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happy74827 · 9 months ago

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A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite his gut telling him he shouldn’t, Dexter can’t help but fall deeper into the trap of his own emotions. And the more time he spends with you, the more he starts to realize what exactly those emotions are. {GIF Creds: beautifulguycollector}

WC: 2889

Category: Slight Lime/Spice, Friends to Lovers + Forbidden Love (if you squint) Tropes

Gotta keep this fandom alive somehow 🥲 (also… why are titles so hard to write? That and the synopsis are harder to write than the actual fic)

『••✎••』

You were too good for him. Plain and simple. You were a smart, beautiful, hard-working woman who had goals and dreams. He was a cold-blooded killer. Not to say that he hadn't been there for you, though. The two of you had been friends since… well, a while. A long while.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment he started to notice the changes in your relationship. It was a slow, subtle buildup, and the first time you called him your friend, Dexter thought nothing of it. The second time, it made him pause, but not enough for him to consider what the implications of you saying that to him could mean.

But when you said it again and again and again, he realized the meaning behind your words, the affection they held. Dexter couldn't say that he was particularly close to many people. There were a select few he'd consider his friends, but he wasn’t emotionally invested in any of them. And he didn't think he was invested in you, either.

But maybe he was.

Debs was different, and it made him question how much he was supposed to care about someone. But that was his sister, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. That reason alone made his relationship with Deb unique. He was sure of that.

The same went with Brian—his brother, as it turned out. And Harrison, his son. Dexter felt things for those people, but they were different. Those were family, the people he was genetically tied to. Of course, he would care about them.

But you weren't family, and yet he still cared about you. It was a different kind of caring. And it was confusing. Dexter had convinced himself for years that he was a high-functioning sociopath, but lately…

Lately, he was beginning to question if that was true. Simple glances from you could bring an unwelcome smile to his lips. And when he heard the sound of your voice, he could feel his chest getting warm. It was a nice feeling, something he'd only experienced briefly with Rita, but then, that relationship was different too.

It was hard to put his finger on it, but being with you was just… easy. And it didn't feel like work. There was no pretending. Dexter didn't have to act when he was around you. He didn't need to try to be someone he wasn't. It was the real him.

It was terrifying.

Because now, as he sat on your couch, watching as you moved gracefully around your small apartment, the feeling was back, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

He should have been home with Harrison, but the little boy was staying over at Debra’s tonight, so he didn't have any responsibilities. The passenger within him didn’t see it as a problem either, considering he’d just recently “disposed" his latest target.

It was nice, Dexter decided, to relax every once in a while. Work and family didn't give him a lot of opportunities to do so, and now that the two were temporarily taken care of, he felt he deserved to be lazy for a bit.

You didn’t have a TV in your living room, so the two of you settled for movies. Dexter didn’t really have a preference for them. He could watch a comedy, action, drama, or horror and not feel strongly for or against any of them.

Apparently, you didn't mind what he watched either because he could see the spark of excitement in your eyes when you pulled out the case for one of the worst comedy films Dexter had ever seen.

He'd seen it before. Not with you, one of the movies Vince shoved down his throat when he planned a night out with him, Angel, and Quinn.

It wasn't his favorite, not by a long shot, but the grin on your face and the way you eagerly skipped to the DVD player, set the disk inside, and closed the hatch made him bite his tongue.

Dexter had learned a long time ago that you were a very expressive person. And even though most of the time your feelings weren't displayed on your face, your eyes told another story. Such opposites to his own, Dexter often found himself fascinated by the light they held.

You had a passion for life that was rare, and it drew him in. It was a quality he lacked, and he could see it in everything you did. Whether it was talking about the newest book you read or making coffee, you put all of yourself into your actions.

It was something that Dexter had never understood. How could you have such a strong sense of self? Didn't it get tiring, having to live up to a standard of being so… so good?

But then again, you'd always been better than him. He might’ve been smarter in some regards, but what was intelligence if it didn't come from a place of morality? You were better, purer than him. He knew it, and everyone else did, too, even if they weren’t aware of how pure he wasn’t

That's why this was so wrong. This thing that had been going on for the past couple of months between the two of you. The subtle touches, the longing stares, the late-night calls. It was all wrong.

You were similar to Rita in some ways. You were kind and compassionate, always looking for the good in others. You had a knack for taking care of people, whether they needed it or not.

Dexter could tell that was your nature, and it was one of the things that initially attracted him to you. All the things he lacked, you had. But that didn't mean that you could replace Rita. He didn’t want you to.

And that was the difference. While he may have found qualities in you that resembled the ones he'd found in Rita, you were not her. Rita was gone, and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve to die, and yet she did. She deserved to grow old, to see Harrison grow up.

She deserved better.

The same went for you. You didn’t deserve a monster like him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he should stay away. It was for the best of both of you.

And yet he was here. On your couch, watching a shitty movie and drinking the beer you'd offered him. Because, despite his efforts, he couldn't keep his distance from you.

He should've known. When it came to you, Dexter didn't have a choice.

His gaze drifted over to your form as you sat down beside him. You were smiling, your eyes bright and focused on the television. A lock of hair fell across your face, and you pushed it back, the sleeve of your hoodie falling down slightly.

Dexter had never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone in his life.

It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him the last few weeks, and now, sitting with you, watching a bad movie, it was at an all-time high. He'd never craved intimacy. But there was something about you, a pull that he couldn't deny.

It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Reminded him of that need with Lila. God, Lila. What a mess that had turned out to be. Another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes.

And yet, the longer he stared, the more he found himself leaning forward. He didn’t register what he was doing until his lips were a hair width away from yours.

You froze but didn't move away. The only indication that you were startled was the widening of your eyes. They bored into his, unflinching. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was scared. Scared? Yes. That was what he was feeling. Why? He didn't know. Fear was new. It was a feeling reserved for Deb and sometimes his son, but even then, it was different.

But as Dexter gazed at you, so close and so beautiful, the fear melted away. It was replaced by a warmth that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It made his body thrum and his blood rush. It made him feel alive.

You were the first one to make a move. Well, not really a move, just the smallest shift forward, and then you were breathing the same air as him. You weren't kissing. You were just… waiting. Waiting for him to make the final move.

It was like an unspoken rule between the two of you, the power dynamic. He was the dominant one, and you were the submissive. You had never fought against it. You were a people pleaser, and he knew that.

It was one of the reasons he knew this was wrong. Because he couldn't stop, and you would never ask him to. Even now, as he hesitated, you waited patiently. You trusted him.

Why did you have to trust him? Why couldn't you be more selfish, more like him?

But deep down, Dexter knew that it wasn't your nature. You couldn't change, not any more than he could.

So, after another agonizing second, he closed the distance between you.

It was gentle, the way his lips pressed against yours. A stark contrast to the usual forcefulness he applied when taking his victims. No, with you, he was careful. Almost timid.

Your lips were soft and smooth, and the kiss was sweet. Nothing more than a simple caress. Dexter didn’t expect the tingling sensation it would cause, but the slight brush of your mouth sent shivers down his spine.

The kiss was short and chaste, but it was enough to leave him feeling dizzy. The heat spread through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to his cheeks.

Dexter pulled back, and you stared at him. His breath hitched in his throat at the look in your eyes. There was something there, something that mirrored his own emotions.

Was it possible? Was he really capable of such intense emotion?

Maybe he was.

You didn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was his own uneven breathing. That, and the movie playing in the background, which was forgotten as soon as your lips touched.

The urge to reach out and grab you was there. He could feel the need deep in his bones, in his soul. But instead, Dexter sat, staring. Staring into the eyes of the woman who had somehow managed to break down all the walls he'd spent his life building.

You didn't speak. There was nothing to say. No words could describe the feelings that had surfaced between the two of you. So, instead, you smiled. A simple, beautiful smile that had him feeling weak.

He could have stayed there forever, just looking at you, taking in the beauty that was you. It was a new experience for him, and it was nice.

“Debra is going to be pissed," you finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be bullied into telling her every detail."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his lips curled up in amusement. It was true. Eventually, she’ll figure it out. Maybe she already knew but was waiting for confirmation. Debra was good at figuring out things, even if it wasn’t the most obvious answer.

His sister was good at a lot of things, like being a detective. And, apparently, being an interfering matchmaking nuisance.

At least she wouldn’t call you the things she called Lila.

The thought made him chuckle, and you looked at him in confusion, but it would have to stay a mystery to you. For what was life without a few private jokes between siblings, right?

You didn’t press for answers, though. You did what you’ve always done and waited for him—waited for him as if it was his turn in Chess.

And he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed you again. And again. And again. And again. Until he had you pinned beneath him, your arms around his neck, and your breath coming out in heavy gasps.

The kisses were still innocent, just as you were. But he could feel the passion behind them, the hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that. It had been a long, long time.

But the longer he kissed you, the more the heat grew, and soon, he was lost in the sensation. Your hands found their way into his hair, and you tugged at the strands. His heart was racing, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

It was exhilarating.

Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and the innocence was gone. Replaced by a desire that left him trembling. The feeling of your tongue against his, the taste of you on his lips, the smell of your shampoo mixed with your unique scent—it was all intoxicating.

The movie continued to play in the background, forgotten as you pulled him closer. The warmth in his chest intensified, and Dexter didn't fight it. Instead, he embraced it. He gave in to his emotions and let himself feel.

He didn’t go too far; he knew you weren't ready for that yet. The craving was there, and it was strong, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he satisfied himself by touching your skin, mapping out every inch of it, memorizing the way it felt under his fingertips.

And, when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, he held onto you, refusing to let go. His eyes searched yours, searching for something. Anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

He mostly saw fear, anger, and some regret when he had them pinned down beneath him. Of course, that was usually the case with his victims. Fear, anger, and regret were normal emotions—a reaction to being trapped by their own demise.

Having someone look up at him with emotions on the other side of the spectrum was different. Not a bad different, just... different.

Rita had been the first to look at him like that. Lumen did, too, once upon a time. And Lila, well, her emotions were never consistent.

But you? You looked up at him with an expression that was all too familiar and yet not quite the same. Your eyes were full of affection and desire, yes. But they were also filled with something else. Something he couldn't place.

Something he couldn’t understand.

"Dex,” your voice was so soft, a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it, and yet, he felt it. He felt the way his name rolled off your tongue, and it was like music to his ears.

"Yeah?" he whispered back. He didn’t know why he did that; it wasn't like the two of you were speaking in a library or something. Maybe it was the way the light danced in your eyes, the way the colors reflected off the white walls, casting an ethereal glow.

"I didn’t expect you to be… like this," you murmured. You ran a finger over his cheek, down to his jawline. He swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse quicken.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Not bad," you replied. Your lips curved up, and his eyes were drawn to them. They were red and swollen from kissing, and it was such a contrast to the pale skin of your face.

"You think I'm not bad?" he said, raising his brows. "I'm flattered."

You shook your head. "You know what I mean," you said. "I just meant that you're different than how you come off. I didn’t think you'd be so... bold.”

He snorted.

Bold.

If you only knew.

"I guess I'm full of surprises," he said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder, only for him to catch it and press a kiss to the back of your hand. It was something he picked up from a movie once, and it seemed to be a pretty romantic gesture. And by the look on your face, it seemed to be appreciated.

You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. There was nothing else to say. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company, content to just be together. The movie might've been a failure, but the night wasn’t.

And when Dexter finally left, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Not the type of relief he felt after a successful kill, but the type of relief one feels after a burden is lifted off their shoulders. The type of relief one gets when they are finally honest with themselves.

Rita was gone. Lumen was gone. And although his guilt and shame were still there, his self-loathing and fear were slowly starting to fade away. It wasn't gone, it was never going to be, but it was a start.

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

Yes, tonight was the night that changed everything. Tonight, Dexter Morgan learned that maybe he was more than the monster he thought he was.

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tesscourtes · 5 months ago

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saw you had asks open, not a drawing request but wanted to know if there was any more story to your human bill’s punishment-for-weirdmageddon-is-to-turn-weak-human au, I really like it (sorry if you explained this a while back, I only just watched gravity falls😭I’m a late-comer to the fandom)

it’s just superepiccool to me, how are dipper and mabel about him being human now? Soos n Wendy, Stan and Ford? What was it like for them (especially Ford) when he just turned human? What was it like for Bill?

oh hey don't worry, I haven't really talked much about the details of the AU like ... ever. I just started reviving it because I got my partner into the show (they are also a new fan! yay, new fans! Funny enough I had no idea TBOB was coming out so the timing was mad exquisite.) and they have just been an amazing help shaping my messy thoughts and coming up with new, fun plots! It's also nice to know there's someone out there interested in it, so thank's for asking! Now that I read TBOB I want to change the premise a bit, but the core is still the same.

Let me tell you this AU is silly. I'm aware Billford is toxic and there are many corners to dive into to picture their messy relationship. But I kinda wanna keep the spirit of the show here and make it equally as fun as it is disturbing. Given that Bill canonically is trapped in endless Therapy gives me even more food to work with, he just out there being toxic and people repeatedly telling him to cut it out.

I'm not gonna go into too much detail because I'm actually working on the first comic chapter for this AU, but regarding the characters: Each of the Pines, as well as Wendy and Soos, are not happy seeing him, but individually grow more accustomed to him and with him. I guess going from "most accepting" to "least accepting", Mabel took it the best. I wouldn't say she was quick to forgive, but quick enough to give the guy a chance. And I honestly have to say that, although this is 100% a Billford AU, there's so many plot ideas for just Mabel and Bill and their amazing, chaotic shenanigans. Put these two together and the stories basically write themselves. Wendy is pretty similar, and the most chill in actually helping Bill figure out human stuff.

Naturally, Ford took it the hardest. I'm aiming for slowburn here, haha. They got to figure out some stuff that I'm so ready to put onto pages... Ford is a lot of emotions. Confused, angered, curious... Meanwhile Stan is Bills biggest hater. (There is a lot of bullying in this AU) He just keeps up with it because his Family makes him. He's very protective and tries to kick Bill out several times. Soos sticks with Stan, but he's also Soos and has a big heart, so in Bills eye, he's very gullible and a target he can mess with easily.

Dipper is not a fan either, he has a hard time adjusting to the triangle just getting to ... be there. He's suspicious for the most part and Bill has to try hard to get on his good side. But honestly he might be more upset with Mabel (and later on Wendy) for making friends with Bill so easily, even though he knows that's just their nature. I just recently started thinking about Gideon and how I'd like to include him, but nothing worth mentioning so far yet.

With Bill himself, one my favorite parts trying to portray so far is how he's dealing with his new mortality. He adjusts to the body fine, he knows how to navigate flesh, but he has a hard time accepting that it's his body. His new prison, essentially. If it's gone, he's gone. If he treat's it like shit, he feels like shit. Then we add the psychological aspect of things. And more importantly, we add Ford to the equation. When I tell you, that demon is experiencing psychological damage here, and it's fully his fault. TBOB really pointed out to me that I need to dive into his obsession with Ford. How do you even get a man you fumbled so bad, to even acknowledge you again?

I love yapping about this AU, thanks again for giving me the grounds to do so anon! I'm an insecure writer so it'll probably take another hot minute to choose which script feels best to draw out, haha. But I'm glad you seem to be up for the ride!!

#tess chatting it up #yapping about the human bill AU #also one of my biggest struggles: how to name a story #after 10 years i still have no idea #anyways (twirls my hair) omg i get to yap about my silly AU teehee #billford #bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #adfadt #a different form a different time au

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i-hate-peas · 4 months ago

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The Old Guard Fic Recs

So I've been a long time lurker within the fandom without ever getting particularly involved, but I wanted to show some appreciation for some of the super talented people who go here, because I have read a lot of incredible TOG fic.

Most (probably all) of these authors have loads of other amazing fics, but I've tried to just chose one from each, to keep the list a vaguely reasonable length. Although then I cheated and did some honourable mentions.

** just a note to say I started this list year (s) ago and forgot about it until literally today when I saw fic recs going round. Any of these fics I haven’t put a description for it’s because I didn’t do it at the time, and if I go back to reread them all this would never be posted, not through any lack of affection or enjoyment **

If any writers want tagging/ untagging etc please let me know! (i knew/ could find some blogs more easily than others lol)

Within Canon

Old Olives by aeli_kindara

Garden of Gethsemane mention = instant tears

Death in Her Hands by superblackmarket

Nile's growing relationship with Joe and Nicky. All of their fics are so beautifully written, but I especially love Nile's relationship with the boys and her facing her own immortality.

Honourable mention: Station to Station

Between the Hour and the Age by hauntedjaeger (@hauntedfalcon)

Andy! Nile!

