#this is unprecedented. this is a never done before thing and they did it With Them.

[just-honey-dewd]

Honestly, was thinking it a lil strange that in the end Yingdu was the same timeline we’re following current Link Click’s story. It’s just too vague rn to understand how LG’s feeling— how many times and in what specific ways does CXS’s death node manifest? Is it always Vein? Is the xetroverthink actually telling us how many times and in what ways CXS’s died?

However, I don’t think we needed to see a failed dive play out to prove that LG’s been through it multiple times? I think the S1 flashbacks and that one nightmare where he thought he was back in the “present” communicated enough to me that this isn’t his second dive at the very least. LG remembers a different first meeting with CXS, and met him in high school (according to Director Li in an interview). In Yingdu arc, LG has taken a photo in a basketball court where CXS was… and they’re freshmen in uni. This sugggested that in a previous dive, LG has made an unprecedented choice to delay their meeting — or at least changed the circumstances of their meeting, and made a checkpoint to this version.

There’s enough instances of LG being unfazed by things to suggest he’s done a full dive to the past before, but he also gets caught offguard enough to suggest that he doesn’t have every incident alphabetised and organised in his journal. I think LG’s memory and information absorption is kind of inhuman, so that journal isn’t unsettling me— he was able to take notes from CXS!EMMA scanning through the info on her boss’s computer, so he’s really just built different.

I don’t think he’d choose to possess CXS, not only because I think that’s intrusive of him, but it also sacrifices CXS’s autonomy. As hypocritical as LG can be with his dive rules, I think he genuinely believes in not directly involving innocents in dangerous situations for personal objectives.

We also have to acknowledge that if he did possess CXS�� within 12 hours he would be stuck in his body, which could be a form of killing CXS and also trapping himself as CXS indefinitely. It’s not occam’s razor if he has to pretend to be someone else on top of trying to save the person he is possessing. (Theoretically he’d have to find a picture that he, as LG, had taken if he wants to return to his own body. Which sounds too complicated to think abt ^^)

Also, on top of that, he probably couldn’t act as CXS realistically. If he possessed CXS, and chose to dive back to s1 era— he’d have himself to deal with. And LG probably would have to subject himself to some form of ego death and crisis from being in a foreign body for long term.

It’s going to overcomplicate things if the CXS that LG is trying to save was actually sometimes a LG from the future that’s directly affecting the timeline. That’s unnecessary uncertainty that will throw things into disorder if he had to account for the possibility that his future self would ever possess anyone but himself.

It’s also just reckless to have two selfish time travellers operating with the same goal in mind in one timeline. Two LGs but one’s possessing CXS sounds like a funny premise, but I think LG’s methods operate with a standard of not imposing his will onto others to avoid influencing people’s choices in ways that wouldn’t happen in “previous dives”. He can’t control people’s actions, but he can control his reaction to things — that’s appears to be his base principles, so that extends to how he’d approach diving to save CXS.

He wouldn’t possess anyone else because symbollically he’s stuck in his own head. Unlike CXS, who extends his empathy generously to people— LG is fiercely independent and isolates himself, only capable of perceiving his influence over others, and sometimes being controlling to the point of not accounting for others’ input.

So I think LG would never even entertain the thought of possessing anyone other than himself.

Mmm, I still think he’s only ever possessed himself, possessing CXS introduces more unknown variables than it solves. Though I haven’t come up with a concrete idea of what defines the timeline we’re following as LG’s “last chance” so (shrugs)

not sure if this has been said before or if this theory has any teeth, but ever since the Yingdu finale it's always bothered me that THAT'S apparently the timeline we're currently in? i expected to see at least one failed dive to prove that Lu Guang has re-lived the timeline multiple times. 1. bc it makes him more tragic, and that's just wish fulfillment for me, but more importantly 2. this line at the end of the finale

saying that this is the LAST chance Lu Guang has to save him (implying more chances were had and they were fucked)

and there IS the implication that Lu Guang has done dives outside of what we see because

this is an insane little diary to have of some of the EXACT TIMES that certain things happen. like, if you asked me to make exact timestamps for something that happened to me a WEEK ago I probably couldn't do it. maybe Lu Guang is just built different, but this to me implies that other dives have happened

but the thing i'm proposing today is: could Lu Guang have been implying that he has done many dives to save Cheng Xiaoshi, but maybe possessing Cheng Xiaoshi HIMSELF?

we've always just kind of assumed that Lu Guang was diving back into his own body and re-living as himself (and in Yingdu, specifically, he does) but if he received CXS's power from him, does that not give him the power to possess ANYBODY who's taken a photo? and why NOT choose Cheng Xiaoshi, the professional photographer and active social media user. he would have a ton of options to choose from right in the studio.

and if YOU received the power to possess people in the past and YOUR best friend had just been killed, wouldn't occam's razor suggest that the easiest solution to prevent them from being killed is to possess THEM and remove them from harm's way?

maybe that's what Lu Guang had been talking about. maybe, using photos Cheng Xiaoshi had taken, he had possessed him as many times as he was able to to try and prevent him from being killed by Vein. fought Vein, hidden Cheng Xiaoshi, run away, etc etc, but somehow Cheng Xiaoshi always ended up dead as a result

finally, as an act of desperation, the LAST idea that Lu Guang had, was not to possess Cheng Xiaoshi, but to go far back in time and possess himself. to set up everything exactly how he wanted, to control the system far enough in the past that the murder of Cheng Xiaoshi isn't even a whisper of a thought in Vein's mind. if he possessed himself and STAYED in the past, he could control everything from the very start

[danielsarmand]

you think it's over????? daniel's vampire eyes are normally blue but they turn orange when he talks about his maker armand AND YOU THINK IT'S OVER????????????? we have never been so back. keep your chin up princess

[sunrizef1]

The Way

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ex!reader, Charles Leclerc x reader

Authors Note: yo soy tired | multiple fics in a week who is this diva

Warnings: Break-ups, cursing, max is an angsty boy, not proofread

Word Count: 4.5k

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: You and max had been in love once upon a time. Now, well…. It was never supposed to be this way.

It was never supposed to be this way.

When you and Max had started dating, you hadn’t planned for it to end with a messy breakup that had both of you looking the other way with even a mention of the other’s name.

You’d like to preface by saying the breakup wasn’t your fault. At least, not entirely. You were just done dealing with the way Max constantly put you on the back burner for racing, even with you in a car just a few garages down from his own.

Last season, it hadn’t been that much of a problem. In a Williams, you weren’t often faced with the Red Bull drivers. They were fighting for podiums, you were fighting to even be in the points.

But in the offseason, you had been moved to Mercedes. Now, he was all you could see.

The press seemed to have caught wind of your break-up as well because, as opposed to before, now it felt like you were placed in the same conference as him every. Single. Time.

You’re not sure if it’s all bad, though. Because now, you get to see the look on his face when reporters comment on the unprecedented pace of the Mercedes while Max is stuck with comments on Red Bull’s recent dip in performance.

“You’ve won again,” The reporter starts, smiling at you as he stands, “That’s three wins in a row and three 1-2’s in a row as well. What do you have to credit for this sudden switch in Mercedes’s luck?”

You smile as he talks, lips forming a sharp grin, your thoughts barely held back, “Well, we could start with thanking me, no?”

You say it jokingly, some laughs echoing around the small one as you say it. George, who’s sat next to you, pats your shoulder proudly. Max is sat on his other side, having gotten a p-3 in the race. But, from what you heard, it was no easy feat, he’d fought the car the entire time, having had to rely on both the Ferrari’s DNFing to get the podium. Even then, he’d finished thirty seconds off of George.

“But I’d say it’s a combination of things,” you begin again, taking the question seriously this time, “The team is great, the car gets better every weekend, me and George are both putting in maximum effort week in and week out to maximize our performance. It also sometimes just comes down to relying on our competition to do worse than us. Recently, it has seemed like we are just running better than some other teams.”

If people want to see that as a did, you’ll let them. You were never one to mince words. Especially not about Max. Never about him.

The journalist seems pleased, most likely already picking out adjectives he’ll use to describe your tone when he writes his article. Snide, petty, confident, arrogant. You wouldn’t mind any of the above, truly.

The line of questioning moves, reporters turning to Max. That’s when you stop listening. You didn’t mind knowing he could see you succeeding right in front of him but even looking in his direction still makes your stomach turn.

You don’t look his way, don’t listen when they ask him about the race, don’t want to hear his voice, don’t want to see his features, set up in a way he only looks when he’s deep in focus. A face you had stared at many a night, watching as he told you every detail about the race from his point of view, his fingers fidgeting with whatever was nearest by. You were never sure if he even knew he was doing it. You’d stare and he’d talk. Then, he’d pause his rambling, noticing your stare, and a grin would paint his face. Then he’d lean in, laughing as you tried to pretend you hadn’t been enchanted by his features as he talked.

So, when Max starts talking, you lean back in your seat, hiding behind George. Your eyes drift close and you try to pretend you're anywhere else, not listening to your ex-boyfriend try to save face in front of tens of cameras.

You can’t really believe that, at one point, you’d been happy. Mentioning his name had once upon a time made you the happiest person on earth. Now, the name fills you with a sense of dread and you can feel the unresolved anger bubbling just under the surface.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

Max is fuming.

It seemed, these days, he always was. But, right now, at this moment, he’s angrier than usual.

He’d finally won. Thirteen races deep into the season, he had finally won. It hadn’t been easy. He wouldn’t have won, if it weren’t for Mercedes double pitting just before a safety car had given the rest of the grid free pit stops.

Then, you and George had gotten taken out by a rogue Alpine and a Haas, the pink car trying to overtake the Haas and missing, sending the American car into the back of George, who had no choice but to watch as his car careened into your own.

So, having no sight of a black race suit on the podium, Max was happy.

He’d won, getting to celebrate with the Ferraris, a pair of people he held in the highest esteem, a racing legend and one of his closest friends.

It was a nice podium too! His team had come, he’d relished in the sound of the Dutch anthem as it blasted around the track, fans and team members in Red Bull gear all celebrating the long-awaited win.

It was what happened after that had made his anger spike so badly.

Max is walking off the podium when it happens. His skin is sticky and his hair is damp, his face still flushed with the heat of the race. He’s a little light-headed, the warmth in the car still sticking around to make him a little dizzy.

But he’s happy, a feeling he could get used to feeling again. It seemed like it had been so long. So long since he truly felt joy coursing through his veins.

He walks down the steps, prepared to hand his trophy off to a Red Bull employee to handle it for him. The empty champagne bottle had already been taken from him, whisked off to be discarded.

Lewis is walking just in front of him and he knows Charles is drifting behind him, having walked off last. Lewis gets down the steps, waving a goodbye to the Dutch man with a smile, walking off to, no-doubt, clean up from the event.

After saying bye to the Brit, Max turns to where he knew Charles had been, ready to comment on the race. But where Charles should be is nothing but empty air.

He glances around, looking for his friend. What he’s met with makes his eye practically twitch. Maybe it does twitch, he’s not in a right enough mind to know.

He sees Charles, turned away from his gaze, his red suit the only thing on display to the room. What gets max, though, is the arms wrapped around the Monagasque’s neck, black sleeves adorned with sponsors making it obvious just who the arms belong to.

Max isn’t sure if Charles knows that he can see the two of you. If he does know, he’d surely be getting an earful from the Dutch man for knowingly putting him through this. But Max is pretty sure he’s unaware when a laugh echoes between the two of you and suddenly you’re unwrapping yourself from around his neck and grasping his hand in your own, promptly setting off down the hall, pulling him along with you. He lets you, prompting a wide smile on your lips, something he hadn’t seen in such close proximity in a while.

It makes him angry. Everything about it.

The way you don’t seem to care that you lost, when every loss of his own had plagued Max’s mind like a disease, resting in the back of his head and ruining every thought.

The way you seem happy now, even without Max. You seem to have moved on, finding happiness somewhere else when Max hadn’t even gotten a whiff of it until he had crossed that finish line first.

The way Charles seems to think this is okay, letting himself get involved with his close friend’s ex-girlfriend, someone he knew Max wasn’t completely detached from.

More than anything, it’s the way that Max can’t stop thinking about it. The sight is burned into his mind, he can practically see it on the back of his eyelids when he closes his eyes. The sound of your laugh mixed with Charles’s echoes in his brain, taunting him, making him insane. He can still see your hands, running through the hair at the nape of Charles’s neck, not even caring that he was, no doubt, dripping with sweat and champagne. It’s the sight of you two running off, Charles letting you lead him away immediately after the race, something Max had never let you do, the Dutch man too laser-focused on celebrating his win to indulge you for even a second.

In hindsight, he should have been celebrating with you. The love of his life. That’s what these guys lived for, right? Stepping out of the car or off the podium and straight into the arms of the person they love, all cares forgotten in that hold.

Now that he no longer had the thrill of winning to hold him over, he truly felt the absence you had left in his life. Every day, he tried to move on. But you were still ingrained in his life, in him.

He found hair ties sometimes. In the glove box of a car he hadn’t driven in a while, hiding on a ledge in his shower, deep in the pockets of his jeans. They all reminded him of you. They all got thrown away.

You haunt him.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

“Charles!” You’re laughing, running through the paddock, Charles hot on your heels.

It had started as a joke. He’d made some self-deprecating comment about his hair, made in passing. You, apparently to your detriment, had agreed with his comment, causing your own giggle.

Charles, ever the prideful, had scoffed, promptly trying to tackle you onto the couch of his driver's room. You’d escaped, running out of his room.

That’s how you got to this point, laughing loudly as Charles tried to navigate his way past the crowd, weaving between bodies and people who just couldn’t seem to get the hint that they should get out of the way.

You look behind you to see how close he is, not realizing until it’s too late that you’re about to run into someone. The someone in question moves away after the impact but you’re still hurtling toward the ground. But the hit never comes. Instead, your arm is caught and suddenly you're pulled up and spun into a pair of arms, holding you close, strong but gentle.

Charles looks down at you, a smile ghosting onto his lips, “Got you.”

You smile softly as well, looking up into his eyes, “You did.”

You stay there for a few moments, simply basking in the other’s presence. It had been a while since you had let yourself be happy like this.

What had started as a way to get back at Max had become your life, body, and soul. The way Charles held you could become your religion, the words he whispered at night your bible. You could worship at the altar of this love until the end of your days, your only sin being not devoting yourself sooner.

Charles is perfect. Attentive, kind, caring, a good listener, and, most importantly, he didn’t ignore you. Didn’t pretend like you didn’t exist at the paddock, knowing just as well as you do that this world is as much your own as it is his.

Your hands, that had been resting against his chest, reach back to pull his arm off of your shoulder, your fingers ghosting along the skin of his arm until they reach his wrist. You look up at him for a moment, eyes twinkling, before your attention turns back to his arm or, more specifically, the dainty black band around it. You hook your finger on the edge of it, pulling it off of his wrist and holding the hair tie between your fingers.

You were about to put your hair up, knowing you were about to escape and run from him again. But he didn’t need to know your motives, he just carried a hair tie with him all the time, having barely taken it off since the first time you’d handed it to him.

Once the hair tie is securely in your hair, you’re off again, Charles figuring out your ruse just a second too late. His realization is accompanied by the shout of your name, a laugh, and his own run as he tries, and mostly fails, to catch up to you.

It was lovely.

For everyone except one person. The very person you had run into a few minutes prior before not even noticing who you’d clashed with, not even bothering to utter an apology in his direction.

For what it’s worth, Max had walked away as soon as he could, retreating to the Red Bull hospitality he’d just come out of, having to pretend he wasn’t staring (or seething).

He had tried so hard not to think about you. God, he’d actually thought he was succeeding too!

