#In those cases you feel like something is being deliberately kept from you

[hephaestuscrew]

Sometimes I think there are certain parts of Wolf 359 that feel so familiar to me that I almost forget what they are like the first time round.

Like, I've just been thinking about how in the finale, after Minkowski gets shot, we don't hear any noise from her all through Cutter's gloating speech. We hear her gasp as the bullet hits and the show immediately cuts away to a different scene. Then when we rejoin the confrontation with Cutter, we don't hear Minkowski make any noise - not even a groan of pain or a laboured breath - for over a minute. And because it's an audio drama, this means that we don't have any direct indication of just how injured she is, of whether she's fully conscious, of whether she's even still alive. Lovelace's reactions can't tell us much while she's struggling against Cutter's control. And I wouldn't put it past Cutter to gloat to someone unconscious.

The first noise we do hear Minkowski make after being shot in the stomach - the first proof we have that she's still with us - is her gathering her strength and declaring "Renée Minkowski... and that is more than enough to kick your ass!", before punching Cutter. Which is always an incredibly powerful moment. But there's a particular power to it when it also serves as the reveal that Minkowski is still conscious and able to put up resistance. The moment when she asserts her ownership of her own identity feels almost like a moment of rising from the potentially-dead.

[yallthemwitches]

Not a Bang, But a Whimper

During their sixth year, Severus goes out after curfew to give information to Lily that he thinks will bring them back together. Unfortunately, he finds her already with someone else.

A companion piece to my other oneshot "Slipping Away" for Jily Week 2024, Day 7: Continuation Station (hosted by @kay-elle-cee and @sunshinemarauder) Ao3 Link Here

Curfew be damned. Severus ran down the corridor not caring how many portraits awoke from the wand’s light and his heaving breaths. He knew she would be there tonight and it was perhaps his only chance to get her alone to talk some sense into her. 

He was given the news from Avery just after dinner.  “The Dark Lord is recruiting.” Avery kept his eyes down and spoke in a quiet hiss. Even among a table of friends they couldn’t risk the information being leaked. 

Severus’ heartbeat caught. It was the first time in a long time he felt like he had a real sense of power. The Dark Lord could change the whole trajectory of his life—for once, he wouldn’t be counted out. 

“Who is he looking for?” Severus posed. “Can anyone join?” His mind flashed to Lily. For over a year now she had completely abandoned him but there wasn’t a moment that passed where he didn’t think of her. She too was someone who had been given a bad chance at life. Getting an opportunity to join alongside him would secure her in the wizarding world forever. 

“They will take anyone who is willing to give their loyalty,” Avery responded. “I’ve even heard he will take those of less pure blood…if they have something worthy to offer.”

It was all Severus could hope for. No one was more worthy than Lily despite her blood status. He could barely wait until that night when he knew she would be down in the potions room working on one of her little projects. She always did that on Saturday nights when she knew no one would be around to catch her. He went to his bedside table and took out a small crumpled photo he had carried with him since childhood. A small, meek version of himself stared up out of the photograph. Beside him, Lily held onto his hand, beaming. It was a version of them he wished he could go back to—perhaps seeing it she would feel the same. 

Now, he slowed his pace down to a walk and stopped at the statue of Ingrid the Horrid to catch his breath. Grasping onto the marble, he felt his heartbeat slow and started to make himself a little bit more presentable. 

A noise came from the end of the hall and Severus jolted behind the statue. The last thing he wanted was to be caught by Filch at a time like this–especially when he was so close to talking to her. After tonight, there would not be many more chances. She would never entertain him during the day, and the times to catch her alone at night were diminishing quickly.

Lily stepped out into the corridor with her wand lit. Her eyes shone bright in the shadows as she looked back and forth up the corridor.

“Hello?” She called out. She took some hesitant steps down the hall before swerving to look back behind her again. A small noise caught Severus’ attention just on the other end of the corridor, but he ignored it. 

Perhaps it was the nerves that made him not immediately show himself, but he kept watching her for a couple of minutes. She didn’t drop her defenses, clearly still sensing that someone was there. Like a well trained prefect she took small, deliberate steps regarding each side of the corridor, never dropping her wand in case she was about to be attacked.  After a moment she gave a frustrated sigh. He heard the noise again, this time closer.

“Alright, come out–I know it's you.” Snape’s stomach sank. He righted himself, trying to get even the smallest semblance of confidence before stepping out beyond the statue. Something else shifted in the darkness on the other side of the corridor. As though apparating, James Potter suddenly appeared out of the shadows. 

“Oh hello, Evans,” he ran a hand through his hair. “Nice evening isn’t it?”

Severus would have scoffed if he could have. Of course Potter would be cocky and self assured even when he was breaking school rules. 

Lily pursed her lips and he felt a burst of excitement. He knew that look from anywhere. There were very few things Severus enjoyed more in this world than seeing Lily tell off that arsehole. 

“Forget what time it is again, Potter?” She sounded cool, but there was something brewing underneath her tone.

Potter feigned a thoughtful look before clicking his tongue. 

“Hm must have—but then again, I should be asking you the same thing. Don’t you only patrol Tuesday nights?”

Lily froze up. Her wand trembled a little bit in her hand, creating a spattering of new shadows on the walls. 

“You memorized my prefect schedule,” she hissed.

Snape waited for the proverbial hammer to drop. It was one thing for Potter to be out breaking rules, but entirely another to be essentially stalking her. 

“I needed to see you again.”

There was a change in his voice that Severus had never heard before. It was softer. Certainly quieter than his usual boasting during the daytime. It seemed impossible to think, but James Potter seemed to be pleading.