Ouroboros by CypressSunn (@cypresssunns)

Set after the film, literally just read it.

compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience by Jack_R

A pair of early days Joe Nicky fics that reminds me of 'my wife is a bitch and i love her so much'

let's give them something to talk about by lacecat

When The Cherries White With Blossoms, Be Ready & Be Brave by chapstickaddict

Unearthed by merle_p

I think this is one of the most kudosed fics in the AO3 tag, but it deserves the hype!

Kidnapping for Dummies by Amiril

Similar to above, already very popular, but great and very funny!

The Last Man on Earth by Survivah (@optimismology)

I will admit I don't normally go for Booker/Nile, but this fic sold it to me. Looking at them and their developing relationship as the newer immortals.

Canon Divergent

Retrograde by Pinkninja

I mean this fic is the Big Bitch of the fandom for me, if you haven't already read this, where have you been? But also if you haven't already read this I am so jealous, read it and take your time with it and bawl your eyes out over it and appreciate the joy of reading it for the first time. The level of detail and planning in this fic is indescribable. It follows Nicky trapped in a Time Travellers Wife style life where he jumps back and forth throughout his own timeline, whilst Joe lives his life in chronological order. Exquisitely written.

If Never Again, If Every Day by gallifreyburning and takiki16 (@gallifreyburning, @takiki16)

Another absolute Titan of the genre. I know you’ve already been recommended this 500 times, what more can I say.

though I'm dying to (fall in love with you) by yusufsmoon (@babygirlyusuf)

Travellers from an Antique Land by kaydeefalls (@kaydeefalls)

Andy, not Quỳnh, trapped under the sea. I love all their fics.

AUs

Makes Me Want You More by Sixthlight (@sixth-light)

Perhaps not the typical favourite choice from Sixthlight, one of my absolute favourite TOG authors, but one that is funny and lovely and sweet that I keep coming back to. Shorter than many of theirs but perfectly formed.

pumpkin gnocci verse (series) by Liadan14 (@bewires)

I mean it's got estranged family, suspenseful chronological structure, cooking, spies, intimate and honest sex scenes, hilarious misunderstandings involving keeping halal, lovely found family moments, and the actual recipes used. What more do you want.

The Reality of Everything by Marbletopempire

One of the fics I desperately waited for each instalment for. Very funny, lots of sexual tension, plenty of Cate Blanchette spotting opportunities.

sine qua non by mellyflori (@werebearbearbar)

One of the first of their fics I read, with a very sweet build up of misunderstanding to friends to lovers, involving growing up, discovering sexuality, trying to be nice about your best friend's bad boyfriend, and a long suffering sofa.

The Brooklyn Verse (series) by GayLittleEarring, yusufsmoon, nicelytousled (@marwankenzarisgaylittleearring @babygirlyusuf @nicelytousled)

I saw the creation of this on Tumblr before it was a fic, and it lived up to every expectation. Very sweet and sincere, with lots of great discussions about art, whilst also very funny (Lamp the free loader, Joe sending thirst traps out of irritation) and hot. ItalianAmericanNickyfromBrooklyn and Joe my beloveds.

a good (eighth) impression by deaniker

I love a good hook-up to 'oh shit I have feelings' fic, and this is even more entertaining because Nicky is Lykon's ex, and Joe has very much seen him at his worst.

You do not have to be good by emjee (MerryHeart) (@emjee)

At one point a tumblr post about Joe the Professor and Nicky the Priest got very popular, and I'm not sure if this fic was inspired by that, but is one of the great fics with similar concepts. Such a lovely, gentle fic about love and also identity, featuring also Nile and a very sweet snail.

it's such an almighty sound (series) by raedear (@raedear)

A secret service AU that goes full enemies to lovers, with lots of tension, plotting, betrayal, frustration, and tenderness.

Honourable mention: take my hand (you got me rockin' and rollin')

fight 'til the day that i die 'verse by incurableromancer

Suspenseful, noir, super hero AU that has such a great writing style and is very atmospheric.

if you do take a thief by knoepfchen (@knoepfchen)

Cluedo style AU with lots of fun twists and slow building of backstories, with the whole gang.

Honourable mention: life is not the things that we do (it's who we're doing them with)

#the old guard #fic rec #champagne?#now I need to go back and reread all of these

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lixiepeach · 1 year ago

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Fascination

Summary: It’s not love, he muses as he stares down at you. He could never bind himself to such a temporary thing as yourself. Lust, perhaps curiosity, fascination even, that’s brought him to desire you in such a way, that’s entangled you both. He allows himself a moment of tenderness as he brushes the hair stuck to your forehead, his lips pressing softly against yours. You lean into him, fingers brushing the tip of his ear as you trail your hands through his hair.

Pairing: Thranduil x human!reader

Warnings: NSFW, explicit smut, p in v sex, fingering, sort of rough sex, unprotected sex (because of elf magic), no aftercare, interspecies relationship, reader is more of a paramour than anything, Thrandy is a bit obsessed, sort of a toxic relationship depending on how you look at it, it’s not love it’s lust, Thrandy is also a bit egotistical and elitist but what do we expect?

A/N: Thought up this one a while ago whilst in the middle of some thots and decided to just write it since it wouldn't leave me alone. Not my first time writing for LOTR, but it's been quite a while. Might consider turning it into a series if there's enough interest...Anyway, I hope there's enough of a fandom left to enjoy it and that I'm not screaming into a void right now.

MASTERLIST

His eyes trace your form as you lay sprawled in the grass, asleep and entirely unaware. It speaks volumes of your trust, the ease with which you simply exist in his world as you nap in the warm afternoon sun. It’s amusing to him the way you lay there, one arm over your head, the other draped across your stomach, chest rising and falling slowly and evenly as your mind takes you far off into your dreams.

His eyes trace your face, features he’s well acquainted with after hours upon hours of studying them. He connects the colored dots on your skin with his eyes, his gaze following the slope of your nose, the softness of your brow in your relaxed state. His fingers twitch at his side, longing to brush across the warmth of your skin but he stays his hand in fear he might disturb you. He’s not ready for you to be awake yet.

He would gladly stare at you all day, his little mortal.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt desire churning in his stomach, the twisting deep within as he gazes at another. Yet, here he finds himself feeling that warmth in his stomach as he gazes at a simple mortal woman. He had tried to brush it off as simply a fickle thing, many ages of loneliness finally beginning to wear upon him. It wasn’t as if he was without offers. Many brave elleths had approached him, brazenly offering their company in hopes of earning his affections, and even perhaps winning his heart. He had always turned them away, first in pain then in spite. He had ignored the disappointment and shame as he glanced over them, always looking through them, never quite seeing them.

Then you arrived.

It wasn’t often that the race of men graced his halls. He so rarely interacted with men, preferring to send envoys on his behalf the rare chance it happened. You had come not by choice, instead brought in on the brink of death after being rescued by his guards from a nest of spiders. Sick with poison from a bite, you had been in a terrible state upon your arrival, but had made a quick recovery thanks to the talent of his healers.

He’s not sure what it was about you that piqued his interest. You were no one of any sort of importance. A simple human from one of the woodsman villages on the borders of the forest, a mere mortal woman that would have lived and died in a blink of his eye had you not by chance strayed from your path and fallen into the traps of the foul nuisance that was the spiders. Yet as you stood there, nervous before him as you thanked him, offering your life in debt for your rescue, he couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t looking through you as he so often did others, no, he was seeing you.

Perhaps it was because you saw him. Not the crown, not his status, not the promise of what he could give or the things he had the power to do. You were staring at him. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought perhaps you could see past the carefully crafted illusion and straight into his very being.

That had been weeks ago, and still you linger in his halls at his insistence.

You’ve offered no complaint, brought up no desire to return to your life in your village. There has been no longing in your gaze for your home, no far off look as you thought of your little house where you dwelled alone. He had felt the strength in your hands, the calluses on your fingers that spoke of a life of hard work, of fending for yourself. His fingers often traced the marks on your skin, remnants from accidents and close calls. He’s never bared his own scars to you, and he likely never will.

He continues to stare at you as you sleep, your form illuminated by the golden light of the sun. He wouldn’t go so far as to call you ethereal in its light. You lacked the luminance of elves, though you seemed to glow in a different way. There was something so tangible about you, the life that was almost teeming from you as you smiled, the pure joy in your laughter, the profoundness of your sympathy, the intensity of your stare. You carried the weight of your emotions so plainly, though perhaps that was what it meant to be mortal. The understanding that you had so little time, that your life would end eventually.

He has lived ages before you, and he will live ages after you.

He can no longer ignore the churning in his stomach, the twitching of his fingers, the desire burning hot within him. His fingers trail along the line of your jaw, ghosting down the side of your neck that’s bared to him as your head is turned just slightly to the side. The sun has warmed you, the heat pulsing beneath his fingers. He takes in the texture of your skin, soft for a mortal but not quite as smooth as an elf’s. The corner of his lips lifts upward as goosebumps form on your skin, his eyes drawn down to your chest as his fingers trace your collarbones. You shift in your sleep, his hand pausing until you settle again.

He allows his fingers to follow the neckline of your dress, the fine silk draped across your body in a way that accentuates your curves deliciously. You’re not built like an elf, no long lines and hard edges. You’re all soft curves and rounded edges plainly evidenced by the way the silk clings to your body even as you lay completely relaxed.

You shift once more as his fingers brush the tops of your breasts, your mind beginning to wake. He watches the way your nipples pebble as he teases the sensitive skin of your dress, pressing against the thin fabric keeping them hidden. He loves how sensitive and reactive you are to him, your lips parting in a gasp as he thumbs over one of your hard nipples.

Your eyes are glazed with sleep still as they flutter open, squinting in the sunlight. Your movements are sluggish as you shift below him, stretching your arms over your head. You remind him a bit of a cat as you stretch, letting out a quiet groan.

He lets his hand slide up your chest to your neck, his thumb brushing the line of your throat. “Good afternoon, little one.”

“I fell asleep.” You murmur, awareness beginning to come back to you as you stare up at him.

A smile tugs at his lips, the fondness that he felt for you rising above the desire for a moment. “You did. Quite quickly, I might add.” He says. You have a habit of dozing easily, needing far more sleep than an elf. “Perhaps I am to blame in part for keeping you up so late into the night.” He teases, heat blooming beneath his fingers on your skin.

You have the gaul to look bashful under his gaze, as if you had not captured him under your spell. You make him feel powerful as he looms over you, raw energy pulsing through him like lightning at the thought of how vulnerable you are, how vulnerable he is. How easily you had captured him, how easily life had begun to flow through him again at the sight of you. His blood runs hot, fingers trembling at the thought of how easily you could end him.

One day you will.

He forces the thought from his mind, pressing his thumb against your lips. You press a soft kiss to his skin, your gaze meeting his. You already know what he wants, why he pulled you from your blissful sleep. Your body shifts as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You still taste of the wine served at lunch, sweet and earthy with a hint of something else, something that was just simply...you.

His hold on your neck tightens just slightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. You gasp quietly against his lips, his head tilting to take advantage of your reaction. His tongue invades your mouth, tangling with your own. You sigh into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair. It’s bold, but he allows it, far too focused on his attempt to devour you with his lips.

He shifts his body over yours, your knees parting for him like your body was welcoming his proximity. You are as your hands slip through his hair, silky strands sliding through your fingers. It’s his turn to gasp into your mouth as your fingertips brush the sensitive tips of his ears. The sensation shoots straight down his spine, his back arching into you. He pulls away from your kiss-plump lips, mischief shining in your eyes as you stare up at him. Your fingers flick the tips of his ears again, his eyes fluttering as a groan is pulled from his lips.

“Naughty little thing,” He groans, leaning down to nip playfully at your bottom lip.

Your giggle turns into a sigh as his lips abandon yours to taste your skin, his hand slipping under the skirt of your dress. He can smell your arousal, the thick, heady scent corrupting the fresh air of the gardens. He could get lost in the scent, bury his face in it until it suffocates him. He has lost himself in the scent and taste of you, many surfaces having been defiled by his need. He fights the urge to shove his face beneath your skirts and tease you with his tongue until you’re nearly unconscious.

No, he needs something else from you today.

His hand trails up your leg, pushing your skirts up with it. His fingers close around your thigh, sinking into the flesh. You let out a quiet sound as he digs his fingers into you, hard enough he knows you’ll bruise. He loves how easy it is to mark you, and he loves how long those marks linger on your skin. His rings bite into the sensitive flesh, but you offer no complaint. Instead your head drops back, bearing your throat to him. He bites at the skin of your throat, his tongue laving across the stinging marks his teeth leave behind.

You’re practically boneless under him and he has yet to touch you, your hands rumbling the fabric of his shirt as you hold on to him for dear life. He often wonders what it feels like to you, if his touch electrifies you as much as your touch electrifies him. You’ve never known the touch of a mortal man, you had confessed to him, though it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors.

You had never explained why, though, you had refused the many offers of eligible men over the years. Perhaps it was for the same reasons he refused the willing elleths who propositioned him.

Or, perhaps deep down you knew no mortal man would ever be enough.

He draws himself from you to sit up on his knees, his hands pushing the fabric of your skirt the rest of the way up until it’s pooled around your waist. You’re bare beneath the dress, damp folds on display for him as he takes you in. You are beautiful in the way mortals are, like flowers would be to trees. You’re especially beautiful like this, laid out beneath him shameless and needy. You had been shy at first to his advances, but now you served him without question, without hesitation.

How eager you were to serve your king.

His hand trails from your hip to your stomach, feeling the hitch in your breath as he dips his fingers lower through rough curls before he finds exactly what he needs. Your lips part in a gasp as he brushes your pearl, the scent of your arousal strengthening as he begins to touch you. His thumb brushes over the sensitive bud, watching your face as your eyes get heavy and dark with need. He knows exactly how to play you, exactly how to make you tremble in his arms.

He’ll take his time with you later. Right now, he needs his own release.

You let out a quiet sound as two of his fingers sink into your heat, your body opening up to him. Much time he has spent teaching your body to open to him, to accept him, to be ready for him. As much as he enjoyed the roughness, seeing just how far he could push your little mortal body, as much as he enjoyed taking out his anger and his frustrations on your body, he never wished to hurt you. Many hours had been spent with his hand between your legs, bringing you to the edge but never quite letting you peak.

Not until he was satisfied.

His hand presses into your stomach, holding your hips still as he languidly pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your walls are slick with arousal, gripping him like a vice. His fingers are thick and long, reaching deep inside you, far deeper than you could ever bring your own fingers to. You had tried, you had shown him how you pleased yourself. He wondered how often you had done it in his Halls, how often he had been the one in your thoughts as you brought yourself to your release with your fingers.

He’s forbidden it now, you touching yourself, bringing yourself pleasure. That was his job. It would be only his fingers that you knew, that would bring you to the point of release now. Now matter how dripping with need you are, you’re his. His to pleasure, his to take, his to find release with.

Sometimes he’s not quite sure who is truly in charge. If he commands your body and your mind, or if he’s the one wrapped around your little finger.

You buck against his hand as he curls his fingers, drawing a quiet moan from your lips. There’s no need for silence out here. You’re deep enough in the gardens the guards won’t be able to see anything, and they know by now to close their ears against what their king does in his private moments.

“Please, please My King.” You beg, oh so sweetly.

He stares at you, the sweat beading on your brow, your swollen lips parted as your chest heaves for breath. Your thighs are trembling, hands twisting in the grass beside you. You’re dripping onto his hand, the wet squelch of his fingers like music to his ears.

“Tell me what you need, little one.” He says, the deep timbre of his voice edged with a needy rasp. He’s hard, nearly throbbing beneath the constraints of his pants. He’s far more patient with his own pleasure. He knows it’s coming, he knows you’ll let him take what he needs.

“I-I need...” You stammer, eyes rolling in pleasure as he curls his fingers. A whine leaves your lips as he drags his fingers across that spongy spot inside you. “I-I need you. Please, My King.”

He hums appreciatively at your begging, your desperation. You truly are desperate, he can feel it in the fluttering of your walls around his fingers. He’s not done with you yet, though. His lips lift up in a smirk as he watches you, your gaze locked on his. “Am I not giving myself to you? Are my fingers not enough for you?”

“No!” You whine, thighs trying to close around him as you get closer and closer to release. “I-I need...I want to feel you!” You cry out, greedy in your desperation. “I want you inside me!”

He basks in your begging, your neediness, your shamelessness. He was going to give it to you anyway, and you know this, but you also know he wants to hear you, to see you beneath him, begging him desperately.

He truly wants to believe he is in control.

