonizingly slow that you feel like he’s fucking with you, “‘m not going to leave. I love you.”

“Fuck!” he slammed his cock deeper, holding both your hips as he fucks you harder and harder, “Fuck, fuck—say that again. Say you fucking love me.”

“I love you,” you breathlessly say, “I fucking love you.”

…

You were just there sitting in silence—you, only wearing his coat, hands intertwined as you lean your head on his shoulder.

No one was speaking, you were bathing in the solace of just being there—together. It’s as if nothing happened, it’s as if you’re not going to make a big decision that’s going to affect your lives together.

Ran was the first one to speak, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” you answer mindlessly.

“You said,” he paused, “You’re not going to leave, did you mean it?”

You don't answer him because you don't know. You have no idea if you mean it or not, all you know is you just wanted to stay here for a moment and not think about anything.

He squeezes your hand, his thumb caressing your skin, he holds on to you tight as if he’s going to lose you and holding on to you was the only way for you not to slip away. 

“He’s my brother. The one with the long hair, similar color to mine.”

“I figured.” you whispered, “He looks a lot like you.”

“Yeah?” you hummed. “I guess.”

“Are we going to stay here forever?” you asked, “I’m hungry. I was going to cook dinner but…”

“You, cooking?” you heard him chuckle, “You sure about that?”

You immediately looked at him with a glare, “Excuse me?”

Your gaze softened when you saw that annoying smile on his face, just like that, it’s like everything was normal. It’s like you were on the bubble again, just the two of you—him teasing you, you being a brat but succumbs to him, and smiles back at him anyway.

But then you remember all the things that he lied about, all the things that you found out and all the things that you are about to find out. 

“I love you.” he says. “I love you so much that I don't know what I’m going to do if I lose you… am I? Losing you?”

“I don't know,” your voice was small, almost silent just like the room that surrounds you, “Would you let me go? Would you let yourself lose me?”

The silence settled once again. He looks into your eyes, and if you looked closely you could almost see the vulnerability inside. 

He’s Ran Haitani, he’s feared by some people. Even you figured that out. But when it comes to you, he’s not afraid to look stupid—he’s not afraid to beg you not to leave him.

You leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you felt the ache in your chest. If it’s only that simple, if only you could say yes that easily.

You took a shaky breath as you felt your tears once again, “How do we do this, Ran? How do I love you like this?”

Ran doesn't know either. How could you love him when he’s this? But he’s too selfish to let you go, he’s too caught up in this mess that he holds on to you because you’re the only thing in his life that makes sense.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Leave?”

“We’ll leave. We’ll run away, me and you.” 

Hearing him say those words just added to the pain you were feeling. He’s ready to risk it all for you. But this is wrong. “Why are you making it so hard for me to love you?” 

Leaving isn't the solution, because one way or another, they're going to find you and that would probably end with the two of you dying. But if that’s what it takes to keep you, then he would gladly leave.

You can see the pain in his eyes, in those eyes that hold so much adoration for you. He pulls you in, your head leaning on his chest. You close your eyes as you listen to his heart beat, it was once again comforting, but it shouldn't be. It shouldn't.

 “Then just let me love you enough for the both of us, hm?”

[inactivewattpadauthor]

Fujin x Nurse Reader: Neonatal

Context: Fujin, a guest at a pregnant Sonya and Johnny's hospital room, meets a nurse who works on the exact floor.

(Yes, ik he could've possibly been in the void in canon while Sonya was preggers)

Warning: Angst(?) I don't want to spoil my own one shot lol ~~~~~~~~~~~~ The dim white lights flickered as Fujin slowly walked around the room his mortal friends were in.

Sonya Blade is finally due to birthing her first newborn. He felt honored to be invited to visit her and the soon to be father, Johnny Cage, but he felt he had no place in the room while she's in labor.

Not because the blond woman seemed snarkier than usual, specifically at Cage, but really, why should he be there? It wasn't his child being borne.

So, feeling slightly downed, the friendly wind god decided its best he waits out their door. Fujin would be happy to go back in after the child comes into the world.

The pretty silver haired male's boots echoed a slow rhythm down the halls. He really should be happy for them. He is happy for them. But also... he feels sad.

Children were a blessing to have. Little bundles of endless joy. A joy he will never know. And as much as he doesn't like to think, he's envious of the two involved mortals.

Fujin stops in his tracks. He's probably walking a little too far from the room. And he'd rather not cause any alarm to anyone, to whomever catches him in this silent, maybe soothing liminal space of a hall.

The shine of the lights reflected off the light blue tiles. When Fujin turns back, he notices his reflection in the window. However, his quite admirable appearance isn't what he focused on.

Through the window, he saw a tiny little human bundled in a blanket!

The demigod steps closer to the window. The baby was clearly asleep comfortably. So small. So adorable!

Fujin notices more cribs with more babies nesting in each one. Do they all come here soon after they enter the world?

Fujin looked back at the one closest. Placing a hand on the window, he fantasized the newborn as his very own. He wishes he could cradle them. Wish to hold them and keep them safe.

All he could do was smile at the sleepy bean. "I know you'll grow into something great, little one." He whispers.

Silence rose in the ambiance more. Fujin hadn't walked back to the room. All he just wanted to do was stay put and observe the many new babies.

Though it seemed all were asleep, doing literally nothing but breathing correctly,  they make Fujin happy.

"Which one is yours?" A sudden voice spoke up behind and Fujin flinches up.

Just out of nowhere, a nurse comes up on him. A neat smile on her face, not covered my the mask resting on her chin. H/c slightly shown beneath the blue cap.

No footsteps or anything. Not that the Lord noticed.

"O-Ohh... Pardon me. None of these are mine." Fujin informs the lady. "I just wanted to watch them."

From your perspective, you watched this man stand here for nearly twenty minutes, looking at the children. It's quite late. Maybe 2 am. He looks troubled.

"Ah. Are you a visitor?"

Fujin nods quietly before looking back at the window. "My friends are about to have their first child. I thought it would be more appropriate to be at a distance."

You walk to his side and also observe the youngings. "I hear you. Do you have your own?"

"Truly, I wish I could." You could hear the sadness in his tone. The silent assumption you made was based on appearance. He's not a normal human, obviously. You didn't mind!

Earthrealm has crazy things. Maybe he has really important things to tend to than to get settled!

"I hear you. I wish I had mine." You tell him with the same smile.

Your words didn't quite make sense to him. Looking at you, he questions with the need of elaboration, "I'm sorry?"

It's quite a private story indeed, but you don't care. Everything eventually worked out for you.

"I got to hold my baby girl for five months."

His glowing eyes widened at what you were telling him, then sympathy was given off. "I'm sorry you had to endure such an experience. I can only imagine what many pains came with that."

"No need to be sorry for me. Yeah, it drastically changed me, but I'm happy to work here. Like you, I wish I could have my own; but I'm happy to help parents nurture their newborn infants."

Fujin smiles softly at such optimism. "That's a very graceful thought."

"Thank you. I always try."

Muffled crying took both of your attentions. A baby in the row nearest to the window has woken up. Their wails are definitely louder in the room.

"What's wrong with that one?" Fujin asks with concern.

"Could be it's not used to being out the womb. Or just hungry." You casually say.

Patting his shoulder softly, you start to move on now. You're still on the clock. "I best get back to work now. I'm pretty sure I'm the only free one on the unit."

"Very well, I admired speaking with you."

Before Fujin walks back to Sonya and Cage's delivery room, he watches you work gently with the infants.

Your endurance inspires him.

*Boooonnnnussss æeugh*

Fujin was still seated outside the room before he abruptly heard a loud scream, muffled by the walls.

His heart skipped a beat. Should he go in there to check up on all of them? Make sure Blade is okay. She's a string woman, but Fujin doesn't mind at all if he needs to use his God powers to heal.

Opening the door, was the actor walking out in tears. Fujin looks at him, concerned.

"She broke my hand!" Johnny's voice shakes as he showed off the impressively swollen hand.... that was him yelling??

Fujin just looks even more worried as Cage ran off to get his broken hand treated. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fujin would casually stare at newborns and be very fond.

I'd give him a kid fr😔

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

This will be my one and only post about this subject: why do I say that Charlie Vickers trolls the fandom, from time to time?

Because not only he’s a great actor (and if he doesn’t get any award nominations for Season 2 is a massive crime; his performance was outstanding), but he also studied everything about Sauron in order to play him in “Rings of Power”. I’m talking books, notes, letters, everything he could get his hands on. He knows this character extremely well and this is obvious in his performance (which is very in line with what Tolkien himself wrote), but also with many things he says in his interviews (I’m thinking about the one time he said there is debate if Gollum can actually be considered a hobbit or not; this alone tells me Charlie knows his Tolkien, and he’s up to date with Tolkien scholars thesis).

I don’t know the logistics of Amazon deal with Tolkien estate, because it appears very one-sided, with Tolkien estate controlling what Amazon can get their hands on to produce and write the show, but maybe the actors can access material from there too? I don’t know, I’m spitballing in here.