“I’m just gonna say it,” he sighed, “I can’t stop thinking about you—about last night. I’m going mad.” 

This was hardly the first time Severus heard Potter make some sort of sweeping attempt at wooing her. That seemed like a complete waste of time on his part to come all the way out here to try again, but what happened last night? Were they seeing each other more often than he realized?

Lily didn’t draw back, nor did she make her usual face of disgust dedicated to Potter’s antics. Instead, her lips twitched into a small smile. “So what? You came here to try your luck again?”

“Well,” he hesitated, “ I guess…yes?” 

They shared a silence. Severus tried his best to push himself against the statue enough to get a better view of Lily’s face. Her brow furrowed in deep contemplation, but for what reason Severus couldn't understand. The scenario seemed so simple to him—Potter was essentially giving himself over to get detention or even better, hexed because of how brazen he was acting. Instead, Lily bit her bottom lip for a second then let out an exasperated sigh. 

James stepped towards her. “Lily—at least, tell me why you did it.”

It felt like a slap. Severus had never heard Potter use her first name before. He could feel his blood levels begin to rise. He knew he wasn’t exactly close to Lily anymore, but even from an outsider's perspective, it didn’t seem like the two were in any capacity to be on a first name basis and even if they were, he had no right to be soiling her name with his breath.

Lily fiddled with the ends of her hair. Her eyes blinked in rapid succession as she searched for some sort of response. 

After a beat, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

Potter took another step closer. He ran his hand again through his hair, but this time it was more out of exasperation than vanity. 

“How could you not know?” If Severus was confused about James’ tone before it was very clear now. Potter was unabashedly begging. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Lily sighed out. Her eyes were closed now in pain. 

Severus was not following. It was like they were speaking in riddles that only the two of them knew the solution. Clearly, there was a huge oversight on his part about Lily’s relationship with Potter because the Lily he knew would never entertain him for this long, nor would she let her first name come out of his arrogant mouth. 

James took another step closer to her. Now they weren’t more than a foot or two apart. Lily kept her eyes closed, looking as though she wished James would disappear entirely from the scene. Severus had the split thought of coming to help her. All it would take was one flick of his wand….

“But you did like it—” James’ voice sounded so small. Like a meek child asking for permission. “I mean, you were the one…I would never—”

Lily opened her eyes. A fire burned in her gaze, but it was different from the anger he saw pointed at Potter countless times. Something was smoldering within her. 

“Of course I liked it,” she scoffed, “and you don’t need to remind me that I was the one who initiated it.”

Potter looked like someone blew air right into his chest and his cheeks swelled with pink. He took the smallest step closer. 

“Lily—can I…touch you?”

The next few moments were a blur. It wasn’t Potter that closed the distance between them but Lily. All she had to do was lurch forward slightly for Potter’s arms to open. She grabbed onto the parts of his shirt that were bunched up around his waistline while he cradled her cheek and neck. Their faces hovered together with eyes hooded and unfocused. Severus felt a twinge of pain from his hand and realized he was grasping at the stone with all of his grip. 

“Are you still unsure,” James asked. His mouth was slightly open and dangerously close to hers now. As a response, she only pulled him closer, their chests now completely glued together. 

Severus held his breath. He wanted to close his eyes and make it all go away. How had he been so stupid? It was all making sense now. How Lily had stopped rowing with Potter on the grounds, how their friend groups had slowly started to intermingle, how when they partnered together right in front of him in Transfiguration Lily would even laugh at something idiotic that Potter said. He wished he had a time turner to take it all back. Find the moment where the kernel of Lily’s interest in Potter began and remove it from her entirely. Instead, he did nothing but continue to stare as his living nightmare unfolded in front of him. 

“I’m sure I want you to kiss me.” 

It was the death nail. Of course Potter didn’t need to be asked twice. Their lips molded together easily—it was clear they had done this before because there was no awkward hesitation, no issues with synchronicity. Their bodies were already well versed in each other and they profited from it. Lily’s hands moved to his neck, folding themselves into his messy hair which she had denounced more than a thousand times to him in the past. James' in turn were everywhere: sliding up and down her back, on her hips, caressing their way to commit every inch of her to memory. 

Severus leaned his forehead on the statue for support, fearing he might faint or worse vomit from the sight. He watched the couple snog for a few minutes, hardly breaking apart long enough to breath before reconnecting again. He wanted to run, but even if he did, he would know he left Lily there to do whatever ungodly thing Potter could cook up in his arrogant mind. 

They finally broke apart for a moment and Lily leaned her forehead against his to catch her breath. Their arms were still wrapped around the other and their chests beat like one. 

“Go out with me,” Potter gasped out, still trying to get his breath. He stared at her intently but Lily closed her eyes and sighed. 

“James—” The way she said his first name pierced Severus in the heart. How much more of this could he take before he was completely dead. At least then he would be taken out of his misery. 

“I can’t,” Lily finished. She opened her eyes and both her and Severus could see that Potter was pained by her response. 

“I don’t get it–” Potter started, he began to pull back but Lily grabbed hold of him tighter.

“I’m just—I’m not ready…for that,” she stammered out. “---but I don’t want this to stop either. I’m sorry, I know that’s so fucked….”

James blinked at her for a second, but then started to pepper soft kisses on her cheekbones and jaw. Lily tilted her head upwards and looked to be savoring the sensation. 

“Yeah, ok. Whatever you want,” James said, “Like I told you. I’m mad about you Lily. You know that.”

Lily smiled and James went back to roaming around her neck with his lips, finding a particular sensitive spot behind her ear. 