He pulls his fingers from your folds, lifting them to his lips. You let out a quiet whimper as his tongue darts out, licking your juices from them. You’re musky and almost tangy on his tongue, not unlike a rich wine. He wants to savor you like a wine, but his own neediness is beginning to itch in the back of his mind. He’s beginning to feel his own desperation, his own desire to sink into your warmth and stay there for the rest of eternity.

He releases you enough to free himself from the constraints of his pants, his hand wrapping around his thick length. You tilt your head so you can see him, eyes focused on him as he pumps his length in his hand. Your legs fall open, completely relaxed as you bare your weeping folds to him. He has the desire to praise you, but he holds his tongue. He does not wish to go to that place right now.

Right now he needs release, the sweet release only your body can give him.

You welcome him as he sinks into your body, arms wrapping around him as he presses himself against you. You relax yourself around him as he sinks into your warmth, the wide head of his length spearing you open. You offer no complaint if it’s uncomfortable, only clinging to his tunic as he lets himself rest over you for a moment. Your legs squeeze around his waist as if you’re trying to draw him deeper into you, as if you might fuse his body into yours.

He allows a moment of tenderness as he kisses you, tasting your lips again. You hum into his mouth, walls squeezing around him as if telling him you’re ready, you’re waiting.

You are waiting for him.

He draws his hips back, slow and steady as if he was unsheathing a blade, letting you feel every inch of him as he withdraws from your walls to just the tip of his length. You let out a cry as he presses back into you, reaching as deep as he can, until your hips are flush with his. You cling to him as he sets his pace, rocking into you steadily. There will be grass stains on your dress, but that won’t matter. You’ll change before dinner, wearing something more extravagant as you dined with your king.

Not that you’ll be wearing whatever dress you choose very long. He has every intention of taking you to his chambers tonight and picking you apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a whining, writhing mess on his bed. Then he will take you apart further until your eyes flutter and your breathing shudders and you dangle over the precipice of unconsciousness as he brings you more pleasure than you ever thought you could feel at once.

That is for later, though.

Right now, he needs to ease the aching desire deep within him, the beast that you reawoke within him. He keeps his pace steady, sharpening the snap of his hips into you. You’re whining and moaning against him, hands clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you on this plane of existence. His blood burns hot within him at the thought of being needed, of being desired so carnally.

You’re growing close to your release, your thighs trembling around his hips. Your cries are loud in the gardens, lost in your pleasure as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. As much as he’s fueled by his own need for release, he wants you to fall over the edge first. He wants to see you lost in your pleasure, even if just for a moment.

He pulls back enough to stare at your face, eyes closed in pleasure, lips parted as you moan. His hand grips the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes are dazed with pleasure, glossy and blown with lust. His fingers dig into your skin, your pulse thrumming under his thumb. Your skin is hot, slicked with sweat from the exertion. He fights the urge to taste it, to lick at the saltiness of your skin, to taste you on his tongue.

Later, he reminds himself.

“Let go.” He grunts, his breath fanning your face. “Let me feel you.”

Your eyes roll back as if he has that much command of your body, your legs tightening around him as you reach your peak. Your walls flutter, tightening and releasing around him, the mechanics of nature to draw him to his own release.

He lets himself go, burying his face in your throat as he spills into you. His body trembles with yours, length twitching as he fills you with his release. For a moment, just a fraction for a second he imagines it, his seed taking root, a half-elven child that takes after you. He wrenches the thought from his mind as if it’s a burning ember, refusing to allow such a daydream to take over his mind.

He pushes himself up to his elbows, staring down at you. His hair curtains around you, soft locks caressing your skin. You're breathing heavily, chest still heaving beneath him. Your eyes are lidded, face nearly as relaxed as it had been when you were sleeping. Your skin is still slicked with sweat, strands of your own hair sticking to your skin. You look ruined and he has barely begun.

You look beautiful.

It’s not love, he muses as he stares down at you. He could never bind himself to such a temporary thing as yourself. Lust, perhaps curiosity, fascination even, that’s brought him to desire you in such a way, that’s entangled you both. He allows himself a moment of tenderness as he brushes the hair stuck to your forehead, his lips pressing softly against yours. You lean into him, fingers brushing the tip of his ear as you trail your hands through his hair.

Fascination, that’s all it is, he tells himself as another shiver runs down his spine.

(I know I had a taglist a long time ago but it's been so long since I've written anything for this blog I'm not even sure if there's anyone on it anymore. I'm willing to put one together though if there's interest...)

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #thranduil x reader #thranduil x human reader #elf x human #x reader #fanfic #lotr fanfic

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anonymouslosersworld · 6 months ago

Text

♡ Succubus♡

Prompt; Mc/reader armed with the teaching Solomon decided to mess around with magical creations and like Icarus flew too close to the sun before falling... in their case fell victim to horniness.

Fandom: Obey me shall me date

Characters: Lucifer, Diavolo, and Satan

Genre: Smut (M)

Contains: protected sex, unprotected sex, dom reader, sex toys, pegging, and maybe voyeurism??

Contains: dubcon, unprotected sex, dom reader, sex toys, voyeurism??, and corruption kink.

Credit goes to @asmology. They have wonderful blog and written pieces. I was so in love with their charmed series and just wanted to try my hand at writing it myself. Please don't hesitate and check out their blogs.

[Obey me masterlist]

Prologue; After you had successfully enrolled in the sorcerers' academy and become Solomon's one and only apprentice after a couple of months. He had encouraged you to explore magical items and such. Due to many lonely and hot nights, you settled on magical items. Using your knowledge you created a life-like magical dildo/vibrator/ pocket pussy of your love interest. Unknowingly to you {or maybe knowingly you did but wouldn't admit it}it was also charmed with your love interest feeling whatever you did to it. lucifers is a little different from the rest.

Lucifer

"hmm!" lucifer moaned into the kiss. He hadn't expected you to join him in his shower. Your hand swiftly went cradle his head as you deepened the kiss. Your tongue quickly enters his mouth, as your body molds into his.

The mirrors were heavily foggy and the steam from the scorching shower could have burnt you, but you persisted in kissing his neck after bruising his lips.

"aren't you eager today?" he questions while you smooch his Adam's apple. Your mouth worked overtime over his body and your hands groped whatever was within reach.

Lucifer could feel his face go hot as you completely ignore him in favor of more time with his body.

"sadly I don't have enough time today, darlin-" he gasped as you bit into him, breaking his skin. You had mangled to trap him onto the shower wall, with your body between his legs. His cock was already awake with all the fondling you had done previously.

" I'll be quick."

" What you can't handle a human's touch?"

Lucifer's face looked at you indignantly, offended by the mere mention of your words. Oh no, you will not be injuring his pride so easily.

"nngh!"

The skin-slapping covered Lucifer's pants and moans. His fingers have long since pruned from the water. You were on top of him riding him. Your hand gripping his neck prevents him from completely breathing. Your wet hair had been pushed back from your face as you wanted to see a completely devastated Lucifer, tired and spent and most importantly fucked out. He looked like you had fucked over and out. His eyes glazed over but his eyebrows borrowed trying to concentrate on his oncoming orgasm

"I thought you didn't have time today?" You mocked him, out of breath but with a smirk. Clearly proud of yourself.

" i-I have a few minutes!"

" You said that like an hour ago? Should I stop, you might be late? Think you can handle not cumming Luci?"

"f-fuck." He was so close!!

Lucifer looked at you desperately

Could he handle it?

"i-i can't!!"

Lucifer gasps awake, completely disheveled. His hair sticking to his head. He feels his legs weak and his cock completely spent. He feels his clothing on himself and he looks around his surroundings. His pajamas felt wet and obviously, he had cummed in his sleep.

He's in his room, he must have dreamt about it.

That's what he thought until he saw you climbing onto his lap in nothing but your underwear and loose shirt.

"good morning Luci ~ How about we clear your schedule today?" You say after tearing a condom wrapper with your teeth. " I need more than a few minutes."

Satan

"ooh~" he moaned quietly into his pillow. He had locked himself in his room as soon as he felt the fingers touch him.

His bare ass was up in the air as he felt fingers shove back into his hole. It was overwhelming the pressure entering him and exiting. The feeling of his cock wrapped up snuggly in whatever you had made.

whatever this was strong magic strong enough to completely overwhelm his senses. His kitty headband pushed his hair back

" m-mc!" he whines out into the open "To- too much~"

Your fingers had been replaced by a smooth object, cold to the touch but could reach the deepest part of him easily.

His fingers gripped his sheets as you kept hammering away into his hole. His sheets had seen better days. he had soiled them with his cum and tore them up with his bare hands when the pleasure got to be too much.

"a~aah!"

"keep going baby, I know you can do it."

" i-its hard~!"

'he-he of course it is, but soon its going to all spill out, "

" f- yess~!'' He panted, he was extremely relieved that his brothers were gone. The pleasure was blinding him and he could no longer keep quiet. His room can only muffle so much.

"f-fuck~!"

Dia

His body was hot, the sheet covers were just barely covering him. The squelching sound filled the room as Dia struggled to keep control of his legs.

why was he so sensitive today?

He made a great decision sleeping naked today, he had hoped you would be sleeping with him but you had student council work that kept him from you but you promised that "it would feel like I'm right there."

his confined cock felt the walls spasm against his size. Clearly struggling to keep him all the way in. The swell of his cock kept being squeezed and could feel your spasming walls. Dia furrowed his eyebrows and panted. It was so like you to torture him so after spending half a day trying to catch up with your sex lives with both your sex lives.

The pace was enjoyable but every so often you would stop just when he was supposed to cum and just squeeze him, not letting him cum. He supposed this was his punishment for accidentally denying both of your orgasms when you were getting hot and heavy in his office at RAD because some random demon had a meeting with him. So you took it upon yourself to edge him. He can't do anything with blue balls, can he?

"nngh!"

He panted, his chest heaving heavily.

"p-please, I'm sorry. i- I can't think straight anymore! forgive me" Dia begged and begged. " I promise!"

His cock weeping for mercy, mercy you decided to mindfully give him since he begs so cutely.

"fuck yes! Than-thank you!!"

Requests are open! Feel free to request!

My works are only posted here! If you see any of my work anywhere else please report it.

Do not edit, translate, or repost my work without my consent.

#obey me smut #sub obey me #obey me lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut #obey me satan #satan smut #satan x reader

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saintsenara · 3 months ago

Note

We all know Weasleys come in two varieties - short and stocky or tall and gangly. Has anyone ever been brave enough to give us a thicc Ginny? What do you think she looked like?

an important question, anon.

the books suggest that ginny looks like her mother - most notably via harry having the sudden urge to flip through a bit of sophocles when he's trying to lie to molly about his mission in deathly hallows - which means, even though vast swathes of this fandom seem to be too cowardly to admit it, that her bonafide baddie powers [enough to have several men canonically willing to risk it all] come from molly as well.

the books also suggest that ginny looks like fred and george - as we find in order of the phoenix, when harry's not exactly acting like he's about four weeks off falling head-over-heels in love with her by telling ginny to fuck off when she tries to accompany him to the department of mysteries - and her brothers also say that she's short.

[although she's also fourteen at this point, so she doesn't have to stay that way.]

and this makes sense - since the lanky weasleys are all said to look like arthur, the stocky weasleys must resemble molly.

molly never really gets treated by this fandom as someone who's attractive - and, let's all be honest, the fact that the books describe her as fat is a considerable proportion of the reason why. ginny - on the other hand - is canonically hot, which means that far too many fans end up falling into the trap of assuming that she must, therefore, be thin.

whenever i read fics which describe ginny's physical stature in detail, she always seems to be written as having a very slim, dainty build - like a ballerina or maybe, at a push, a distance runner.

which isn't a bad thing, and doesn't necessarily indicate anything about an author's assumptions. it's just that there is often a subtext when ginny is described that way - especially if many of her canon traits, like being bolshy, sporty, cheeky, and relaxed [that is to say, not being uptight, giggly, prim, vacuous, emotional, etc.], are present and especially if the fic is pairing her with harry - that gets a bit "cool girl":

Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot.

but what if - hear me out - ginny is still able to have several men foaming at the mouth without being very slim, just like her mother before her? wouldn't that be hot?

and since she's someone who's an enormous fan of and goes on to make a career in a sport which is heavily modelled on rugby... we have lots of references for how she might look while she's ruining lives up and down the halls of hogwarts:

i would like to see it.

#asks answered #ginny weasley #man-slaying thighs supremacy #harry likes his men tall and thin and his women capable of breaking his arm #good for him

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rboooks · 1 month ago

Note

✨️✨️Writer Appreciation✨️✨️

Your work was so fantastic someone considers it life changing♥️♥️

Name 5 writers that changed your life, tell us why, and pass on the message!🎉🎉🎉

Thank you so much for this!!! It's so cute, and I can't believe someone thought of me when they saw this message! There are so many authors I can think of, but the top five are the ones on the top of my head.

Tsume_Yuki - They were the author who inspired me to write my own fics back when I was a wee child in the Naruto Fandom. I followed them from Fanfiction.net to Ao3 and never looked back. Actually, they changed my life.

Blackkat - Another favorite author who I admire from my Naruto days. Their time travel fiction is what made me really interested in the trope! Reverse was and still is a masterpiece.

Cywscross- I was already interested in the HP fandom because of Tsume_Yuki, but at the time, I had only seen the first movie and wasn't really impressed, despite reading a few fics now and then. Then I read C'est La Vie. I ran to get the HP books from the library once I caught up with the fic, and I have been trapped in the fandom ever since.

Child_OTKW is also an HP fandom author, but their writing makes the characters seem alive. Their advice on their Tumblr blog actually improved some of my writing styles. Because of them, I got dragged kicking and screaming into the Tomarry ship.

TumblingBackpacks- They have a fantastic ability to write characters, and their structure is superb. Their time travel is peak. An underrated author who needs more attention. I struggled with writing for a while as some online friends vanished, and my fics were bombarded with hate simultaneously. I was almost considering putting fanfiction writing down until they popped up out of nowhere with fanfiction of my work, and it got me to fall in love with the art all over again.

#mun speaks #i love this #I love when Fandom just does nice things like this #I may be a fangirl for these people but shush

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theglassesgirl · 4 months ago

Text

Calypso vs Antinous: A Tale of Two Villains

I know this is such a weird topic for me to come back for after not blogging for months, especially I’ve never spoken on this fandom here, as opposed to TikTok. But precisely BECAUSE tiktok is so limiting, even if you make various videos on a topic, someone won’t have all the context and the comment system of that app is pure ass so here I am

Calypso and Antinous are two (out of three!) of the MAJOR villains in the Wisdom Saga, however, both these villains have produced polarizing discourse that has fascinated yet confounded me. On Calypo’s end, she is a villain who many are made upset by when she is interpreted as the villain she is (in varying degrees). On Antinous’s end, he is a villain who many are made upset by when he is interpreted as anything BUT the villain he is (in various extremes). What on earth happened here?

I’ll try to dissect what has transpired as i have come to understand both situations.

PLEASE try to read through the end, but if you like, you are also more than welcome to just focus on one section if you don’t care for both discourses or how i think one affects the other. I totally get it. KEEP IN MIND, that i might speak about something you haven’t PERSONALLY seen, but as i often say in fandom, just because YOU didn’t see it, doesn’t mean it didn’t HAPPEN. It adds context to why/how certain fans are reacting as they are. You could be in one camp, and never have seen what the other camp has, so at any point where youre reading and saying to yourself “is this a thing that happened?” Consider that it did indeed, happen, and you are welcome to expand your knowledge on the subject.

ANY comments that go “you have no idea what your talking about/this isn’t true/i’ve never seen this/when did this happen(sarcastically)” will not be answered and you will be blocked, because it is clear you are not actually open to discussion. You’ve made up your mind about these characters and topics, and my time, at least, is valuable.

GENUINE questions like “I didn’t know this/when did this happen (genuine)/can you explain this point more” are more than welcome. I will absolutely entertain character interpretation as well, so long as we’re not trying to “convince” one another, as that isn’t the point of this post. These are two villains who i find fascinating and am wondering why are being treated so differently in discourse spaces.

For Calypso:

I truly and HONESTLY believe that because Calypso is a unique (and lovable! Mind you!) villain, it had led to many of her newer fans to feel uncomfortable with her role in the story. I have seen numerous sides of her discourse and have come with a few iron-clad rules: it is ONLY acceptable to call someone out if they are harassing Wangui, calypo’s VA (which has NOT happened as i am writing this out) OR if an anti-calypso comes into SOMEONE ELSE’s post saying anything like “if you like calypso then you condone her actions” because as what we sane people know, that is just a silly fallacy, OR if they start shit in a cosplayers/fanfic writer/fanartists comment section. ASIDE from these instances, i will be speaking on what none sense has transpired about how Calypso is portrayed in the Musical within her first song, and her future song, because BOTH have been used for utter bias.