Then the very god who’s name he’d just used in vain had quite literally thrown you at him, your perfect boyfriend in tow. If that’s even what you guys are. Neither of you had commented on it and the media hadn’t gotten enough of a rumour to ask.

Had he done something to deserve this? Had he cursed some god that had come back to haunt him? They wouldn’t be the only one haunting him, it seemed. You are everywhere.

On podiums, in interviews, on billboards, magazines, social media, parades, events completely unrelated to F1, everywhere. He couldn’t avoid you. No matter how hard he tried.

This had to be some sort of eternal punishment.

He used to be the person you’d run to after a good result, looking for solace in his arms.

Now, you didn’t even notice it was him even when you ran smack-dab into him.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

If there was some deity out there that hates Max, the same one must love you.

Because you couldn’t think of a better conference than the one you were in right now. The top three: you, Charles, Max. All together on one couch. What could go wrong?

Max’s jaw is set, his eyebrows forming a straight line, betraying just how angry he is to be up here with the two of you.

Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier. A grin is on his lips, his hair ruffled from his helmet (and your hands), his face full of the post-podium glow, his skin flushed and, thankfully, no longer sticky with champagne. He occasionally leans over to whisper something to you, his words much quieter than the giggles they cause.

You don’t know if Max is looking. You don’t care, really. Well, you care in the sense that you would love for max to be fuming on the other side of that couch. But you don’t care in the sense that it wasn’t your priority in your interactions with Charles. Not anymore.

The questions start, most being aimed toward the winner of the race, Charles, sitting next to you.

A question gets aimed at Max and Charles, not truly listening, takes the distraction of the audience to lightly grasp your hand in his own, before looking back to Max. You know he isn’t doing it to rile things up. He’s just happy and he wants to be happy with you.

It’s when Max is done talking and the attention is brought back to you for a question, does the reporter take pause. You can see the gears turning in his head, eyes flickering between your faces and your intertwined hands.

You pretend they haven’t noticed, raising your eyebrows to prompt the reporter to ask a question.

He does, an edge of humor in his voice, “First off, you two have anything you want to tell us?”

Laughs echo around the small room and you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips, “Nope.”

The reporter narrows his eyes, his grin not fading in the slightest, “Well then, I want to ask what fuels you when you race. You seemed so alive out there, so exciting, I wanted to ask what has changed.”

You can’t help yourself, your smile widening exponentially despite your best efforts, “Well, I’m just very happy, I guess. I know I’m not known as the most smiley person but life has just…. Been treating me very well recently.”

The reporter nods, smirking as his eyes pass between you and Charles, “Anything to do with a certain Monegasque?”

Charles, ever the comedian, furrows his eyebrows, muttering a quick “Who?” Under his breath, making you snort.

“Um-,” you start, trying your hardest not to laugh. Then, you look to your side and Charles is just staring at you, the softest look on his face as he watches you speak, “No comment.”

That’s enough for the reporter, who sits down, happy with the information he had managed to get.

The rest of the conference runs quickly, questions being split between the three of you pretty evenly.

You and Charles leave together, hands clasped together as he spins you around, asking you questions about evening plans between well-timed spins, both of you moving in some kind of child-like joy.

There’s a song playing from a speaker somewhere, a soft, floaty rhythm that fuels your movements. It’s almost psychic, the way you both move in tune with the other.

Max had never liked to dance, writing it off as silly or frivolous. You’d offer him your hand and he’d wave it away, leaning away from your hand and unknowingly leaning farther away from your relationship as he did. It couldn’t have hurt him to entertain your happiness just for once during your time together. But apparently it did, based on how he’d react like you had burnt him whenever you even suggested dancing.

Now, Charles was spinning you around without you even having to ask, humming along to the song playing through a speaker in an unknown location, eyes locked on you to trail your every movement.

It wouldn’t be so bad if this isthe way it was always meant to be.

——

The last time you think about Max in any significant way is a relatively inconspicuous day.

It’s a race weekend, just like any other. But this time, your home race. You were always fond of these weekends, when you get to be in your own country, racing on home soil, knowing the people in the stands, the people of your country, are rooting for you.

The past two seasons you’d been racing at the track, Max had won both times, getting to raise his fist in celebration in front of your fans, in front of your country.

Maybe that’s what makes you want the win so bad. What makes you try and overtake just a tad bit too aggressively, what makes Max go off the track, losing the position to you, Charles and Lewis funneling past him as well.

To anyone watching the race, it would look like a clean overtake, Max just having lost control over the car. But you knew what it was. You had known Max. Maybe not now, but once upon a time you had, and you also knew exactly what to do to make him stumble.

You hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t meant to send him off. You also knew you weren’t going to get penalized for it. If you had any focus that wasn’t already on the race, you’d probably feel decently guilty. But your race engineer chalks it up to a racing incident, focusing your attention on Carlos in front of you, the only thing between yourself and a win.

In the end, after a well-executed overtake and your simply outpacing the Ferraris, you take the win.

It’s euphoric, if you had to describe it. Flags of your country wave in the stands, signs with your face and shirts adorned with the Mercedes logo decorate the crowds.

You quickly stand on top of your car, holding your arms out to the crowd around you, relishing in the sound of their cheers and screams.

Charles is standing next to your car when you turn to the side and you let him catch you as you jump down. You throw yourself into his hug, grasping him tightly as he rocks you back and forth. You can barely hear him through both your helmets, the words “I love you” just barely passing through.

He leans back, flipping up his visor and pushing yours up as well. His eyes lock on your own, fueling the tears already pooling in your eyes.

You know you have to pull away eventually and when you do, Lewis is standing behind you, quick to pull you into a tight hug. He knows how much this means to you. In your time in the Ferrari hospitality, he had become quite close to you, quickly becoming one of your closest friends.

He lets you go after a few seconds, shouting something about being proud of you through your helmets.

Once he’s dropped you, you turn toward your team, running straight into their arms. It’s something that could never be replicated, the joy you feel in this moment. You were with the people you love the most, succeeding at the thing you love the most in the place you love the most. It’s a perfect moment.

You eventually have to pull yourself from the grasps of their team, Toto landing a particularly spirited pat on your head as you do, making you laugh.

You let Charles walk you over to get weighed, throwing his arm around your shoulder, Lewis walking along on their other side. It’s nice, having people that care about you like this.

George is in the room when you go to get weighed. He hugs you, you smile and hug him back, whispering a quick “thank you” to the older man. He smiles back, patting you on the back before falling back into conversation with Lewis.

You pass through the process passively, not bothering to pay too much attention to the room around you, your brain somewhere else. Somewhere floating.

Then you’re up on the podium and everything comes back into focus.

Your anthem is playing, the music floating through your head, bringing every happy memory here back into the forefront of your mind.

They hand you your trophy. It feels like it fits in your hands perfectly. You stare down at it, trying to memorize every detail before you set it down, replacing it with the oversized bottle of champagne.

Charles is standing beside you, though you’re not looking at him. You know he’s looking at you but you can’t tear your gaze away from the crowd below, spreading out across the track, shouting your name.

Then, the champagne comes. You don’t even fight it as Lewis and Charles both immediately aim for you. You can’t do anything to get away so you let the alcohol hit you, the liquid seeping into the fabric of your fireproofs and causing a chill to run through your skin.

You try your hardest to aim the bottle onto the Ferrari’s, giving up when you can’t beat them, instead aiming the bottle onto your team down below.

After the bottles have run out, you’re left standing, sipping on the champagne that is left and trying not to feel the cold liquid on your skin. It almost feels lonely, just for a second.

But then Charles is there, wrapping an arm around your waist and looking out onto the crowd with you. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting you bask in the sound of your name being cheered by thousands of people.

Lewis pats you on the back as he walks by, prompting you both to snap out of your staring, looking at each other with matching smiles.

As for Max, he’s below, standing on the edge of the crowd, not a part of the celebration, not sharing in the joy.

He had finished fifth, but he didn’t care about that now. Now, he only cares about you. The vision of you, grinning on the podium, eyes welling with tears as you look out on the crowd chanting your name. The sight of Charles pulling you into his arms, landing a warm kiss on the top of your head just before he pulls you off the podium, disappearing down the steps.

He wanted to be mad, he really did. He wanted to storm over and yell at you for passing him the way you had. But, to the outward eye, there was nothing wrong with the pass. Yelling at you would involve admitting that your only crime here was knowing him better than anyone, a fact he absolutely refused to acknowledge.

Besides, he couldn’t be mad. No matter how much he tried to be, he just isn’t. Not at you, at least. Maybe at Charles. Maybe at Carlos who had fended him off for 6 laps at the end. Maybe at the car for just being disappointing. But not at you. The anger would be misplaced. Fueled by the fact that he had lost you and couldn’t do anything about it.

His race engineer had tried to support him, Liam had tried to distract him. But he wasn’t having it. He couldn’t have it when you were looking at Charles like that.

He knows that, in another life, it would have been him standing next to you, by your side for your big moment. He refuses to acknowledge the idea that he probably wouldn’t have stayed by your side, his feet carrying him off the podium quickly, racking his brain to figure out why he hadn’t won instead of celebrating the fact that you had.

But it could have been him. It should have been.

But it wasn’t. It isn’t.

You have moved on. Found happiness in Charles. True, real happiness.

That’s when Max realizes, maybe this is the way it was always meant to be.

——

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

[emmyc0z]

Much Too Kind

pairing : astarion x (fem) reader

summary : astarion has found a soft spot for a girl who is much too kind for her own good, too trusting, in such a gruesome world.

warnings : astarion bites.

a/n : i haven't played baldurs gate (so i apologize for my lack of knowledge) but astarion is consuming my brain.

“Do you honestly feel safe sleeping with him sitting this close by?”

“He’s done nothing but help us this whole time, why would I not?”

“Because he’s a vampire?” Shadowhearts face is blank, speaking as though her words shouldn’t need to be spoken, an obvious thought. She stares into you, awaiting a proper answerings, and she almost scoffs when she doesn’t get what she wants. In return you roll your eyes, continue to ready yourself to sleep. 

When you feel that you're ready to go to bed, Shadowhearts voice is unheard. She is already situated inside of her bedroll, which she had set up farther away from the fire than you liked, in a way of protecting herself from a seemingly harmless Astarion. In all fairness, you have probably been too trusting in the man. But how could you not?

He had been such a tease since the moment you met him. Because he seemed to annoy you, he never left your side. But you quickly grew fond of the pale man, and it was suddenly you who couldn’t leave his side. Astarion had no problem with this, and a weird fondness began brewing in his chest whenever he was around you. He had a burdening soft spot for you unlike anyone else. He couldn’t even bring himself to feed around you in case he scared you off, feeling an unprecedented amount of fear of losing you. The relationship you shared was teetering on a very thin line of romance and teasing gone too far. 

The two of you were an unlikely pair. Astarion was manipulative, and you knew that from watching him work, but he never used it on you (as far as you knew). He viewed you as too sweet for your own good, taking it upon himself to keep you from danger. In all honesty, you probably didn’t need him for that. Sure he helped when you were obviously being lied to and couldn’t tell but you could hold your own in battle just fine. From your point of view he was nothing but trustworthy and helpful. Shadowheart, your ever protective friend, had a hard time seeing the same thing. 

But when you made a fuss about having to sleep in your armour, unlike Shadowheart who had no problem with the matter, he had offered up a spare shirt. You weren’t sure where it had been beforehand but it was comfy, with undone strings hanging from the neckline, and it was large enough to go down to your mid thigh which was perfect. And his scent covering it was an added bonus. You had never thought much about it, but you never wore your heavy pants to sleep, being too hot inside your stuffy bed roll. 

You were usually asleep before everyone else, and the first to wake in the morning, so this never proved to be a problem. And, if you had to think about it, you were usually in a tent by yourself. But with only Shadowheart and Astarion around you didn’t see a problem. 

But when you crawled into your bedroll, at a middle distance between Astarion propped up against a log by the fire and Shadowheart sleeping farther from him, you began to see the problem. Shadowhearts words from before were dug into your brain, what if Astarion was dangerous and he did end up hurting you in your sleep just like she had said. You had never felt any fear towards the man, but her words had planted an unfamiliar distrust in your head.

You were dangerously aware of every noise around you. Unable to sleep, because of your focus on everything around you. The soft snores from Shadowhearts bedroll, and the quiet hum from a bored  Astarion playing with the fire. As long as he was by the fire, seated much too close for comfort now, you thought you’d be able to hear him coming. You think everything is fine, but being so edge you catch the smallest sounds, and you shoot up at the sound of a twig snapping. 

“My, my. Such a light sleeper my dear.” You turn towards Astarion, breath heavy, and a guilty feeling festering in your lower stomach. He’s almost exactly where he was when you first laid down. There’s a smug grin written on his face and you’re not sure why, though you don’t have the energy to question it. With sleepy eyes, you look around once more searching for anything out of the ordinary in the darkness, but you turn back to Astarion in the end. 

“I can’t sleep.” He throws another piece of wood on the fire, the light dancing across his face in pretty patterns from the dispersed light, his white shirt untied just enough to see his collarbones and the beginning of his chest. The sight alone has thrown the tenseness away from your body, and your muscles soften up, posture loosening. 

“And is there any reason in particular?” You meet his eyes again, a flurry of heat covers your cheeks, the look in his eyes telling you that you had been caught ogling him. “You seem so on edge, darling.”

He’s seated, practically the same height as you while he lays against the log, but it feels like he’s staring down at you. His fangs show as he parts his lips in a small, condescending grin. 

“I’m just not used to sleeping out in the woods s’all.” He nods, he doesn’t believe you, and you can understand why because you’ve only been camping in the wild for weeks by now. 

“Are you sure that's all? Cause I believe I heard that vile woman over there talking about a ‘bigger threat’ than whatever’s out there.” He gestures to Shadowheart and the dark, full woods around you. 

You shake your head, pout on your face, nervous that he would think differently of you if he knew what was actually going through your head. He was perceptive enough and, unbeknownst to you, you were an easy read. Of course he had heard the two of you talking, and he knew that you had not spoken ill of him, but it was so fun to tease you. And he knew you had grown nervous in his presence. 

“You’re not worried because of me are you?” Your eyes widen and you shake your head once more. There was  concern written all over his features, the crinkle in between his brows and his parted lips. To anyone else his concern would look fake, you were certain it was real. And to him, it was somewhere in between. He did feel something for you that put him in an unfortunate position, but the idea that you were scared of him sent misery through his bones.

“No of course not!” The comfy bedroll you had been laying in, shimmies down your legs as your torso tightens up again and your posture becomes much too straight for your liking. 

A soft sigh leaves his mouth, “Would you come sit over by me? You feel so far away.” His lips curve at the corners when you seem to think for a moment, but ultimately stand up. You bunch your bedroll up in your arms, not wanting to sit on the rocks. And when your eyes meet his again, he's already eyeing up your legs, you feel suddenly much too exposed. The night air nips at your skin and you hurry over to the spot beside him, throwing the bed roll on the ground and sitting on top of it. 

“Didn’t need to bring that over, silly girl. There’s a perfectly fine seat right here.” His eyes look down to his lap then back up to you, your face flush again. 

“I’m okay here,” You regret looking at him when you see his eyes plead with you, “..For now.” 

He really was cunning. You figured he was scheming. But he truly had no intention of misleading you, just wanted you close. He couldn’t help that he found it so cute how nice you were. Too nice in his opinion. Dangerous world out there, he was just trying to teach you who you could and couldn’t trust. Maybe you would get into more trouble, if you always trusted men like him.  

But no danger if you never have to think about other men. 

“Do you believe the things she says?” His eyes stared into the fire, but you couldn’t take your eyes away from him, that guilty feeling was growing in your stomach. “I know you must not trust me, at least not fully.”

You stay silent, you’re almost scared to talk, in fear you offend him anymore then you already have. You pull your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around your legs, guilt eating away at your insides. 