“Yea—I know,” Lily breathed out. She pulled James away from her neck so they could look at each other again. 

“You're dangerous for me too you know,” she laughed lightly at her own comment, “You have no idea what you do to me—christ that sounds so stupid.”James groaned with content.

“Merlin, Lily. That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.  He closed the gap between their mouths again. 

Severus finally let his legs give out underneath him. He didn’t even care if they heard him collapse to the ground. It all seemed pointless to him now. He thought about the future and how it wasn’t even an hour ago that the possibility of Lily and him being together again existed. With him, she could be safe, completely protected by the Dark Lord’s graces. Instead, here she was not only choosing to live as a target, but to do so with him. 

He didn’t dare turn back to look at them again, despite hearing their soft moans and the shifting of hands moving over clothing. It felt like ages before they finally separated again.

“I think it's past our bedtimes.” He could hear the desire in Lily’s voice. His stomach sank lower. 

“Hmm. Seems so,” James sounded completely chuffed.

 “If you promise to be good, you can walk with me back to the common room,” Lily teased.

He could hear their feet start moving and he turned around to witness them walking almost shoulder to shoulder. Potter’s hand snaked its way around her hip and he wiggled his fingers, causing her to give a little shriek and swat at his chest. 

“Evans,” Potter teased, “When am I not good?” He watched as they turned the corner together, leaving Severus in a now dark and silent corridor. He didn’t move to get up, opting to lean back against the statue for a couple more moments. The life Snape wanted had been so possible— what had he done to deserve this outcome. He took out the ruddy photo he had in his pocket again and dragged a finger over Lily’s small, childlike smile. Her eyes gleamed up from the page. It couldn’t be over—not yet, he told himself. Not until her eyes were gone from his life, would it be over. 

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Can i request Dark Chocolate and 20 for Zoro?

And Happy Valentines Day <333

I'm only two requests in and I've already broken my 'keep it under 1k words rule'. If anyone needs me I'm going to be putting on my clown make up for ever thinking I would be able to abide by that.

Yandere Roronoa Zoro x GN!Reader

1.4k words

Prompt:

I wanted to get something that reminded me of you. The problem is that everything reminds me of you.

At first you could explain away a missing item or two as simply forgetfulness on your part, or possibly getting swept away in the day to day chaos of being on the Thousand Sunny. As time went on and more and more things kept disappearing, those explanations seemed increasingly less likely. Someone had to be deliberately taking your belongings. 

What bothered you most was what was missing. Whoever was doing this wasn’t taking anything particularly valuable. You’d even left a wad of berry in your nightstand as a test of sorts, but it didn’t appear to have been so much as touched. They weren’t doing this for the sake of monetary gain.

For whatever reason, they were stealing more… Personal items. Clothes, mostly. Specifically clothing that had been worn like a tank top you’d worked out in or your recently slept in pajamas. It was the missing underwear that particularly disturbed you. That’s what officially escalated this from bizarre to creepy.

The most obvious culprit had been Sanji, but you doubted it was him after your confrontation. You’ve seen how he acts when he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to be doing. He acts like a dog that got caught chewing on a new pair of shoes, and you’re sure that if he had a tail, it would be between his legs whenever Nami yells at him for doing something weird. But when you asked if he had anything to do with your recent bout of theft, he had been outraged. He seemed horrified and furious at the idea of someone stealing such intimate apparel from you and had vowed to pulverize whatever scum would do such a thing.

It could have been an act to throw you off, but that seemed unlikely. The reaction came off as entirely genuine, so you shelved the idea of your missing clothing being his doing. You were going to have to do something nice for him later to make up for the accusation.

With Sanji crossed off your suspects list, it was now empty. You had no idea who else could possibly be doing this to you. At this point, it was just as likely that some stray ferret had made itself at home on the ship and was stealing your clothes to make a nice den for itself. Frankly, that was the best case scenario. Anything outside of a cute, albeit mischievous, animal would be deeply concerning.

Feeling like you had no other option, you concocted a plan. While you were supposed to be training by yourself, you would instead hide in your room and wait for the perpetrator. It was typically after these training sessions that your belongings went missing, so this seemed like your best shot at catching them in the act.

Hiding yourself in your laundry hamper had proven itself to be a bit of a challenge. With how much clothing you were missing, you had to get really strategic in stuffing what was left around you to keep yourself hidden. When you were content with the placement, you lowered the lid of the hamper and waited. You couldn’t see a thing now that it was closed, but it would be easy enough to crack open the lid and peek out if your thief made an appearance. This was far from comfortable, but it was going to have to work. You couldn’t let whoever was stealing your damn underwear get away with it. Though you hoped that they would show up today because you would feel ridiculous if this effort was all in vain.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hall made you perk up. You waited with bated breath to see if they would pass the room or enter it. The steps stop in front of the door, and then the knob rattles as it’s opened. There’s a pause, then someone steps in and closes the door behind them. This has to be the person, but you decide to wait for them to do something incriminating before outing yourself. Given that your worn clothes were a favorite of theirs, they should come right to you so long as you didn’t give yourself away.

This person’s footsteps were heavy, and the sound of metal on metal accompanied their every move, like they had several things on them that kept crashing into each other. It sounded familiar, but you couldn’t narrow down which crew member it was just from that. Lots of them carried various things on them at all times.

Your nightstand’s drawer was opened, and the contents moved around as the intruder looked for who knows what. The drawer was slammed shut, and you can only assume that they didn’t find whatever they wanted in it.