Not even the anti “Rings of Power” crowd can deny Charlie’s talent and how he’s the perfect cast for Sauron, because he’s absolutely nailing the role. His performance is insanely good, and I can’t praise him enough for his work. Awards be rigged if he doesn’t get the recognition he deserves. This was truly his season (alongside Charles Edwards, Sam Hazeldine and Robert Aramayo; to me these were the top and strongest performances this season).

Anyway, from Charlie’s interviews is also clear he has a very dark and sarcastic sense of humor (which I love, by the way), with joking about killing other characters and the human sacrifices in Númenor, among others things. Hence my use of the word “trolling”.

In one recent interview, Charlie said he doesn’t know how the next seasons will actually go, story-wise. He talks about having a “map” on his mind due to his readings, and he’s being honest, because “Rings of Power”, indeed, diverges from what’s considered by many as “Tolkien canon” (I won’t get into canon vs. legendarium debate here).

I don’t know how these interviews are suppose to work; if the actors have guidelines in what they can and cannot say; or if it’s totally up to them. Either way, Charlie can’t go around and “spill the beans” and spoiling the story (especially the bits that aren’t in what Tolkien wrote). This should be obvious, but apparently it isn’t. And every time I write something about Charlie “trolling” endless posts “coincidentally” appear in the Haladriel tag on how we must be nice to Charlie.

And I’ll say this, and I don’t even care about sounding offensive here or not; this infantilization of a married man in his 30s, is bizarre. Charlie is a few months younger than me. He’s not a child actor nor a teenager who needs to be “protected” or “sheltered” from certain interviewers’ questions (as I’ve seen getting thrown around) nor from the fans’ opinions of him (especially when these aren’t negative). You should take that crusade to the actual anti-RoP and dudebros crowd. They are the ones who don’t want the show to succeed, and want it cancelled.

[siriusremusblack]

In my opinion, Jeverus is a romantization of bullying

I completely agree! I also think that even if it is an Au, like ooc James Au where they’re friends and whatnot… that it’s still a romanticization of bullying, or Bully x Victim romanticization.

Even if James and Severus “make up”, if they confront the past- it’s just. It wouldn’t work out. That’s just my opinion at least.

James bullied Severus canonically just because he wanted to. Even if you take that out of his character- it’s still there in the original work. To me, it’s like trying to hide his past by taking it out. It’s not fixing the problem, even confronting their past, I feel like. James wouldn’t genuinely care. It’s just, not in his character to care. I see James as someone that manipulates others that he finds easy to control like Sirius, Remus and Peter. Though, Peter wasn’t as easy to control as he thought. Which led to him getting betrayed and later killed- My point being is. His feelings for Severus in my opinion IF genuine would be more so as a different kind of Power Grab. A way for him to feel like he’s still in control, like he’s the boss.

Similarly to Peter he’s someone that wants power, control, status, backing. But. Unlike Peter he wants to be the one in charge, the top dog. Peter wanted all of that but to be PROTECTED yet still Feared and respected. That’s why he followed James and then ditched when he found someone stronger. James wanting to be in control, the boss, that to me, is what his character is. He acts based on his own desires. I think, the reason James wanted Lily wasn’t actually because he loved her or was interested in her. I think it was a way for him to feel like he conquered two people who refused to follow him.

Lily at the beginning was hesitant, because of her friendship with Severus. Though, it was implied by JKR that she was ALWAYS interested in James because he was the “Bad Boy” type.

Severus openly rejected everything that James was about. Not necessarily by words but just by being himself. Here we have a kid who wasn’t seen as attractive, he was a Halfblood, poor, not popular. Someone that SHOULD be easy to control; be easy to get under James’ “wing”. But Severus sneered at him, rejected wanting to be in Gryffindor. He made it clear he wanted to be in Slytherin. The house James had animosity towards already.

So, I think. The reason why he got with Lily was to prove he could still have control. That he was still in charge. He took away the only friend Severus had, married her, and had a child with her. That was his way of getting back at the one kid that rejected everything that he was about by simply existing. It was also his way of getting back at Lily for being so hesitant to be friends with him. To me, I feel like. Even if Lily found out about the continued bullying, the going behind her back to torment others and such- with the fact that she had a SON, a CHILD with James she’d be stuck.

Lily wasn’t particularly rich. She didn’t come from a rich family, she was in a better financial situation than Severus, but she wasn’t rich. They lived around the same neighborhood before going to Hogwarts. If she got a divorce with James after having Harry.. she wouldn’t be able to support the both of them. She was essentially trapped in a relationship. James was from a rich family, he had money. He’d be paying for everything. Lily would likely lose so much during the divorce process as well, James would likely only lose a little bit of money. James could support them financially, Lily wouldn’t have been able to for a while. Especially since they were in hiding.

That’s why, I think it was a way to get back at the both of them. To make sure they knew he was in “Charge”.

[voxofthevoid]

relate to being turned off from satosugu bc of the fandom. especially being on twitter makes me feel crazy omg bc i'll see posts where people are straight up acting like gojo was completely fine with what geto did bc gojo is just oh so down bad for him and loves him more than anyone else in the world and he doesnt care about anything he just wants geto back. and that is just. so untrue and also so boring, imo.

Because to me, gojo truly *is* a good person in his actions. he says crass things and maybe his mentality can be detached at times, but he always helps people where it counts. Even when he was taking Riko's body away and he asked geto if he should just kill the cult members and geto said no- I have a hard time picturing gojo actually going through with it even if geto *had* said yes. Because for all that gojo postures, I don't think he truly has that kind of bloodlust and rage in him, imo. Not even saying that I think killing those cult members would've been bad, or that Gojo would never ever kill anybody (simply not true), I just simply don't think gojo wouldve stopped walking, turned around, and killed allll those people in that instance (or if he did, I think he wouldve felt,,, off about it afterwards, despite what he said).

But I see so many stsg shippers who act like the only reason gojo was heartbroken about the situation was just because geto left him, and not bc, yaknow, geto committed reprehensible atrocities and became a supremacist. and i'm like,,, are we watching the same show? it's truly such a BAFFLING perspective of the relationship to me. like why erase their moral differences ? doesn't that make the ship more interesting? Sometimes I feel like the reason they do that is bc they can't handle the fact that Geto post-defection is seriously NOT a good person. at all.

stsg as a ship could be sooo much more interesting, imo, if people didn't erase the fact that geto BETRAYED gojo with what he did. not just the leaving. the village massacre, the parricide, the fact that he had no shame about it and stuck by his actions. all of those things betrayed gojo. bc i think gojo truly does want to help people, and he thought that, no matter how hard it was, he would always have geto along with him to do it, and that would make the pressure easier. instead geto chose to become one of the people that makes gojos job harder, lmao.

i think if shippers actually acknowledged that fact the ship wouldn't feel so fucking boring to me.

I’d save you from Twitter if I could, friend. Not saying other sites are free of harebrained idiots. I have Getou and satosugu blocked here for a reason, and I’ve seen screenshots of rancid fucking takes from TikTok and Instagram. Even Reddit—and I’m talking about canon discussion subreddits that generally ban ship talk—didn’t spare me from having to see people’s most reductive takes on this ship. But Twitter in particular seems to be where brain cells go to die.

Nothing in the world can make satosugu compelling to me, but objectively, it’s a ship with rich potential—for angst, for drama, for fluff, for toxicity, for love, for hate, for all of it combined. Like you’ve said, one of the most interesting facets of their relationship is how their bond culminates in betrayal. I’m personally quite interested in the fact that Gojou killed Getou despite loving him, after sparing him for eleven years because of the very same love. It’s not like Getou was ever harmless—he was a special-grade curse user, not the kind of threat you want running around. His cult activities and killings weren’t exactly subtle either. That angle—the fact that love makes Gojou turn a blind eye to Getou’s actions until he crosses a line even Gojou can’t abide—is very, very interesting to me as someone quite obsessed with Gojou’s characterization. People who have an equivalent interest in Getou would find plenty there to peel apart, probably. The two of them together would also offer rich, nuanced grounds for exploration, and I’m sure there are people doing just that.

But fandom spaces as a whole have become exceptionally sanitized recently. I’m not talking about people who generally simply prefer fluff and write that regardless of canon dynamics; there’s nothing wrong with that. We’re all allowed our self-indulgent tastes. But what you’ve described—a tendency to erase characters’ dark or grey morality, to think along black-and-white lines that put people into neat little boxes, to remove unsavory or unhealthy elements from relationships—has been plaguing fandoms more and more, especially fandoms with a large number of young(er) fans. JJK is definitely one of those.

I’ve seen similar takes on a lot of JJK ships as well as platonic relationships, like goyuu shippers asking why fic authors write Gojou as predatory toward Yuuji in canon settings with their canon ages (yeah, a real mystery why a 28 y/o romancing/fucking a 15 y/o would be written as predatory) and dad!Gojou truthers earnestly arguing that Gojou has paternal feelings toward Megumi (or Yuuji or his students in general) and is also such a good dad. I’ve seen it with even sukugo and tojigo, in the brief days before both wound up on my blacklist.

Basically, it’s a fandom-wide issue in the English-speaking JJK sphere (I’m sure the Eastern side and other language/region-specific sides have their own debates and issues, but I’m unfamiliar with those), and because satosugu is the biggest ship in this sphere, it has a significantly larger number of voices making themselves heard—as well as a significantly larger number of nuance-allergic dumbasses making themselves heard. The latter tends to be so fucking loud, often drowning out the other voices. It can feel inescapable, even with filters and shit.