He looks at you now, with his eyes he traces your legs where your shirt no longer hangs enough to cover you, up to your face that wears a pout and tired eyes. “Do I scare you?” 

“No!” You sit up onto your knees, facing him fully. “No! I’m sorry Astarion, if i made you feel that way..”

He almost feels bad for a moment. You were too sweet, and while yes he had been worried for a moment, he was only teasing. 

In your moment of weakness, and putting yourself in an easy position, he grabs you to pull you onto his lap. Where he has wanted you all along. Both thighs on either side of his seated form, face much closer to his own than you ever planned on being. His shirt, adorning your body, hangs down your thighs and rustles against his legs. 

“Could you..promise?” His voice is so smooth, and his eyes look so alluring in this position, his hands planted on your hips. Your breath is caught in your throat when he asks, you aren't so sure that your answer before is entirely truthful now. He has too much control of this situation, and it is making you nervous, more nervous then before if that was even possible. 

“I..I promise. Of course, I promise!” You're in such a compromising position and you wish you had slept with pants on. It’s much too cold out on your bare skin, but being on Astarions lap is making your body much too hot.

“Very good.” His head moves closer to you, pulling your body into his and sending shivers down your spine. 

“Astarion!” Your hands find his shoulders, trying to put distance between you but his hold is strong. He has got you where he wants you and there is no way he will be letting you go. His face buries itself in your neck, breath tickling your skin and his nose leaving soft touches against you. 

“You smell..delicious.” His voice was sultry, and so suggestive. You knew what he wanted, had been waiting for the moment he would say something. He was a hungry man with an uncomfortable amount of power over you. And your neck was looking awfully inviting. You hated that he had you feeling so many things, for a man who was so obviously trying to take advantage of you. 

He may have thought you were naive but you were smart enough to know what this vampire wants from you. Even though you were debating allowing it just so he would be happy and full, it tugged at your mind that he might just be using you for this purpose.

Shadowheart may have been right about him being a threat while you slept, but right now he was just as threatening. Would it hurt when he sunk his teeth into your skin?

As if he suddenly became more conscious in his actions, he pulled away, breath heavy against you. “I’m sorry, you are just such an appetising little thing.” He places a soft kiss to your cheek, your silence beginning to fill him with the same guilt you were feeling. He wasn’t sure why. This is what he wanted, sure he had grown fond of you but this is what he needed from the beginning. But it didn’t feel right anymore, not with the way you were so pliable in his hands, allowing him to tease you just so you wouldn’t offend him. 

“Are you hungry?” Your voice, surprising him, sends his eyes straight to yours. You couldn’t possibly be considering what he thought you were. 

“Yes darling, but don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” He lets out a heavy sigh, planting more kisses on your cheek down to your jaw. His attempt to distract you almost works but you gently move your face away, pulling your hair away from your neck. 

“Could I help?” You looked at him with a warmth in your eyes, one he hadn’t seen from anyone but you for years. Your devotion to him pulled at his heart, you were so willing to help him without even knowing if it would hurt or not. 

“You would do that..for me?” His hand finds your cheek, voice sending gentle vibrations through you. You can only nod, scared that if you speak it’ll be nothing above a whisper. 

He takes your hair from your hand, holding it out of his way. A gentle kiss to your cheek. Another on your jaw. And he moves them all the way down to your neck where he intends to bite. 

‘Astarion?” 

“Yes, my dear?” He pulls away, and you can tell it pains him to by the look of disappointment on his face, lips too pouty for how tough he always tries to act.

“Is it going to hurt?”  His eyes are so soft when he looks at you, even though he wants nothing more than to sink his fangs into your flesh. 

“I’ll try to make it painless, but you can hold my hand, yeah?” You nod and intertwine your fingers with his, scared but determined to make him happy. 

He returns to his place in your neck, places a soft kiss before he sinks his teeth into you. Immediately, your fingers squeeze his own and he sends a squeeze back so you know he’s there. He almost feels bad, whimpers falling from your lips, but you taste so delectable that he can’t bring himself to. 

Astarion continues to drink, and you allow it. You only make an effort to stop him when you become dizzy, and your head becomes too heavy for you to hold on your own. Your grip on his hand loosens, and you use his other one to tap at his arm. It seems to snap him out of his trance cause he pulls away, licking his lips. 

“You taste as good as I had hoped you would.” A drowsy smile crashes against your face and your chest swells with pride, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. The energy is gone from your body. You know he wouldn’t have killed you, but any longer and you wouldn’t be in any condition to fight the next day. You didn’t know if you would be as is. 

Astarion seems to notice, and he moves you to sit inside your bed roll. Your hand still holds his, and you lay on your side to face him. 

“Such a sweet thing,” he rubs your hair flat with his free hand, admiring your sleepy features in the fire light, “Sleep my dear. I’ll keep you safe.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Once in a Lifetime

The Rookie x SWAT documentary-style (reader insert) crossover

Summary: Mid-Wilshire opens a case that requires seven police departments, numerous SWAT teams, and an unusual witness. As the public watches a documentary all about the case and the people involved, they see more than crime.

Warnings: narration is in italics, injuries and blood, character death, discussion of child abuse, depiction of cults/brainwashing, fake tweets, I probably went overboard, fluff and comfort at the end I promise

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: This idea struck me last night and I had to do something with it. I hope someone enjoys it, but I'm never using a tweet generator again because it took an embarrassing amount of time.🤍

What if a once-in-a-lifetime moment depended on a single decision, rather than a plethora of them?

“I didn’t call the police because it’s none of my business. I’ve seen how she treats her kids, why would I interject my family into that when I don’t have to?”

What if the one moment that could change everything was slipping away before you arrived?

“I’ve got a pulse! As soon as we’re code 4, I need an R/A standing by!”

What if the world stopped for your once in a lifetime?

“The 405 has been shut down between Signal Hill and Alameda Street. This sudden, unexplained closure, in conjunction with the heavy law enforcement presence throughout Los Angeles, has citizens alert and concerned.”

What if the only person who can save you is the result of dozens of perfectly aligned once-in-a-lifetime moments?

“7-Lincoln-100, I’ve located another-“

This is Once in a Lifetime.

Sergeant Tim Bradford, Officers Chen, Nolan, Juarez, and Smitty enter different areas of the Mid-Wilshire police station. Detective Lopez and her husband, attorney Wesley Evers, take a seat in their home, while Detective Nyla Harper and Sergeant Wade Grey sit at their respective desks. Each officer has been interviewed for a documentary before, but the mood is distinctly somber as compared to the other episodes.

“Hi, I’m Alex, host of ‘It’s All Bloody (and) True,’” the man behind the camera introduces. “Today’s episode is about the case involving eight different police departments, four specialized units, a major highway closure, and - correct me if I’m wrong - a series of once-in-a-lifetime decisions and opportunities that seem mathematically impossible.”

“Mathematically impossible?” Wesley repeats. “Try completely impossible. On paper, there is no way this case should have lined up the way it did.”

“Not to say it was easy,” Angela adds. “I’ve been on the job for a long time, and this was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“As the veteran officer on this case,” Wade continues from his office, “I agree with Detective Lopez. Everything g about this was unprecedented.”

“I’d like to start with day one of the investigation,” Alex requests. “Take us through the first moment, the call, and how this came into your station and became your duty.”

Lucy answers, “911 dispatchers received a call from a distressed man claiming that his neighbor had gone missing.”

“A call that raised concern for more reasons than his distress, correct?”

“Yes,” Sergeant Bradford says. “The caller mentioned the name of his neighbor’s employer.”

ACTUAL TRANSCRIPT OF 911 CALL: CALLER She- she went to work like she always does, but this was days ago. It would’ve been… Monday, no Tuesday because my wife was making donuts for her board meeting. Eileen called her in at some crazy time. DISPATCH You said Eileen? Is that your neighbor’s boss? CALLER Yes, yes. Eileen Indigo, I believe. She’s made her do crazy things before, but she needs the job, you know? I’m just really scared because she’s never done anything like this before and Eileen has some serious issues. DISPATCH Officers have been alerted and will be performing a welfare check, sir.

“You responded to the welfare check?” Alex inquires.

“We did,” John Nolan replies. “There was no answer at the door, so we surveyed what we could see and there was no sign of anyone inside, of forced entry, or any foul play.”

“Without that, there’s no probable cause for us to enter,” his rookie, Celina, adds. “Although there was a feeling of urgency surrounding her residence.”

“Is that- is that something you look for as police?”

“Of course not,” Tim snaps. “But we’re human, we have emotions. We notice things about how people and places feel.”

“Unfortunately, Officer Juarez’s empathy and intuition wasn’t enough for us to move forward,” Lucy continues. “And without any sign that something nefarious had happened, all we could do was post a missing person’s report.”

“But the case stood out?” Alex guesses.

“Right,” Tim agrees. “Because of Eileen Indigo.”

PREVIOUS INTERVIEW FOOTAGE: “Ms. Indigo,” Detective Harper greets. “We have a few questions about your relationship with Devon Taylor.” “There isn’t one,” the young woman replies, picking at her shirt rather than looking at the cop across from her. “He left six months ago. During our kids’ birthday party, can you believe that?” “Ma’am, we located Mr. Taylor. He’s deceased, and his body was dumped in a viaduct.” The woman sits back in the chair, straightens her shirt, and asks, “Did he have cash on him? I gave him $50 for a new flat iron before he ran out.”

“So, why did the mention of her name spark interest?" Alex asks. "Taylor’s case had been closed, his best friend - who turns out to be Ms. Indigo’s, uh…”

“Sidepiece?” Angela suggests.

“Mister?” Wesley adds. “There’s not a direct mirror of ‘mistress,’ is there?”

“Yeah, the friend got jealous that Indigo hadn't left her husband and offed him. What made us remember Indigo was the complete lack of care,” Grey explains.

“That and the concerns about her treatment of their children,” Nyla comments.

“Surely if she was mistreating her children, it would have been uncovered during the duration of your investigation?” Alex hypothesizes.

“Not our investigation.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“Right, there were eight police stations involved in this case,” Alex remembers.

“There are only 21 stations in Los Angeles, for reference,” Wesley says. “Seven of the stations working this case were in LA. So, one-third of the officers were directly tied to this case in some capacity.”

“And the introduction of Eileen Indigo introduced this collaboration?”

“Not exactly,” Tim begins. “When we began looking into Indigo, it was only in regards to how she was treating our missing person. And, as we began looking into that, we discovered past complaints and CPS reports of her children being mistreated.”

“And?”

“CPS found nothing,” Nolan replies.

“Their investigations - plural - all determined that the children were in good health, being cared for, and not in any immediate danger,” Celina states.

“So, you went back to square one,” Alex says, flipping a page of his notes.

“Not at all,” Wade interrupts. “We were still trying to piece together the caller’s claim that Indigo mistreated her kids and her employees when we received a call from another station.”

“And he dropped a bombshell,” Nyla deadpans.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“Would you mind introducing yourself?” Alex asks.

“Sure. I’m Commander Robert Hicks, LAPD SWAT,” the man seated in a different station greets.

“Upon learning that Mid-Wilshire was looking into Eileen Indigo, you called their watch commander. Why?”

“After the initial report of child abuse, my 20-David SWAT team was dispatched to Indigo’s residence. Responding officers reported that she had barricaded herself and her children inside. My people got there, got in, and found that Indigo and her children were asleep, completely safe and unharmed.”

“And that didn’t bring more questions?”

“Of course it did,” Hicks argues. “There’s just procedure to follow, and even though my team wanted to get to the bottom of what happened and find out more about Indigo, we can’t just dive into people’s background because we feel like it.”

“When you called Grey, were you planning to offer your team to be on standby?”

“No, and I didn’t right away.”

“When was it decided that SWAT would be beneficial to working the case?”

“After the next call,” overlapping voices reply.

BODY CAM FOOTAGE - Roll Call Room: “This is Sergeant Harrelson, Sergeant Kay, Officer Luca, Officer Tan, and Officer Street,” Wade introduces. “They will be on standby during the visit to Ms. Indigo’s home. If a warrant is issued, they will serve it.” “We have experience with Indigo and have been on the home before, so we’re happy to offer any assistance we can,” Harrelson adds. “What if she lets us search the house and we don’t find anything?” Officer Juarez asks. “It’s a missing persons’ report, there’s not much we can do,” Nolan answers. “One thing at a time,” Wade reminds them.

“Not only did you secure a warrant because of a subsequent complaint, but you felt it necessary to bring in five additional departments from different stations,” Alex muses. “What did you find that led you to take such extreme measures?”

“Let’s just say, I drew up the affidavit, and while you’re only required to provide the judge with probable cause to believe evidence is present in the location being searched, my document was nearly 50 pages in length,” Wesley shares.

“And the judge only read the first page,” Angela adds.

Nyla then says, “The judge signed not only the warrant for her office but gave us a warrant for every piece of real estate she had under her name. We found five additional residences and several acres of land outside of Palm Springs.”

“Making Palm Springs PD the third station to join what was turning into a hunt for the missing woman,” Lucy connects. “It was also at this point that Sergeant Grey knew we needed to serve all six warrants simultaneously, so we needed more hands.”

“In addition to recruiting Metro, patrol, and SWAT officers from our sister stations,” Wade adds, “we also put out a nationwide BOLO. It was Thursday afternoon at this point, so we were two days past when the 911 caller had last seen his neighbor alive.”

“With a plan to raid Indigo’s office and homes at the same time, you went out in teams,” Alex says. “But most people who’ve had A&E any time after 2004 know that the first 48 hours of missing persons investigations are vital, and after that, the chances of finding them alive go down.”

The camera shows Nyla, usually the effortlessly funny detective, sigh deeply before she says, “That’s what made the next part so hard.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

Alex finds a paper with names on it, then says, “This is the team that raided Eileen Indigo’s office in California Heights. Going around the table quickly, we have Commander Bob Hicks, 20-David SWAT members Sergeants Harrelson and Kay, Officers Luca, Tan, and Street, as well as Detective Harper, and Officer Chen. Additionally, Metro Sergeant Tim Bradford.”

“And I was the one who chose to close the 405,” Wade offers.

“As someone who worked for LBPD, I continue to support that decision,” Street says. “The office building - which was a converted house - backed up to Orange Avenue, which crosses the 405 and has its own on-ramp. Had she been able to get on there and disappear into car-pocalypse, we’d be telling a different story right now.”

“That was surprisingly logical,” Harrelson - who invited everyone to call him Hondo before the cameras started rolling - muses.

“So, the 405 is closed for a good reason, but why leave the public hanging?” Alex wonders.

“To protect ourselves and others,” Lucy says. “If she knew we were coming, who’s to know what she might have done.”

“She would’ve run,” Tim adds from his commander’s office. “Or, worse, she would have harmed the people close to her to throw us off her scent.”

“You said ‘the people closest to her.’ Raiding Indigo’s office made this case about more than a missing woman,” Alex editorializes.

BODY CAM FOOTAGE - Eileen Indigo's Office Building: “LAPD,” Hondo calls quietly as a woman sitting at the front desk raises her hands in shock. “Get down on the ground. How many people are inside?” “Just Ms. Indigo, her assistants, and the trigon team,” she whispers.

PREVIOUS 911 CALL: CALLER I don’t know what exactly she’s doing! Her children are outside in the cold reciting something about tricycles, maybe? She has a paper in her hand and when they say the wrong word, she threatens them! DISPATCH Officers and EMS are en route.

“Tell me more about Trigon,” Alex requests.

“I wish we could,” Angela replies.

“Indigo’s trigon team continues to be a mystery,” Wesley explains further. “There’s real estate holdings with each team member listed as a beneficiary, they’ve got a joint bank account, but we can’t find any real evidence of them actually doing anything together.”