Finally, you could hear them approaching your hamper. Your heart thrummed in your chest as you got ready to chew out whoever had been doing this. Them being caught attempting to rifle through your laundry was the most red-handed way to catch them, there would be no denying it.

The lid is thrown open and you make direct eye contact with…

“Zoro?!”

The swordsman stumbled back in shock, “Shit! What the hell are you doing in there, (Y/N)?!”

“What am I doing?! What the fuck are you doing going through my laundry?!” You scrambled to get out of the basket so you could confront him in a more dignified manner. As soon as you were on your feet you got up in his face, “And more importantly, why have you been stealing my shit?”

To his credit, Zoro at least had the decency to look embarrassed. His face and ears were tinted red and he couldn’t look you in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I haven’t stolen anything.”

“Oh, bullshit! My clothes have been going missing left and right, and now I’ve caught you trying to go through my laundry when you thought I was training. Cut the crap and stop lying.” You crossed your arms over your chest and glowered at the man in contempt. How could Zoro of all people do something like this? You felt disgusted. Betrayed, even.

He sighed and dragged his hand down his face. “Alright.” He mustered up the courage to look at you again and hardened his expression. “Maybe I borrowed a couple of things.”

You scoffed, “A couple? I barely have anything left to wear. And why, praytell, have you felt the need to steal my fucking underwear? Why would you possibly want to do that?” You laughed in disbelief, “That’s something that I thought only Sanji would do, but apparently you’re more of a pervert than even him.”

His eye twitched, “Do not compare me to that damn love cook, I’m nothing like him.”

“Yeah, like I said, even HE isn’t this bad. You know what? I’m done talking to you, I don’t even want to look at you right now. I’m going to go tell everyone what you’ve been doing and they can deal with your creepy ass.” You shove past him, no longer wanting to breathe the same air as him.

Before you can make it far, his hand wraps around your wrist and yanks you back. You try to break free but he’s locked onto you like an iron shackle. Zoro pushes you up against the wall, caging you in with his arms and pressing his chest against yours to keep you from squirming away. This is closer than you would have liked to be to him even before this awful reveal. Now it felt suffocating and intimidating.

“Do you want to know why I took what I did? It’s because I wanted to get something that reminded me of you. The problem is that everything reminds me of you.” Zoro ducked his head down, his mouth was right by your ear to ensure that you would hear every word, “I wanted something that smelled like you. Everything kept losing your scent, so I needed to get more.” To emphasize this need, he pressed his nose into your hair and took a deep breath.

You writhed and tried to push him away but he wouldn’t budge. As strong as you were, even you weren’t a match for the strength of Luffy’s right hand man. You were entirely at his mercy, and you had no idea when someone else would come in and be able to help you. If they even could.

[kawaiixchaotic]

billie eilish has been dropping hints about her sapphic attraction for years but felt pressured out of the closet on the red carpet today, bc it's all the interviewers kept fixating on. yes she said she is physically attracted to women in an interview recently but ppl keep pushing for details that we are not entitled to. and everyone's so happy about it too, which is funny to me. y'all switch up quick. remember when y'all accused her of "queerbaiting" over a music video and an instagram caption? bc i do. the only reasoning you all had was that she had only ever (publicly) been with boys. as if one cannot like both boys and girls. as if one has to use dating history to earn queer credit if they are attracted to multiple genders. that, and her saying she was "straight as a ruler" one time when she was 15 or smthn, which, let's get real. we've all said that. i said that. and now I'm a lesbian.

a similar situation happened with kit connor from heartstopper. he held hands with a girl and you all went fucking ballistic. to me his case was worse bc he got practically kicked and shoved out of the closet. he didn't get to come out on his own terms. i hope you guys aren't still expecting anything from that poor kid, bc he doesn't owe any of you bullies anything, and i wouldn't blame him if thoughts about the heartstopper fandom leave a bad taste in his mouth to this day.

so why am i bringing all this up? bc there's something particular about the online LGBTQ+ community that has been bothering me for years now: Check your biphobia. Because clearly it is affecting your worldview a whole lot more than you think, no matter how young you are, or how progressive you think you are.

Any public figure who even alludes to liking multiple genders, you put under a microscope. you wait for them to "prove it" to you. any action they take that doesn't feel queer enough to you, you pounce. they are (i feel, deliberately) misinterpreted and ostracized, and what hurts most is, we are supposed to be there for anyone who is questioning their sexuality as a safe space, to help them figure themselves out, answer their questions. and yet somehow we've become their biggest opps. what hurts more is the fact that it's mostly very young people doing this! I don't know if you're all just looking for things to be mad at or what. But I could honestly rant about this for all of eternity so let me end it with this:

TLDR; by taking the stance that public figures have to show and prove their queerness, you are furthering biphobic stererotypes, and by drawing the ridiculous conclusion that an individual is "queerbaiting," (which is a corporate marketing tactic, ffs) you are freezing them in time and being unreasonable about the amount of growth and self-discovery we do as human beings. grace should not only be afforded to those who are "out," and only validating queerness if someone announces it is unfair and ignores the many circumstances that could prevent someone from coming out, like risking danger at home, legal persecution, or simply a want for privacy. STOP BEING SUCH INSUFFERABLE LITTLE ASSHOLES.

Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk.