A few things to debunk:

FIRST Calypso is NOT cursed to fall in love with anyone who comes across her island. That is a Percy Jackson ONLY addition that has no bearings on her actions in the musical or the original poem.

ALSO though Calypso CANONICALLY RAPES Odysseus for seven years in the original poem, the CHILDREN from that abuse only really exist in secondary sources/works. They NOT in the original poem.

Having said that:

The Ambiguity of Calypso’s actions in both of her songs means that everyone is right when they speculate on what she has done. Odysseus was trapped on her island against HIS will for seven years. He is canonically seen refusing her advances, trying to kill himself, and begging her to let him go and leave him alone. These are UNDISPUTED facts. As such, regardless of how YOU personally choose to interpret Calypso actions, she will always have a CANONICAL victim in the musical. I feel people are forgetting Odysseus when they speak on Calypso and that’s the whole point of her existence in the poem and the musical.

This leads directly into WHY there has been arguments about Calypso’s character. In the POEM, she very much sexually assaults Odysseus for seven long years. He is seen crying nightly and begging to be free. In the MUSICAL, Jorge has decided to leave the situation ambiguous - which, i have seen, does not sit well with current fandom culture. NEW fans of Calypso seem to be very adamant about NOT interpreting Calypso as a rapist, in levels that range for they’re just not comfy with it so decided not to head canon her as such, to other very concerningly speaking about rape survivors in such a way to justify liking a villain when you dont HAVE to justify liking a villain at any point at all ever.

Let’s break it down.

Those who just don’t like the idea of Calypso being a rapist in the MUSICAL are valid. It’s very easy to block and avoid those who have chosen to explore this aspect of her in the musical because they can and are allowed to. I am very pro-finding a space in fandom where you can talk about Calypso without HAVING to mention she might have raped someone. She’s still a villain for having kept Odysseus captive for seven years, but it’s not important. You are more than allowed to love villains, and without the rape aspect, Calypso’s villainy boils down to her physiological and emotionally torturing Odysseus while physically kidnapping him. That’s still ALOT of bad stuff to unpack, if you so want to. You could also not want to! It doesn’t hurt anyone, and anyone who says it does is not being intellectually honest.

The PROBLEM that I’m seeing, is that many of her newer fans…DONT want Calypso to be seen as a villain. At all. Which…is not how fandom works, I’m sorry to say.

While some EPIC fans have interpreted Calypso of being manipulative / selfish even in their most sympathetic analysis of the story (and the current song), others are treating these interpretation as wholly incorrect and somehow a form of harassment. The main caveat to this reaction appears to be, as TikTok puts it, “That Calypso DOESN’T SA Odysseus on the musical”

As we have pointed out, Calypso canonically rapes Odysseus in the poem, while it’s ambiguous in the musical. As we have ALSO pointed out, the ambiguity of the musical allow ALL INTERPRETATIONS to be correct. Something about the RAPE aspect of Calypso’s characterization in this musical, however, is the primary reason this discourse has happened.

Now, as i have said earlier. You are in your RIGHT to not head canon Calypso has a rapist in the musical. In the same vein others also have a RIGHT to head canon Calypso AS a rapist in the musical. But from what I’ve seen, it’s when others interpret Calypso as a rapist that newer Calypso fans leave comments about they’re not “interpreting the story correctly” and not “Judging calypso based on Jorge’s vision” and at first i found it funny…now it’s a bit concerning.

There are two instances that come to mind. One tiktoker made a video where she was in tears saying that it made HER SAD that people were “judging Calypso wholly based on outside sources material” which is disingenuous. As i have said before, even without the RAPE aspect of Calypso, which i will go further into what her newer fans consider “rape”, she is still an antagonist within the musical - she is a villain who keeps Odysseus against his will. To claim that they are calling her a villain for that reason alone is a blatant and useless addition to the discourse. I did not care for it at all. It would have been MUCH MORE constructive for this tiktoker to say that even though Calypso is a villain, the sexual assault is up to individual interpretation, and as all interpretations are valid, it’s better to find people who agree with your head canons rather than start fights with people who don’t share yours. This tiktoker very poorly worded the discourse as a one-sided thing where one side is wrong, and that is simply not true.

ANOTHER tiktoker, who wisely turned off comments because such discussions are impossible on the app, worryingly claimed that a line in Not Sorry for Loving You was absolute PROOF that Calypso did not “rape” Odysseus so it was wrong to interpret her as such, because, and this is a loose quotation “i don’t think Jorge would make Odysseus say something like that HAD Calypso done that to him” which unfortunately leaves fandom discourse into REAL WORLD victim discourse. Holy shit. The line she is referring to is when Odysseus calms Calypso down when she is in the middle of explaining her actions by saying “Calypso i love you, but not the way you want me to” to this tiktoker, it seems illogical for a rape victim to every say these kinds of things to their rapist…which is….NOT it. At all. Fiction, as beautiful as it is, is meant for you to QUESTION “huh…how would this impossible fictional scenario work? What makes this compelling?” It is NOT meant for you to attribute your REAL WORLD assumptions onto a FICTIONAL SCENARIO in order to justify you liking a villain character when you dont HAVE to justify it. You can like Calypso! It’s only weird when you make real-world comparisons like this because a rape victim can and HAS said as much and even more to their rapists in known history. *bonks you* dont do what this person did! Fiction allows you to explore situation that would be traumatizing outside of it in as safe and consensual way! You CANNOT and should NOT ascribe your personal biases on sensitive topics for FICTIONAL characters. That’s not how this works. “real victim wouldn’t x, so fictional wouldn’t y” is a ludicrous statement! You can’t back it up with facts! “Fictional victim does x, so i wonder if there ever would be a situation where a real victim would do y, and would like educate myself on the topic” IS what fiction was made for! OPENing your mind, not closing it for stupid reasons.

But it got me thinking. BECAUSE these fans anchor their arguments on the rape of Odysseus, even when they themselves DONT consider it, what exactly do they consider rape, and why is that ONE act Calypso may or may not do the ONLY reason to call her a villain when she is one, regardless.

Well, I’ve seen a lot of back and forth. Some anti-calypso’s are okay with the idea that Calypso is more of a “kissy-face” monster, a silly villain who, having no concept of what actual love is and what your supposed to do with someone you love, thinks hugging and kissing is the only thing on the table. It still makes this version of Calypso something of a sex pest and is still in line with sexual assault as we see Odysseus is miserable. The gravity of the situation is based entirely on funny fanfics to Odysseus canonically trying to kill himself because of Calypso’s affection. This interpretation (shockingly enough) is also hated by some new Calypso fans.

Because from what i have gathered. “SA” as used in TikTok, had been boiled down to a literal forced insertion of Odysseus’s dick in Calypso’s vagina. Not the literal words “sexual assault” which is an umbrella term for multiple things. But in this discourse “SA” has JUST been used for the ACT of rape itself. That is what new Calypso fans think is criminal. That is what they entirely base her villainy on. Because we will NEVER get confirmation on whether this happened, it’s impossible to engage with some of the newer fans, who dislike attributing Calypso with the villain title because of this one thing and this one thing alone. Any other line, from Calypso saying “and I’m sorry if i pushed you, or if i came on too strong” in her next song, or even her saying “in bed we will climb” is, for some reason, not grounds for others to be allowed to interpret her as, at the very least, assaulting Odysseus physically and sexually in a way without having to have actually raped him. It boggles my mind. Truly. But every argument i have seen has boiled down to the newer fans saying “welllllll, we dont know the context, and Odysseus said —“ when i have already explained that none of that matters. All interpretations are valid. You CANNOT say with certainty that she did or didn’t rape Odysseus. That’s the POINT. You can’t PROVE either, stop TRYING to, it’s YOUR choice and your interpretation can be backed by lyrics/official animatics, but it is hardly an absolute.

It has become a GROWING problem that in videos where Calypso is portrayed negatively, there are at least a dozen newer calypso fans who have to bring up how she is sympathetic, and therefore, not a villain. Which is not true. She is the MOST compelling villain in the epic musical, thus far.

These “fans” say that she absolutely didn’t rape Odysseus which is theory, not fact. And not a theory that can become fact. In the same way that saying she absolutely did rape is can not become fact. They appear to believe everything outside of this hypothetical act, nothing else she does is deserving of her title as a villain, and start arguments in non discourse posts about all the ways she’s sympathetic when it goes hand in hand with what makes her a compelling villain antagonist.

There’s also a newer cope saying that it’s all Zeus’s fault anyway, which has NO bearings on the conversation as, again, despite Zeus being a dick and allowing Odysseus live while not necessarily enabling him returning to Ithaca, it’s still up to Calypso on how she acts towards HER captive. And she straight up chooses violence lmao. Athena asks for “Devine intervention” to an impossible situation, regardless of if it was Zeus’s actions that led to it, it’s also up to him to “untie apprehensions” because Calypso, being a goddess, has complete control over whether Odysseus can leave and SHE won’t. She has to be ORDERD to. By a HIGHER power. Zeus.

Such argumentations as “well if YOU were in Calypso’s situation, wouldn’t you also do the same” are useless fallacies to get into, because you are NOT a goddess who owns an island and is in possession of a man who does not love you. Even if you were, guess what, it still makes you the antagonist. A villain. A knowing one or not.

In fact, since I LIKE interpretations that Calypso isn’t psychologically torturing Odysseus ON PURPOSE, i go as far as to say that her being a genuine goddess who wants love is in fact…..so much more painful, narratively. Because that means she is INCAPABLE of ever being a good person. Her loneliness and fear of being unloved makes her utterly blind to Odysseus’s misery. She HEARS him saying constantly that he misses his family, that all he hears are screams, and that SHE doesn’t know him, but she in turn CANNOT get passed this because she is, at her core, unable to, and thus accidentally triggers him constantly, is delusional about her island being paradise, AND convinces herself that her love is real (when it is not) and that Oddy will love her back if she keeps trying.

THAT is what you call a compelling villain!

As in all Calypso stories. There is NEVER a moment of clarity where Calypso realizes “if i actually love this person, i should let him go” in the musical HERMES is tasked in telling her to let him go. And she, as in all her other stories, goes on a tirade to explain/justify her actions, however you wish to see her being manipulative or honest. Regardless of how you choose to SEE calypso, at the end of the day, she has NO RIGHT to be upset at Odysseus because he was her captive. And REGARDLESS of whether Odysseus’s words are interpreted as him forgiving her, or just placating her, at the end of the day, he is her victim and she ends her next song upset that he is willingly leaving her once he got the chance. With absolutely no hope of him returning her feelings. It’s not his job to make her feel better, she IS an antagonist, and you are allowed to love her no matter how that might upset others. It is ONLY a problem when you take it to such extremes that you are in other peoples comments acting as if Calypso is a real person who needs defending. You are more than in your right to block people who come into YOUR videos accusing you of somehow being a bad person because you like a bad person. That’s not how fiction works.

Once again. My analysis of the Calypso debacle is that for some, calling Calypso a villain upsets them. Because they like her, and they are uncomfortable with the idea of liking a villain. This is a personal grievance that shouldn’t boil into fandom. Know your truth, have fun. You CAN make silly calypso videos. Many have. Her song is a bop, the meaning of the song is hilariously dark compared to the composition. Jorge did his job VERY well. Too well, that the idea of liking Calypso feels either / or when it’s not. TRUST that i would not be on the side of anyone who says “if you like calypso, youre evil”, but I HAVE seen a pattern that because Calypso is likable, than several people have made it their confused mission to tell everyone who is “mean to her” that “if you DISLIKE calypso, YOU are evil”. That’s bizarre to me. Calypso does enough evil actions in the musical to warrant that title regardless of the reasons for her actions, whether she is being purposely malicious or unconsciously so due to her lack of socialization. Being weird about real life SA survivors for a fictional character is never acceptable. For or against Calypso, whether she is a rapist or not, it is up to YOU to find like minded people who share your interpretation, not to argue with people who disagree with you in their own space. She isn’t real. Get over it.

ANYONE WHO HARASSES WAGNUI, COSPLAYERS, OR GOES INTO POSITIVE CALYPSO INTERPRETATION SPACES TO BE PURPOSELY MEAN* ARE WRONG. Otherwise. Leave them alone, they are as valid as you are. “Defending” a character is a waste of time when you could be creating for them. Calypso is a compelling villian antagonist regardless of how uwu or vile you choose to make her. Thus is the beauty of fiction.

(*purposely mean, would, logically, be someone calling you an idiot or a rape apologist for headcanoning her in a positive way. The ideal interaction with a negative calypso interpreter would be “i dont see her this way, but i understand/like your headcanon”)

WHICH BRINGS US TO Antinous:

Hilariously enough. Antinous has the complete INVERSE problem as Calypso, which was also detailed in her section for fairness sake at multiple points, and this problem is much easier to understand. Antinous is a villian antagonist in the musical Epic, and in his debut in the wisdom saga, he is shown (like calypso) to be in direct opposition to Telemachus and Penelope’s goal.

He alludes to sexual assault much more clearly than calypso. He calls Penelope a tramp to her son’s face AND suggests he let them into her room “so [they] can have fun with her” which is in the same vein as calypso saying “soon in bed we will climb” to Odysseus later on that “you (Odysseus) are mine all mine” in her own song. Like calypso, it is told to us that Antinous has been having this kind of vibe for FIVE YEARS* (a fan pointed this out to me! read here🙏🏼) as opposed to calypso’s seven years. Everyone is, usually, in agreement that Antinous is a villain in the wisdom saga and in the overall Epic musical.

Antinous’s VA is ON TikTok, and has spoken about how happy he is that fans consider him a talented person who did a spectacular rendition of such a villainous character. AND YET.

Inversely from what we saw in the Calypso section, where some of her fans are against the notion of her being portrayed as the antagonist she is, for Antinous we have MANY fans claiming that others are not ALLOWED to portray him as anything BUT an antagonist. Unlike with Calypso, where people circularly argue that her allusions to sexual assault are “too ambigous” and lead to much senseless debate on whether you’re “allowed” to like her or call her a villian, with ANTINOUS, there is this claim that he ABSOLUTELY is alluded to sexual assault and therefore, cannot be liked or treated as anything other than a villain.

As i have discussed AT LENGTH in Calypso’s section, this argumentation is pure fallacy.

There have been NUMEROUS thirst videos that have rightfully said that DESPITE the actions of the character, they still think Antinous is hot and likable (the Gaston affect, if you will). Even WITHOUT the disclaimer, it is OF COURSE understood that Antinous fans are NOT rape apologists. That is a ridiculous assumption that serves only to kill any interpretation that someone else can rightfully have.

It’s utterly devoid of nuance or actual knowledge of how to play within fandom and interact w characters.

There have been SEVERAL posts calling Antinous fans delusional for liking him and “reminding” the fandom that he is a bad guy. This serves no purpose and is utterly useless to the discourse. Antinous being a bad guy is not debated. This is factual. It doesn’t (or shouldn’t, because we cannot speak in absolutes) hurt anyone’s feelings to see an Antinous videos depicting him as the villain he is. Like with Calypso it is ONLY acceptable to call someone out if they are harassing Ayron Alexander, Antinous’s VA (which has NOT happened as i am writing this out) OR if an anti-Antinous comes into SOMEONE ELSE’s post saying anything like “if you like Antinous then you condone his actions” because as what we sane people know, that is just a silly fallacy, OR if they start shit in a cosplayers/fanfic writer/fanartists comment section.

Otherwise. Who cares that someone is saying Antinous is a villain? Block the no fun police and enjoy analysis from others who choose to see him purely as what he is, if you want. If you dont, block them to, it’s your space. You have a RIGHT to headcanon Antinous however you want, even make up AUs for him where he’s nice or lives and gets a happy ending, SO LONG AS you’re not in other people’s posts going actually Antie is my uwu child and he did nothing wrong. Cuz then youre just being dumb. And annoying. Fandom is already impatient with genuine disagreement, being a smart ass gets your head dunked in a toilet. I used to think this was common sense.

(And in case you didn’t read the Calypso section, or didn’t see enough of it there, this IS the appropriate response to people who address newer fans of her as rape apologists too, its in her section, i just also thought it was important to touch on the stranger phenomena of her other fans refusing to call her a villain because it makes them personally uncomfortable - it’s very interesting as Calypso is a female antagonist while Antinous being a male antagonist is being treated very differently for the same subject. In any case, it’s a disservice to either character and Jorge’s narrative to get upset about the very real fact that BOTH of these characters are villain antagonists.)