[toxintouch]

Cooking headcannons for touchstarved Li’s when? 👀

Apparently now, anon! Some Cooking/Baking/General Meal Time headcanons. Sorry as always that I am so late, lol. I got distracted by Halloween/October things. ✦✦✦✦✦

Vere: ✦ Canonically, he’s bad at it. But W H Y?? ✦ When I thought about why Vere might be a bad cook I decided he is likely the kind to get distracted, try to make everything at once, get bored with the instructions, etc. It's not the kind of food he craves, so cooking is very low-stakes to him. ✦ I’m trying to decide if I think his sense of taste is remarkably different from a human. Since his nose is impeccable, he SHOULD be able to determine if something is going to be good or not… ✦ Perhaps the real issue standing in his way is: Human food does not satiate him.

✦ Though he does have human foods he likes to eat. He's a texture person.  Loves a delicate texture, easy to slice through with his fangs.  Something supple. ✦ When he gets the cooking urge, he cooks a ton of food at once. Absolutely no intention of eating most of it. ✦ MC: “Who is going to eat this?”   Vere: “I’ve been fairly blatant about my interest in doing so, but you are willfully obtuse.” ✦ If you'll allow me to quote myself:

"Vere cooks how others might enjoy a leisurely stroll. 

Which is to say: he seems to be having fun, but you’re not convinced he intends on really going anywhere." The journey is often the destination. ✦ You ask him to cook or bake with you?: (If he likes you:) "I suppose. If you think you have the stamina." If he doesn't like you it's still a yes but you're the meal. ✦ If you're helping him cook, BE CAREFUL WITH THE KNIFE!  If you nick yourself and draw blood...you might get more than you bargained for...

Leander: ✦ The fandom has spoken. This man can't cook. He's just...too innovative.~ He could follow a recipe. He won't...but he could. ✦ You ask him to cook or bake with you?: He actually sounds awkward for a moment. “Ooohh, uh... you want to cook together?”  But he bounces back quickly.  “Of course we can do that! Sounds like fun. I’m sure our favorite barkeep won’t mind, we can use the kitchen here!”  (She minds.  She looks in on the two of you frequently to make sure you’re not going to burn the Wick down.) ✦ If you know your way around the kitchen already, he's happy to take a backseat. :) He measures out ingredients and has them all neatly ready for you. ✦ If you make him take the lead: Is that sweat sliding down the back of his neck? And his face is awfully red. "Ah, actually, I just thought of a better idea." How about the two of you rely on the expertise of your favorite cooks/bakers from around town for this one? Really immerse yourselves for a day (er, a few hours), learn from a professional. Who would you like to teach you? He can pull some strings and make it happen! :) :) :) ✦ ~Magical meal prep.~ He slices and dices with spell work. Like it's a party trick and not a potentially grisly weapon. Don't think too hard on the other potential applications of that spell, okay? :) ✦ Everything can be improved with cheese! (AKA: He puts cheese on top of everything.) ✦ He's unlikely to share this part of himself of his own accord, but... Naturally, he still knows all of his high society dining etiquette.  He can tell you all about place settings and the correct formal silverware order and how to tell which fork is the dessert fork, etc. Hopefully you'll never be put in a situation where that's knowledge that you need. He really doesn't want to subject you to that kind of person, if he can help it. Those people are closer to the Senobium and most would do anything for a favor. Best to stick to places where it's more safe. Right here next to him is free. ✦ He has a brilliant mind for what wines go with what foods. One of the few drink recommendations you can trust him on. "Of course, these are all just suggestions. What matters is that you're drinking what you like, right?" (<- He's trying to sell you on his new mixolology concoction. Do not trust.) ✦ Could hold a formal tea for you but you will really have to wheedle it out of him. And he'll only say yes if you agree that it stays between the two of you. "You have to pinky promise." ;) and it only counts if it's bare skin. ✦ That said, he's at his most comfortable when he's in some little hole-in-the-wall, enjoying great local food that someone else made. ✦ Extremely interested in any dishes you enjoy that are local to your home/culturally significant to you. Will hunt someone down who can make them for you if you're feeling homesick. (Or will find the ingredients if you prefer to make it yourself.) He's a good guy like that. :)

Kuras: ✦ He tries to make the recipe but he just makes things worse. Like many things in his long life. ✦ He's worse than Vere. A lot worse. 'Possibly the worst cook in the entire city' type worse. ✦ Cooking is just so outside of his realm of existence. ✦ It doesn't help that Everything tastes like p u r e n o t h i n g to him. It's not just that he doesn't need to eat, the very sensation of taste is beyond him. ✦ But he occasionally likes to try to make food for his friends and loved ones. He understands that food sharing is an important human social behavior and he'd like to participate how he can and show that he values his bonds with the people he chooses. ✦ He is uniquely awful at it though. Time has made very little improvement. ✦ Ever since that Valentine's Day cake, baking is his ✨passion.✨ Mhin had a good reaction, so he's decided not to give; he made such an obvious breakthrough with that one. ✦ You ask him to cook or bake with you?: He accepts immediately. He's overjoyed. "I'm sure this will be an enlightening experience. I confess myself as rather lacking when it comes to this activity so please consider me your humble student. Anything you wish to teach me would be appreciated." ✦ Of course, the two of you will have to work around the clinic's schedule. (You ought to realize quickly that he does not have a good gauge of time when it comes to meals. Take the initiative or starve tbh.) ✦ He is very attentive to everything you say.  His earnest face while listening to you is unbearably adorable.  Frequently tilts his head like a cat. ✦ He hangs off your every word and even asks questions.  Though, some of the questions you don’t quite know how to answer.  (“When you chew, do you instinctively know how many times is appropriate, or must you count?”  “....I…what?”) ✦ You think that particular question might be a joke... Hard to say. ✦ Even when you are running the show and watching him to make sure he does everything right…every time something somehow ends up going wrong. ✦ Pro tip: don't let him put anything into the oven or determine the cooking/baking times. Otherwise, things will get...strange. ✦ You are the test subject–I mean: taste tester.  Kuras insists that your opinion is of the utmost importance.  Are you brave enough?  If not, are you tough enough to politely decline when his eyes are sparkling softly with affection and excitement like that??

Think of it this way:

If you get sick (which you will) you’re already at the doctor’s!  ✨Convenient!✨ ✦ Comfortable silence in the kitchen when they two of you are working together. <3 ...As soon as you accept that nothing will be edible. Actually, maybe you should stop this. This is probably more food waste than a post-apocalyptic world can afford.

Ais: ✦ Of course he knows how. ✦ Well.  Maybe not him specifically. But give him a moment, he’s pretty sure he’s got the equivalent of a Michelin 3 Star chef (or two, but who’s counting?) “in here somewhere.”  (He taps on his temple.) ✦ He doesn't have an interest in human food. "You want recommendations try asking Pretty Boy." ✦ He does like to experiment with making treats for his Soulless.  He’s bought them snacks from the market on occasion, but he likes the feeling of taking care of them and providing for them contributing with his own hands.  Plus, he can make them treats that are a lot less grain heavy.  They prefer meat.

✦ (Most aren't stupid enough to try and poison the treats he buys, but he did kill someone for trying once. Not that the shit they put inside was strong enough. He ate the stupid biscuit right in front of them just to prove a point. Last thing they ever saw.) ✦ If the Sea Spring has a kitchen…look, he hasn't been in there in a while. There might be mold.  There is almost certainly mold. ✦ Luckily, Kuras has a kitchen!  And he doesn’t seem to use it, so it’s basically free real estate.  If Ais is ever in need of somewhere to cook or bake, he’ll be using Kuras’ space. ✦ He can do meat preparation really well (he’s an absolute butcher with anything sharp) and smoke meat really well but spending an overabundance of his time preparing meals (meals that aren't even the preferred sustenance of Monsters like him) feels like a poor use of his life. He's got shit to do. ✦ You ask him to cook or bake with you?: "Huh... Nah. Don't think I will..." <- neutral bastard “Or what?” <- He feels like riling you up a little extra today. ✦ (You're more likely to get that experience if you catch him doing it of his own accord and join in/keeping him company in the clinic while he works.)