“As far as we could tell,” Tim begins, looking away from the camera quickly, “the so-called trigon team was some sort of attempt at starting a cult. The uh, ‘members’ were evaluated by a psychiatrist, who believed there had been a degree of brainwashing involved.”

“When we connected the 911 call about her – how do I put this? – initiation of her children, we knew there was more to Indigo’s business than we anticipated,” Lucy says. “But, at the moment during the raid, we were in no way interested in getting these answers, just finding the missing woman and getting cuffs on Eileen.”

“Without an arrest warrant,” Wade reminds Alex and his viewers. “We had to find probable cause to legally arrest her, and though the judge understood our evidentiary concerns and issued the search warrants, he didn’t have enough to give us an arrest warrant.”

“So, you went in looking for something you could arrest her for?” Alex asks, suddenly sounding accusatory.

“No,” Tim snaps. “We went in looking for a missing person because there was more than enough evidence that Indigo had engaged in threats of violence in and out of the workplace.”

“But isn’t workplace mistreatment a civil matter?”

“Most cases are,” Wesley agrees. “But when it grows more severe; when threats progress to actual physical assault, it becomes a criminal offense under California law.”

“There was no evidence of that included in the affidavit.”

“That’s because Palm Springs PD hadn’t found her trophies,” Nyla responds.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

BODY CAM FOOTAGE – Eileen Indigo’s Palm Springs Property: “Clear!” an officer calls. “We’re code 4.” “I got something!” another voice alerts. A sergeant passes through the barricade and kneels by the recently disturbed dirt. A large metal box protrudes from the shallow hole, and he radios for a forensics team. When they arrive, the box is photographed before it is removed and opened. Inside, there are dozens of disturbing photographs (which have been blurred for viewers of the documentary). “Get Sergeant Grey on the phone!” someone yells.

“When I received the call, the teams serving warrants on her LA properties had already left the station,” Wade explains. “I alerted the senior officer at each location and allowed them to distribute that knowledge as they saw fit.”

“It ended up being completely irrelevant,” Sergeant ‘Deacon’ Kay interjects. “When we reached the conference room of Indigo’s office, we had enough to arrest her.”

“The trigon team was…” Angela pauses, attempting to find the right word.

“Cataloging,” Nyla finishes for her. “They were sorting new, additional pictures that put Indigo not only at several crime scenes but explained how she had evaded CPS and past officer visits in the past.”

“She was mistreating her children?” Alex translates.

“Not physically,” Celina answers.

“Though there were early signs of that progression during the children’s examinations,” Nolan adds. “No, she preferred psychologically abusing her children. Brainwashing, manipulation, a sick sort of training, whatever you want to call it, she forced it upon her children.”

“And her employees, as it proved with the trigon team.”

“So, you find the trigon team, arrest them with relative ease, and then what happens?” Alex asks.

“It sounded like the world was ending,” Lucy answers.

BODY CAM FOOTAGE – Eileen Indigo’s Office Building: “Street, Bradford,” Hondo calls, “with me.” Street and Tim fall into line behind Hondo and continue moving through the narrow hallway. As they pass Indigo’s open door and empty office, a sudden, deafening noise fills their ears and the microphones on their body cameras. Every officer ducks forward instinctually and attempts to drown out the noise. “It’s coming from the garage!” Tim yells. “7-Adam-19, we need backup in the kitchen! Taking fire!” Lucy radios. “Go!” Street tells Hondo, “We’ll handle the garage.” Hondo nods and moves through the noisy house to assist the officers being fired at. “Eyes on Indigo!” Nyla alerts. “Moving from the kitchen toward the master bedroom!” Tim taps Street’s shoulder before they enter the garage. As the door opens, the noise grows louder. “What the-“ Street mumbles. “Go!” Tim yells. “Shut it off!” Street nods, then pulls the strap on his gun across his chest. With his hands free, he grabs the jackhammer being held upright by 5-gallon buckets filled with sand and water. As he tries to find the right button to turn it off, Tim circles the car slowly before he drops to his knees and slides his head and shoulders beneath it. “Eileen Indigo is in custody,” Nyla radios after the jackhammer silences. “Back bedroom is barricaded,” Luca adds. “Hold for entry.” “Bradford, what are you doing?” Street inquires. Tim pushes himself out, and Street immediately sees the blood – your blood - coating his hands. Tim says, “I found her,” then returns to his original position beneath the car. “Officers taking fire!” Tan alerts. “Deac!” Street calls into his radio. “We need a medic.” “We need a little more than a medic!” Tim barks. “Where are you?” Deacon asks, raising his voice over the commotion in the house. “Garage,” Street answers. “I can’t get over there, Street. I’m on the 3-side and there’s a firefight between us,” Deacon replies. “Victim has been located,” Tim radios, shockingly calm for someone with blood up his forearms. “We need an R/A. I’ve got a pulse, but not for long.” “Can we move her?” Street asks, moving to his knees to look under the car. “She’s not responsive,” Tim replies. “It’s not smart, but we’re running out of options.” “It’s probably a stupid idea,” Street decides. Tim turns his head, keeping his hands against your sides. “What’s a stupid idea?” “This car probably runs, has a big trunk… We need to get her help, right?” Tim hesitates, then says, “Get in the car.” “What part of move her did you not hear?” “We can’t move her much, she’ll bleed out. Pull the car forward.” “Hondo, we need someone blocking the garage, we're moving the vic,” Street radios as he climbs into the car. “It’s a button-start, if the key isn’t close enough, we can’t start it.” “Street, try!” Tim yells as gunfire grows louder.

“You find Eileen Indigo, take her into custody, and find the missing woman,” Alex reiterates. “And decide to drive over her, knowing she was injured. That seems like an absolute last resort.”

“Considering we were in a gunfight with Eileen’s version of private security and an ambulance can’t come in until we’re completely clear, we needed a last resort,” Nyla snaps. “It’s not something we’d do every day, but it was what we needed in this instance. It was try to get her in the car and out of the house, or risk letting the woman bleed out.”

The shot changes to Tim Bradford, who looks at a piece of paper lying in his lap but doesn’t speak.

“Sergeant Bradford?” Alex says softly.

“Yeah,” he replies, shaking his head as he looks up. He flips the paper, briefly showing the camera that it’s an image of you – smiling, happy, and alive. “While Officer Street started the car, I kept pressure on the victim’s wounds and ensured neither of us was in the way of the tires.”

“Officer Street’s recollection suggests you covered the victim’s body with your own. Is that what made this case emotional?”

“Amongst other things.”

BODY CAM FOOTAGE – Eileen Indigo’s Office Garage: “Okay, let’s do this,” Street says, rounding the SUV as the trunk opens. Tim shifts, moving to your left side as his hands press against your side, just below your ribs. “The kids,” you mumble. “We’ve got them,” Tim assures you. “Do you know where you are?” You open your eyes and meet Tim’s gaze, murmur, “Thank you,” and lose consciousness. “She’s fading, we have to go now,” Tim states. “Tell me what to do, Sergeant,” Street requests. Tim looks around and gestures to a stack of beach towels with his chin. “Put those in the trunk, then come put pressure here.” Street does as Tim instructed and holds your side as Tim lifts you in a bridal carry. You groan, and Tim is glad to hear you reacting but terrified by how much blood you’re losing and your lack of consciousness. “Drive,” Tim demands as he climbs into the trunk with you. “26-David and Sergeant Bradford, transporting victim in suspect’s Chevrolet Tahoe, partial plate Foxtrot-9-3-4,” Street alerts dispatch. The hospital becomes visible just as Wade radios, “We’re 10-4 all around, code 4. Indigo and the shooters are in custody.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“With the teamwork of seven stations, nearly 200 officers, and a 60-hour-long hunt, the missing woman was located,” Alex narrates. “And is transported to the hospital.”

“Less than an hour later, we received a call that she died on the operating table,” Nyla says. “There really wasn’t anything we could do at that point, just hope that the evidence would talk, and Eileen’s reformed followers and children could testify.”

“You found the victim. How did that news affect you?” Alex asks Street and Bradford, now separated from the other officers.

“What kind of question is that?” Street asks. “Regardless of who found her, the news of her death was still devastating.”

“Calls like that are always hard,” Tim answers flatly. “But we didn’t have a ton of time to dwell on it before Officer Thorsen found something else.”

ACTUAL RADIO COMMUNICATION: “7-Lincoln-100,” Aaron Thorsen radios. “I’ve located another employee of Eileen Indigo’s. Albert Camden, in custody for 211 with a water gun.” “Yeah, Albert Camden was still relatively sane,” Wade deadpans. “He gave us everything we needed to prosecute Eileen to the full extent of the law.” “Why turn on his employer so easily?” Alex inquires. “She threatened to kill his family if he didn’t rob the corner store where he was arrested,” Angela answers. “After he learned she was in custody, he gave us detailed accounts of his time with Indigo and why he didn’t quit.” “And it was during this time that the final 911 call came in,” Alex says.

ACTUAL TRANSCRIPT OF 911 CALL: DISPATCH 911, what’s the location of your emergency? CALLER I need to speak to Bradford. DISPATCH I’m sorry? CALLER He’s a cop, and I have information for him about Eileen Indigo, but I don’t know which station he works at.

Tim looks up from the camera and the corners of his lips quirk up.

“Welcome,” Alex greets, shaking hands with someone behind the camera. “Thanks for coming to tell your side.”

Tim shifts his seat to the right and invites the 911 caller to sit beside him.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“Mind introducing yourself?” Alex asks.

You send him a small smile and shift in your seat before offering your name. “I worked for Eileen Indigo for about 6 weeks before she decided she wanted me to be a 24-hour employee.”

“Meaning?”

“She invited me to stay in the office 24/7 and do essentially anything she asked me. I very briefly considered it, only to ensure her children were safe, but ultimately turned it down. It was at that time she abducted me.”

“Why did you decide to fake your death?”

“I didn’t,” you reply with a smile. “Sergeant Kay did, and after the role he played in saving my life, with Officer Street and Sergeant Bradford, I wasn’t going to argue.”

“So,” Alex begins with Deacon and Street, “Why?”

“We learned that the father of her children wasn’t out of the picture, not like we thought,” Street answers.

“Mr. Devon Taylor was not murdered,” Deacon adds. “He met with detectives at the Mid-Wilshire station and worked with them to try to recover his children from their birth mother.”

“Taylor had an associate who was planning to take over Indigo’s business and real estate endeavors,” Nyla explains.

“I figured if her enterprise was directly connected to a murder, he’d hesitate,” Deacon continues.

“And he did,” Alex replies. “Just long enough to be caught using Indigo’s bank account. So, he was taken into custody, yet your people were not alerted to the actual survival of the victim.”

“Right,” Tim answers through a clenched jaw. “A minor oversight.”

“One of the doctors caught it and allowed me to call Sergeant Bradford,” you say. “I had to thank him for saving me, but he did hang up on me.”

Lucy laughs, leaning forward, before she exclaims, “His face! He hung up and immediately drove to the hospital with his lights and sirens on.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“After a series of no less than a dozen once-in-a-lifetime opportunities aligning perfectly, Eileen Indigo was arrested and is going to trial in the coming weeks,” Alex concludes. “Anything that stands out to you as the case comes to a close?”

Each officer offers a lesson or two that can be learned from their time working the case, except for Tim, Deacon, and you. During Alex’s ending narration, a cameraman steps around a corner and zooms in on you. Viewers watch in delight as you smile with Tim and Deacon. When your hand rises to Tim’s arm after Deacon excuses himself, people begin to wonder if Tim got more than a good arrest.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS AFTER LIVE BROADCAST: (featuring your response to the massive amount of feedback)

Lucy Chen - 2 new messages

It’s not just us, everyone can see the chemistry🤭 Have fun on your date!!

He might not say it, but you’re Tim’s once-in-a-lifetime. Thanks for being there for him.

[quercus-queer]

Im so befuddled by the severance floor management… The worker the CEO’s daughter has replaced is confirmed to have reintegrated (never done before) and has died. No successful investigation into that has been made. The CEO’s daughter has almost been killed by innies twice. There’s several departments with multiple members that need to be supervised. The work these departments do are the most important and secretive thing occurring at the company. The head of security on the floor is a single guy that has been MIA and has not been replaced. There was an unprecedented breach of security by the reintegrated ex-employee’s team. The former head of this floor has been fired for her obsession with a member of the reintegrated ex-employee’s team. She’s replaced by the one surviving un-severed staff on that floor and his position has been filled by a literal child. The team of the reintegrated ex-employee is still causing problems (did I mention this team is comprised of the husband of the woman being experimented on in the basement of the company, the CEO of the company’s daughter, the employee that CAUSED the unprecedented breach of security, and a military veteran who almost killed the CEO’s daughter and had to be terminated). The woman being experimented on in the basement has a history of physical assault and escape attempts. Like is it truly just arrogance? It would be so interesting if it turns out that the board is still so confident in themselves, their technology, and their media manipulation that they literally pay no mind to damn near anything on the lower floors to the point where they will put a literal child in charge of the people working there.

[sweetrevxnge]

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Seven

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter-specific CW: torture (what fun!), period-typical sexism

A/N: the dead speak! lmao at least that's what it feels like coming back after an entire YEAR??? I kinda got sucked into playing 1,200+ hours of baldur's gate 3, romancing a certain vampiric elf time and time again, which gave me plenty of inspiration to continue this fic. I never meant to be gone for so long, so if you're still interested in this story, please let me know!

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

What have you done?

To say that you were restless would be an understatement. The first order of business when you returned to your chambers was finding a safe place to store your stolen weapon, and now, hours later, you had yet to succeed. 

You paced the room, wearing holes in the soles of your slippers as you wondered if you had made the right decision. It was unlike you to have sticky fingers, but then again, these were unprecedented times. Boldness meant survival.

Above all, you feared Ren was privy to your thievery, despite his silence on the walk back to your chambers. The prick of blood seemed enough to distract him for a moment, or perhaps he was practiced in hiding his tells. Either way, the consequences of him knowing gnawed at your sanity.

Rey had tended the hearth while you were away, ensuring your chambers were kept warm and filled with the familiar scent of dry wood. Her diligence as a handmaid proved to be an unforeseen complication in hiding your contraband.

Instinct urged you to keep it close to your bed, but reason told you it would be found too easily there. Same with the lounges circling the hearth, whose velour cushions could conceal many things if asked to. Though a dagger lodged in one’s rear would raise many concerns, as well as promise unspeakable punishments to come.

For these reasons, you ultimately settled on the bookcase.

Towering in the corner was a collection of books and texts, dense enough to put even the most curious scholars to sleep. A perfect place to hide a dagger.

Dragging a footstool over as a makeshift ladder, you reached for a leather-bound book embossed with gold letters along its spine. Imperium Nunquam Fuit. Though written in Old Basic, you understood its meaning.

The Empire That Never Was. A phrase coined by Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin to describe the destruction of Alderaan during the Revolution. An unsavory way to speak about a fallen civilization—considering he was the man responsible.

You made quick work of hollowing the historical text, skimming the page you’d turned to before defacing it. This passage detailed the last of the Imperial attacks on Alderaan, near the end of the Rebellion. One of the more infamous sieges of the war, earning its place in history with a tithe of blood and destruction.

The lines of script told the story of how Imperial soldiers salted Alderaan’s lands and butchered the citizens—babes and crones included. The Empire was thorough, wiping out an entire civilization over a mere conspiracy. With few survivors, and even fewer successors, Alderaanian blood was a rarity. You supposed that was one of the many things that set General Organa apart from the rest.

Considering the contents, it was a book of little interest to the First Order—a perfect hiding place.

The point of your blade pierced the parchment with ease, as if slicing through a block of butter rather than a thousand-page text. Tragic as it was to ruin a book like this, what other choice did you have? Hosnian Prime’s Grand Archives likely stored dozens of copies; one locked away in the depths of the First Order’s fortress would not be missed.