[phoenixlionme]

Vaggie Defense Post

Okay. I need to get this off my mind. I've been seeing alot of anti-Vaggie (sometimes crossing with anti Chaggie posts) about how she's a "bad/evil" person for lying to Charlie, that Alastor or Adam are better than her because they didn't lie. And I'm just floored at the blatant mischaracterization of her. And I need to set the record straight by making reminding these certain fans of a few things they are deliberately not acknowledging

EVERYONE at the Hotel are FLAWED, including both Charlie and (especially) Alastor. None of the m are without fault and all of them (sans Charlie for now) have a body count. Plus, Alastor was a serial killer in life and even in Hell and he makes no qualms about enjoying his kills; and while we haven't seen how Vaggie felt as an Exorcist prior to her fall, in the present she is deeply ashamed of her past and is looking for redemption.

I understand people find Alastor appealing and that's great but make no mistake: ALASTOR IS NOT A GOOD PERSON. While Alastor has kept his promises to Charlie and the Hotel crew, he is also blatantly clear that he's only there to see them fail. He ONLY gave Charlie vital info against the Exorcists when it was convenient for him; if he was truly a good person from the start (as many of his fans seem to think he is), he would've given the info freely. And as side note, he also would've put more effort into remaking the Hotel but didn't because he doesn't care. He's an abusive soul owner to Husk. He only referred to Charlie as his daughter to get under Lucifer's skin. And his lyrics in "Ready For This" shows he wants to guide aka manipulate Charlie to harness her power so he can use it for himself. In short, Alastor is an entertaining character but's he's a selfish, prideful, manipulative, and sometimes pettily cruel person with his true goals still not known.

In contrast to Alastor, Vaggie has been with Charlie since the beginning, before they got traction. Yes, she hid her origins and that was a fuck up (something Vaggie acknowledges) but she still genuinely and openly supported Charlie not only out of love but also to redeem herself. She sang part of a whole song about how she wants to be her partner and protect her; not of some end goal but simply because she loves her girlfriend. While she's not perfect, she's also protective and honest with the Hotel occupants and gave them a choice to leave the Hotel in "Hello Rosie", understanding that none of them asked to be in a war. Vaggie may be flawed but she's a caring, loyal, protective person who would fight for those she loves with no pretense.

Going to the people (or, in my case just the one commenter on YouTube) who think Adam of all people is better than Vaggie as a person? No. Entertaining character? Sure. But he's a violent, arrogant sociopath who tried to blackmail Vaggie into compliance and lied at various points during the trial; so he's not as honest as some fans claim. Vaggie, in contrast, lied about her past but other than that, has been truthful about her feelings and goal from the start.

Honestly, I think some of the Vaggie hate comes from some (not ALL) of the Charlastor shippers. I don't like, I love Chaggie but ship who you want. But don't character assassinate, it's not cool. You can like a fanship without being nasty to a canon ship, which flaws or not, isn't unhealthy or bad.

While I do agree to an extent that Vaggie needed her own special moment to shine, I think it may have been out of the crew's control; just speculating but given how Hollywood is doing only 8 to 12 episodes to save money, I wouldn't put it past them. But maybe with the global success of the show, Vaggie may get more screentime. Her VA even hinted at to some extent by mentioning how Vaggie's bow would be symbolic for her character's journey.

For people who are anti-Chaggie - Fine, ship who you want, it's not the end of the world. But for god sake, could you please put your anti-chaggie posts in the anti-chaggie section and NOT the chaggie section? It's just good manners.

In summary, like who you like and ship who you like to ship. But don't character assassinate someone to do it.

[inchidentally]

Why do I feel like Oscar is intentionally keeping Lando at a distance because he assumes it would never work out? And Lando kind of wishes Oscar would show an interest but he isn't so Lando pulls back too? Maybe I'm totally crazy but feels like they're doing a double fake out. If not then why not just be friendly the way they are with other guys?

This is my thought on them too. Anon explained really well. I see the same when I look at them. One of them wanna get more friendly but other's shields up and visa versa :I

(the quote comes from this anon and possibly also this one I'd received before)

I've tried giving this a look at other angles since obv none of us knows - and likely won't ever know - for sure, and I think the one way I can see this being the case is mixed signals? bc I feel like it being deliberate on either of their parts is too far a stretch.

long thing below and usual caveat that no I do not write this stuff thinking I actually know what's going on and it's just for fun and I do not take it seriously !!

like on the one hand, for a while before and even after meeting Oscar, Lando kept having to hear about this "rookie" who'd soon be his teammate and how he'd be the more experienced one etc. jokes about him "looking after" the new kid and how is he settling in blah blah. none of which Lando was remotely enthused about, understandably so. unlike team sports, mentoring isn't really something teammates do for each other in racing since they're each other's greatest measure of competition.

and Lando joined F1 so young (and was in the McLaren development program even younger) that while his talent and personality often deceives a lot of people into thinking he's become established and experienced, Lando himself doesn't rate experience much when it isn't bringing race wins or the WDC any closer. and his personality on camera was largely defined by latching onto Carlos and Daniel. he was a little more vulnerable around Carlos but mostly the dynamic of big brother/baby brother was the same for both those relationships. Lando with Max F and the Quadrant folks is pretty different to who he is with those older guys.

so it's easy to see why he didn't feel at all prepared to play the role that everyone kept assuming for him when Oscar came along. and re this babbling I did I genuinely think the difference between how young and small Oscar still was when they first met in winter of 2022 to the infamous "did you grow, what the fuck" moment was transformational for Lando. you look at his eyes gluing themselves to Oscar when Oscar isn't looking and the cheeky way he keeps getting Oscar's attention - and the way Oscar can't hide his surprise and how pleased he is - and I truly think the dynamic started to shift from a sort of stiff friendliness to Lando being genuinely interested in this guy.