Mhin: ✦ Diametrically opposed to Leander (and Vere), they will follow the recipe exactly whenever possible. ✦ The only one you can trust to make something edible without fail. ✦ Mhin is an alchemist.  Cooking and baking are both easy for them.  None of these components are even going to explode or create poisonous gas if mixed.  The worst thing that will happen is that they’ll eat a meal they aren’t completely satisfied with.  (And honestly, what else is new these days?) ✦ They are impressively quick and precise in the kitchen!  They can cut things so fast! Can also cut fruit into animal shapes for reasons that they will not explain. ✦ When they cook, they are making meals to feed themself.  It’s a necessity that they are performing to keep themself able to tolerate their strenuous life. At the same time, it relaxes them to an extent–it grounds them, it’s something concrete to focus on that isn’t … –but it’s a necessity first and foremost. ✦ Mhin’s cooking has a tendency to be b l a n d.  They are filled with too much self-loathing to season more interested in the nutritional value of the meal than its flavor.  Plus, spices are costly and they aren’t about to spend any of their hard earned money on the luxury of taste. ✦ Mhin’s baking is significantly more inspired than their cooking.  If they have the good fortune and the wherewithal to bake themself a little treat, they have a good intuition for (delicate, sweet) flavors.  They never get the opportunity, but.  The ability is there. ✦ In another life (an easier life) baking could have been a hobby. ✦ You ask them to cook or bake with you?: "..." Mhin isn’t the type to teach someone, but… If you're any good, you could be a useful second pair of hands. If you're hopeless...they should really leave you to your own devices, but… someone needs to tell you to stop holding a knife like that. It's annoying to look at. It will just take them a few seconds to correct you. And then you're on your own! (They still stay. They were using Kuras' kitchen first.) ✦ Will scold you for holding the knife wrong.  Tries to explain the correct way–which is to say, the safest way–to handle it but...  They’re not used to having to verbalize their thoughts/instructions to people, since they are always alone. ✦ So they'll finally just settle in behind you and show you how to position your hands and cut away from yourself. ✦ Backs off ASAP because being able to feel your body heat and being so close to you flusters them.  (Not to mention whatever is happening with your hands.) They go off into their own little corner to meal prep extra because they want to be prepared–definitely not so that they can look away from you and focus on something else for a while. ✦ Mhin can tell you about the chemical reaction that makes bread rise.  Mhin can tell you why and how each ingredient is important, which ones you can skip and substitute if supplies in this post Fogfall world are running low.  Mhin can tell you that you are not doing that right, what are you doing?  Stop.  That is way too much vanilla extract. ✦ If you ever reach their maximum affection level: Their face looks like it is absolutely on fire when they offer to share their favorite dessert this dessert they’ve really been craving with you.  They’ll even teach you how to make it, and you two could make it together if you'd like...

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XX.

GIF by bestintheparsec

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The night of the ritual.

WORD COUNT: ~9.1k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: dead dove: do not eat!, kidnapping, mc is held hostage, allusions to SA (nothing explicit. will be explained later on), hallucinations, humiliation, wound care, hurt/no comfort, crime thriller vibes are vibing, demon worship, cult ritual, supernatural elements, non-consensual drug use, angst, whump, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i'm missing any other tags please let me know.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i’m going to hold y’all’s hand when i say this... i am putting paloma through it 😓 i was initially going to just bang everything out and post it in one big chapter, but as i was writing... i just felt like it would be better if we let the suspense of it all do its thing and end with a cliffhanger. i am a sucker for ‘em, even if they’re so frustrating (in the best way possible) 😭 i hope that all the lore revolving the cult has been concise and strong enough to hold up during the ending bit of this. i wish i could say things are going to get better from here but they’re not… they’re actually going to get worse 🤠 as always, feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it 🖤

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When ten minutes pass, Javier brushes it off. She’s probably just caught up in something. It’s nothing to worry about.

But when twenty minutes roll by, that’s when the unease creeps in. He starts pacing the living room, fighting the urge for a cigarette, glancing at the clock.

Where is she?

By the time half an hour has come and gone, he’s dialing the library, wondering why Paloma hasn’t come home yet. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. His stomach tightens, and he wills himself to remain calm. She’s probably fine.

At the hour mark, Javier’s behind the wheel, speeding into town. Maybe she’s still upset from the argument they had earlier, and instead of coming home, she went to Tammy’s.

But when Tammy tells him she hasn’t heard from Paloma for a few days now, a knot twists in his chest.

Panic threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. He can’t let it consume him—not yet. Not until he has a real reason to worry.

But she has that damn habit of disappearing to sulk in random places when she’s upset. And that habit is gnawing at him now.

He drives to every spot he can think of, the abandoned tracks, the clearing behind the cemetery, the creek—but there’s no sign of her.

That terrible feeling grows, heavy and unshakable. He marches into the sheriff’s department, jaw set, not caring who sees the frantic look in his eyes.

He storms the file room, ripping through boxes. His hands tremble as he plucks out the file he’s searching for.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath, jaw tightening as the photo of Paloma’s mother stares back at him.

Now, he has a reason to panic.

He should have known when he first laid eyes on it. The familiarity of her features—her eyes, her hair, her smile; it was all too close to Paloma. Too close to ignore. But he had, all because his mind was completely elsewhere at the time. Now look where that got him.

It’s like a scene from a horror film, where everything snaps into place too late.

The recent victims; brunettes in their mid-twenties with similar features, similar backgrounds—they resembled her.

The staged chamber, the gore, the man who killed himself.

All of it was leading to this, tying up the gruesome mystery with a neat little bow, like a gift Javier wishes he could burn. They had been played—manipulated, distracted from seeing the bigger picture.

Whoever orchestrated this whole thing has been after his girl from the very beginning.

He fights the urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, to tear down every shelf in the room in a fit of blind rage.

But what would that solve? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rage won’t lead him to her. Fear won’t undo what’s already been set in motion. All he can do is cling to hope, even if it’s slipping through his fingers.

The ultimate goal of this fucked-up cult—their twisted mission—is to birth the flesh reincarnate of their so-called, bullshit deity.

His blood runs cold at the thought of Paloma being used in some horrific ritual, being touched, violated, forced into madness.

He’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, his heart slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. But he forces himself to breathe—slow, deep, steady breaths, locking the perturbation away. 

Javier puts out an APB, his voice tight as he details her car, her appearance. Every word feels surreal, like it’s not really him saying it, like he’s watching someone else’s nightmare play out.

Romeo’s going to hear this, and he’s going to have to explain how they missed all the signs, how Paloma has been in danger this whole time.

The weight of it presses down on him like a thousand pounds of guilt.

Gathering what he needs and delegating some of the overnight officers at the station, he frantically drives to the Leighton house.

He’s already chain-smoked half a pack. That nasty habit he’s been trying to shake is clinging to him. The file in his hands feels too light for the bomb he’s about to drop.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this? How do you tell someone their wife’s past is tangled in a nightmare, and that their daughter—a woman they both love—is at the heart of it? How do you stay composed when you’re barely holding yourself together?

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

Javier’s barely set foot out of his truck when Romeo’s fists twist in his shirt, shoving him hard against the vehicle.

The impact rattles through him, but all he can see is the wild, desperate look in the sheriff’s eyes—a terror that matches his own but runs even deeper, cutting into every line on his face.

“Romeo, listen to me!” Javier’s voice is authoritative, that familiar guarded wall of stoicism building as his trademark defense mechanism to the absolute anxiety that’s gnawing away at his body. “This is gonna be hard to hear—I’m barely making sense of it myself—but I need you to listen if we’re going to figure this shit out.”

Romeo’s grip tightens, then slowly loosens, and Javier seizes the moment, shoving the older man back, no longer giving a fuck about keeping the peace.

He yanks the folded photo from his jacket pocket and holds it up, letting him get a clear look. “Tell me. Is this Paloma’s mother?”

Romeo’s gaze flits to the photograph, and the recognition that floods his face is immediate.

His fingers snatch the photo from Javier, and his expression cracks, aging him in just a matter of seconds. “Where did you get this?” His voice is barely a whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”

Javier’s own dread deepens. “From the old files,” he says, voice hollow. “The ones from the original group. She’s connected to all of this. They both are.”

He takes a breath, then begins to explain everything he knows. He lays it out, bit by bit—the tangled web of what Paloma had uncovered, the twisted threads that pointed to this cult, the fake leads that had kept them chasing shadows. Every word feels like glass in his throat.

Confusion, fear, anger—every emotion etched on Romeo’s face makes Javier feel like he’s the one who has failed. 

“Did you know about any of this?” he asks, though he already knows the answer from the lost look in Romeo’s eyes.

His mouth opens, then closes. He seems to gather himself, shoulders dropping under a weight he’s only just begun to grasp. “None. When I met Abby… she was just a woman startin’ over. She’d moved into a small house near the church. Said her parents had passed and she needed a fresh start. Picked a random town—that’s how she ended up here.” The sheriff’s gaze drifts to a place Javier can’t reach, caught in the bittersweet memory of his late wife. 

“Paloma said she found this out by going through her mom’s things,” he says carefully, each word a stone dropping into his gut. “But I don’t think she was telling me everything.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded as they lock eyes in an unspoken understanding.

They need answers, and every second they waste is another second Paloma could be slipping further away.

“Before we make accusations,” Javier says, forcing himself to stay grounded, “we need to dig through their belongings. There has to be something there—a lead, a hint—something that’ll tell us who’s behind this.”

“But you already know who it is, don’t you?”

Javier’s eyes darken, and his jaw locks as one name barrels into his mind, clear and hateful: August.

The red flags he had dismissed, convinced they were just a byproduct of his hate for the guy, now stand out like beacons.

He meets Romeo’s gaze, a grim certainty settling into his features. “I believe it’s Augustus Dixon and his group.”

Romeo’s face twists with anger, and he grits out, “Motherfucker—” His fists clench, his whole body radiating fury.

“Be pissed off later. We’ve got a job to do.”