The very CURRENT discourse surrounding Antinous is that he was recently shipped with Telemachus.

The animator for Apollo’s section of God Games was harassed to such a point that she had to make a public apology regarding her ALTERNATE UNIVERSE scenario. And i, personally, think that’s bullshit.

There have been accusations that she was being insensitive to sexual assault survivors, and that she made a dark joke, all of which she addressed in her apology IN ADDITION to her explaining that she is ALSO a survivor of child sexual assault. She took down her work. DESPITE all of this, there are still others who continue to harass her, and claim that they dont want “a rape creator” in THEIR fandom. To those people: you don’t speak for any of us. In the same way you can claim not to believe that the animator is a survivor, i have no reason to consider your concerns in any way shape or form as being in service of victims. It is absolutely not your call, when blocking and scrolling on will ALWAYS be an option for YOU.

Even in the event someone writes Antonio’s fan fiction keeping his canon personality and characterization in a non-canon divergent way it is not grounds to harass people.

In addition to this animator, there have been SEVERAL Antinous shippers who have expressed disappointment that she was essentially harassed into a corner, as they also liked the ship and the AU she created. These people are NOT “weird” they are allowed to express themselves creatively, and if you disagree, dont even bother with leaving any sort of response — i wont read it, my time is important. Stay in your echo chamber. Even if it wasn’t an AU, and someone wants to write for Antinous as he is in the narrative, they are more than allowed to do so. Dark fiction isn’t going to traumatize you or give you cooties. Grow up.

I am MUCH more willing to ride with Antinous shippers than i ever will be with fans who attempt to control how a character is interpreted by others. Because to ship Antinous with anyone, AU or otherwise, you have to have an UNDERSTANDING of why this would be a compelling thing to write/make fanart for. He is an evil character, and it would be FASCINATING to see him in fictional scenarios that (like in the calypso section) lead us to as WHY this would be an appealing and interesting take on someone. It’s OKAY to do it in fiction. He isn’t REAL. It’s not hurting EVERYONE. And more so than with calypso, it IS understood that Antinous HAS victims in Penelope and Telemachus There’s no senseless debate on what he is, a villain, no one is arguing he is a uwu babygirl so please sympathize w him, it’s inherently understood even among his FANS.

This is why find Antonio’s and Calypso’s discourses so polarizing. Because no one is getting offended or arguing that Antinous only acts villainously because of some tragic backstory or sympathetic reason. It would be absurd to.

That’s the appeal of a lovable villain. Because like Calypso, Antinous IS lovable, but in such a different way that you have fans treating both characters as if they’re polar opposite when at the very LEAST, there’s on the same bracket, just different ends of them. Telemachus/Penelope and Odysseus’s plights are being MIRRORED in parallel.

THAT is what floors me about these two discourses. That they are functionally THE SAME yet are being treating as if they aren’t. I’m positive that there is an Antinous fan who detests Calypso in the same way there is a Calypso fan who detests Antinous. These are called biases. Once you KNOW your own bias, it is up to YOU to act right according to them.

You are responsible for your OWN fyp.

The Epic fandom had yet to experience such backwards discourse as this, and I wouldn’t expect Jorge or any of the VAs to dignify such trivial discourse with a response. If you’re the type to bring it up to them, you’re being awful. The popular fandom Epic tiktokers are already way too involved as it is. And even they are getting things wrong.

It almost feels remiss to say that in the NARRATIVE of the musical, both Calypso and Antinous are villian antagonists, while outside of the narrative they become dolls you can play with however you like, so long as we are not in each others comments being obtuse. I don’t expect any of my essay to even make it to a larger part of the fandom. But i HAD to get my ideas written down, because if you don’t see someone else connecting the dots you have, you have to present them yourself. Very “can’t we all just get along?” But hopefully, not as insufferable nor one-sides as others might have been. I tried to bring up ideas/points that i have not seen discussed about these two villains and why they seem to connect and go hand in hand.

Why is Calypso, as a female antagonist, given more grace than Antinous, a male antagonist, who is very firmly given none at all. It very well could be just how they were presented, and if so, ask yourself WHY these villains were presented so differently. What purpose do they serve? What are they trying to accomplish? These are questions more suited for actual fandom collaboration that is being drowned out by circular arguements. It feels like homework, instead of knee-jerk reacting to interpretations unlike your own.

To ME, these two characters are two sides of the same coin. (though I DO think it’s funny that the NEUTRAL phrase to refer to either character is “I hate them BUT” because in reasonable fandoms, this is understood inherently….but in this fandom such decorum seems to be lost? For some reason?? Wisdom saga has brought out a lack of wisdom, I fear.) This is the kind of purity culture that suggest you can’t LIKE a character of their a villain, so you go out of your way to argue they aren’t, or that no one else should like them: that’s bonkers. You might disagree and it might even upset you, but that’s a you problem to have.

Having said that, and if you are POSITIVE that you want to engage in conversation with me, you are welcome to do so.

#epic the musical #epic the wisdom saga #epic calypso #epic antinous #epic telemachus #epic odysseus #purity culture #the way calypso and atinous would both have identical sections if not for the fact some of her new stans refuse to accept she’s a villain #a hot villain!!!#bonkers to yonkers how liking villains is still a discourse issue lmao

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utilitycaster · 1 year ago

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In all seriousness, I think one of the most obvious parallels from past campaigns to Imogen is Caleb, and while I've talked about the reductive ways people have interacted with Caleb in the past (Sad Boy hours and whatnot) it is frustrating how Imogen is so frequently denied the same complexity. Caleb was traumatized, and lonely, and nearly friendless but for one person he'd met under difficult circumstances some time before joining the larger party, but he was also (for the most part) allowed by the fandom to be exceptionally violent and brutal in combat; to be angry at all the time he had lost and at the people who'd taken advantage of him; to have possibly questionable goals; and to, at times, work against the better interests of the party in service of his own priorities. He was allowed to fall down and look ridiculous and to be immensely powerful but he was also allowed to be far more than that dichotomy. And, most importantly, and to be fair this was somewhat more hotly contested, he was allowed to claim responsibility for his actions and to exist in a space where he was both a victim of manipulation and willingly made his own choices based on that manipulation, and still be worthy of a heroic status.

Imogen is so frequently denied these opportunities and this complexity- and not by her detractors, but by her claimed fans. She's allowed to be a failgirl who falls down the stairs and she's allowed to get the HDYWTDT but she's not allowed to be the person who deliberately triggered the traps to light up the rivals during the museum heist. You can't explore how cold she is to her father or how she grants her mother undeserved leniency - that's unkind to Imogen. She's not allowed to bear partial responsibility for how people in Gelvaan treat her, even after she nearly killed several of them. She's not allowed to have powers that are a liability or that intrude upon others' privacy; it's only allowed to be explored as her pain and nothing more. Her petty and bitter asides are either made out to be badass mic drops or conveniently ignored. If she wants to explore her darker tendencies it's bad unless she's doing it with Laudna in which case it's good. Her powers have, understandably, left her with fascinating gaps in her communication skills, which is a great point to be made about psychics, but that's neglected when so many people act as if it's everyone else's responsibility to accurately interpret her. It's impossible to explore how her worldview is often very focused on herself without a strong sense of the larger picture - not even self-centered, though it can be, but often merely limited due to her own sheltered experience - because within many fandom circles, every other character's morality is judged based on how far backwards they bend to accommodate her.

#caleb widogast #imogen temult #critical role #critical role spoilers #i think there are valid reasons to say. like imogen but not caleb. but there's also a lot of not valid reasons.#anyway. i said this elsewhere but female characters are allowed to be keyleth or delilah #but nothing in between. if you fall in between you are pushed to one end or the other by people who claim they love women's wrongs #it is ngl wild to see people throw keyleth under the bus though. i thought that might be the limit but apparently not #to be fair people also managed to do similar flattening to keyleth too...very wow look at this complicated woman! she has all two emotions!

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badaziraphaletakes · 11 months ago

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The Starmaker: A whole essay apparently

I don’t necessarily think the anti-Aziraphale hate is, for the most part, people projecting - at least not more than would be the case for any other character in any fandom.

I think it is primarily due to anti-Autistic bias, and here's another reason why:

Because the moment the fandom most dislike in Crowley - namely, the moment when they say “Nice to meet you” and go right back to being excited about their stars instead of adhering to social pleasantries - is their most Autistic moment. And happened during the period of time that overall they were acting at their most autism-esque.

So many people have said that moment was them being arrogant and superior and self-absorbed. Autistic people get called that constantly. (I’m ashamed to admit that I too fell into the trap for awhile of thinking that moment was them being arrogant, too. I’m not immune to this kind of bias. Anti-Autistic prejudice is so pervasive in our society that we can’t get away from it.)

People have said Crowley was a better person after they fell (despite the fact that we’ve seen that their defining moral trait, their tendency to question injustice, was already in place before then). Given that post-fall Crowley acts FAR less like an Autistic person, that take gives major “they were acting really Autistic before but then they had a super traumatic experience and that fixed them” vibes, and I REEEEALLY don’t like it. (I also have extremely mixed feelings about the “trauma makes you a better person” idea to begin with, but that’s another conversation).

People are even saying Crowley had to fall in order to become someone who could love Aziraphale and be loved by him… WHAT?!!! I’m going to be doing some thinking about what that implies, but I can tell you right now it’s not good.

Our beautiful, excitable, joyful, Autistic-esque Starmaker was just as worthy of Aziraphale as Crowley is. There was NOTHING bad in what we saw of them as opposed to post-fall Crowley, nothing that suggests they “needed to fall to learn a lesson” or anything like that, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.

#good omens #aziraphale #goodomens #good omens 2 #badaziraphaletakes #goodomens2 #crowley #BadCrowleyTakes I guess?

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fluentmoviequoter · 9 months ago

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Speed Limit 2525

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: When Tim Bradford goes head-to-head with a bomber, he finds himself on a bus carrying a bomb and you.

Warnings: spoilers for Speed (1994) (I think this qualifies as an AU/rewrite), angst, bombings, nightmares, death and fear of dying, teasing, fluff, a little make out scene at the end? basically every warning that applies to the movie and The Rookie. I also made up a story about "Reaper"

Word Count: 11.7k+ words

A/N: This isn't completely proofread, but I'll be back soon to check it. I hope you enjoy!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Shoot him.

Tim doesn’t feel the trigger depress, only the hot desert air beating against his face. Though the trigger doesn’t move, a bullet rips through the barrel and into Tim’s only surviving squad member. He yells to warn his teammate, but no sound comes out. The wind is loud in the desert, yet the sound of Tim’s friend falling against the sand seems to echo for miles.

“Bradford,” the injured soldier coughs. “Wrong target, Reaper.”

Tim’s chest is tight with guilt and anxiety when he wakes. The sheets are wrapped tightly around his legs, and his shallow breaths distract him from freeing himself. Before he has time to orient himself, Tim’s phone rings and snaps him out of his post-nightmare, adrenaline-fueled state as he reaches across the empty pillow to answer it.

“Bradford,” he says.

“Get to the station as soon as you can,” Sergeant Grey demands. “Your Metro captain has me calling everybody in. We’re sending patrol units out, too. It’s gonna be a long day, Tim.”

Tim forgets about the nightmare and the memory within as he rushes to get ready. Tim’s tunnel vision focuses on work, and everything else fades away. Middle-of-the-night calls aren’t unusual, especially for a Metro Sergeant like himself, but this many officers getting a wake-up call is. Whatever is happening is big, and it doesn’t sound to Tim like it will be over any time soon. He makes it to the station in record time, and his commander is directing the other Metro officers when he enters.

“We don’t have time,” she says suddenly. “I’m running this force from here. Sergeant Grey will fill you in on the way. Get to the target location and stick together. Bradford, you’re with Temple!”

Tim nods as Harry Temple walks to his side. Harry was one of Angela Lopez’s first patrol partners, but he decided Metro was a better fit when the time to move forward in his career came along. Like Tim, he was in the Army before becoming a police officer, and he and Tim have some shared experiences. Neither of them is overly eager to bond over them, however.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Tim asks Harry as he turns on the lights and sirens in the shop.

“All I heard was ‘elevator,’” Harry answers. “I’m assuming they’re more to this than that.”

“Listen up,” Sergeant Grey says over the radio. “This is your official brief. When we roll up to the scene, we go straight in. No time for questions after we exit these cars. Fifteen people are trapped on an express elevator. The owner of the building is also inside. A bomb took out the cables, and our bomber is demanding three million dollars, or he blows the emergency brake, too. Cell phone service is spotty in the building, so we can’t rely on that to track anyone or anything.”

“Cell phone service is nonexistent in the elevator. A defensive move against trade secrets,” someone adds.

“What’s our clock, Sergeant?” Harry radios.

“He gave one hour when he called, which leaves us with twenty-eight minutes.”

“The only thing that’ll stop the elevator is the basement, right?” Tim adds.

“The city plans to avoid that. They’re working to release the money.”

Tim stops the shop beside the curb at the front of the building. He leaves the lights on as he and Harry remove their weapons from the back and meet the rest of their tactical team in the lobby.

“We can’t just unload them,” an officer says.

“The bomber wired the elevator doors and the hatch to trigger the bomb. So, he’s crazy, but he ain’t stupid,” Wade explains as he enters.

“Harry volunteers to examine the device,” Tim interjects. “He was on the bomb squad in the Army.”

Harry turns to glare at Tim as he says, “Right. And since Bradford also has Army experience, he’d like to provide a second opinion.”

“Fine,” Wade says. “You two check it out. Hey! Where’s the nearest access panel?”

“32nd floor,” a nearby employee answers on his way out. “It’s in the hall by the storage closet.”

“Report only. We’re in a holding pattern until we get word from your Commander back at the station. Confirm building evac and keep your radios active.”

“What about the other elevators?” Harry asks the employee.

“In an emergency, all passenger cars go to the nearest floor and shut down,” he says.

Tim frowns and moves his gun to his side. “Looks like we’re walking up the stairs.”

Harry nods before sprinting up the stairs behind Tim. Tim outpaces him but waits at the access panel for Harry to arrive with his small tool kit. He begins removing the nuts from the metal cover while Tim watches the hallway. Harry gives Tim a signal and Tim lifts the metal sheet. Light filters into the elevator shaft as Tim crawls through the opening and moves to the top of the elevator, where the bomb rests.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the L.A.P.D.,” Tim announces loudly. “There has been an elevator malfunction. Just relax and we’ll have you out of there as soon as possible.”

Harry looks up from the bomb and raises his hands in question.

“I didn’t lie,” Tim defends.

“I don’t recognize this work, Tim. Whoever our bomber is… he’s a pro and the work is solid,” Harry says.

“Bradford, Temple, hold position,” Wade radios. “We’re waiting to hear back from the bomber.”

Tim looks at his watch and muffles a curse. Their time is nearly out, and Tim continues to look at his watch rather than think about the lives in the metal death trap below his feet.

Harry sees the look in Tim’s eyes and decides to distract him. “Terrorist in a crowded room, five pounds of dynamite. He’s got a deadman’s stick. What do you do?”

“How close am I?” Tim asks, looking away from the elevator.

“Twenty feet.”

“Taser. He can’t let go with enough volts surging through him.”

“Alright, hot shot. Fifty feet?”

“Nice try.”

“Airport, then. Gunman with one hostage, using her for cover. He’s almost on a plane, you’re a hundred feet away.”

“Why is the hostage always a woman in these scenarios? Watch too many romcoms in the academy?”

“What do you do?” Harry repeats.

Tim kneels to examine the bomb once more and remembers his nightmare. Shoot him. He shakes his head before answering, “Shoot the hostage. Take her out of the equation, he can’t get to the plane, and I have a clear shot.”

“You are out of your mind, Bradford.”

“This is wrong,” Tim says suddenly. “He’s gonna blow it. How much do you think this elevator weighs?”

“Why? You wanna try to bench it?”

Tim doesn’t acknowledge the teasing as he adds, “We can do something about the hostages.”

“No shoot them, right?”

“Roof,” Tim reads as he points to a roof access sign. There’s a heavy-duty winch secured to the corner of the roof, and Tim runs to it as he says, “We don’t shoot them. Just take them out of the equation.”

Tim pulls the cable from the winch toward the elevator housing on the roof. He drops it in and watches it fall several feet before it catches.

“It’ll hold,” Tim tells Harry. “It’ll hold,” he repeats, quieter.

“Six minutes,” Harry alerts.