Lando said himself that before the season properly started, he and Oscar had been so busy when they were in the same space that they didn't really talk beyond hello and goodbye. which needn't have been the case. I think a fair part of that was Lando's poor bruised heart at having Carlos leave and then Daniel being bought out, just not ready to deal with what he could fairly assume would be some younger guy jumping in wanting to do the bromance bit and glom onto Lando's popularity - all while probably cynically planning to strategize a way to a better seat or maybe one day take Lando's place at McLaren. his knowledge of Oscar at that point was of what a strong up and coming threat he was and that he had the balls/audacity (depending who you ask) to go up against his development team. and that Oscar had gone F1 fandom viral multiple times and was actually an existing personality to F2 and F3 circles. nothing about Oscar seemed vulnerable or unsure and yet people would not stop asking Lando about him as if he were Lando's responsibility.

and as Oscar said, his low frequency personality can often get mistaken (even by Mahk Wibba!) for not caring or being engaged. and if someone wasn't aware of his social media then I could see them thinking that someone as cool and calm as Oscar was almost aloof or disinterested.

with that limited knowledge, Lando would have been right to be wary. hell, Lando was distinctly cool toward Daniel when Daniel showed up pushing the 'landan' agenda as replacing carlando. we all know they ofc became good friends. but we also know that Lando wasn't remotely going to be guilted by Netflix or the fans into feeling responsible or overly concerned for Daniel's struggles. Lando was still very young and focusing on cementing his place in the sport. Daniel's inner and outer turmoil as a 30-something was for him to deal with.

so knowing what we now do of Oscar, this was not an ideal setup for him to meet the driver and new teammate - The Lando Norris - who he'd been a fan of for almost all of his junior career.

and on Oscar's side, it is extremely safe to say that after the Alpine/DR drama he just wanted to get his head down and prove to McLaren he wouldn't be any trouble and was more than willing to put in overtime at MTC and solo with the engineers (I think he essentially said this in the Laura Winter interview). his time spent in the car would speak for itself. but I feel like it's also fair to assume that Oscar not only being a fan of Lando's already but also knowing that he was following in Daniel's wake, Oscar mostly tried to just… not be a problem for Lando. that he put all the power and control over how their relationship developed outside of the track and meetings fully into Lando's hands - if indeed a relationship would develop (and it doesn't always). Oscar was used to looking after himself and he'd probably preferred to not risk upsetting Lando's routine or worse, pissing him off. I would not be at all surprised if that's what Oscar assumed was the safest, simplest approach.

but !! Oscar not launching into a bromance for the sake of his own image and him not trying to push for a relationship immediately for the sake of cementing the partnership would absolutely have felt weird and alien to Lando. and considering what was popularly said about Oscar following the Alpine stuff, him not pushing himself into Lando's space possibly would've come off as distant or cold and probably a bit calculating/cocky. maybe even a bit as if Oscar was so sure of himself, his youth and so laser focused on his own advancement (and boy did Netflix frame it up that way, dramatic Dutch angle and all) that it seemed as if he didn't see the point or the need in benefiting from an alliance with Lando. again - that's just possible conclusions that someone like Lando who hates having his stability threatened might have felt.

this is an even more HUGE leap but we know that Oscar visibly watched Lando closely since the start of the season and was learning from him and about him. and that Andrea had already instilled his new 'team before driver competition' ethos. and that Lando had seen examples of Oscar showing up for him - as a teammate at least - when their relative 'fortunes' before the updates would regularly see Lando in a better position or a better result. and like, if I were to truly jump to a conclusion here I'd say that Lando's gradual thaw in between Australia and Monaco absolutely delighted Oscar - and that he wouldn't have expected any more from Lando at all. Lando being chummy with him during media and a bit of bonding over the state of the car at the time could easily have felt more than enough for Oscar. (and just to throw in here as well that in those much earlier videos together, there were little flashes of Lando's sarcasm bordering on passive agressive but Oscar just laughing delightedly. like I think he fully either didn't mind or didn't notice that Lando was bleeding a bit of genuine annoyance over the car into their dynamic at times. the British theory test is a very good example of that.) whereas from Lando's perspective, maaaaaybe Oscar being so content with so little effort from him - compared to Carlos and Daniel - could have confirmed his suspicion that Oscar wasn't actually interested in being truly friends or bonding? idk that's me really exploring a big blue vague space asgfjlsagf. even more than I already do lol.

now I'm not saying at ALL that these friendships are remotely phony or PR because they're absolutely close in real life! but there's also no doubt in saying that like a lot of the drivers, Carlos and Daniel show up to a new teammate with the usual bromance shtick in their back pocket. and with how successful carlando and dando have proven to be with fans and sponsors and networks, they play into it with just a touch of cynicism even now. again, not saying that's nefarious at all and Lando's no dummy when it comes to personal brands and "shipping" etc. the boy is a youtuber/streamer lol so he /knows/. but yea, the 'oooh aren't we acting gay!' and overly touchy feely stuff especially is entirely for the fans' benefit. and we eat it up aslgfjsagf.

but Oscar has literally never had a bromance in any of the stages of his career and he doesn't publicize any of his non-racing friendships like the boys from boarding school he's still close to. we know he has probably a higher level of awareness of queer existence/culture than most of these guys and he doesn't hide it. I know the bar is in hell but it's significant enough that Oscar's never once used 'gay' as either an insult or as a hilarious joke - and he's had an active presence on social media since 2019 (his dad managed everything before that). when a Prema challenge was for him to kiss someone in the room and Arthur kept pushing, we know from the thumbnail that Oscar gave him a kiss through the covid plexiglass and then rolled around giggling. but he didn't treat kissing a guy in particular as 'hilarious' and he's never 'played gay' with any other guys. he also doesn't talk about Lily as if she's an accessory or "his". he brings her up in the context of things they did together or things she told him etc. the boy just doesn't know any degree of toxic masculinity apparently!!