They stalk up the stairs, both men moving with purpose—Romeo heads for his wife’s things while Javier makes his way into Paloma’s room.

It feels surreal, even wrong, to be rummaging through her life like this. The last time he’d been in this position, it was in Jessica’s room, and even then he could see the resemblance her space shared with Paloma’s—but he’d never thought he’d be here, seeing his girl as a victim.

His fingers skim over a leather-bound book tucked away on the top shelf in her closet, hidden behind a jewelry box. It’s as if she’d placed it there purposefully, stowed away out of reach.

When he pulls it down, he realizes it’s a scrapbook brimming with photographs and clippings.

Inside, he finds images of Calmana, surrounded by groups of men and women, all dressed in matching, traditional attire. A towering cathedral looms in the background, religious iconography scattered throughout—symbols he now recognizes from his research.

Maps, faded with time, span several pages, and in the center lies an intricate, sprawling family tree with Paloma’s name written at the bottom.

He spots envelopes tucked between the pages, each one addressed to her in cursive hand.

He calls out for Romeo, and the sheriff is by his side almost instantly, his expression a twisted mix of hope and dread.

“What’d you find?” 

Javier silently hands him the scrapbook, keeping the envelopes for himself. 

One by one, he opens them, unfolding each paper. His breaths come out ragged, and he feels his stomach drop as he reads.

They’re love poems—explicit, filthy in their adoration. Line after line, they detail all the things August wants to do to her, each word penned with obsession.

The praises he lavishes on her, how he calls her a spectacle, the power he insists she wields—it’s like poison seeping into Javier’s mind. 

His hands start trembling, and the implications tighten around him like a noose.

Romeo, sensing his agitation, reaches out, his voice rough. “What’s that—what did you find?” 

Javier jerks the papers away, swallowing hard. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these—not now.”

“Let me see them, Javier! Goddammit, my daughter is in danger!”

Before their back-and-forth can spiral any further, Javier’s walkie talkie crackles sharply, an officer’s voice coming through:

“A dark green, 1970 Buick Electra matching the APB put out an hour ago has been found in Lake Fraiser alongside an unidentified female body.”

The air thickens and shatters as Javier and Romeo lock eyes, both of them wearing the same look of wide-eyed horror. 

“Romeo—” Javier tries, reaching out, but the man is already out the door, the scrapbook falling from his hands and hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud that reverberates in Javier’s chest.

He mutters a quick fuck and scoops it up, rushing after him, yet the sheriff is a blur, tearing down the driveway with the kind of desperation only a father can muster when everything he loves is on the line.

Now that he’s left alone, Javier grips the railing, and the weight of it all—of losing her—comes crashing down. His heart’s splintering, his chest tight, mind skidding out of control.

This is what he’s been running from all along—failure… loss… grief. Now it is all coming back, circling like vultures, ready to take the one thing that’s ever brought him true happiness.

But he forces himself to breathe, to anchor his mind to the one cold comfort he has left. “He wouldn’t kill her. He needs her.” The words taste bitter, chilling him, but they hold him steady.

Paloma is at the center of this plan—there’d be no sense in taking her, just to end it so abruptly.

Despite everything, he finds a sliver of reassurance in that cruel logic. He clings to it with everything he has, because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Javier pulls up to Lake Fraiser, where the scene is a flurry of first responders, flashing lights reflecting off the water’s dark surface in sharp reds and blues.

He parks haphazardly, barely cutting the engine before he’s out of the truck, heading straight toward the area cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

His heart slams against his ribs as he spots Romeo, kneeling by the edge of the lake beside a body draped in a white cloth, his face blank, almost empty.

Javier’s eyes dart to the surrounding officers, scanning each one, trying to get a read on the situation before he speaks.

“Is it her?” His voice breaks the stillness.

Romeo doesn’t look up, his gaze locked on the covered body. “…No.”

Relief floods through him, dizzying him for a moment before his gaze lands on a tow truck pulling Paloma’s car away from the scene. 

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow back the bitter uncertainty rising in his throat.

Romeo stands slowly, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening as he relays, “Just got a call from the hospital. Our girl from the woods finally woke up. Tonight of all nights.” He chuckles dryly. “Asked to speak with me specifically. So I’ll head that way tomorrow after she’s been stabilized properly… which means you’ll be in charge of all this.” He gestures around them vaguely.

The pulsing emergency lights cast fractured shadows over their faces.

“It’s best for you to step back momentarily. Clear your head. You’re too close to this,” Javier adds quietly, “She’s your daughter.” And while Javier is her lover and every inch of him is fraying at the edges for her, he understands that his pain won’t amount to the agony that Romeo is drowning in.

The sheriff’s silence stretches, words hesitating on his tongue, until finally, with a quiet confession, he murmurs, “I was too harsh on her. On you. I was an asshole, and if it’s any reconciliation—thank you for tryin’ to get her out of this shitty town.”

Javier’s caught off-guard but doesn’t show it, the self awareness on his behalf is appreciated. “I’d do anything for her.”

Romeo studies him for a moment, as if measuring the resolve behind his words, then he nods, his expression taut, “Gonna start combing through everythin’ back at the station. Probably call Olsen, see if he’s got any cameras ‘round the library so we can get a timeline goin’.”

These two men are similar in that regard, backing themselves into their jobs to mask the turmoil inside. They talk through some of the procedures before Romeo is pulled away by other officers, leaving Javier to handle things here.

He forces himself to switch gears, to summon every bit of authority he has left to do his job. He’s got a dead body to assess, a team to command, and then—then he’ll focus everything he’s got on finding Paloma.

Paloma stirs awake, the pitch darkness of the early morning pressing in from all sides.

She’s disoriented—a dull ache in her head and the sting of thick, abrasive rope biting into her wrists.

Her hands are suspended and bound above her, tethered tightly to an old, rusted pipe overhead, which creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She can feel the grit of dried blood matting her hair against her temple, the aftershock of Sloane’s vicious hit with the bat ringing sharp behind her eyes. Her boots are missing, leaving her barefoot against the cool concrete ground.

As reality sharpens around her, she realizes this isn’t a dream and it nauseates her, instilling panic in her heart.

She barely remembers the car ride or the way they dragged her down here, everything muddled from the hit she’d taken until she’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Now, the throbbing intensifies as she tugs instinctively at the ropes, her wrists burning, but no amount of pulling loosens her bonds.

Frustration and terror mix, unwieldy coiling in her chest and tears sting at her eyes despite her attempts to fight them back. She doesn’t want to imagine what they plan to do to her.

She knows Javier and her father have to be looking for her. They must be tearing themselves apart with worry. She can almost hear her father’s harsh reprimands and Javier’s quiet, determined rage—they’re relentless when it comes to protecting her. 

They’ll find her. They have to.

The cellar door creaks open and she freezes, her pulse skittering as August, Sloane, and Gabriel descend the stairs.

The dim light barely touches their faces, but she doesn’t need to see them clearly to know what they’re capable of.

She tries to hold her head high, pushing back the tears, refusing to let them see the fear that’s boiling inside. She won’t give them that satisfaction, not if she can help it.

Their footsteps echo against the walls of the basement. August stops just close enough that she can feel his presence invading her senses, suffocating, his familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, P,” he drawls, voice dripping with the charm that managed to slither its way into her heart.

What she once found magnetic in him is now hollow, a mask that hides something so unfathomable. 

“Pretty nasty cut ya got there.” Sloane’s voice drips with fake sympathy. Her eyes glint with that special brand of cruelty she’d always kept hidden behind a guise of friendship.

The satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable, like she’s savoring every moment of seeing Paloma in such a vulnerable state.

The urge to spit in their faces, to lash out, is almost unbearable, but she remembers her daddy’s lessons, advising her to stay calm, to never let them know how afraid she really is.

Every word of advice he’d ever given her about self-preservation hangs heavy in her mind. 

She keeps her face blank, her mouth a hard line.

“Silent treatment, huh?” August steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers are inches from her forehead when she sees the sick satisfaction in his eyes, and she can’t suppress the involuntary grimace as his fingers hover over the gash near her forehead.

The moment of weakness feels like a win for him, his smile widening as he grazes her wound, pressing just enough to send a wave of pain radiating through her skull and a fresh stream of blood to trickle out.

Sloane watches her reaction, faux innocence weaving through her sneer. “You make for a pretty damn good damsel in distress. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, if I’m bein’ honest. You really disappointed me, doll face.”

Paloma’s grip tightens around the rope until her knuckles ache. She wants to tell her off, to fight and scream—but instead she just turns away, refusing to even look at them.

August’s hand cups her chin as he forces her to meet his eyes, eyes that once held promises of affection and loyalty now filled with something so dark and consuming.

His fingers dig into her soft skin. “I need you to look perfect, little dove. All stitched up and pretty.” His thumb trails along her chapped bottom lip. “Gabriel,” he calls, not even glancing back at the other man, “Tend to that. Tonight’s a big night, after all. Lots to prepare for.”

There goes that trepidation again. Her mouth twitches, half-ready to break her silence and demand to know just what the hell he’s talking about. But she’s already committed to keeping quiet.