Tim throws his legs over the edge of the housing and lowers carefully onto the elevator cable. He hooks the winch hook to his tactical vest before moving down in the elevator shaft. Wade and the Metro team argue with the city council about releasing the money in the lobby, and no one has a clue that the shooter is listening to their radio frequencies. Without cell phones, they’re completely reliant on their radios to stay in touch with one another. Tim ignores his radio as he flips so he’s headfirst as he nears the trapped elevator.

“One more pop quiz,” Harry begins. “Psycho Sergeant Tim Bradford rigs an elevator to drop thirty stories. What do you do?”

Tim rolls his eyes before gesturing for Harry to hold the winch cable steady. A small pile of C4 waits beside his feet, but Tim ignores it as he secures the cable hook to the frame of the elevator.

“Why did I take this job?” Tim murmurs.

“Hey, a few more decades and you get a tiny pension and a free watch,” Harry answers.

“Hit the switch, Temple.”

Harry runs to the winch, hoping that the cables used to wash windows are strong enough to catch a free-falling elevator. He flips the switch, and the winch begins pulling in the cable. As the extra cable Tim pulled into the shaft begins unspooling, he moves up to the open access panel.

In the basement, a man missing a thumb presses a button on his handheld device. Instantaneously, a red light illuminates on the bomb. Tim sees it and throws himself through the access panel just before the bomb goes off. The passengers begin screaming, but the winch catches the falling elevator before it reaches the bottom of the shaft.

“What is happening, Bradford?” Wade asks, his concern evident over the radio.

“He’s early!” Harry yells as he returns from the roof.

“We have to get them out of the elevator. They can’t be lower than 28,” Tim exclaims.

When he and Harry meet the rest of their team on the 28th floor, they see that the elevator is stranded between floors. Only the floor is accessible from their current position, but there is no time to run up and down the stairs and look for the perfect access point. The elevator passengers lower to the floor and Tim and Harry pull people out one at a time. Tim pulls the last woman to safety seconds before the winch fails and the elevator plummets to the bottom of the shaft. After the sound of impact, Tim and Harry lean back against a wall and pant from the effort they exerted.

“Is your watch slow?” Tim asks.

“Nah. He jumped the gun,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “We had three minutes.”

“He blew more than the elevator. He blew his three million dollars. Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth it.”

Tim sits up as he declares, “He’s here.”

“He could have blown that thing from anywhere, Tim.”

“He knew we were doing something, that’s why he acted early. That means he’s close.”

“He’s not gonna corner himself in the building. The building we evacuated.” Harry leans his head back against the wall and thinks for a moment before he adds, “He’d want to be here, yes, but stay mobile… The elevators.”

“All of the passenger cars stopped, and we checked them.”

“Did we check the freight elevators?”

Tim’s eyes widen in realization as he and Harry push themselves to stand and run to the freight elevator doors. Once Tim pries the door open, he slides down the cable and lands on top of a car. Harry reluctantly follows and freezes when a noise echoes inside. Tim doesn’t notice Harry behind him as he prepares to enter the elevator. Before he can, a shotgun is fired between them, and Harry falls into the elevator. The man inside knocks him out with the butt of the shotgun, and Tim waits until the elevator moves up to drop in through the roof panel. As he lands, he looks up and sees a shotgun barrel in his face.

“I don’t suppose anybody would pay me three million dollars just for you,” the nine-fingered bomber muses.

He pulls the trigger, but the gun is empty. Tim removes his Glock from his side and demands the bomber lower the shotgun. He does so but opens his coat to reveal dynamite strapped to his chest and a deadman switch detonator in his hand.

“Hotshot,” the man begins. Tim’s jaw clenches as he realizes the man listened to their conversations over the radio, but he can’t say anything before the bomber says, “Terrorist holding a police hostage. He’s got enough dynamite to blow the building in half. What do you do?”

“Fifty cops are waiting for us in the basement,” Tim states.

“Standard flanking, I’m aware.” He presses a button on a device wired into the elevator controls. “So, maybe we’ll get off early.”

The elevator stops at a parking level, and Tim watches as the bomber pulls Harry toward the door. His eyes open slowly, and Tim keeps his eyes on Harry rather than the man pulling him.

“Well, end of the line, Bradford. This day has been a real disappointment, I don’t mind saying.”

“Why? Because you couldn’t kill everyone?” Tim asks.

“There will come a time, hotshot, when you will wish you’d never met me.”

“I’m already there.”

“Look! I have your partner, I’m in charge! I drop this stick and they clean us up with a sponge!”

“Go ahead!” Harry yells. “Drop the stick!” “Shut up!” Tim demands.

Harry looks at Tim and mouths, “Shoot the hostage.”

Shoot him. Wrong target, Reaper. Tim takes a deep breath and shifts his arms to shoot Harry in the leg. He collapses onto the floor, and the bomber steps back in shock before running into the garage. Tim steps over Harry to shoot behind the feeling suspect. As the man reaches the door, he looks over his shoulder to smile at Tim before he disappears. Tim can’t check on Harry as the garage explodes and the force pushes him back against the wall. As Tim collides with the concrete behind him, everything goes dark. And everything changes.

After Harry’s unplanned and involuntary retirement party, Tim nearly oversleeps. His alarm pulls him from a dreamless sleep, and he winces at the sound before turning it off. Before he showers, he decides to go for a quick run to clear his head. Once he’s dressed and ready for the day, he drives to his favorite café. It’s one of the only places in Los Angeles where you can get a decent cup of coffee and breakfast without being surrounded by millennials working on their screenplays. Tim nods at another regular, Vince, as he enters.

“Hey, Tim. You look awful,” Bob, the owner of the café, says.

“Thanks, Bob,” Tim grumbles.

“Pretty boy party too hard?” Vince asks Tim.

“I- I don’t remember that well.”

“Wake up alone?”

“Always do.”

“Must be nice,” Bob interjects. “The last time I partied like that I worked up married.”

Tim shakes his head as he accepts his order and walks out behind Vince. He sets his coffee on top of his truck as he retrieves his keys from his pocket. Vince’s bus starts behind Tim and pulls away from the curb. Tim turns to wave at Vince before unlocking his door.

After it crosses the first intersection, the bus explodes. Tim stumbles as he looks toward the source of the noise. He runs to the bus as it rolls to a stop and fights against the flames to help Vince, but it’s too late. As Tim lays his hands on his knees in shock, he notices an abandoned cell phone lying on the sidewalk behind him. It rings continuously, and Tim doesn’t hesitate before he answers the phone.

“What do you think, Bradford?” the bomber from last month asks. “You think if you and Harry find all the driver’s teeth they’ll give you another medal?”

“Where are you?” Tim demands.

“Twenty-second delay. I’m in the air duct when the garage blows. Did you think I wouldn’t come prepared? I spent two years on the elevator job. Two years. I invested myself in it. You couldn’t understand the commitment I have. A child, Tim, you’re a child. You ruin a man’s life’s work and then think you can walk away. You’ve got blinders on, but I got your attention now. Didn’t I, Tim?”

“Why didn’t you just come after me?”

“This is about money – 3.7 million. Not you and your ego. None of it had to happen, Tim, and I hope you realize that. How long do you think the driver’s wife and kids will wait before they get worried tonight?”

“When I find you, I will kill you,” Tim threatens.

“There’s a bomb on a bus, hotshot. Once the bus hits fifty miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If the bus drops below fifty, it blows up. What do you do?”

Tim doesn’t answer but looks around for any sign of the suspect.

“What do you do?” he repeats.

“I’d want to know what bus it was,” Tim answers. He’s accepted the challenge and knows that it has to end with a death: either his or the bomber’s.

“You think I’m going to tell you that, Tim?”

“Yes.”

“Very good.” The man sounds happy, and Tim presses a hand against a nearby wall to control his anger. “Now there are rules, Tim; we have to do this right. No one gets off the bus. One passenger leaves, I will detonate it. Now, if I don’t get my money by 11 a.m., there’s also a timer.”

Tim looks at his watch: 8:05 a.m. “I can’t pull that money in time-“

“Focus, Tim! Your concern is the bus. Don’t call, the radios are jammed. Number 2525, running downtown from Venice. At the corner of Lincoln and Pico…”

Tim drops the cell phone and runs to his car to follow the bus. The lives on that bus are in his hands, and he doesn’t plan to shoot any hostages today.

“Please stop! Sam!” you yell as you chase your bus.

You don’t want to ride the bus, but since your most recent speeding ticket, it is your only mode of transportation. In the few weeks since your license was suspended, you’ve gotten to know the driver, Sam, and some of the regular passengers. You hope that camaraderie is enough to convince Sam to stop for you. The brakes on the bus squeal as it stops, and the door opens.

“This look like a stop to you?” Sam asks.

“You are an amazing man, Sam,” you say as you walk onto the bus. “The men in books and songs have nothing on you.”

You swipe your bus card and take a seat before saying hello to Ortiz, a regular passenger. Comfortable in your seat, and glad that none of the passengers are in a talkative mood this early on a weekday, you relax and hope to get your car back soon.

Tim drives his truck in and out of traffic, onto the shoulder, and into the emergency lane as he tries to catch up with bus 2525. Other drivers honk their horns, flip him off, and yell insults through open windows, but Tim doesn’t notice or care. If he can stop the driver before it reaches 50, then the bomb will never activate. The only danger would be the man with the detonator.

You look up as Sam slows for a traffic jam.

“Can’t you just drive over them?” you ask with a smile.

“Is it always like this?” a man asks from the back of the bus. “It’s my first time here, and it took me three hours just to get out of the airport.”

“Yep,” you answer. “It’s usually worse.”

“That’s why I never drive,” the woman behind you interjects. “I’d never have a car in this city.”

“I have a car. I miss my car,” you lament.

“In the shop?” the tourist asks.

“Something like that. Sam, seriously, the bus is huge, just run them over,” you say again.

When Tim sees the bus has stopped because of a stalled car ahead, he sighs before he pulls onto the shoulder. He exits his truck and runs toward the bus, but the accident clears faster than he expected, and begins moving before he reaches the door. Hitting his fist against the side, Tim yells for the driver to stop.

“Can’t blame him for wanting to get on the bus,” you mutter as you watch him slap an open palm against the door.

“Get off the doors, man! Wait for the next one,” Sam yells before he speeds up.

Tim removes his badge from his pocket a moment too late. He continues chasing the bus, and you look down at your phone as the other passengers watch the unknown man run down the freeway.

Nearly half a mile from his truck and with no other option, Tim stops and waits at the edge of the road. He sees a speeding sports car approaching, and he moves into the middle of its lane and raises his badge.

“Stop!” Tim yells over the traffic.

The young man driving the car slams on his brakes to avoid hitting Tim. Several cars behind him blow their horns, and he raises to yell over the convertible’s windshield.

“What the-“

“L.A.P.D.,” Tim interrupts. “Get out of the car.”

“This is my car! It ain’t stolen and you have no right!” the driver argues.

Tim pulls his gun from its holster and says, “It’s stolen now. Move over.”

The man nods quickly before he jumps over the console and settles into the passenger seat. Tim sits behind the wheel and swerves into another lane as he ignores the owner’s pleas not to scratch the car. Tim drives the expensive, sporty convertible exactly as he had driven his truck, and the man in the passenger seat covers his eyes in fear for his car more than his life. As Tim steers the car beside the bus, he lays on the horn. Sam looks over and immediately recognizes him, and his eyes widen to prove it.

“I’m a cop!” Tim yells.

Sam lowers the window and raises his voice to ask, “What?”

“L-A-P-D!” Tim spells slowly. “There’s a bomb on your bus.”

“There’s a what?” Tim’s passenger exclaims.

“I can’t hear you,” Sam says.

“There’s a bomb on the bus!” Tim repeats.

Sam shakes his head, and Tim looks at the convertible’s speedometer. He’s over 50, so the bus must be, too.

“Drive!” Tim yells as he gestures for the bus to keep moving. “FIFTY! STAY ABOVE FIFTY!”

Sam nods rapidly and trembles a bit as he holds the speed steady. The commotion draws your attention, and you turn in your seat to watch the man who desperately needs a ride or is crazy.

“Call the Mid-Wilshire division station,” Tim says as he hands his phone to the man beside him. “Ask for Detective Angela Lopez.”

“Okay, okay.” The man speaks into the phone briefly before passing it back to Tim.

“Angela,” Tim says.

“Why are you calling me on your day off?” she asks. “Harry’s here, if you’re looking for him.”

“He’s alive.”

“Who?”

“The bomber! He’s back.”

“Harry!” Angela calls.

“Tim, did he hit the bus in Venice?” Harry asks as he approaches Angela’s desk.

“Temple,” Wade interrupts. “We just got a ransom demand from your dead terrorist. Says he rigged a city bus. Where’s Tim?”

“Where do you think?” Harry replies.

Tim ends the call and navigates around the back of the bus to drive alongside the door. Traffic is increasing with the morning rush, and he doesn’t want to risk getting stuck in another slowdown. He honks to get Sam’s attention, and gestures for him to open the door.

“Drive straight,” Tim directs him. “Stay in this lane.”

Sam agrees before Tim speeds up to get ahead of the bus. He opens the driver-side door and hits the brakes, so the bus rips the door off the car. Tim presses the accelerator again to catch up with the bus as he is yelled at by the owner of the car.

“Take the wheel!” Tim says.

Tim waits until the car’s owner moves back into the driver’s seat to jump into the open bus door and pull himself up the stairs.

When the bus rips the door off a convertible, you finally look up. The man driving the car beside the bus is attractive, but you’re a little concerned for his mental well-being. Sam seems willing to help him, and you don’t understand why. When he jumps from the car and onto the bus, you stand and grip the bar above your head. He locks eyes with you before holding up a police badge.

“Everyone, I’m Sergeant Tim Bradford, L.A.P.D. We’ve got a slight… situation on the bus,” he explains.

“Are you crazy?” you ask.

“Ma'am, if you’ll please sit down, we can deal with this in an orderly-“

“But what are you-“

“Ma’am.”

His tone and the look in his eyes convinces you, so you sit down as Tim walks toward the back of the bus and looks at the other passengers. You watch him move and wonder if he’s truly a cop or just insane.

“Just stay in your seats and remain quiet,” Tim says. “Then we’ll be able to defuse the, uh, the problem.”

A passenger you’ve spoken to before, Jay, leaps from his seat and points a gun at Tim.

“Jay!” you yell worriedly.

“Get away from me!” Jay demands.

Tim pulls his gun and matches Jay’s stance. Two women at the back of the bus scream, and you look between Tim and Jay from your seat.

“I don’t know you, I’m not here for you. Let’s not do this,” Tim says calmly.

“Stop the bus, Sam,” Jay calls.

“He can’t. Look, I’m going to put my gun away.” Tim holsters it slowly and raises his hands to show they’re empty. “I don’t care about what you did. It’s over. I’m not a cop right now. See? We’re just two guys on the bus.”

Tim tosses his badge to the floor beside your feet, and you look at it before raising your eyes to Jay again. You understand why he calmed down so quickly; Tim Bradford has a soothing voice, and his presence is assertive but caring. More importantly, you can relax now, because his badge looks real. Jay’s hands begin to lower, but your fellow passenger Ortiz jumps onto his back before Jay puts it away.

Tim rushes forward as Ortiz tries to pull the gun from Jay. A shot goes off, and everyone ducks before a second shot fires.

“Sam!” someone screams.

You turn toward the front of the bus before moving to help Sam. Tim disarms Jay with minimal effort while another woman joins your side.

“Move him,” you say.

“He’s bleeding,” the woman argues.

“We have to stop the bus!”

At your words, Tim spins quickly to face you.

“No!” he yells. “Stay above fifty.”

“Sam is wounded,” you begin.

“You slow down, and this bus will explode!”

Tim holds your eyes and nods slowly. He’s not kidding, you realize. Turning quickly, you look at the speedometer, which falls to 51. While Sam is still in the seat, you push your foot onto the gas pedal and watch the line rise above fifty.

Tim handcuffs Jay to one of the poles before he explains, “There is a bomb on this bus. If we slow down, it will blow. If anyone tries to get off, it will blow.”

The women on the bus surround Sam and help him get comfortable as they try to slow the bleeding. As they pull Sam from the driver’s seat, you slide into position and steer into another lane to keep the speed over 50.

“We’re only gonna make it through this if everyone stays calm, sits down, and listens to me,” Tim adds.

You don’t hear everything he says, with your complete focus on the road ahead and the speedometer on the dash. Your knuckles are white because of your grip on the wheel, and you don’t hear Tim approach behind you. He lays a hand on the headrest behind you and leans down.