The fit was snug, but it would do for now. As for the pages you’d carved out, they laid in a pile at your feet, a messy reminder that your room was not private.

You slammed the book shut and returned it, hurrying to clean the shreds of paper scattered across the red carpets. Despite your efforts, the fragments proved too difficult to clean with just your hands alone, forcing you to sweep them into your skirts.

As you carried the pieces to the hearth, a gentle knock sounded through the oak doors. “Gods,” you muttered as you rushed towards the fire, dumping the pages unceremoniously onto the crackling wood.

Another rap on the door.

“Just a moment, please!” It was impossible to hide the panic in your voice as you prodded at the withering pages with an iron poker. Time seemed to slow as you watched the flames engulf the ink, turning Alderaan’s history to ash once more.

“It’s me, my lady.” Muffled by the wood, Rey’s voice was barely audible over the fire, hissing with fresh fodder. If any good came from her being your visitor, it was her staunch etiquette. She would not barge in uninvited—unlike some of the castle’s residents.

Brushing the slivers of evidence from your gown, you opened the doors, mindful of the lingering ash in the hearth. “My apologies. I was…” You cleared your throat, smoothing out your skirts before finishing your lie. “Indecent.”

Demure as ever, Rey dropped her gaze as she curtseyed before you. “It’s no matter, my lady. I was sent to fetch you; the Supreme Leader requests your presence.”

The moment his name left her lips, cotton filled your mouth, forcing its way down your throat as you swallowed your fear. What reason would the Supreme Leader have to summon you—at this late hour, no less?

Your thoughts immediately turned to Commander Ren. Perhaps he had noticed your theft after all and reported your offence to Snoke. If that were true, you vowed to slice his throat first. 

“Did he give a reason?” you asked, trying to maintain your resolve.

Rey’s throat knocked in her slender neck. “He did not say.”

Part of you wanted to take the damned blade with you, but recklessness wouldn’t serve you. Though you did not recognize him as your ruler, you were not keen on adding treason to your ledger.

You sighed, coming to stand beside Rey at the door, shoulders pressed back and hands folded over your lap. “I’m surprised he didn’t send you with manacles.”

She said nothing, but the trace smile on her lips told you all that you needed to know. You couldn’t blame her for watching her tongue around you. Given what transpired last night, you would do the same in her position.

The two of you walked in near silence to the throne chambers, passing countless tall windows with panes stained a deep red, dark enough to block most light from entering. What little light did manage to seep through painted the halls crimson, giving the appearance of blood spilling over the floor.

The burned pages of text flashed in your mind.

Every step forward was committed to memory, including the number of paces between notable fixtures, as well as where each one stood in relation to your chambers. Still, there was no sign of an access point in this section of the castle. But your resolve did not falter. If there was a means of entry into this accursed fortress, there must also be a means of escape.

As you rounded the corner to another corridor, you glanced at your handmaid, noticing that her usual singular bun had evolved into three smaller ones, meeting the nape of her neck in a uniform line.

“You’ve changed your hair.” The observation came out as more of a question than a comment.

“Yes, my lady,” she said, delicate fingers reaching to touch the one near her collar. “An effort to be closer to the gods.”

You furrowed your brows. “How’s that?”

“As there are three of them, there are three knots. We servants are forbidden to worship openly, so we find other ways.” She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her chin towards her chest. “Divine strength allows clarity of the mind.”

While you were not necessarily a pious woman, you were familiar enough with the gods from your upbringing to understand what she meant. As a child, you often prayed at your family’s shrine, asking for a bountiful harvest, good health, and, most of all, peace in the realm. For many years, they fulfilled your wishes. Now, your faith provided you with little comfort.

“Certainly,” you said, not wanting to discuss the subject any further. “Are we nearly there?”

“Just down this hall,” she said, her tone clipped. Either she was annoyed with the change of subject, or just as uneasy about seeing the Supreme Leader as you were.

True to her word, Rey came to a stop near the end of the corridor, leaving a short distance between you and the two looming oak doors, with iron enforcements woven into the grain and a guard posted on either side. Their faces were concealed by crimson veils, the signature regalia of the Praetorian Guard. Those tasked with protecting the ruler of these lands, whether they carried the title of Chancellor, Emperor, or Supreme Leader.

The warmth drained from your face at the sight.

“This is where I leave you, my lady.” Her face lacked its usual peachy hue, her freckles washed away by the candlelight. “The Supreme Leader does not allow us to enter these chambers, save for when he is passing judgment upon us.”

Standing before the faceless guards, you understood her unease.

“Will you be here to escort me back?” you asked, palms growing damp as you clutched the fabric of your gown.

“It is late. I must turn in for the evening.” She shifted her weight, eyes darting between you and the guards, whose presence seemed to loom over you from meters away. “Besides, I should think you do not require my assistance from this point.”

With that, she turned on her heels and retreated, her steps muted as she faded into the stretching darkness of the hallway. Turning to face the guards, dread settled in your stomach. Surely these warriors would not accompany you back to your chambers.

You studied them for a moment, the strategist in your mind seeking to understand what threat they posed. Both were tall and well-fed, given the size of their uniforms. The one to your left carried a bisento, while the other held a tall voulge, both equally unnerving. Their blades were pristine, foreign to combat. You wondered if the same could be said for those wielding them, too.

As if seeking to test your theory, they readied their weapons as you approached, each blade humming as it sliced through the air.

You came to a halt, the hair on the back of your neck now stiff. “I’ve been summoned by the Supreme Leader.”

The two remained poised to strike for a long moment before returning to their sentry state, offering one another a brisk nod as they pushed the heavy doors open, revealing the grand throne room. With tentative steps, you approached, pausing at the threshold.

Black marble columns lined the walkway to the throne, each manned by a knight of the Praetorian Guard, their crimson armor matching the First Order banners draped along the cobbled walls. Above the throne was the room’s sole window, with red stained panels filling the space between the spokes of the First Order insignia. Six steps carved of the same dark mineral as the columns led to the throne, lined with black velvet upholstery and a towering slate backing. Perched comfortably in the seat was Supreme Leader Snoke, draped in golden robes that flowed over his limbs like smelted ore, barely concealing the matching jewelry wrapped snugly around his fingers.

The paragon of humility.

He was joined by another: the fire-haired General Hux. His gaze snapped to you as the doors creaked open, beady eyes piercing you like darts from across the chamber.

“Ah, my guest of honor,” Snoke crooned, clasping his hands before his chest in delight. His tone fell icy as he turned to address the General. “Leave us.”

Confusion spread across his pale features as he turned to face Snoke once more. “But, Supreme Leader, there is still much to be discussed.”

“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. You are to leave these chambers at once, General Hux, or you will be removed.” Snoke’s gravelly voice rumbled through the hall with the force of a thousand footsteps, and reluctantly, Hux obeyed.

You watched the scene play out before you from the safety of the doorway, your feet rooted to the floor.

Snoke relaxed in his chair once more, beckoning you in with a hand gesture. “Please, come in, darling.”

Willing your feet to move, you did as he asked, eyes flitting between the Praetorian guard and the approaching General Hux, whose expression could only be described as irate as he brushed past you, black coat fluttering behind him.

Your heart was lodged in your throat as you neared the throne, feeling like a lamb being shepherded towards the maw of a lion. You stopped in line with the last of the guards before the Supreme Leader, leaving some distance still.

Snoke watched you with keen eyes, a stark contrast to his stoic front. “I do hope you are well, my dear. I can only imagine the days spent in anticipation of your wedding are agonizing.”

You frowned. “Is that why you summoned me? To ask me about my wedding?”

“Of course not. But pleasantries are the foundation of any proper conversation.” The humor fell from his voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” The words left a sour taste in your mouth, like wine crafted from grapes plucked too early.

Satisfied, he settled back into his throne, resting his hands over the ornate armrests. “See? Deference needn’t be cumbersome.”

His mocking tone made your vision red, but you held your tongue. Invisible threads tied you to him and his guards, each one pulled taught in the silence. It would take nothing more than a misstep to cause one of them to snap.

He spoke again, this time with authority. “It has come to my attention that you are unaware of what is expected of you as a noblewoman.”

You let out a terse exhale. “I suppose I am. Perhaps that is because of the conditions under which I am becoming one.”

A thin smile curled on the Supreme Leader’s lips. “These are unprecedented times, lieutenant.”

The emphasis on your title made your skin crawl. Snoke was calculated, sadistic. With his power, he was untouchable. The red veils surrounding you served as a constant reminder of his invulnerability.

“Now, I am curious. How did you manage that?” he added, tilting his head in intrigue. “A commoner like yourself rising to the rank of a commanding officer is no easy feat—even more so for a woman.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hardly see how this is relevant to my new status as a noblewoman.”

Despite your outward naivety, you knew too well what being a noblewoman would entail. You’d known from the moment your betrothal was announced. You were to be the docile wife of a commander, providing him an heir, a spare, and a warm bed whenever he pleased. Your military career would be swept away by the title of Lady Ren, all traces of your independence lost to time. You couldn’t think of anything less appealing.

“As a Lady of the First Order, you will be granted privileges seldom given to others, such as this.” Snoke motioned to the surrounding space, and you found yourself unable to decipher his meaning.

He isn’t referring to having an audience with the ruler of the realm as a privilege, is he?

He continued, “The safety of the castle. Our stronghold. You will be protected within its walls.”

Oh. Of course.

You suppressed a scoff. “I find that hard to believe, considering Commander Ren has attempted to strangle me twice over since my arrival.”

“I see,” he mused, pressing an index finger to his lips in thought. “My mercurial underling. If only his mind were half as quick as his temper.”

Somehow, your first instinct was to defend Commander Ren from his inflaming remark. While the Supreme Leader was correct about Ren’s temperament, he didn’t see the side of him that you saw—however infrequently it may have showed itself. There was a tenderness to him, fleeting in nature, like a luminescent star ripping through the night sky. You saw it in his eyes as he sat before your hearth, again when he laced your bodice.

Or perhaps what you felt was just the lingering effects of his charm.

Snoke’s rough voice broke your reverie. “Nevertheless, I’m sure Commander Ren had his reasons. Just as I’m sure whatever actions may have led to these outbursts will cease henceforth, won’t they?”

Before you could answer, a searing pain sliced through your skull, its barbed tendrils reaching into the deepest part of your consciousness. Every muscle in your body became succinctly rigid, frozen in place as an invisible force suspended you midair. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to call out; for the gods, for your mother—even for Commander Ren.

“You will behave yourself, insolent girl, or you will be disposed of.”

Despite your efforts, no sound would come from your throat. An eternity seemed to pass as the Supreme Leader kept you trapped, holding your feet to the fire of his anger. Mustering every ounce of strength, you forced your chin down in agreement, hot tears distorting your vision.

Without moving a muscle, he relinquished his hold on you, your knees cracking against the marble floor in an instant. The violet fabric of your gown pooled around you like the blood of a slain enemy, collecting the tears that fell from your chin.

Before you could find your voice, the creak of wood and subsequent rustling of armor behind you swiped your attention. The guards had readied their weapons, aiming at something other than you.

You flinched as the doors slammed shut, followed by a heavy—yet quick—footfall.

“What is the meaning of this?” Commander Ren’s voice was biting, filled with untamed fury as he entered the grand hall. His cloak rippled behind him like the night sea, silver sword in hand as he marched forward.

You scurried backwards on your tender palms, caught between his rage and the throne. He drew closer, only stopping at the intersection of two of the guards’ blades.

“Commander Ren, what a welcome surprise,” Snoke crooned. “Your bride was just leaving.”

His eyes found yours in an instant—wild and dark. Silently, you pleaded for his cooperation. If he were to strike at the guard, your life would be forfeit.

Outnumbered by eight blades, he stowed his own. “What have you done?” he demanded.

Though he was looking at you, his question was directed at the man atop the throne, whose enthusiasm at his subordinate’s display was palpable.

“Nothing you have not already done yourself,” Snoke growled. With that, he stood to his feet and stepped down from his throne, closing the gap you’d deliberately left and standing over you. “See her back to her chambers, Commander.”

A snarl flashed across Ren’s face as he pushed past the guards and kneeled before you, extending a gloved hand for you. Though he was quiet, his eyes were heavy with guilt.

With legs like a new foal, you accepted his help, gripping his hand like a lifeline as you stood. “Thank you.” The words floated from your mouth, burning your throat as they passed through.

He only nodded in return, guiding you away from the chamber. Because of his intrusion, the outer guards were now sealed inside, allowing some privacy in the dimly lit hall.

Ren came to a halt, moving both of his cool hands to rest on your shoulders, inspecting you. “Are you hurt?”

Averting your eyes, you shook your head dismissively, ignoring how your knees seemed to rattle with every step.

He let out an amused hum. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you will, Commander,” you managed to say through your dry mouth. “I’m fine.”

At that, the two of you carried on in silence, meandering through the castle, passing knights and servants alike down each corridor. Ren’s emotion rolled off of him like heat from a flame, slowly dwindling the further you were from the throne room.

As your legs regained their strength, so did your voice. “How did you know I was in there?”

“Does that really matter?”

“I’d say so. For all I know, you’re the reason he summoned me in the first place,” you argued, head spinning as you tried to recognize your surroundings. Only when you realized these walls were unfamiliar did your pace falter. “Stop!”

He obeyed, meeting you where you stood. “What?”

“Answer me.”

He let out a terse breath. “No, I am not the reason he summoned you. Come, we can discuss this later.”

At that, he began his stride again, but you didn’t follow. “No. I will not take one more step. Not before I know where you are taking me, as it is clearly not my chambers.”

“I’m bringing you somewhere private,” he finally answered.

“Are my chambers not private enough?”

“By the gods,” he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, it is unbecoming of me to be seen entering your chambers before we are wed.”

You scoffed. “How pragmatic of you.”

Ignoring your comment, he continued, “After your encounter with the Supreme Leader, I think it’s best if we avoid unnecessary speculation—for your sake.”

You couldn’t argue with him. If Snoke was inclined to submit you to the rawest agony over the slightest display of defiance, you could only imagine what else he was capable of.

“Fine,” you conceded, seeing reason in his words. “But let it be known that my cooperation does not reflect my satisfaction with this decision.”

A smile ghosted over his lips. “I know.”

[jewish-sideblog]

Obviously Hamas actions are abhorrent and the rise in antisemitism is uncalled for. What is the proper the response to 75yrs of apartheid though? Something has to be done about that or his cycle will never cease.

So you came from the post in which I explicitly named three organizations working for a two-state solution. And didn’t think… to look into… their proposals for a two-state solution…

As a reminder, before Hamas’s attack, Israel was working on normalizing peaceful relations with Saudi Arabia. That’s dead in the water because Hamas broke a ceasefire and killed a thousand Jewish civilians.

Before Hamas’s attack, there were massive, frequent, and often daily protests among the Israeli public, speaking out against an administration comprised of anti-Palestinians. Those are on hold now, because a thousand Jewish civilians were killed, and the country is at war. But Netanyahu’s coalition of asswipes is built like a house of cards, and they’ll suffer in the next election. That much is clear.

Hamas wasn’t looking to gain territory, win, or free Palestine on October 7th. Israel has never lost a war in its modern history, and it has overcome far worse odds than a couple thousand terrorists. There’s no feasible way for Hamas to have won. They broke the ceasefire and killed civilians anyway. Why? Why waste those lives and those resources, knowing that Israel would retaliate against Gazans?

Because Hamas looked around and saw something that horrified them. They saw Arab nations, once their allies, walking away from the idea of killing millions of Jews in favor of normalization and peace with Israel. They saw the citizens of Israel, rallying in unprecedented numbers for peace and democracy. They saw Fatah, their Palestinian enemies since 2007, ready to come back to the bargaining table for a peaceful two-state resolution.