Gabriel lingers behind them, shifting uncomfortably, the first aid kit clutched tight in his hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as usual, eyes flicking from Paloma to his partners, some part of him clearly unsettled yet too cowardly to intervene.

He’s her best shot of getting out of here, she just knows it.

“‘S’okay, you ain’t gotta talk,” August’s coos. “I actually prefer you like this—makes things a hell of a lot easier. The others…” He snorts, shaking his head.

How many other unfortunate women had been dragged down here, suffering at his hands?

“Too squirmy, too squeamish—like fuckin’ pigs.” His laughter is mirthless and Sloane joins in with loud, exaggerated snorts that mimic a pig’s squeal. The sound claws at Paloma’s ears.

There’s this twisted admiration in his stare as he studies her. “That’s why I knew I needed to have you. No one else on this planet holds a candle to the magic you have, Paloma. You should stop bein’ so scared and embrace it.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a whisper.

His hand snakes down from her jaw, tracing her neck, lingering in an unsettling crawl between her breasts before settling at her hip.

His fingers dig in, and she flinches, her body stiffening in revulsion. He smirks at her reaction, savoring her discomfort like a fine wine.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?” His tone is falsely tender. "Gotta make sure everythin’ is perfect. Can’t afford any fuck ups now—I’ve been way too patient for this."

He steps back at last, allowing Gabriel to shuffle forward with the kit in hand.

With a jerk of his chin, August motions for Sloane to follow him. She blows Paloma a mocking kiss and winks with a saccharine sweetness that really piles on the hatred that burns a little hotter for her specifically.

The heavy cellar door slams shut, casting them back into dim silence as the first pale light of dawn begins to creep through the basement windows.

Paloma’s heart pounds as their shadows disappear, leaving her helpless in the creeping morning light.

“What are you goin’ to do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, each word scraping her dry throat like sandpaper, but she can’t keep quiet now that they’re alone.

Gabriel wordlessly drags over a stool, placing the first-aid kit on top. He opens it, sorting through supplies as though she isn’t even there.

Paloma yanks at her restraints, the old pipe groaning in protest. “Fuckin’ say somethin’,” she snaps, anger edging her desperation. “It’s the least you could do—just… tell me.” She hates the pleading tone that slips through, the last thread of her control unraveling as she imagines what fate awaits her.

His gloved hands move to clean her wound, and she clenches her jaw against the sting, glaring at him as if she could force him to talk through sheer will. He’s careful and practiced, clearly having done this before.

“The Crimson Rite,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he concentrates, his voice a barely audible murmur. “It’s where the conception will happen… on the altar of incarnation.”

Paloma’s heart stumbles, her mind racing to piece together the fragments. “What the fuck are you even sayin’?” Her voice wavers, but there’s no denying the chill in her spine.

She knows what those words mean on their own, but together, they paint a picture she’d rather not face—the harrowing reality of how August truly plans on using her.

“August’ll explain,” he replies, brushing her off with the indifference of a man following orders. “He’s better at that shit than I am. I just do what he asks and stay outta the way.”

“Like a fuckin’ coward,” she spits.

The needle pauses, its sharp tip hovering an inch from her skin, and he raises his eyes. “You get all lippy with me, but keep your mouth shut around them? What, I ain’t intimidatin’ enough for you?” 

She holds his gaze, defiance simmering behind the exhaustion in her stare. “Nothing about you’s intimidatin’ enough to keep me from tellin’ you exactly what I think.”

His lips twist downward, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he resumes stitching, each tug at her skin rougher than the last. 

“At church that day, you were warnin’ me, weren’t you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the memory of that awkward conversation rattling in her mind. “S’not too late, Gabe. You can still help me outta this… We both can be outta here ‘fore the sun comes up.”

There’s a lapse, just for a second, in his eyes—something she wants to believe is regret, a part of him she hopes she can reach.

The sliver of optimism she’s mustered might awaken that dormant part of him buried under layers of August’s bullshit and the bitterness life has forced him to swallow.

But he shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze as he finishes stitching her wound, his hands deft. “You don’t get it. Don’t matter if I do the right thing. He’d find us—he always does.” He sprays her wound with a numbing mist then covers it with a small gauze.

“He wouldn’t find us,” she insists, her voice fraying. “Daddy would protect us. He’d make sure we’re safe.”

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? He promise you that or somethin’? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, you don’t look all that safe.”

A bitter, frustrated cry escapes her as he begins to pack up his kit, her pleas bouncing off him like stones against steel.

“Please, Gabe, don’t leave me down here alone,” she chokes out, and the words twist something deep inside her, pulling her further into a desperation she’s been trying to keep at bay.

“Breakfast’ll be down in a few hours,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself, keeping his voice low and detached. “Probably get you a shower at sundown so you ain’t all sweaty and grimy. Needs you all fuckin’ pristine.” The last words slip out like a hiss, a disgusted edge in his tone. “S’gonna be a long day for you down here. Scream all you want; ain’t nobody around worth a damn to hear it. You got a better shot at rubbin’ the skin off your wrists than gettin’ out of that rope.”

Paloma snaps, her control breaking in a flood of panic and fury as she yanks at her restraint, her wrists burning as she curses him, calling him every name her mind can summon.

The words pour out in a desperate torrent, trying to cut him, to provoke something human out of him, anything.

But he stays silent, barely flinching, his face a mask as he gathers his things, turning his back on her without a word. 

When the cellar door finally slams shut, it echoes through the basement, and her last shreds of resolve crumble as she sinks into sobs.

The thoughts come in fragments, jagged and bitter, cutting her deeper than any wound.

The way things were left with her father—how they’d argued and he looked at her with that final, dismissive silence, like she’d become a stranger for daring to chase her own life beyond their town.

The love that took root so unexpectedly, so completely with Javier. He came into her life at the perfect time, pouring a rare, tender kind of intimacy into her soul; the kind that made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

He was a good man who’d endured his own share of hardships —and she let their last conversation end in anger and frustration. She’s just like her father.

Perhaps if she had told him the full truth about how she came across her mother’s past, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

This mess—it’s her inheritance. Not a blessing like August wants her to believe, but a curse Calmana left behind, the forced sins of her mother she didn’t choose but can’t escape.

Her suicide is starting to make more sense.

It all makes her feel like a lamb at slaughter, her life never really hers, and now her blood and body are an offering to feed whatever he believes she’s meant to bring to life. 

The promise of an explanation later on hangs over her like a guillotine. Does she even want to know? Will it make a difference?

She got herself kidnapped by trusting them all, falling for August’s romantic words and impressive knowledge. All of his lies. She’d thought she was smart enough to see through him, to keep a grip on her own heart, and instead, she’d unknowingly let him manipulate her.

Sloane was right—she is the helpless damsel she always denied being, someone who hadn’t fought hard enough to save herself. 

Paloma has to believe she’s got people searching for her, that they’re smart enough, relentless enough to find her before night falls. She has to cling to that hope, however fragile, because right now it’s all she has.

Her cries fill the empty space around her until exhaustion claims her in silence.

The basement is her prison as the sun traces its lazy arc above.

The day drags on in a haze of stale air and the natural sounds of bugs chittering about. On occasion, she’ll hear people walk by or see their shadows through the small windows.

She's trapped here, the only visits marking the hours coming when Gabriel brings a bucket for her to relieve herself—like she’s some kind of animal—or sets down a tray of food she refuses to touch.

“You need to eat,” he says, setting the tray with her dinner on the floor. His hands working on cutting the thick rope binding her wrists, each tug and scrape freeing her a fraction at a time.

“What’s the point? M’gonna die anyway,” she mutters, exhausted but still pissed. “Won’t matter if I’ve got a full stomach or not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not goin’ to die, Paloma. You’re too important to all this. How haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Oh, forgive me if I haven’t picked up on all your twisted bullshit,” she snaps. “You all speak in fuckin’ tongues and riddles. No one’s told me a damn thing that makes any sense.”

At last, the final fiber of rope snaps, and the weight drops from her wrists. She lets out a low, relieved sigh as her arms fall to her sides, stiff from the hours of suspension.

The ache in her shoulders is intense, and her wrists are lined with red from the coarse bondage.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid,” he warns, his voice low. “They might not kill ya but they’ll hurt you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She doesn’t doubt it, so she reins in her impulses and instead glances at the food, the bitterness slowly giving way to resignation.

If the chance to escape comes, she’ll need her strength. She takes the cup, drinking greedily, barely noticing the water spilling down her chin—it’s just a relief to feel the dryness ease, something grounding in a nightmare that feels endless.

The meal tastes dull, but she swallows it down anyway, each bite a fight to hold onto her sense of self, to stay sharp.

Gabriel watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“I tried leavin’ years ago, when August first started buildin’ the group.” He looks down, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “But he caught me at the train station. Gave me the ass-beatin’ of my life. Locked me up in a shed in the middle of the woods for days, left me there until I learned my lesson. I swear, I lost every bit of myself in that dark place.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “After that, I never thought ‘bout leavin’ again... not until he got his sights set on you.”

Paloma’s chewing slows, her eyes flitting over to him, reading the conflict etched in his expression.

For August to treat Gabriel, his so-called “brother,” with such brutality to keep him in line... it makes all too much sense now, why he is August’s silent shadow, obeying every command.