“This is great. A bomb on wheels,” you muse sarcastically.

“Can you handle this bus, ma’am?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just like driving a big Toyota, right?”

“Can you handle it?”

“I’m fine. What’s the plan? Is there a plan?”

Tim nods and stands to his full height. He watches you take a deep breath before turning to the rest of the passengers.

“Everyone, I need your cell phones,” Tim announces.

“No way, man!” the tourist yells.

“There is a terrorist out there with a bomb, and I don’t need any of you live streaming or interfering with the radio signal he could be using to detonate a bomb. So, I will only say this one more time. Phones - and anything else with a cellular connection – now.”

The passengers nod and offer all of their cellular devices. Tim accepts an empty bag from a woman beside Sam and places everyone’s belongings inside. He returns to your side and removes his phone from his pocket.

“Do you have anyone you need to call?” Tim asks softly.

“No. I- I don’t want to think like that,” you answer.

“We don’t have to. Everything’s going to be okay. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

You nod and Tim lays a kind hand on your shoulder to add, “But I need your phone.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s- uh- it’s in my back pocket. Right side.”

Tim’s hand brushes your lower back as he pulls the phone from your pocket. He apologizes, though you can’t imagine why. You’ve only known Tim Bradford for a few minutes, but his words mean something, and you can only hope he keeps the promises he’s making.

“You’re a cop, right?” you ask.

“That’s right. Metro Sergeant,” Tim says. “But you can call me Tim if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Uh, no. Thanks, and you can stop calling me ‘ma’am’ while we’re at it. I just- I should probably tell you that I’m taking the bus because my driver’s license was suspended.”

“What for?”

“Speeding.”

Tim shakes his head and hides his smile before calling the station again. He leans forward, but keeps his hand beside you, to look at the news chopper circling above the bus.

“Lopez, it’s me. I took phones from all the passengers. Where do we start?” Tim asks.

“Alright. Harry and Wade are with me,” Angela replies.

“Check the speedometer, Bradford,” Harry says. “Has it been messed with? Any wires or anything that don’t belong?”

“Sorry,” Tim whispers as he leans in front of you to check the dash area. “No, it’s clean.”

“Then it’s gotta be under the bus. Probably rigged to one of the axles.”

“I can’t get under the bus to check right now. The whole you stop, you die thing. Remember?”

Tim doesn’t sound like he’s kidding; in fact, he sounds grumpier than when he first boarded, but his comment makes you laugh. He pats the back of your seat before turning.

“Sergeant Bradford,” Sam calls weakly. Tim kneels beside him to listen, and Sam stutters, “There’s a- an access panel… in the fl-floor.”

“Hold on, Angela,” Tim says into the phone.

He unscrews the panel and pulls it aside. The asphalt moves quickly under the bus, and Tim looks around before handing his phone to a passenger. You look up in the mirror above you to watch Tim briefly before returning your attention to the road.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Stephen. I’m a tourist,” Stephen introduces.

“Welcome to the City of Angels. Hold my phone, please. Tell my partner what I see.”

Stephen nods and raises the phone to his ear as Tim moves so he can see under the bus. He takes a deep breath; Tim knows a bit about bombs from his time in the Army, but it’s Harry’s expertise.

“Okay, there’s a bundle here,” Tim yells over the wind. “Pretty big.”

“There’s a pretty big bundle,” Stephen relays.

“Brass fittings. I think I can reach the circuit wire.”

“He can reach the circuit wire- No, don’t do that, Sergeant Bradford. It can be a decoy, he says. What else?”

“Hold on,” Tim murmurs before moving further underneath the bus. He sees the extent of the bomb and pulls himself back up to take the phone. “Angela, Harry, there’s enough C4 on this bus to take out everyone on the highway. There’s a wristwatch: gold band, cheap.”

You look back at Tim quickly before inhaling sharply. “Sergeant,” you call.

“What do you think, Harry?” Tim asks.

“Bradford!” you yell into the bus speaker.

Tim moves to your side and places a hand on the dash to lean forward. His face is right beside yours, and you wish you were nervous because of him and not the bomb underneath you.

“Everybody’s stopping,” you point out. “What do I do?”

“Get on the shoulder.”

“This is an exit!”

Tim flinches as you sideswipe several cars.

“Tim!”

“Off. Get off!” Tim yells.

You nearly miss the ramp and pull the wheel to the right to merge onto another road. Honking the horn and yelling for people to get out of the way, you take a deep breath. At least you’re off the freeway. Tim tells you to keep driving as he answers his phone again.

“Where?” he asks. “Got it.”

“Do I stay here?” you inquire.

“Yes. Just straight on this, they’re trying to clear the roads for us.”

“I’m never getting my license back, am I?” you grumble.

“The police commissioner will buy you a car if you ask,” Tim says quietly. “You’re doing well, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”

You nod and return both hands to the wheel. Tim removes the flannel shirt he’s been wearing, leaving him in a white t-shirt, and drapes it over the back of your seat. Your eyes catch on his biceps before you chide yourself for getting distracted.

One of the phones in the bag rings, and Tim yells, “Who didn’t turn their phone off?”

No one is willing to admit their fault or doesn’t want to risk dealing with Tim’s wrath and ending up like Jay where he sits on the floor. Tim digs through the bag and pulls the ringing phone out. The number is one he recognizes, but he hesitates before answering.

“Taking their phones was smart,” the bomber says as the line connects. “2525… nice passengers, aren’t they? See, that’s the beauty of being in this day and age. I know everything about everyone on that bus. So, if you or your little girlfriend, or even the tourist from Kalamazoo try to double-cross me…”

“The bus explodes,” Tim interjects. “I’m aware.”

“What’s with the attitude, Tim? You’re seeing one of the prettiest places in the world, riding a bus for free… Oh, no, I know. Can’t shoot a hostage that makes that cold heart beat again, huh?”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want! 3.7 million dollars. I get the money, and then we can both get what we want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know what you don’t want. Tell your girlfriend to keep her eyes on the road.”

The call ends and Tim raises the cell phone in his hands. “He knows who is on this bus.”

“How?” Ortiz asks.

“Your bus passes, your phones, both, maybe. Look, one of the conditions of our survival is that no one gets off the bus. If he knows who you are, then we are even more obligated to keep that promise.”

“You didn’t even try to get us off the bus!” Jay accuses.

“Because he would have blown it. I understand what you are feeling, but I need you to trust me, trust the L.A.P.D., and work with me on this.”

“Tim is this your team?” you ask over your shoulder.

A police car pulls into the lane in front of you as several more flank the sides of the bus. The road clears around them, but more news choppers are joining the airspace above you.

Tim nods and looks at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. What happens now, though?”

“My teammates are working on it. We’ve got gas and open road, so keep driving.”

“Is it- can I be okay and really nervous at the same time?”

“I’d be more concerned if you weren’t nervous.”

“You don’t look nervous.”

“My friend Angela says I never look anything; thinks I can’t show emotion because I can’t feel them.”

“Is it true?”

Tim looks at you and lowers to squat beside you. “No, it’s not.”

“How’s Sam?”

“The driver? He’s gonna be alright. Thanks to you.”

Someone calls for Tim, and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly as he stands. You glance at him in the mirror as he returns to the access panel. A police helicopter drops to fly above you, and you wonder what the news stations and police officers know or think about the situation. The bus begins losing speed as you steer around a curve, and when you try to speed up again, you realize something is wrong.

Back at the station, Harry and Angela work with Wade and a bomb expert to search for a way to disarm the bomb and for their suspect. Harry has a description of the bomber, but there’s only so much they can learn about the bomb without seeing it.

“Sergeant Bradford!” you cry as you press the gas again.

“What?” Tim asks with wide eyes. You were calling him Tim, and your sudden change of formality and tone concern him.

“The gas pedal’s stuck.”

“What else can go wrong?” Tim asks under his breath. “Move your foot.”

You pull your foot from the pedal and steer as Tim presses his leg against yours to slam his foot down against the pedal. It doesn’t move, and the speedometer dips closer to fifty. Tim moves his hands to cover yours on the steering wheel and moves his leg between yours to try a new angle. You’re close to him, but the fear of dying keeps you from enjoying it in any way. He pushes the pedal again and his shoulders drop.

“There,” he announces as he steps back.

You take the wheel back and press the accelerator down again. The bus gains speed and you catch up to the police car before you.

“Lopez, talk to me,” Tim greets as he answers his phone again.

“You’ve got a hard left coming up,” Angela says. “Really hard.”

“Hard left up ahead,” Tim tells you.

“We’ll tip!” you argue.

“Who is that? Your driver?” Angela inquires.

“We’re not going to tip,” Tim says.

“Yes, we are!”

The curve in the road comes into view, and Tim suddenly agrees, “We’re going to tip.”

He leaves your side to move everyone onto the right side of the bus. The weight distribution keeps the bus from tipping, but as Tim helps you pull the wheel as hard as possible to make the turn, you forget why you were concerned. His presence is the only thing keeping you calm, and you wish he could just sit beside you the whole time.

“Angela, get those news crews off our tail!” he yells over the cheers of the passengers.

You look in the mirror beside you. The news crews must have arrived recently because you didn’t notice them before.

“On it. Harry’s working with the bomb squad. Keep it fifty,” Angela responds.

“Don’t try to make that a thing, Lopez,” Tim says before he ends the call.

“Hey, who’s doing this?” you ask Tim.

“The bomber? He’s just a guy who’s angry with me for foiling his last bombing attempt,” Tim explains.

“So, he’s trying again? Using you to get whatever it is he wants?”

“More or less.”

“What if you stop him again?”

“We do this again tomorrow. Until one of us dies trying.”

“That won’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m not available to drive tomorrow.”

Tim nods but doesn’t reply before a flatbed truck merges into the lane beside the door. His Metro captain and two officers are on the back, and the driver blows the horn to get his attention. Tim opens the door and moves out of the door to talk to them. You can’t hear much but suspect that they want to get the hostages off the bus, which Tim already said was impossible. Your sudden and unbending trust in him should probably concern you, but you will do anything and everything he tells you, even if that means staying on a bus with a bomb on it.

“He called the station looking for you,” an officer announces.

“Why? He has my cell,” Tim says.

“Maybe it died.”

“Just give him my number again! And keep looking; find this guy so we can move these people.”

Tim steps onto the main platform again and closes the door.

“Are they going to help us?” the woman holding Sam’s head up asks.

“Sure, they will. They’re the police,” someone jokes.

Another phone rings in the bag, and Tim pulls your phone out this time. He hadn’t thought to turn yours off because he was concerned about you and wanted to make sure you could drive like the bus needed to be driven.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Tim, you know I trust you. But it looks to me like you’re trying to move passengers off the bus,” the bomber says.

“I need one as an act of faith,” Tim argues. “The driver has been shot.”

“You shot another hostage?”

“He’s dying! If you want your money, show a little charity.”

The line is quiet for a moment before the bomber says, “Fine. You can try to get the driver off. I have more people to kill. Tell your girlfriend behind the wheel not to slow down or he won’t get a chance to bleed out.”

“We’re getting the driver off,” Tim announces after returning your phone to the bag. “Just him for now.”

Ortiz moves out of the seat to help Tim move Sam to the door and onto the truck.

“Get as close as you can,” Tim says. “A little closer.”

The side of the bus hits the truck and swerves, and you rush to apologize.

“It’s okay.” Tim says your name, and you know that he means what he says. “Perfect! Hold it steady!”

You sigh as Tim walks past you again after getting Sam to safety, but then you see a woman walking toward the door. The officers on the truck reach out to help her, unaware of what will happen if she steps off the bus.

“No!” you yell.

“I have to,” she responds.

“No! Don’t get off! Stop!”

An explosion echoes through the bus as the steps fall out and go underneath the bus. The female passenger disappears after she falls with the debris, and you look away quickly as Tim falls forward trying to catch her.

“You’ve got to get those choppers out of here!” Tim yells to his captain. “He’s watching!”

The bus is silent as Tim stands up and waits beside you. With your eyes on the road, he doesn’t see the tear that leaks out. When the passengers start arguing behind you, your grip on the wheel tightens.

“Hey!” Tim calls as he turns to face them. They silence, and he moves his attention to you. “How are you doing?”

Tim steps forward, sees the tears covering your face, and squats with an arm behind you. “What can I do?”

His voice is softer than when he yelled at the men behind you, and you can’t lie to him.

“I thought that was the bomb. When I heard it… I thought everything was over. But then I saw her fall under the bus, and-“

“You’re glad you’re still alive,” Tim finishes.

“I’m so sorry. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“No. It doesn’t mean you don’t care. We’re still alive, and we’re all allowed to be thankful for that. The guy who put us here? He’s a terrible person. Don’t think that you’re a bad person. You’re not.”

“Tim,” you say before pointing to his Captain, who is waving for his attention.

“There’s a gap in the freeway. It’s big. We have to get these people off, Tim,” he says.

“You know I can’t, Captain.”

“Tim?” you ask as he walks past you. “What’d he say?”

“There’s a gap in the road,” Tim tells everyone.

“How big is a gap?” Ortiz asks.

“50 feet, a couple of miles ahead,” Tim says.

“Tim?” you repeat. “What if I shift down and just keep the engine revving?”

“He thought of that… Floor it.”

“What?”

“There’s an interchange, maybe there’s an incline. Just floor it.”

“Okay.”

“Everyone keep your heads down.”

The police car leading you falls off the side, but you continue driving toward the unfinished overpass. The needle on the speedometer nears 70, and Tim waits beside you. As you approach the end, Tim yells for everyone to hold on. He puts his arms around you and pulls your head down with his. You feel weightless for a moment, grounded only by his arms around you before the bus collides with the other side of the interchange. Looking up over Tim’s arm, you see more road ahead and press the gas again, so you don’t slow down.

Your forehead begins to burn and hurt, and you press your palm against your temple as the people behind you cheer. Tim checks on everyone before returning to your side, and he immediately realizes that you’re in pain. He moves your hand and presses the bottom of his shirt to your head. It’s stained with blood when he pulls his hand away, and you grimace at the idea of a wound on your head.

“Get off here!” Tim calls suddenly.

“Yes! Get off!”

You obey and soon enter the Los Angeles International Airport. Tim gives you directions to an emergency runway and explains that you can simply drive here. Without traffic or road closures, the only concern is staying above fifty.

Being in restricted air space is also a bonus, and you notice that the news helicopters are hovering at a distance. Tim seemed concerned about the presence of news cameras, so maybe the location will also keep the bomber from knowing exactly what is happening.

“Yeah?” Tim asks as he answers his phone.

“The airport. Well done. You had some close calls, but you did well, Tim,” the bomber says.

“What do you want?”

“My money. Help me get it before it’s too late, will you? The negotiators think I’m doing this for fun?”

“Are you not?”

“Oh, now you think you know me too?”

“I know you want money you didn’t earn. More than you deserve.”

“I did earn it! I got a medal, too, you know.”

“Let me off. If you want my help, I need to explain that you’re not bluffing. Just me.”

“Alright. But you have to come back. I can see everything; remember that.”

Tim ends the call and slides his phone back in his pocket.

“There’s a plan now?” you ask.

“Maybe. He’s letting me off,” Tim says.

“Hey, don’t forget about us,” you call as he steps off the bus and onto an SUV. “He’ll be back,” you promise the others.

While you circle the airport runways, Tim works with the other officers he told you about to find a way to disarm the bomb. Ortiz walks to your side and looks out at the airport.

“Ortiz?” you ask.

“He’s not coming back, I’m telling you,” he says.

“He didn’t have to get on in the first place. Hey, get behind the yellow line.”

Ortiz looks down and takes on short step back. “You let the cop up here.”

“What is that?” Stephen asks as he joins Ortiz.

“I have no idea,” you answer as you look at Tim standing on the back of a truck covered in machinery. It pulls over in front of you, and Tim lowers onto a cart attached to a winch, and you mutter, “I was right. He is insane.”

“How’d they get that so fast?” Stephen asks under his breath.

You focus more on driving in a straight line as Tim disappears under the front of the bus. He looks up at you just before he disappears, and you nod once. Knowing that he’s under the bus makes you more nervous to drive than you have been at any other point today. Driving in a straight line at the airport is more stressful because Tim is underneath a moving vehicle and touching a bomb. You know he has friends and colleagues who are helping him, but you feel more than a need to survive when you look at Sergeant Tim Bradford.

The winch on the truck releases suddenly, and the cable unfurls.

“Check and see if he came out the back!” you demand. “Can you see him?”

“He’s not back here!” Ortiz calls.

“Look under the bus! Back by the tires!”

“I don’t see him.”