Hamas broke a ceasefire for a media ploy. They did it, knowing that it would stop the normalization process between the Saudis and Israelis. They did it, knowing that it would bring an abrupt halt to Israeli protests. They did it, knowing that Israel would retaliate, and that the world would be watching as Hamas put Palestinian civilians in the line of fire and blamed it on Israel. They were looking to propagandize a dying movement, and friend, it seems like you bought into it.

Something does have to be done about Israeli’s treatment of Palestinians. Something does have to happen to end this cycle of violence. And plenty of things were being done about it, in the Knesset, on the streets of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. But Hamas considers peace without genocide to be a failure. Peace without genocide leaves Hamas out of a job. So they put a stop to it, at the cost of hundreds of thousands of Palestinian lives.

And you don’t gotta take that from me. Ask them. They aren’t trying to hide it, they’ve been saying it all month. It’s in their founding charter.

[ooooo-mcyt]

The cow incident in Limited Life drives me insane.

Joel comes out of Double Life and he immediately doesn't know how to cope with it. He'd been painfully alone, in Third Life and Last Life, something he recognized and lamented multiple times. Every alliance he made was temporary. He was always forced onto the offensive, always forced to play it risky, always forced to rely only on himself. Then Double Life happens and for once Joel can go to sleep knowing he'll still have a partner he can trust in the morning. That never happened before, and he doesn't know how to handle it ending.

The first time Joel sees Etho in Limited Life, Etho has a new thing going for him. Allies- so fast?- and a plan. That's how this game works, of course, Etho's been through this twice before. But for Joel, who never had a partner to lose in the first place, feeling like a stranger to Etho felt. Bad. It felt like abandonment. Betrayal. "I can't believe you replaced me with a cow!"

So Joel kills the cow, and the next one for good measure. He has to. Joel feels stupid and lonely and discombobulated, and he hates the helplessness of it, hates feeling weak. So Joel proves he's not any of those things, that he's as ruthless as he was in Last Life. Etho clearly moved on, after all, Joel wasn't going to be the sentimental one.

Meanwhile from Etho's perspective, he hasn't done anything to Joel. All Etho did was find a new team, because it's a constant rule across the series that previous seasons don't matter (well, they do matter, they matter so much, but they aren't supposed to, and the players honor that as much as they can, for the most part). Etho can't be expected to immediately rush back to Joel and beg to be a team again. That would be- unprecedented, and frankly, pathetic. So Etho plays the game like normal. And then Joel kills his cows.

Etho has no reason to think it was retribution for anything- it just feels malicious. Like Joel was going out of his way to target the things Etho values and destroy them, possibly just to show how little their previous connection mattered to him. So of course Etho was upset, and of course Etho held onto it, couldn't let it go, because life moves on, and seasons change, but feelings don't, and to Etho, Joel killing that cow was such a betrayal of those feelings.

Of course, things have cooled down, since Limited Life. But neither of them have ever been good at talking about how they feel, and the rift never closed fully. Because to both of them, the other person made the choice to cut off the lingering ties between them very early after Double Life ended, and that's not a gap that's easy to bridge if you feel like it'll just get you hurt.

[mysumeow]

──Trouble sleeping

WARNINGS ❪ Afab body, reader is referred to with you/your. YANDERE Lyney. Very mild angst. Unrealistic hypnosis, dub-con, piv unprotected sex. Not proofread. SUMMARY ❪ You have trouble sleeping, and Lyney suggests hypnosis therapy to solve it. Lyney is, however, dishonest with how he applies said hypnosis. WORD COUNT ❪ 873 A/N ❪ I remembered I had this smut idea pending since last year i think? ok here it is. ok bye im hungry

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ 🌷 . . MASTERLIST

You approached the great magician Lyney with a problem: you were having trouble sleeping.

Not really expecting anything out of your conversation, as you were seeking mere emotional support, Lyney confessed that he had some dexterity in the art of hypnosis and that it wouldn’t hurt to try.

It was a success, seeing as you had fallen asleep in the first five minutes of the session, when on average, it would’ve taken you way longer. Unbeknownst to you, in the throes of sleep, he had whispered selfish suggestions into your subconscious.

... Had he known it was going to be this easy, he would’ve done it a long time ago.

He’s underserving of your love; he was aware. The moment you two met, he was unable to let go of you in all aspects. He looked forward to seeing you at his presentations, at the celebratory dinners after an unrivaled performance, and to having you visit him backstage before a show.

To take you home and have you for the rest of the night.

Perhaps he asked for too much. He thought there was a possibility of the universe knowing he didn’t deserve you, and that’s why things didn’t turn out as he daydreamed they would, without having to resort to this deceitful method...

The feeling of your heaving chest against his and your arms tightening around his shoulders as you rode him pulled him out of his mind, reminding him that he should enjoy this precious moment with you.

Lyney’s hold on your hips became tighter, taking the reigns on the pace again, canting his hips upwards to meet your body at an unforgiving pace. He sucked marks onto your neck.

Greed consumed his judgment, and he bit down with unprecedented force.

Your pained whine didn’t deter him from sucking more hickeys on your unprofaned skin. He needed this. Everyone has to know you’re his.

“Ow, Lyney…” You cried again, hoping that would send him the message to be gentler.

His thrusting ceased, and he put some space between your bodies, but not by much. It was only to take in the sight of the teeth shaped dents on your flesh, along with the reddish marks scattered in the expanse of your shoulders.

Lyney wasn’t a rough lover. He’s got enough introspection to know that.

Your existence, from day one, made him discover a new train of thoughts he was never aware that he could have: the cravings of roughing up in the most pleasurable of ways. Often, Lyney would fantasize about littering your body with his kisses and bites, seizing your arms, and securing you against his frame—not leaving a single inch of space between one another.

Your lovestruck visage seemed to lure him deeper into degeneracy, after all, not only were your eyes pleading for more, but your body as well. Lyney swallowed hard, calming himself down before he cummed too fast with how your pussy tensed around him.

“F-Fuck, Lyney— You feel so good,” You whined, locking your legs around him and using the leverage to make him thrust into you. “Why did you stop? Hurry up, please. Fuck your cum into me,”

Your words weren’t helping his case. Lyney panted against your neck, content with merely kissing and kneading your tits with his hands, his fingers pinching your nipples and making you tremble from lust.

The magician longed for this moment to never end, for the morning to never come, when the hypnosis would end for that day. Because you’ll forget everything that happened prior to the hypnosis, and you’ll want to come back to him every day so he can help you. Lyney convinced himself that he could allow himself to be selfish for once in his life.

“What a naughty mouth for such a lovely face,” He tutted before nipping your bottom lip. Whichever retort you had died in your throat when Lyney’s tongue slipped into your mouth, playing with yours without permitting a single second for you to collect your thoughts. “But who am I to deny you when you keep pulling me into you, as if not wanting to let go…”

With those words, he resumed his unyielding thrusts, and the lascivious noise of the bed creaking from the movements filled the room. Lyney hugged the leg you proceeded to rest on his shoulder, your other leg quivering from the onslaught of pleasure behind him. The position made it easier for him to stuff you with his dick; it was too much, and you lost yourself in the delightful sensations. Lyney was lucid enough to understand you were about to give out, so his hand darted to hold yours, squeezing it to keep you grounded.

Amidst the heartfelt intertwinement, a broken whine of his name escaped your lips when you orgasmed. Lyney doubled over at the feeling of your drenched cunt squeezing him so deliciously, he didn’t stand a chance and cummed almost right after you.

As he caught his breath, he helped you lower your leg back in its place and pressed his lips to yours, his hand caressing the side of your face.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (6)

The Funeral

As the Targaryen and Velaryon households gather on Driftmark to mourn the late Lady Laena, Arianwyn is anxious about meeting not only her half-sisters, but her father for the very first time.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Author's Note: 😬

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Emrys let out a primal roar, the sound reverberating over the waters of Blackwater Bay. He huffed with agitation as he flew his rider toward Driftmark. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre flew ahead of them, the king’s ship sailing below. As dissatisfied as he was with their slow pace – a necessity to prevent them from arriving at their destination hours before the ship – it was the roiling emotions he sensed from his bond with Arianwyn driving him mad.

Arianwyn had not slept the night before, her mind and heart racing with anxiety about the coming day. Today, after more than ten years of total absence on his part, she would meet her father – Prince Daemon Targaryen.

As she tossed and turned in her bed, she considered each story she had ever been told about the man—the picture painted by one was often immediately contradicted by the next.

The man who rebuilt the city guard of King’s Landing, at last raising the capital from lawlessness. But he achieved this through unprecedented brutality; rumor claimed that on his first night as Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, multiple carts were required to haul away dismembered limbs and extremities.

The man who defeated the Crabfeeder almost single-handedly, restoring Westerosi rule to the long-besieged region. But his triumphant victory came mere hours after he beat a young squire to death, apparently without remorse, for the crime of delivering a message from King Viserys.

The man who, according to most, heroically swept into the Vale to rescue his helpless damsel of a wife. Whose heroics were so great that his wife could not help but finally succumb to him, eschewing nine years of barren marriage.

But Arianwyn knew the truth.

Daemon had not saved his wife – he killed her.

For beneath all his outward charms, the Rogue Prince was a man of selfishness and cruelty. A man who all but abandoned his firstborn before she was even born when he refused the Dragonkeepers offer of an egg for her cradle. Only weeks after Rhea’s death, he flew across the sea to start a new family with a new wife. Years later, he sent grand proclamations back to Westeros announcing the births of Baela and Rhaena, along with formal requests that dragon eggs be sent for their cradles.

Arianwyn’s heart clenched painfully as she remembered another story she’d been told. Just after Rhaenyra was named King Viserys’ heir, Daemon fled King’s Landing for Dragonstone. Six months later, he snuck into the Dragonpit to steal an egg for the child his mistress – some whore from the Street of Silk – supposedly carried. Fortunately, the princess was able to retrieve the egg safely. And in the process, discovered that the purported pregnancy had never been real.

Daemon had done more for the theoretical bastard of a whore than he ever had for his real daughter.

For Arianwyn, his only act of fatherhood was the rape of her mother.

In the days preceding their departure for Driftmark, her Septa had instructed her on what to say and how to act when she met Daemon.

She would do none of it, she decided.

The man never once spared a thought for her. She would happily return the sentiment. Let him defame her as he did her mother or beg her forgiveness for all his sins. She would not care. She would give him naught but the same cold indifference he had shown her for ten years.

But despite her determination, Arianwyn had still shaken with trepidation when she went to mount Emrys that morning. The trip across the Blackwater would be long, leaving her alone with her anxious thoughts.

She tried to have Aemond ride with her so he could keep her mind on other things. Emrys even seemed excited when the prince climbed aboard the saddle. But alas, the queen moved hastily to forbid it, and Aemond was forced to sail with his parents aboard the ship. He was likely being sick at this very moment.

So Arianwyn rode alone, almost thankful for Emrys’ restlessness – guiding him in circles around the ship helped divert her mind from what would happen when they finally landed on the island that was coming into view.

Driftmark had no Dragonpit nor caves or tunnels for the beasts to nest in. Instead, Aegon, Helaena, and Arianwyn landed their dragons half a mile from the castle High Tide on a rocky cliff overlooking a beach. Moondancer, Caraxes, and Meleys were already there, perched on some of the larger boulders as they lay in the sun.

The dragonriders were met by a small number of Velaryon guards, who quickly escorted them to a carriage sent to take them to the castle itself. The path they took was treacherous, winding uncomfortably close to the edge of the island’s cliffs. Each time the horses came too close to the sheer drops, Helaena would gasp, squeezing her eyes shut as she turned from the carriage windows.

Aegon scoffed, “You are a dragonrider, sister. Surely, a mere cliff should not scare you.” In the days since their betrothal was announced, his attitude toward his sister had soured. He no longer ignored her more peculiar tendencies, but seemed to take each as a personal insult.

Arianwyn was utterly exhausted by him. “The drop may be short, cousin,” she said, “but you forget that our carriage does not have wings.”

The prince huffed, blustering to find a witty response, but neither of the girls in the carriage paid any mind to his grumbling as they continued on to the castle.

By the time they arrived in the courtyard, the party from the ship had disembarked. Viserys, already visibly tired from the trip, sat in a cushioned chair servants had brought out for him. Lord Corlys stood before him, deep in hushed conversation with the king. Alicent and Rhaenys stood to the side, engrossed in their own discussion. Aemond stood by himself, leaning against a stone wall.

Daemon was nowhere to be seen. Neither were Baela, Rhaena, or Princess Rhaenyra and her children. But it wasn’t the idea of meeting them that had Arianwyn’s heart racing.

Reminding herself again that she did not care about her father, Arianwyn walked with her cousins as they joined the rest of her family.

At the funeral, Arianwyn stood not with her father and half-sisters, but with the King and Queen.

It made sense, she told herself. She had never met Lady Laena. It was not her place to mourn the woman alongside those who had known and loved her. But still, she noted the stares from the gathered nobility on the cliffs above them, and their questioning whispers about why she was not with her father or sisters.

She took comfort in the fact that those whispers were quiet. At least, they were compared to those of Rhaenyra’s children.

They, too, had never met Laena. But still, they wept. It had only been days since Harwin Strong’s gruesome demise. Their tears were interpreted by many as those of sons mourning their father, serving only to confirm their long-held suspicions of their parentage.

Arianwyn pitied them. Ser Harwin had always been kind to them, bringing them gifts from the docks of King’s Landing and training with them in the castle’s yard. He would be dearly missed. Besides, she would have happily switched places with them, exchanging a loving bastard father for an absent, true one.

As the Maester spoke, Arianwyn watched her father. She could find nothing of herself in his face. She had always been praised for the softness of her features; Daemon was all sharp angles and straight lines. His mouth was small, whereas hers was plump. His nose was large and straight, while hers was small and curved upward slightly. The only similarity lay in the color of their hair, but where his fell straight as bone, hers curled in wild, elegant wisps around her face.

She, at last, turned away when the Maester finished his prayers. Vaemond Velaryon stepped toward the coffin as soldiers of his house began to fasten ropes to the steel anchors embedded in the stone.

He spoke in High Valyrian. “Tubī Velario Lentro Ābrāzme Laene iēdrarta mōrqittot, māzīlarē tubirri Elēdrion ziry umīsilza luo dāriot, hannagon Embrurliot gierūlti.”

Arianwyn looked at her half-sisters. Baela leaned against her grandmother, Rhaenys, while Rhaena stood beside them, fists clenched at her sides. They, too, looked little like their father. From the sweetness of their faces, Arianwyn imagined that her stepmother had been very beautiful indeed.

Vaemond continued. “Solion tolijor zijosy pradarose, Ābrāzma Laena rāeniot hen eglio ilvot lanto taloti hembis. Pōja muña hen zȳho solio āmāzīlus daor, yn ānogrosa gierī ozletaksi humbilza. Velario ānogro rȳ lopor ojāris. Īlvon qumblī iāris. Īlvon drējī iāris. Se dōrī vajiñagon īlvon bēvilis.”

Daemon laughed then. A light, blithe chuckle – wholly out a place at such a solemn occasion. All in attendance turned their attention to him, even those who had been closely watching Princess Rhaenyra.

Arianwyn’s blood ran cold. As Vaemond had said those pointed words, “Īlvon qumblī iāris. Īlvon drējī iāris. Se dōrī vajiñagon īlvon bēvilis,” Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin. Daemon had not been looking at Rhaenyra. Nor his wife’s coffin, nor even his daughters by his side. As those words were spoken, he laid his eyes on Arianwyn for the first time in her life.

And he laughed.