“His obsession with you is different. Everythin’ suddenly became different. He has this way of makin’ you submit to him that gets me wonderin’ if all this Eurynomos shit is actually real.”

The twisted loyalty, the deep-seated fear that’s tangled around them like shackles, intertwined with stories of divinity.

She’s barely scratched the surface of what August is capable of.

“That’s terrible,” she whispers, sympathetic to what he’s been through. “I’m sorry... ‘n I get why you’re scared, but there’s two of us now. We could make a run for it, slip away while we have the chance.”

Her food is forgotten as Paloma edges closer, her gaze steady and imploring. For a moment, he genuinely considers their escape.

But the heavy, thunderous creak of the cellar doors breaks through the moment, both of them jerking apart.

She scrambles backward until her back presses against the cold, damp wall, her heartbeat racing as Gabriel stands abruptly from his stool, his face hardening again. 

It’s only August this time, his usual shadow—Sloane with her biting sneers—thankfully absent.

He strides down with a bag in one hand and shower supplies in the other, eyeing her like she’s some prized possession he’s been itching to inspect. 

“Unrestrained, ate her dinner, and didn’t even try to run? My, my. Little dove, you’re such a good girl.” He passes the items to Gabriel as he steps closer, and she hates the way she’s wedged in a corner, wishing she could melt into the wall or skitter away like a mouse.

He crouches, gently moving the gauze out of the way, his sharp gaze examining the stitches worked into her head wound. “S’lookin’ better already. Now, let’s get you a shower. I can smell you from here, and, sweetheart, it’s not exactly appealin’.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks, the cruel curve of his lips almost congratulatory. “There she is. Glad to see that fire hasn’t died just yet, my love.”

With a vice-like grip, his hand latches onto her arm, dragging her up to her feet and across the basement to a sad excuse for a shower—no curtain, nothing remotely resembling privacy, just exposed plumbing and mildewed tile. He shoves her into the cramped space, gesturing at her with a command that chills her: “Strip.”

Her stomach tightens, and she squares her jaw. “Turn around.”

A laugh bursts from him, sharp and mocking. “You think you’re in any position to make demands? You may be special, darlin’, but that don’t mean you’re runnin’ shit. Now strip, or I’ll tie you up and rip that little outfit off myself.”

She grits her teeth, fists clenched. “No.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by a darker, crueler expression.

In a flash, his hand is around her throat, shoving her harshly against the slimy tile, the back of her head meeting the hard surface making her cry out in pain.

Her breath snags as his grip tightens around her neck, the cool press of a switchblade grazing the scar on her hip, making her pulse hammer in her ears. “Don’t push me,” he growls, the blade’s edge nicking her skin just enough to sting. He knows exactly where she’s sensitive, and he revels in her flinch. “I’ve told you—I don’t like hurtin’ you, but I will if I have to. Strip. Now.”

He releases her, the air rushing back into her lungs, making her cough.

Her hands tremble as she peels away her clothes, starting with the long, flowing skirt that puddles around her ankles, leaving her in just her underwear and camisole.

August’s eyes rake over her, and his silent demand pulls at her last nerve.

She swallows back her tears, fingers shaking as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and then stepping out of her underwear, kicking the pile aside.

Now entirely naked, her arms wrap protectively around herself to shield what she can. She looks away, the sting of indignity making her skin crawl, willing herself not to cry.

August steps forward, adjusting the shower’s dial, and the pipes clank and groan as water finally bursts out of the rusted shower head, icy at first. She shivers, her teeth clattering, and only once the water turns warm does the chill ease up.

A snap of his fingers brings Gabriel closer, setting the shower supplies within reach. August then places them at her feet, his mocking gaze never leaving her as he drags a worn wooden chair up, seating himself like a perverse audience settling in for a show. 

Paloma doesn’t move, clinging harder to her body, her nails digging into her own skin, praying he’ll lose interest and turn away. But he just smirks. “Don’t be shy, P. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” His tongue drags over his lips, blue eyes glittering darkly, drinking in her discomfort.

She would rather die where she stands than have him touch her, lingering his hands over her body like a wolf savoring his meal. Slowly, reluctantly, her arms fall to her sides, shoulders curling inward, as she begins to wash herself.

The hot tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks, each drop hiding the sobs she’s swallowing.

August’s stare trails over her figure, his smirk deepening every time she flinches under the weight of it.

He doesn’t hide his hunger, watching her every movement—the rise and fall of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the sway of her shoulders as she soaps herself in silence.

Gabriel’s eyes stay firmly on his boots, shame evident in his posture. 

Finally, she shuts off the water, chest heaving as she swallows down the humiliation, covering herself again and feeling his satisfaction lingering in the room like a toxic cloud.

A towel lands at her feet, and she grabs it, pulling it around her trembling frame, feeling like her skin might crawl right off her bones. 

“Got this dress made just for you,” August says casually, standing then pulling out a white dress and red flats from a worn bag. He tosses them onto the chair he’d just been sitting in, not making any effort to move or look away, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She’s barely holding herself together, her fingers fumbling with the towel as she dries off, eyes darting between the two men.

One won’t meet her gaze, too timorous, and the other stares at her with lecherous eyes.

She slips on the dress, it’s something she would’ve picked for herself under different circumstances; calf-length, delicate ladder lace along the trim, cap sleeves, and three charmeuse red ribbons that match the shoes.

But the beauty of it feels like a cruel mockery against the ugliness of this moment. 

“You look so beautiful,” August purrs, “Get a good look at yourself.” 

She’s forced in front of an antique mirror, the glass warped and cracked, but she can still make out her reflection. 

The dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised skin, the way her hair clings to her damp skin, the faded pallor of her face against her outfit—she looks like a ghost.

His hand slides to her shoulder, pushing her hair aside as he leans in, trailing his nose against her skin and inhaling deeply. “You smell like summertime.” He presses his lips to her neck, and bile rises in her throat.

Then, he pulls back, her mother’s cross pendant in hand, fastening it around her neck with a satisfied smile.

Her heart clenches once she sees it. She’d left that at Javier’s, tucked away safely with all the other things she moved out of her childhood home in preparation for their big trip.

The thought of August being in his space, doing God knows what, gets her alarmed. “What did you do to him?”

August looks momentarily confused by her query, but then his smirk grows as he eyes the pendent and sees that look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your precious narc. He ain’t been home all day. He’s out there, sniffin’ around for you like a lost dog. Thought about killin’ him, but… I think he’d suffer more thinkin’ he failed you. Just another life he couldn’t save, huh?”

The words press against those bruising, sore spots on her heart. She scowls, throwing back as much defiance as she can muster. “You wouldn’t get close enough to try.” Her voice trembles, but she knows Javier and what he’s capable of. 

He just shrugs, the malicious glint in his eyes unwavering. “Maybe not. But Sloane?” He grins, knowing how even mentioning her gets under Paloma’s skin. “Now, I think she could.”

He doesn’t give her time to respond, moving to bind her hands again, this time in smooth silk restraints that feel uncharacteristically gentle against her wrists.

Time moves in slow motion, she becomes unresponsive, like a melancholic statue, as he brushes her hair, fussing over her appearance as if she were some doll, changing the gauze over her stitches.

Her hope of getting out of this has diminished. Gabriel won’t help her and August has run the two men competent enough to figure this out in circles, so tangled up in deceit to find her.

The evening melts into night, shadows deepening when he finally leaves, just to return moments later with a steaming cup of tea that smells rancid and earthy, like decay.

“Drink up.”

She shakes her head, refusing it, but he pries her mouth open, forcing her to swallow the scalding liquid. It’s bitter and burns her throat, her tongue singed as she swallows unwillingly. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” he taunts her, wiping away some of the remnants that spilled from the corner of her mouth.

The effect is immediate; her mind hazes, thoughts swirling, until her body feels sluggish, as if it is no longer tethered to her.

Just as her vision starts to fade, a red, body-length veil is draped over her, the fabric casting her world into blood-hued darkness.

“I need to see it again.” 

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose at Romeo’s request, fingers then pressing hard against his closed eyes as the footage gets rewound. 

It’s the only evidence they have—a single security camera capturing what transpired. The grainy video shows her crossing the street, pausing, and then August and his accomplices stepping into view. She runs, disappearing off-camera for what feels like a lifetime, before being dragged back and shoved into the bed of the truck.

Each time Javier watches, another shard of him breaks away.

Romeo shifts beside him, watching the screen with unrelenting focus. He’s insistent, searching for anything, some small clue to pinpoint where they went.

Javier, though, is at his limit, fighting the urge to hurl the screen across the room.

“Romeo,” he begins, a little strained, “we’re not going to find anything new here.”

“We missed shit before. Can’t afford to miss anythin’ now.”

They’d spent the whole damn day combing through the trio’s hometown, hoping for any piece of intel, some breadcrumb that would lead them to the group’s hideout.

The search had been maddeningly fruitless. Fayette’s local authorities helped spread the word, but there was nothing, no tracks, no whispers, no real leads to follow.

Every registered address tied to the three was a dead end. Their only childhood homes, a trailer park, had burned down over a decade ago, leaving no trace, no history to sift through.