The winch cable snaps and the back tire bounces over something. You press a hand over your mouth in shock, and Ortiz runs to the back access panel.

“Please tell me he’s alright!” you yell. “Do you see him?”

“I see him!” Ortiz responds. “He’s alright!”

You look back and forth between the empty runway and the back of the bus. Ortiz and Stephen pull Tim up onto the bus, and you can’t decide whether to be angry or relieved with him. Tim thanks Ortiz before walking to your side.

“How are you?” he asks.

“You scared me!” you accuse. You slap his vest to express your displeasure before hissing in pain. “What’s that smell?”

“Gas. We have a new leak.” “You caused a leak?”

“It was that or get run over. You can see the difficulty I had choosing.”

“Don’t try to be funny right now. I thought I killed you.”

“I’ll ask my captain to get a fuel truck.”

“Will it work?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not exactly comforting, you know that?”

“You just hit me and now you want comfort?”

You sigh and look at him again before saying, “Thank you, Tim.”

“Just doing my job… ma’am.”

Tim stays beside you while Harry and a S.W.A.T. team infiltrate the house listed on the bomber’s records. He was surprised by how quickly they found his identification, but now that they have the element of surprise, he hopes that this game is almost over.

When he gets another call, you can only see the anger in his eyes as he listens to the person on the other end. The bomber tells Tim that Harry and the S.W.A.T. team walked right into his trap. You watch him and can only wonder what is making him so mad. His life is in danger, but something is capable of pushing him even further, it seems.

“I’m going to rip your spine out. If you know as much as you think you do, you know I can,” Tim threatens lowly.

“Oh, I do, Reaper. That’s why you should do what you’re told. You and I both know you can’t do it without Harry and his ability to follow a cheap watch, anyway. Get me my money and it’s over. Otherwise, you, lumberjack-ie, and the others are dead. Got that?”

“Yeah,” Tim says after a moment. “Howie.”

The bomber hesitates at the mention of his real name but doesn’t let it stop him. Tim listens to Howard Payne’s demands before ending the call. Tim turns around and kicks where the stairs used to be before pulling against the handrail in his anger. You try to get his attention over his yelling, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Tim! Please!” you try again. “I can’t do this without you. Please.”

Tim slows his movements before gripping the rail beside you. His jaw is clenched as he looks at you, but your pleas soften his eyes.

“Please stay with me,” you whisper.

“We’re going to die,” he says.

“No. You got us this far, right?”

Tim leans against the dash beside you and looks at you. His shirt is still behind you. Lumberjack-ie. Your little girlfriend.

“Lumberjacks wear flannel, right?” Tim asks.

“Uh, yeah. As far as I know,” you answer. “Why?”

“He can see you.”

“What?”

“Keep looking straight ahead.”

You turn your face to the windshield and watch the runway as Tim examines the top of the bus. He sees the camera at the top of the windshield and shakes his head.

“He said, ‘your girlfriend behind the wheel’ and ‘lumberjack-ie’. I didn’t even realize. There’s a camera in your face. He can see the whole bus.”

“He can see me, but can he hear me?” you ask.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Bus cameras can’t be very high-tech, Tim. Can’t your people get it on a loop or something?”

“You’re brilliant,” Tim murmurs before pushing himself off the dash and to his feet. “Guys, there’s a camera over my left shoulder. I need everyone to sit still. No big movements, no talking, just look concerned and sit still.”

He calls his captain and asks for someone to approach the news trucks at the fence to end the live broadcasts and use their equipment to make a video loop. His captain agrees and texts Tim with an update that the reporters are cooperating.

“Remember, stay relatively still. Just look scared,” Tim reminds everyone.

“That won’t be hard,” Ortiz grumbles.

Tim leans beside you while the video is being recorded. You drive in silence for a minute before noticing the blinking red light on the dash.

“Tim,” you whisper. “Look.”

“Cap, roll the tape. We need fuel,” Tim says into his phone.

“We only have a minute recorded. That won’t convince him, we need more footage” Wade argues.

“No time. Get these people off before this bus runs out of gas.”

“Fuel tanker is running behind. Driver said big rigs need radio signals, and they’re still jammed. Crazy not stupid, right?”

“Right.”

“Now what?” you ask Tim. “Are you tired of that question yet?”

“I’d like an answer to it,” he replies. “Get alongside this bus, okay?”

You nod and drive steadily alongside an LAX passenger bus. Tim’s team lays a wooden board between the bus doors and helps people cross to safety. You listen to Tim encourage the passengers across and are glad he was the cop who got on the bus today. The rear tire blows out suddenly, and you pull the steering wheel back to the middle and yell for Tim to come help.

Tim falls on his way back to the front of the bus, but when he reaches you, he moves his arms across you to pull the wheel.

“Use this to hold down the gas pedal,” he says.

You take the device from his hand and lower it into place. Tim steps back to tie the steering wheel to the floor of the bus, and you steer to keep the bus straight while he works. The moment it’s secure, he pulls you to your feet and tells you to get on the metal access panel.

“I can’t do this,” you argue.

Tim raises his hands to either side of your neck and brushes his thumbs along your skin as he promises, “Yes, you can. I’m right here with you.”

You swallow nervously and nod before sitting on your escape route, a thin piece of metal that Tim moved with no problem. Tim moves to lay over you, and he wraps an arm around your waist as you hide your face against his shoulder.

“I got you,” he promises once more.

The bus turns and the access panel cover falls out of the bottom. You clutch Tim tightly as the metal door slides across the runway and into a nearby patch of dirt. He sits up and watches the bus slow as it nears a plane but doesn’t let go of you. Just before the bomb detonates, Tim pulls you down again and lays over you to protect you from any debris. Sirens echo in the distance, and you wrap your arms around Tim’s back.

“Are you alright?” he asks again.

“No,” you answer, your first honest answer of the day. “Oh, I hate the airport.”

Tim moves to your side but keeps an arm around your shoulder as he looks into your eyes.

“You can’t get mushy on me. You can’t show emotion, remember?” you tease.

“I think I might be able to after all.”

“Relationships that start like this never last. It’s just the high-stress, adrenaline pumping, all that.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe we can change that.”

“Uh, I think your friends are here.”

Tim looks up but doesn’t move as Angela and Wade exit a police car and run toward him.

“I was worried about you,” Angela says. “And here you are.”

“I’m sorry about Harry,” Tim offers. “I wish we could have changed it.”

“You good?” Wade asks. “’Cause I might be a nice guy and let you take the rest of the day off.”

“And stop worrying about what we could have done differently. You saved a lot of lives today, Timothy,” Angela adds.

“A day off sounds like a good deal,” you murmur.

Tim shakes his head before introducing you to Detective Angela Lopez and Sergeant Wade Grey. When he finally stands and sees the scrapes and gashes littering your skin, he forces you to let a paramedic treat you. Tim follows you to the ambulance but hangs back to talk to Angela. He’s lost a partner before, too, and knows what it’s like.

“I’m sorry for bringing everyone into this. Howard could have just come for me,” Tim concludes.

“I appreciate everything,” Angela responds. “But, you’re going to the hospital, too. Is that Chen?”

Tim turns quickly and sees Lucy running toward the police cruiser parked behind the ambulance.

“Sergeant Grey!” she yells. “We’ve got Payne on the line, and he wants to know when he’s getting his money. Whoa, Tim, are you alright?”

“He doesn’t know,” Tim says. “He doesn’t know the bus exploded.”

“Tell him thirty minutes,” Wade alerts all the nearby officers.

“Stay in the ambulance,” Tim tells you.

“But I-“

“Ma’am, stay in the ambulance.”

You nod and climb into the ambulance after refusing help from the paramedics. They continue bandaging a cut on your leg as Tim climbs in.

“I need to make a quick stop on the way to the hospital,” he tells the driver.

“Where?” she asks.

“The drop spot. Pershing Square.”

The driver reluctantly agrees, and you watch Tim as she drives. He demands you stay in the ambulance until he returns, and you agree but don’t mean it. You’ve been beside Tim for most of the morning, and you neither remember how to be away from him nor do you want to. You stand on the sidewalk beside the ambulance and watch people move around you. It’s another normal day for them, but your life will never be the same after today.

“Miss, you can’t stand here, you need to move back,” an older officer says as he grabs your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m waiting for Tim-“

“Tim Bradford, yes. He asked that I move you out of harm’s way.”

“But he told me to stay here.”

His hold on your shoulders tightens as he says, “And I’m telling you to move.”

“Payne is late,” Angela complains.

“He’s not late,” Tim says. “He’s never late.”

“Two hundred cops are watching that sculpture, plus a tracker in the bag. He hasn’t been here,” Wade explains.

“Turn on the tracker,” Tim requests.

“What for?”

“Just do it!”

Wade presses a button on the laptop before him, and the blinking light of the tracker travels across the screen.

“He’s got the money,” Angela says.

Tim runs out of their hiding spot and to the drop spot. He pushes the art installation over and kicks it when he sees the opening in the sidewalk beneath it. As he drops into the defunct subway system, he sees someone walking farther into the tunnel and pulls his gun.

“L.A.P.D. Freeze!�� he yells.

The person stops, and he aims at their head before saying, “Pop quiz. Someone has a clear shot at your head. What do you do?... Turn around.”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll kill Tim Bradford,” Howard Payne threatens as he secures a vest covered in dynamite around your chest. “What are you going to do?”

“Wait- wait for him to come in and walk away. Then I listen to you,” you answer shakily.

“Perfect. Maybe you two can have your happily ever after all. You say one word that I don’t like and you’re both dead.”

Howard disappears down the subway, and you bite your bottom lip to refrain from crying or screaming for help. Tim may shoot you, no questions asked, but at least he will be safe. When you hear something crash above you and sunlight infiltrates the dark staircase before you, you take a deep breath and begin walking away.

Tim’s voice doesn’t carry the same comforting words or soothing lilt as in the bus, but you still recognize it and want to hear it as he yells at you.

“Turn around!” he demands.

You turn slowly and can see the moment Tim realizes he’s pointing his gun at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

The apology echoes off the concrete walls as Tim lowers his weapon. You don’t see or hear him, but you can feel the change when Howard appears behind you.

“Be prepared!” Howard says as he walks up the stairs behind you and raises the detonator, a deadman’s switch. “What are you gonna do, Tim? I don’t think you can shoot this hostage.”

“Let her go,” Tim demands as he points his gun at Howard.

“I don’t think I’m going to do that. Move the money,” he tells you.

You transfer the money from the L.A.P.D. bags and into Howard’s duffel bag as Tim yells at him to let you go.

“You don’t need her!” Tim adds.

“I will let go,” Howard threatens as he moves the detonator switch. “You don’t get it, Tim. Do you know what a bomb that doesn’t explode is? It’s the cheap, gold watch they gave me after I lost a finger and a life to my country.”

“You’re crazy.”

You push yourself against the wall as you listen to their exchange, but you keep your eyes on Tim rather than the bomb just below your chin. Howard demands you take his money and enter another part of the tunnel system and you know that you’re going to obey because he’ll kill Tim if you don’t. You tear your eyes from Tim and walk exactly where Howard leads you.

As you enter a crowded stop, Howard fires several shots into the concrete ceiling as you drop your head and cover your ears. The subway passengers waiting for the next train flee in terror as you try to get away from Howard. Tim can’t be far behind, but when you’re pushed into a subway car, you’re tempted to think that no help is coming. Howard handcuffs your hands around a pole before the subway lurches into motion.

At the back of the subway, Tim struggles to pry a set of doors open before he falls into the car. He moves strategically through the empty rows of seats with his mind on you and ending this game with Howard Payne once and for all.

The subway conductor reaches for his radio, and Howard forces the deadman switch into your hands and tells you to hold it. He turns his back on you and kills the conductor as you struggle to move away.

“Look, you won. You beat Tim, you beat everybody, you can just throw me off the train. I don’t care,” you plead.

“You see this stick? When you explode, the police will come there. But that’s not where I’ll be, so I get more time. I promise it won’t hurt,” Howard replies as he pulls the detonator away from you.

A series of dull thuds echoes, and Howard looks up quickly. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Hey, Tim. Is that you?” he asks. “He’s so persistent. Wouldn’t be able to interest you in a bribe, would I, hotshot?”

Howard kneels and opens the duffel bag full of cash. You watch as a dye pack explodes in his face and paints his money purple. In his anger, he fires bullets into the roof, and you drop to the floor as Tim rolls out of the line of fire. Howard runs through a door, and you can only listen as he climbs onto the roof and begins struggling against Tim.

Howard has the deadman stick in his hand and can kill you by moving a centimeter to the left or right, but you’re more worried about Tim with every noise against the roof. You stay low on the pole you’re cuffed to, twisting your wrists and manipulating your fingers as you try to slip free. The struggle above you silences suddenly, and you watch the door nervously.

“Tim!” you call when he rushes in. “Tim. Where’s Payne?”

“Uh, he lost his head. Turn around,” Tim says.

You circle the pole, and Tim rips a wire free before loosening the straps of the vest.

“Let’s take this off,” he says before pulling the vest away from your chest.

“Tim, can you hear me?” someone asks through the driver’s radio. “This is Wade. Listen, the track isn’t finished.”

“What else can go wrong?” you murmur.

“Wade, I copy,” Tim radios.

“Do you copy? Try the emergency brake.”

“I copy!” Tim tries again before throwing the radio down.

He steps to the right and hits the emergency brake. After the train doesn’t even slow, he begins hitting other buttons, but nothing happens.

“None of this works!” he exclaims as he hits the control board.

He turns away from the useless machinery and returns to you. When he notices the handcuffs holding you in place, he slows.

“You can uncuff me and we can get off,” you say with an exaggerated nod.

“I don’t have a key,” Tim replies.

“You don’t have…”

You trail off and look at the handcuffs. If only you could slip your hands through them, you think. Tim begins pulling and kicking the pole as you try again to pull your hands through the metal cuffs. He pauses and lays a hand against your arm to look at how tight the cuffs are.

“Help me pull,” you grunt as you lean your weight back against the restraints.

“No, no,” Tim says quickly as he pulls you forward. “You’re just hurting yourself.”

You stand still and see a bead of blood running down your fingers. As you stare at it, Tim walks to a map on the wall. He remembers the nightmare again; a series of bad memories that end with him, “the Reaper,” standing alone in the desert before being rescued and awarded a medal. As he searches for a way to save you, Tim decides that he will never shoot the hostage again, and he won’t leave you behind, even if that means dying with you.

“Tim, please just go,” you beg.

“There’s a curve ahead. I can make it jump the track.”

“Tim! Sergeant Bradford!” Tim turns to you, and you repeat, “Get off this train. You can still jump. Tim, please. Please.”

Tim ignores you as he returns to the controls and increases the train’s speed. You slide your hands down the pole as you sit on the floor, and Tim walks silently to your side. He leans in beside you, and you raise your arms to wrap around his neck as you lean your head against his. He moves his arms around the pole to circle you and holds you tight as the train picks up speed.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper just before the lights go out.

The train car hits something and spins, but Tim tightens his arms around you. With every bump and move of the subway, you become more convinced that you’ll never get out of this position. Light enters the windows as you crash through something, and the car flips onto its side as it lands on asphalt. The impact loosens the pole, and you fall onto Tim, whose grip on you doesn’t waver for a second. As the car slides to a stop, you squeeze Tim and take a deep breath.

“You didn’t leave me,” you say before forcing yourself to open your eyes.

Tim cradles the back of your head before moving his hands to your back. You lean up gently and look into his eyes again.

“I told you to leave me!”

“I didn’t have anywhere to be just then. Rest of the day off and all,” Tim responds before pulling you down against him.

He kisses you, and you’re surprised that it is more than adrenaline. The kiss is more than a relief to be alive, and you want to feel Tim Bradford at your side every day for the rest of your life (which would have ended today if not for him). You move your hands to Tim’s short hair as you return his kiss. It’s relief, joy, love, and passion in a single touch. When Tim begins breathing heavily against you, you move up.

“I’ve heard relationships that start during intense situations like this never work,” Tim says.

“Oh,” you sigh. “Then I guess we’ll be the first.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Glass rains down on you as you kiss Tim again, and though your day went nothing like you thought it would, it’s now the best day of your life. Tim helps you stand as his team approaches the scene, and you stop him before you exit the car.

“You know if this was a movie, they’d make another one where the same thing happens again, right?” you say softly.

“We’re never taking public transportation again,” Tim states.

“Yeah. Hey, where is the truck you were driving this morning?”

Tim hesitates and tightens his arm around your waist before turning away to yell, “Chen! I need you to do something for me.”

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