That afternoon, amongst the solemnity of the funeral reception, Arianwyn was seething with unquenchable rage. She knew she might face indifference from her father but had also entertained other possibilities. He may have taunted her as he did her mother or insisted she was a bastard. She had even thought that he might seek forgiveness for his years of neglect, repentant now that he had lost another wife.

Never once had she considered that he might find her laughable. Indeed, as he walked past her after the coffin had been lowered into the sea, an amused grin quirked on his face, though he did not turn his eyes to her. Nor had he approached her since.

Instead, Arianwyn sat with Helaena on the far end of the balcony, watching her cousin gently turn over a large spider in her hands as she recited words that seemed to have no meaning. She wanted to grab the spider and crush it in her hands just so she could make something hurt in the same way she did.

But she did not. Doing so would hurt not only the spider but Helaena as well. Arianwyn could never do that. So, she sat on the cool stone, anger crackling through her veins like lightning.

She knew Aemond was a few feet away, watching Helaena as well. But he did not approach, not even after Aegon left to chase after one of the servant girls. She wished he would. That he would say something – anything to make her feel better. But silence was his way. He would simply remain by her side as long as she needed him, as she had done for him countless times.

It was Princess Rhaenys who finally rescued her from her thoughts – and the presence of the spider. “Come, girl,” she said, her voice raw from days of weeping for her daughter. “It is high time you meet your sisters.” The Queen Who Never Was led Arianwyn carefully through the crowd, Aemond following discreetly behind them.

Baela and Rhaena sat on the other side of the balcony, hands entwined, on a stone bench and talked with Jace. Arianwyn instinctively dropped her gaze as they approached.

“Girls,” Rhaenys whispered, kneeling before her granddaughters, “I would like you to meet Arianwyn, your sister.”

Both girls’ eyes, brimming with tears, lifted to look at Arianwyn. She stood still and silent as they examined her, searching for familiarity in her face. Finding none, they mustered what smiles they could and murmured a greeting.

Arianwyn returned the smile, “You have my sympathies for the loss of your mother. I regret that I was never able to meet her.”

Rhaena nodded. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.”

“Me too,” Arianwyn answered.

Baela tried to respond but only gave in to her tears, her sister following swiftly behind. She and Rhaena fell into their grandmother’s arms, sobbing. “I don’t want Mother to be gone,” she cried.

Sensing that pressing the introduction further would only be unkind to the girls, Arianwyn dipped her head in place of a farewell and walked away, mourning that her first meeting with her sisters required such a tragedy.

When she turned, she saw Aemond standing across a brazier from Jace. The corner of his mouth turned up as if he were about to speak, but he said nothing. Rather he nodded and turned away from his nephew.

“What did he say to you?” Arianwyn whispered as she took his arm and led him away, her protective instincts rising like the hackles of a threatened beast. Before he had left the Red Keep, Jace had begun to taunt Aemond even without Aegon present to egg him on.

Aemond shook his head. “He said nothing. I was going to offer my condolences for Ser Harwin, but I couldn’t think of how to say it without… you know.”

Arianwyn smiled, at last feeling her anger begin to subside. “That was very kind of you.”

Aemond had only just squeezed her arm when Alicent approached them. Her face was grave.

“Come with me, Aria,” the Queen said, her hand extended. “Your father is waiting to meet you.”

[edenmemes]

tloz: twilight princess (manga) starters

❝ i was shattered. i lost everything. ❞ ❝ i warned you not to take me lightly. ❞ ❝ we’re partners, aren’t we? ❞ ❝ ever since we’ve met, you’ve been disobedient and rude. ❞ ❝ take suffering as your companion, and unease and fear as friends. if you do, darkness will become light. ❞ ❝ it’s a cold world out there. you’ve gotta learn to trust folks. ❞ ❝ as you stand before me now, you’re all desperation and bravado. that is not true bravery. ❞ ❝ you can’t change your past and you can’t change who you were. you can only decide who you’re going to be. ❞ ❝ resentment is a trap of the heart into which everyone falls. ❞ ❝ you don’t look well. are you ill? ❞ ❝ you were born into life with a destiny. you cannot run away from that. ❞ ❝ you carry a smouldering darkness inside you. ❞ ❝ it’s considered impolite not to give your all in a fight. ❞ ❝ at dusk and dawn...it’s easy for all sorts of things to sneak by. ❞ ❝ since that day, so much has changed for me. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry. it’s been hard, huh? ❞ ❝ a true hero must shoulder a heavy responsibility. ❞ ❝ stay calm. move cautiously and remain vigilant. ❞ ❝ one more time. try telling the truth. ❞ ❝ why keep fighting until you’re just a broken wreck? ❞ ❝ if we start a fight, we must be ready to hit back. ❞ ❝ in the end, it’s easier just to be selfish. ❞ ❝ i was lost without you. i was lonely. ❞ ❝ why do i so often taste this sense of loss? ❞ ❝ i think both our journeys are pointing to the same place. ❞ ❝ power does not inhabit a blade without bravery. ❞ ❝ did you hear something? like the cry of a beast... ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? if you’re too weak, then just leave. ❞ ❝ what is strength? is it displays of power mocking the weak? destroying beauty simply to satisfy your greed? ❞ ❝ you get too worked up over things. ❞ ❝ easy for you to say. i’m the one getting beat up. ❞ ❝ i don’t need thanks. i didn’t do it for you. ❞ ❝ depending on your attitude...i might be able to help. ❞ ❝ if you don’t do as i say, i’ll take your arm off. ❞ ❝ as leader, i will not choose the path of pain and death for my people. i must protect them. ❞ ❝ strength isn’t about power...it’s about being brave. ❞ ❝ you have good eyes. the eyes of a proud beast. ❞ ❝ if the need arises, i will not hesitate to pick up a sword and fight. ❞ ❝ i guessed you had a secret past.   people can try to hide it, but nature shows through. ❞ ❝ i was lying when i said i’d never held a sword.❞ ❝ there’s no time for sentimentality. ❞ ❝ if someone comes in who knows about your past, i’ll protect you if they try to hurt you. ❞ ❝ is there something strange about me? ❞ ❝ be careful...there have been monsters around here lately. ❞ ❝ choose...surrender or die. ❞ ❝ when i feel uneasy or afraid i just think: ‘this is my mission’. ❞ ❝ don’t take me for nothing more than a fine doll good only for decoration. ❞ ❝ i’m nothing more than dirt. i’m not worth all that effort. ❞ ❝ why do you think we’re any safer here? ❞ ❝ don’t die on me now. ❞ ❝ ha! even you have a good idea sometimes. ❞ ❝ i fought through all kinds of monsters to get here...and i survived. ❞ ❝ i’ve spent so long looking for you! i’m so glad you’re safe. ❞ ❝ people are always hovering over me...and it’s so suffocating! ❞ ❝ some detours lead to unexpected good luck. ❞ ❝ you say whatever you think...i’ve never done that. ❞ ❝ there is no greater joy than helping a friend. ❞ ❝ what do you mean ‘never mind’? ❞ ❝ these days such peaceful travels are rare indeed. ❞ ❝ wildly rushing into danger isn’t courage. ❞ ❝ didn’t you say there’s something you need to do, no matter what it takes? ❞ ❝ i sense unprecedented danger approaching. ❞ ❝ how do you feel now, looking back upon yourself at that time? ❞ ❝ as usual, you’re a wimp. ❞ ❝ resentment is dangerous. it comes in through the slightest crack in your heart. ❞ ❝ i’d go to the ends of the earth for you. ❞ ❝ it really hasn’t been that long, but you’ve grown into a fine man. ❞ ❝ now is the time for us to take back all that was stolen. ❞ ❝ one thing’s certain --- those aren’t human. ❞ ❝ what do you fight to protect? answer. ❞ ❝ i wish you wouldn’t do such dangerous things. ❞ ❝ if you got hurt due to my mistakes...i don’t think i could live with that. ❞ ❝ why would you do all that...when we’ve only just met? ❞ ❝ it’s a pretty name. perfect for you. ❞ ❝ once your wounds heal, you’ll need to leave right away. ❞ ❝ the hero on his knees! quite a sight. ❞ ❝ how does it feel to be so strong? quite a rush, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you’re all puffed up on your own arrogance...drunk on your own pride. ❞ ❝ i once wondered how good you are...now i see you’re really skilled. ❞ ❝ i’m not physically strong like you...but my wits, brains and analysis can be helpful. ❞ ❝ don’t say you can’t accept that this is the end. ❞ ❝ you just want to satisfy your own ambition and lust for power. ❞ ❝ it’ll be all right because we’re together. ❞ ❝ why would you leave me at a time like this? ❞ ❝ for the first time i feel like i’m overflowing with incredible power. ❞ ❝ there’s no time for doubt. you are the chosen one. ❞ ❝ your problem is that you demand absolute perfection. ❞ ❝ there is no easy path. but you can definitely overcome it. ❞ ❝ i’m so very sorry. i broke my promise. i hurt you. ❞ ❝ that’s the spirit. hate me more. only then will this fight be worthwhile. ❞ ❝ i thought you were dead. ❞ ❝ well...? say something. or has my beauty left you speechless? ❞ ❝ i never forgot you. not for one moment. ❞ ❝ sorry for killing the mood. ❞ ❝ light and shadow are two sides of the same coin. one cannot exist without the other. ❞ ❝ if you desire something...then that is my desire too. ❞ ❝ who says i’m afraid of you? ❞ ❝ your weapon is little better than a toy. ❞ ❝ all that awaits you is despair. ❞ ❝ i’ve done the unforgivable. i betrayed you. ❞ ❝ i’m here to repay you for what you’ve done. ❞ ❝ since i’ve met you, we’ve travelled a long way...and a lot has happened. ❞ ❝ are you on a journey of self-discovery? ❞ ❝ that was a great strike. if i was a hair slower, you’d have gutted me. ❞ ❝ when i was young, i wanted to be a hero. ❞ ❝ your struggle is futile. ❞ ❝ as you can see, i know how to fight. ❞ ❝ my hatred toward you will not be satisfied by merely killing you once or twice. ❞ ❝ you’ve been through a lot. ❞ ❝ whose side are you on? light or shadow? ❞ ❝ if you run then we’re done for! fight to survive! ❞ ❝ i’m not strong enough. not good enough. ❞ ❝ i must crush your bones, rip out your organs and relish your lingering cries of pain. ❞ ❝ that was close, huh? ❞ ❝ rest now. you don’t have to fight any more. ❞ ❝ i bear this sword so i can protect my home in times like this. ❞

[velvet4510]

It recently occurred to me that the pre-existing relationship between the One Ring and its specific bearer - and the bearer’s opinion of the Ring before and after becoming its bearer - makes a big difference in how much the Ring affects the bearer.

I will elaborate.

Hold your breath, this is gonna get long, I apologize.

Isildur saw the Ring as a reminder of all that Sauron took from him; his home, so many of his people, his brother, and his father … and yet also as a reminder of Sauron’s defeat and how he and his surviving people had prevailed. He took it not out of greed or power-lust, but out of grief, as a weregild for his tragic losses and a symbol of bittersweet victory. He knew the evil that it came from, but also knew the hope that his ownership of it seemed to represent in his head. Therefore, he had both negative and positive feelings toward the Ring, and both types of feelings drove him to claim it and see it as something “precious.” But the pain associated with its memory ultimately made him feel relief when it was lost; as the Unfinished Tales say, he felt release from a great burden after it slipped from his finger in the river. So while he did claim it, he also was able to feel relief at its loss because of that complex and conflicting relationship.

We don’t know much about Sméagol’s pre-Ring life, but all signs point to the notion that he was always an inherently unpleasant and greedy person. It is hinted that he disliked his grandmother and perhaps as a result he was unhappy in his community and didn’t really enjoy being there. Fishing seems to be the only thing that he had a lifelong passion for. And then came the Ring. Something golden and shiny and beautiful amidst all the grass and dirt and water. On his birthday. Perhaps it whispered promises of escape from the existence he hated, of freedom and independence and all the fish he could ever want. Every greedy part of his nature was awakened. So he claimed it. Even if it meant killing his friend to have it. Unlike Isildur, he had zero context of what the Ring really was or where it came from. All he knew was that it was there, offering him things he wanted. All his feelings toward it were positive. So it was precious to him and he couldn’t let it go. Not even when he was in pain. He had no one and nothing. This Ring was his friend, his family, all he had. His precious.

Bilbo is a very interesting case because the Ring did nothing but help him during the whole quest for Erebor. He would’ve been dead many times over if it weren’t for that thing. He wouldn’t have been able to save his friends from the spiders or the dungeons if it weren’t for that thing. All it did for him was good, beneficial to his noble intentions toward people he loved. So of course it became precious to him. It was his friend, his savior. How could it be evil? With no more context than Sméagol had, Bilbo also only had positive feelings toward the Ring. But with a boost from Gandalf, a Maia, he realized he could leave it with something else dear to him. His nephew/surrogate son was more precious to him than this Ring. Surely it would bring Frodo as much help and good as it brought him. So he let it go.

Now Frodo was in an entirely different situation. He knew the Ring did a lot of good for Bilbo, thus it never crossed his mind in those 17 years that it could be dangerous. But how could it help him? He had nothing to hide from. Life was good to him. So he held onto it as a souvenir of Bilbo’s adventure, nothing more. Then came the first of two absolutely major distinctions that made Frodo an unprecedented Ring-bearer. The first is, thanks to Gandalf, Frodo learned the full and complete context of what the Ring is. Not even Isildur knew the full picture of what its malice could do. But Frodo learned all the evil the Ring has done. It may have been a treasure to Bilbo, but it was a danger to him. This was then reinforced by the second unprecedented distinction: After the Council of Elrond, Frodo comprehended and acknowledged that the Ring can only do evil. Any good that it did Bilbo was part of an evil master plan. No intentions could make it less evil. No other Ring-bearer before him was even remotely aware of this. So from then on, the Ring was nothing but a burden to Frodo. How could it be precious to him when it sundered him from home, when it was pounding in his head and making him weaker every day, when it was whispering temptations to hurt or even kill his beloved Sam? When it would cause the end of all he loved? So Frodo felt only negativity toward the Ring. He hated it and wanted it gone. So the Ring switched tactics and instead of tempting him with things he did not want, it fed off his thoughts of his duty to the Council and his love for Sam. “Don’t let anyone else have it because they said you mustn’t, because it will hurt Sam.” And when he reached Mt. Doom, the place where the Ring’s power would inevitably envelop all other, including the power of his own will, all he could gain from it was emptiness. The loss of his ability to act on his knowledge, to do what he wanted, to choose to complete his task. There was still nothing beautiful about this. Nothing precious. It was not his precious, so he did not call it that. It was simply…his. It was his because he had lost the ability to acknowledge that it was not. He only did something in favor of the Ring, for the protection of it, when he lost all his agency and became a puppet. Nothing the Ring said could make him love it or remove his knowledge of what it really is. So the Ring resolved to desperate measures and drowning his free will just to get him to do what it wanted him to do. It was all by force, not by coercion or seduction or exploitation of any positive feelings he had toward it … because there were none. This is why Frodo crucially says “The Ring is mine” in that moment, rather than repeat the cataclysmic words of all the Ring-bearers before him: “My precious.”

Sam as a Ring-bearer is akin to Frodo. He had full context of what the Ring was and how it could only do evil and how it would do whatever it took to survive and return to Sauron. He, like Frodo, knew what Isildur, Gollum, and Bilbo did not know. And then? He spent month after month watching this thing hurt his beloved Frodo, torment Frodo, make Frodo act strange and not like himself. No thing that hurt Frodo could ever be precious to Sam. So Sam hated it. He had no positive feelings for it. And this hatred gave him the ability to recognize its motives when it started tempting him. He had all the context and the negative feelings necessary to comprehend that it was telling him lies and he should not listen to it. So - even though he bore the Ring inside Mordor where its voice in his head was likely much louder than it was in Bilbo’s or even Gollum’s head, he resisted it successfully. It was no more than a burden to him and Frodo both. Which is why the Ring switched tactics and started appealing to Sam’s love, tempting him to carry it for a while and spare Frodo the burden. But Sam’s context and disgust fought back long enough for him to propel himself and Frodo forward, up the mountain.