Everyone close to them—parents, guardians—were either dead, in prison, or admitted. The few family members with any sense had cut ties long ago.

“They were hellraisers,” the retired sheriff had muttered. That’s all the town could say, the simple acknowledgment that the trio had always left destruction in their wake.

The only useful piece of information they dug up was that August had left his job at a local grocery store to work for some woman, an outsider no one really knew.

She’d shown up, taken August with her, and he’d returned a few years later with a more hardened resolve, recruiting Sloane and Gabriel.

After torching some local acreage and serving time for arson, they’d vanished from Fayette until the recent spree of murders started.

“He’s been planning this for a long time, Romeo. They knew how to hide; they’ve done this before.” Javier mutters, frustration simmering in his tone.

They’d tried running a partial plate of the truck, only to come up short once again.

Javier moves near the blinds, unable to keep watching her kidnapping, glimpsing the sea of people that make up their search parties gathered in their too small department.

The faces blur together, civilians and first responders alike, all waiting for direction.

“It’s probably best if you go to the hospital and get Harper’s statement. She’s cleared to talk, right?” 

Romeo takes a beat longer to respond, clearly grappling with his own anguish. “Yeah. Got the official call ‘bout ten minutes ago.” 

“If anyone’s got something to give us that can break this open, it’s her.”

The room is quiet except for the low murmur of voices spilling in. The tape finally ends and Romeo’s gaze falls to the corner of his desk, where a lone photo of Paloma sits; she’s grinning with his cowboy hat perched high on her head, radiating joy.

He stares at it like he’s trying to draw strength from that moment, then he slowly picks it up, pressing his lips together in thought, handing it over to Javier.

“Here. This is the one I used for the flyers.”

Javier swallows hard, taking it, his thumb grazing over the image, his own heart sinking. This is the Paloma he can’t let slip through his fingers, the one who belongs right here, laughing and safe. Not wherever she was now. 

Romeo’s tone holds firm determination. “Do what you gotta do. For her. You understand me?”

Javier just nods, no words left to offer in the face of everything unsaid.

The sheriff lets out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that speaks of too many hours awake, too many close calls, too many second chances lost to bad luck or timing or whatever fate is left to them.

He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders, steeling his expression as he leaves the office, moving through the throng that instantly swells around him.

They close in with questions, worry, and hope—all of it colliding in one tense space.

Seeing them converge on Romeo, Javier takes a steadying breath and steps out right behind him, his presence commanding even in his silence.

He straightens, letting the authority in his stance speak for him, his gaze hard as he begins relaying their plan with swift, unyielding precision.

The world tilts and sways as Paloma returns to half-consciousness, vision still muddled from the drugged tea that has her head feeling like it’s filled with lead and limbs sluggish.

She’s seated upright in an ornate, over-decorated chair with her hands still bound in front of her. She tries to blink away the fog clouding her mind, but the red veil over her face continues to shroud her vision.

Her stitched wound throbs faintly, then suddenly, she’s being lifted and carried by four indistinct figures.

The swaying motion makes her sick, but she’s too weak to cry out, her voice nothing more than a ghost lodged in her throat.

She starts to feel the dampness of the humid Texas night pressing into her skin, the scent of flowers floating in the air, sickly sweet as it mixes with the distant smell of incense.

She’s paraded down a candlelit path where kneeling figures line the walkway, bowing in silent reverence. The sound of murmuring voices hums around her like a distant, dreadful lullaby. 

Finally, the procession stops, and her chair is lowered to the ground.

Her surroundings feel unreal, like a fever dream she’s trapped inside. A dark shadow moves in front of her, reaching to pull her to her feet. She tries to make out their face, but it’s just a dark, hollow blur.

Her legs tremble as she takes a few shaky steps, guided by an iron grip that steers her from the soft earth to a hard surface. Somewhere to her right, she hears a voice—August's—so sharp that it almost makes her ears bleed.

“We have to capture this moment.”

Paloma’s body is positioned, hands adjusting her like she’s an ornament rather than a person. She can barely keep her knees from buckling, her body swaying as they try to hold her up.

Her mind is a mess, every thought tangled, every movement slow, as if she’s moving underwater.

She falls, just as she hears the flash of a camera, her legs finally giving way, but hands grip her before she hits the ground, lifting her, steadying her as her head lolls to the side.

Then, in one swift motion, the veil lifted from her face.

August stands there, close enough that she can see every cold line in his face, conforming into possessive delight. 

He’s dressed to match her, red bows on his collared shirt, the same lace design on his pants.

Her skin crawls as his fingers trace the side of her face, his voice a leering purr. “My special little dove.”

He pulls her close, spinning her so that she faces their creation in her honor. The white marble gleams in the halo of the candlelight, surrounded by a sea of blood-red spider lilies, their spindly petals stretching out like claws.

Candles of every size and shape cast their shadows over the altar, illuminating the intricate carving of their emblem, miniatures and other offerings strewn about.

“All for you,” his lips brush against her ear.

The hands surrounding her are unyielding as she’s lifted and maneuvered onto the cold slab, the hard surface unforgiving beneath her back.

Her wrists are freed only to be tied again, the silk binding each one to a small stone pillar at each side.

Her ankles follow, strapped to the pillars near the end of the altar, legs bent slightly and spread, leaving her trapped and exposed.

Her breath quickens, each ragged inhale catching in her throat as the reality of her fate crashes down with brutal clarity. The red veil is drawn back over her face.

Tears blur her sight, mixing with the snot and sweat as she starts to sob, desperate cries spilling from her lips, pleas tumbling out in a desperate stream that echo out into the vastness of the field.

“Please… please, let me go. You don’t have to do this, please.” Her words come out strangled and slurred but she’s ignored. She jerks against her restraints, each movement growing weaker as the drug saps her strength.

August stands before his followers, his voice low yet electrifying, every declaration steeped in reverence and simmering triumph. 

“For centuries, we have waited in the shadows, prayed in whispers, bound by oaths that our forebears swore. Those before us dreamed of this moment, yet they were weak, too fearful to claim what was rightfully theirs. We will not repeat their mistakes. The bloodline of the first, the birthing bloodline, flows through her veins, and she is ours. Eurynomos will have a body made of flesh and bone, a place in this realm, because of us.”

Paloma shakes her head side to side, desperate to block out August’s devious words. Just as a surge of strength flares within her, sharp fingers dig into her shoulders from behind, pressing her back down, anchoring her in place.

Through the haze of drowsiness, her blurred vision lands on Sloane, looming over her with a short, black veil shrouding her face. Beneath it, Paloma can make out an expression as evil as it is watchful.

“No more dreams. No more consuming or offering flesh that rots before dawn. Our devotion, our patience, has led us here. We are the last of our kind—the ones who bring forth the new age. Now is the time for fulfillment. Now is the time to step into the eternal night and bring our deity home.” 

His gaze sweeps over the bowed heads, the flicker of candlelight dancing in his eyes as his words coil around them like a vow.

Sloane relinquishes her hold, seemingly fading away.

He approaches her slowly, each step deliberate, his hand drifting up the length of her body. His fingers come to rest on her cheek, stroking gently, almost reverently.

August leans in, his nose brushing against hers, and without a word, he presses his lips to hers, a slow, possessive kiss over the sheer material of the veil.

She wants to pull away, to resist, but she’s trapped within herself, her will slipping as though he’s holding the reins to her very soul.

When he pulls away, his voice lowers to a rhythmic timbre, the words twisting together in an incantation she can’t understand.

Each syllable makes her sink further into delusion, the compromising position heightening her vulnerability. 

The weight of her own helplessness crushes her as she lies there.

Suddenly, the speaking stops. An unnatural silence blankets the moment, thieving sound until it’s just her shaky, pitiful cries. Even the cicadas quit their insistent chirping.

Paloma blinks, barely able to see through the veil, but she watches August step back until his figure is swallowed by the darkness beyond the altar. 

She shivers as a chill wind flows over her body, extinguishing the flames around her and plunging her into the night, save for the heavy, luminous moon hanging full and merciless above.

Two glowing eyes flicker into view at the far end of the clearing. They hover, eerie and inhuman, watching her with a predatory patience.

A twig snaps in the shadows. Her breath catches. Another snap, closer this time.

Blood rushes in her ears, but above the pounding, she hears something else—labored breaths, thick and wet, the sound too guttural to be human. 

Her body locks up and quivers as a shadow casts up to the very heavens, emerging from the backdrop of trees, its form towering and monstrous. It seems to stretch endlessly, merging with the dark sky above, as if it could reach out and seize the lunar sphere.

Paloma tries to scream, but her body is frozen, paralyzed in a state of unholy dread.

Her eyes widen, tears leaking silently, her throat closing tight as the figure moves forward.

The dark, hulking mass leans over her, and she feels something press down on her belly, then sharp claws caress her bare legs, creeping upwards, scratching at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Her chest tightens as if she’s having a heart attack, fright coursing through her like poison. She can’t breathe, feeling herself teeter on the edge of consciousness.

Black spots swallow her field of view as her eyes roll to the back of her head, and in that instant, she’s slipping away, her mind yanking her away from this horror, casting her into the darkness of her own making as she loses herself, the terror too great to bear.