where this gets confusing for Lando is that men are always dying to touch or cuddle or fawn over him - whether it's as a cute little brother like Carlos does (sorry fellow carlandos but that's the non-rpf truth) as a stereotypical bromance like Daniel does (and oh how I love that his ass caught feelings when he didn't mean to) or some potent mixture of fondness and attraction, which constitutes basically every other man who's met Lando.

and god knows I've written time and again how poor Lando does not know what to do with Oscar when Oscar looks with such intensity and he says so many things that show Lando respect and care and kindness. but he simply will not touch him ?? and he won't even half-fake half-serious flirt with him !! and he won't even take the bait when a bromance moment is pushed on them ! and when they're pressed close like in Twister, Oscar looks pink and flustered and refuses to put his leg between Lando's even though Daniel and Carlos have practically wrestled Lando with limbs akimbo multiple times. Oscar initiating the side hug at Silverstone was such an event that even Lando looked staggered by it. that's so strange !! Oscar is not remotely homophobic and he's not at all stand-offish physically and he's fine with people touching and hugging him. sure he doesn't do excessive PDA even with Lily but he still does some. he clearly is fond of Lando and doesn't mind when Lando decides to touch him. but we haven't even seen them hug ! and Oscar will give Lando such sincere praise and respect but he won't use hyperbole or make jokes like Carlos saying he was jealous of Lando liking Daniel or Daniel cracking sexual jokes about him and Lando.

and I fully feel like that breaks Lando's brain a little and has to make him falter at times bc everyone touches Lando and crosses easily over into some form of casual intimacy with him. Lando hides absolutely nothing and is extremely easy going. people feel very comfortable engaging with him, knowing that he'll play along so long as they're being kind or friendly.

and I think that's where the decision Lando made to let his brattier moods out around Oscar comes from. it's a very weird sort of compliment to Oscar that Lando isn't worried about pissing him off or being rejected - and I think it came from Lando being a little frustrated with Oscar for not falling in line with how everyone else is with him and not being able to get a secure read on how Oscar feels about him. as well as like I said earlier how Lando would be a little passive aggressive in his humor but Oscar never took offense. so Lando lets all his petulance and impatience come out around Oscar in a way I don't really know that he does much with anyone else? I think there's been a few times he's gotten like that around Max but Max has a good strong hand with him. but even when Lando goes Full Brat like the beloved Tic Tac Toe filming day Oscar is still endlessly charmed by Lando and you can see Lando soften and blush bc he knows he’s really letting it all out and Oscar is still being so good with him. Carlos would’ve picked him up and put him in a bin and Daniel would’ve out bratted him ajsbjsbsjd.

we know that Silverstone was a huge stepping stone for Lando and Oscar's relationship but I wish I could pinpoint before then when it was that Oscar realized just how much he couldn't apply his former racing friendships as a model for interacting with Lando. that Lando is anything but 'typical blokey guy' and even more than that, he isn't remotely typical or like anyone else in any way. definitely it was after Australia and by Austria the shift had already happened and we could see Lando watching Oscar as much as Oscar watched Lando. the trust and beginnings of feeling comfortable had already begun to be earned before Silverstone for sure.

and by the time he did this BTG interview, the genuinely fond way he talked about Oscar and mentioned the ways they're similar is such a major shift from simply saying that Oscar is calm and super quiet and fast as a driver. then we hit Singapore (where Lando sought Oscar out to spray champagne on him) the double podiums and Oscar's extension.

and then the Austin weekend and the filming they did and Lando posting that beautiful photo of Oscar smiling back at him all seems to have brought them to a place where yea, if we're being honest the lingering looks and the sense of sweetness to their shared humor is the dynamic we've had ever since.

and at this point I think what people are mistaking for a fakeout or misunderstanding is just that their lives outside of racing are so vastly different. Lando is in perpetual motion and constantly in demand and if you don't do a common activity with him like golf or padel then good luck catching him. whereas Oscar has been snared by a growth spurt that seems like it's still going on and he's either sleeping, sleeping, sleeping some more, spending time with Lily, sleeping, or spending time with his friends if possible. so there just isn't really an overlap with how their lives are right now.

to go out on another pretty out there limb, the one thing I might say is that Oscar still defaults to letting Lando call the shots about how much he wants to spend time together outside of being teammates. his own life is so uncomplicated that from his perspective it would feel a little daunting to try and insert himself in Lando's ever-changing schedule and multiple friend groups - esp since he already has so much time with Lando anyway due to the racing calendar. we know that it happens at times and that it's never broadcasted, only mentioned after the fact. it tends to be flying together or choosing to have lunch or after race meals together. the one time that rly gets to me is after Vegas when Lando could barely muster the energy to hit the tables with Max, Ria and Aarava. we find out later he spent at least part of that night with Oscar and someone mentioned that Oscar will have wanted to watch the cricket so like? it's kind of touching as well as saying a lot that the best time for their social lives to overlap is when it can be calm and quiet and Lando specifically does not want to be busy or loud. Lando dopey with painkillers and moody about crashing out of the race, possibly holed up in a hotel room with Oscar and the cricket playing on TV just sounds very sweet and likely. but other than those moments, their social lives just don't intersect easily. yet!!

but yea, I think ?? that by now they've kind of reached a comfortable place of knowing - at least for now - what their relationship is. it's why I honestly assumed Lando was finally doing the visit to Daniel's ranch and wouldn't be meeting up with Oscar in Australia. they're simply not to the point of coordinating off season schedules. even less of a surprise since he ended up spending less than 24 hours in Perth before he and Martin moved on!

ofc we as fans cannot get enough content of them together and just want more. but a lot of that is McLaren social media deciding to drop off just as McLaren started climbing up the grid ??? if they can get their shit together for 2024 then we'll see as much Lando and Oscar as we always did Lando with Carlos and Daniel.