And while Boromir was not technically a Ring-bearer, there are several noteworthy factors in his feelings toward the Ring. As a participant in the Council, he too gained the necessary context of the Ring’s absolute evil. Yet he did not fully believe it. Unlike the hobbits, or his brother, he was not an old friend of Gandalf the Maia and he did not grow up with stories of supernatural power. He was raised as a grounded military man through and through. His thoughts and interests were in strategy and tactic. And his pride was far greater than the practically-nonexistent pride of Bilbo, Frodo and Sam. So between a lack of understanding the true seriousness of the Ring’s supernatural power, and his natural inclination to think in terms of battle and physical strength, his mind had already laid the groundwork for the Ring to tempt him. But only when it was close. The moment it got away from him, the moment he realized it had driven him to break his friend’s trust and run from him in fear, he finally understood. He finally comprehended that Gandalf and Elrond were right. He finally believed. But tragically, he was never able to tell Frodo that and make things right between them. At least not in the world of the living.

[chvoswxtch]

Congratulations on 5k!!! Even those words don’t feel like enough to convey how absolutely thrilled I am for you, how much you absolutely deserve that and so so so much more! You’re such a talented writer and I’m so grateful to have you here, and even more grateful that you’re STILL here after all this time ♥️ ever since I first found your work, it’s sent excitement shooting up my spine to see your name on anything because I know I’m about to have an absolutely incredible read!

To celebrate, may I humbly request a thriller (directors cut totally optional) from the “jealousy | forgiveness | revenge” trilogy? Maybe something about how the three of you got together or a scene from the early days of the relationship?

okay you didn't have to come for my heart like that. you're too good to me, I adore you so much. thank YOU for still being here and still being so lovely and wonderful and such a light 🖤

blurb below the cut

passport to paris starring matt murdock & frank castle

You had never found yourself torn between two men before. It was difficult to navigate something so unprecedented, and comparing and contrasting the two of them in your head wasn’t making it any easier.

Matt was undeniably charming. He made you laugh, he made you feel desired, and even though he wasn’t always great with words, you knew he cared about you, deeply. But he wasn’t always there, emotionally or physically. Calls went unanswered, dates were cancelled last minute, and his recklessness and lack of regard for his own well being concerned you. He’d let you get close, but he never fully let you in.

Frank was a little more reserved around you at first, but when it was just the two of you, he was different. He was sweet. He remembered the little things. He wasn’t always great with words either, but God did he try. You could feel how much he cared. But just like Matt, he wasn’t always there. He could be just as absent emotionally and physically. 

They both knew about the unspoken competition between them. Nothing was serious or committed with either of them. And while neither of them explicitly pressured you to make a final decision, you felt the weight of that pressure. And you yourself felt like you needed to make that decision, as impossible as it felt. But the more you thought about it, the more you couldn’t really decide. You didn’t want to lose Matt. You didn’t want to lose Frank. And choosing one of them meant losing the other. 

So you made the call neither one of them saw coming.

“Wait, what?”

Matt was the first to speak up. You’d invited them both over to have this conversation in person. Matt looked confused, and irritated, while Frank was sitting stoically. But you could see a flash of hurt in his warm brown eyes that killed you.

“You know how I feel about both of you. And choosing one of you means losing the other. I don’t want to do that. And I also can’t…neither one of you are here, not really. Even if I did choose, I’d still end up alone. I’d still end up paralyzed with fear every night that it could be the night something happens you can’t walk away from. And I’m not going to force you to choose what you do over me, but I’m also not going to put myself in a situation where I lose no matter what.”

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air. Your shoulders felt lighter, but your heart felt heavier.

“So that’s it then? You’re just done with both of us?”

The hurt in Matt’s voice was clear as day, and it gutted you, and it made guilt seep from your own voice.

“Don’t say it like that-”

“Well how else am I supposed to say it?”

“Red.”

Frank’s gruff voice cut through Matt’s intention to continue lashing out. It was firm, like a barely disguised warning, one Matt surprisingly heeded. He pressed his lips together in a firm line, feeling the hardness of Frank’s stare that rendered him silent. You’d never seen Matt back down before, and certainly not to Frank. It caught you so off guard you almost didn’t notice that Frank was now looking at you with a considerably softer expression.

“It don’t gotta be one or the other.”

Confusion creased between your brows as you looked over at Frank.

“What?”

“I don’t care if you want him too. You don’t gotta choose. I’m fine with it.”

“Fine with…what? Dating you both?”

“Yeah.”

He said it so simply, and it only perplexed you further. Frank stood up and walked over towards you, taking your hand gently.

“Would it make you happy? Not havin’ to choose?”

Blinking a few times, you looked over at Matt, and you noticed he had straightened up and had a thoughtful expression on his face. After a moment of silence, he took a step forward and took your other hand. His voice was softer this time when he spoke.

“Would it?”

Looking between the two of them, your perplexity only increased. Having both of them was a thought that hadn’t crossed your mind. You didn’t even think it was an option. 

“Don’t overthink it. Just answer.”

Frank gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“We’re okay with it if you are.”

Matt’s words made your head whip in his direction. 

“You are?”

The surprise in your voice made that signature smirk of his tug at the edge of his lips. 

“Is that what’s hindering your decision?”

“Well yeah, I mean, I didn’t think-”

“I’m good with it. Red, you good?”

Matt’s smirk widened as he brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Then we’re all on the same page, yeah?”

Frank was looking down at you expectantly, but you were still trying to process what they were implying. Matt let out a deep chuckle, turning you to face Frank and pressing his chest against your back.

“I think we broke that pretty little head of hers.”

Frank’s mouth spread into a smirk that made your knees feel like jelly, and he brushed his index finger along your jawline gently.

“Maybe we should explain it to her without words.”

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I'm Late, I know

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Feb 2024 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 12fin - we waiting 2 weeks I guess? Bah.

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 13fin - I wasn't impressed by the last ep at all. Trash watch happened here.

My final thoughts:

Based on alittlebixth's omegaverse novel #พิษเบ๊บ’ set in the world of car racing omegaverse. Thailand brought us the world's first omegaverse BL but then failed to lean into the courage of its a/b/o convictions by not emphasizing the difference between our world & theirs, adding & subtracting characters & allegiances + a weak ending. With earnest performances, enthusiastic sex scenes, a fantastic side couple, and some delightful scenery chewing - the actors tried… poor things. It's just the story failed both them and their parent genre. Frankly? I just wanted it to be more outrageous and trashy, since I never expected it to be good. Instead, it was just… meh. 7/10

(Imma remind all the newbies that this is not unprecedented from me with hugely popular BL.)

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - I like it but there’s a high % of this show that doesn’t interest me. Anything to do with the side couple, or the friend group, or the cooking competition drives me into a comatose state of UGH. That means that in this episode, I paid attention to about 5 minutes worth. 

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 11 of 12 - I'm ready for this to be done. I think they were trying to be this year's Big Dragon, but they just aren't good enough. I really didn’t need a third couple.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 2 of 12 - I'm warming up to FueangKrom a bit. It’s cute. I am finding the pacing interesting. That pacing might be bad, but right now it’s simply different. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Love For Love's Sake (Korea Weds iQIYI) 5-6 of 8 - I still love this show a lot, but this 2 ep installment felt a little disjointed. I’m not sure if that’s the narrative structure or the subs. The captions are shockingly bad for a KBL and I don’t have enough Korean to make up for their clear failings. 

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - Oh the return of the manic pixie dream ex. This is all very high school drama for purportedly grown-up adults. But them both being jealous and then kissing was sweet.  

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - They remain adorable and the sunshine robot is very sweet. But it is a little slow. 

Perfect Propose (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 6 - I prefer the episodes when we get more of them onscreen together. But this was fine. 

Happy Ending (Korea Tues YT) 3fin - The ending disappointed me (are you surprised?). What can I say, not Strongberry's best as far as I’m concerned. High school besties that many could be sweethearts. I don’t like an ending that’s left up in the air. 6/10

It's Done but...

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - will binge when I have any spare time. 2024 is crazy busy for me so far.

The Servant and the Young Master - from Vietnam, it's on YouTube. I will give it a try when I have a window of time.

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) - A Burmese BL? @heretherebedork vouched for it, so I will give it a watch.

It's Airing But...

[NO INTERNATIONAL] Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - yeah Japan put the smack down on our boys. Sadness. You can use a VPN if you like. Read all about it here.

Ossans Love Season 2 (Japan Gaga) - 5 years later, will anything have changed? This is Japan so… probubly not. I won't be watching this. I disliked Season one and actively hated the follow ups. No thank you.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. I DNFed this at ep 5. Frankly I'm impressed with myself for getting that far.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 12 eps - Gave me Luminous Solution vibes. It finished, is it worth it?

Dead Friend Forever (Thai Sat iQIYI) 12 eps - finished, horror, supposed to be very philosophical, I think I'll give it a go.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - dropped it at ep 4.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Up

2/16 My Strawberry Film (Japan Gaga) - not quite sure how much BL this one is, because... Japan, but we shall see.

2/17 A Secretly Love (Thai WeTV) - Khonprot, a third-year head hazer of the engineering faculty, has a secret crush on Pluem, a tsundere fourth-year head hazer. Over the years, he's seen Pluem cycle through many girlfriends. Recently, after a public breakup, however, Khonprot thinks maybe a boy has a chance. Unless this is really good I probably won't I hate the WeTV interface...

Still Coming in Feb

2/24 Unknown (Taiwan Youku) 12 eps - Older brother tough guy criminal breadwinner looks after his sister and defacto adopted little brother. Little bother falls in love with him and is sent away after a stolen kiss. But when he comes back…

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

We gotta talk about LFLS this week. Look at Korea go!

Talking about a dead fish kiss, how meta! This will end up on one of my best of the year moments. I could not have been more gobsmacked.

Also something rarely directly addressed, particularly for same-sex firsts.

And then, a claiming trope, a personal favorite of mine.

Thank you Korea!

I just love them. (Pit Babe)

(Last week)

[physalian]

Wicked (part 1) was a solid adaptation

Saw Wicked last night. Only seen the musical once and for a movie longer than both halves of the original combined, the extra added minutes aren’t wasted. I can't exactly praise a movie for storytelling when its legwork was done near beat-for-beat already in the musical, and in the original book, but if you haven't or won't see anything except this film: Yes, it has a very good story.

But I want to talk about what I think is the best example of a “maybe they weren’t so terrible after all” villain redemption retcon, of which Elphaba is kind of the poster child of this whole trend. Why she works, and why something like Cruella did not. Not specific to this version at all.

Quick synopsis: Wicked is an alternate telling of the events before The Wizard of Oz, the backstory of the Good Witch Glinda and the Wicked Witch of The West. It is not the story of how good triumphed over evil, how Elphaba devolved or perhaps was always mean and nasty and underdog Glinda saved the day.

Instead, it’s a deeply political (and whoo boy is it relevant today) smear campaign against the disenfranchised and the minority population of Oz—the talking animals. Elphaba is the underdog, an up-and-coming bright-eyed sorceress taken under the wing of her magic school’s legendary professor, with hopes to one day meet the Great Wizard of Oz. There she meets mean-girl Galinda and for about half a classic mean-girl storyline, the two are enemies. Galinda makes amends, the two become friends, and they go together to Oz to meet the Wizard…

Who is an even worse man behind the curtain than in the ‘39 movie, a charlatan and a fraud, who, when Elphaba refuses to let him abuse her magic to scapegoat the talking animal community, launches said smear campaign, turning Elphaba into a pariah. Galinda (now Glinda) stays behind as the events of Wizard of Oz play out, using her socio-political savviness to help Elphaba where she can. Oh, and the melting? Well, the Wizard isn’t the only master of illusions.

—

The ingredients are all there for a ridiculously base “girl boss” plot about this OP Mary Sue who just will not get taken seriously by the ugh “men” around her (and this is absolutely a feminist storyline screaming high notes from the rooftops) until she shows them all they’re idiots and fools and she’s amazing. The bullying classmates, Glinda’s narcissism, Elphaba’s unprecedented raw power with magic.

Except it has the one thing so many recent “girl boss” movies don’t: You like Elphaba and she’s not perfect, and, you like Glinda (eventually). She’s not arrogant and flawless. She’s introverted and can come off as rude and unfriendly but she just lacks foundational relationships to help her socialize, and in the face of the shallow dipshits at her school, she has every reason to be rude and unfriendly.

Glinda, too, is naïve, but not cruel, save for one moment where she immediately owns up to it once she realizes how badly she screwed up, risking the thing she cares about most—her reputation and popularity and likability—to help a girl who selflessly gave her the other thing she cares about most: The chance to also become a sorceress.

But most importantly: Elphaba is a victim, not the architect of so much of this story. Mary Sues do everything right without any effort, they don’t struggle, they don’t overcome any fears or prejudice or limitations. Elphaba isn’t the one loudly and proudly demanding an audience with the Wizard. She isn’t going around praising herself and her abilities. She has a lot of power, but never learned how to use it, and she doesn’t luck into her story, she’s explicitly, strategically manipulated into her role.

She'd be more of a Mary Sue if the Wizard's offer was genuine and he was actually a good person, then she really would have lucked her way into fortune by virtue of being inexplicably adept at magic. But she's not, and he's not.

The story manages to build her up without dragging everyone else down. Nor does she "turn evil" because the Wizard doesn't respect her for being green, or a woman, he doesn't give a shit, he just wants what she can do for him. She "turns evil" because they have deeply different philosophies and he's standing in her way and she has no other choice but to flee and become a fugitive. She chooses this, the Wizard doesn't kick her out.

But even before that, Elphaba does become popular, her shallow classmates do start to like her (disproving any notion about how the world will hate her no matter what she does, so fuck ‘em), Glinda does actually have a heart and she is smart, just in a very different school of thought from Elphaba. The influence of the Wizard is just so strong that of course they’re going to believe his lies.

It’s not a story about how “this villain was actually the victim of a Tragic Backstory and you should feel bad for them because it’s even sadder than the hero’s” it’s “this villain was actually the victim of a smear campaign, and the heroes are still heroes, but here’s the other side of who they were fighting”.

But it also works because of the story that it is. Ignoring the actual Oz books (and there are many of them): Precedent already exists in the ‘39 movie—the Wizard is already revealed to be a charlatan. Wicked doesn’t rip up the old script, tell you you’re wrong, and then plop in a whole new story that fucks the continuity. Nor does it ask you to change your mind about a villain who doesn’t really deserve redemption in the first place, like, say, one who skins puppies to wear their fur. Instead, it digs into the fissures that were already there and pulls up the rocks to reveal what’s underneath.

And, Elphaba knows she’s going to be seen as a villain, but she’s not happily engaging in “villainy”. She’s doing what she thinks is right, something the audience should agree with, and is choosing to become a pariah to get her way. She never becomes a “villain”, just the antagonist to the hero’s journey, and I don’t remember the ’39 movie perfectly, but “this little rat from another world dropped a house on my sister and is on her way to kill me, too” would make one justifiably upset.

But overall, it’s just a story with layers and nuance that’s sorely missing in its contemporaries, and, like I said, deeply political without strawmanning either side (wellllllllll...). And, it respects the source material.

I also don’t remember the first Maleficent that well, but I think that also did a good job? Back when the live-action remakes weren’t all hot garbage.

So. Yeah. You want to write a powerful female character very explicitly being a feminist icon (and the consequences that come with it)? Elphaba is the perfect example.