[luneinary]

I have something silly and perhaps a little lame to say about v3

So after a good 7 months of ruminating and actually Sitting Down to give chapter 6 my full undivided attention and analysis (without operating on a flu-induced fever and not half-asleep from NyQuil) I have come to the conclusion that I love v3's ending , or at the very least its message

I was initially in the crowd that was like "wow I have never stopped caring about a narrative faster" and tuned out the remainder of the trail before the mantra of "it's all fiction" numbed me first and I indeed fell hard for the cameos that Tsumugi kept showing the audience . Normally I liked meta - commentary and media that challenged the status quo so I wasn't sure why v3's conclusion sat so wrong with me , so naturally I just kept chapter 6 at an arms length while I sat on what it was trying to tell me , as the player .

Nowadays , I absolutely still wish that it was better in its execution , but it did what it was set out to and is extremely effective when you lend it some patience.

  the mechanics of the trail are deliberate , subversive , and a really great method of storytelling . It's Shuichi's UI gradually shutting down just before entering K1B0's perspective -- a little nod to Kaede passing the torch to him in her trial; it's the back route (the "lie" mechanic essentially) being "despair" to counter hope , once again calling out the surface-level dualism between the two concepts; it's seeing the inner monologues of both Maki and Himiko while convincing them to abstain; it's the trial impeding on the player's ability to even interact with the game at times (i.e. Monokuma throwing a Hangman's Gambit or a Psych Taxi in your face in a way to coax you into playing, though you aren't meant to participate)  , and that's just a few of my favorites .

Your first instinct is to be upset that everything you learned up to this point was fabricated and being laughed at for caring-- I was upset , too . But the game isn't mad at you for liking its story . If anything I feel like it would not spend nearly as much time trying to get you to care about its narrative and characters if that really were the case . It swept the rug from under our feet to force us to look inward and ask: have we truly understood what we were consuming ? Do we emphasize with the grief and loss that these characters are experiencing , despite knowing that all we can really do is watch ?

Questions that which lead me to the author;

Tsumugi is fascinating as a mastermind because she's so deeply entrenched in simply creating something consumable , that she forgets to care about her own story . If something as big as Danganronpa (in-universe anyway) went on for as long as it did , there had to be, once , a time when the franchise had the most integrity , only to be gradually diluted with each season until it became whatever for the sake of whatever-- it doesn't matter , it's just a show, everyone will tune in anyway, because the world needs it . It's silly and dramatized in the trial , but an example of consumerism all the same .

All of this, likened with the thematic constants, of truth and lies , belief and doubt -- our perception of them -- just kept changing and changing , to the point that even we couldn't make those distinctions, and it was like what are we even doing anymore ?? What even is this story ?

It only makes sense that the characters would outgrow a script that wasn't reliable to begin with, the death of their supposed author allowing them to finally reach an audience that had dismissed their experiences as "lies," in favor of keeping a collapsing franchise alive . The extent of what seemed real to her classmates , maybe even the audience , doesn't seem as such to her -- even if she participated in the killing game -- because of the lack of integrity she had in writing her own plot .

Whether you're an artist or an author or just someone who creates , it's important to remember that: Life imitates art and vice versa , and what we create doesn't exist in a vacuum . How common is it nowadays for people to share how much a game they grew up with has impacted them , or the friends they've made over a book that they've read , or see the time and energy and love people put into fanmade material for the world to see for free ? We are all human beings with so many feelings and thoughts to share, and our ever-evolving ability to express them through storytelling is a wonderful gift -- especially now, when people are connecting more to works of fiction and diverse media more than ever .

So even if it's just fiction , what these characters say , do , think , it matters -- just as much to them as it does us . Shuichi could have always been meek and unsure , but he has gone through something horrible  , seen people at their best and at their worst , met people he loved dearly , and now he isn't . And we were so proud of what he became . Nevermind if what he experienced was predetermined , because it felt real to us , and it mattered ! All of it !! It all matters !!

An author may die . But the memory of opening their book for the first time is timeless . The story isn't over because it lives on through us . Our care . And for that reason, our stories are eternal . Be honest and be real with what you create . People can tell .

[chaifootsteps]

[long rant incoming, sorry!]

sorry to distract from HH but I saw someone claim 'Blitz exploits Stolas' PTSD & childhood trauma to borrow the book' and that Stolas is the one being sexually exploited and like

aside from the visceral reaction of 'hand me the sick bucket', like what??? There is no getting around the fact that Stolas is the one who proposed the deal. If it had been Blitz's idea there might be a leg to stand on here, but it wasn't - Blitz was actively ducking his calls

absolutely no one forced Stolas to do that. He is the one using Blitz for his own needs. He is the one whose X-rated rants and sexual petnames make Blitz shudder and spit out his coffee. He is the one who responds to Blitz having a nervous meltdown by sexualizing him some more

All Blitz wants is to borrow the book, he never wanted to sleep with Stolas! even in their first hookup he had 0 intentions of actually sleeping with him, he seduced him and then was fully intending to just dip and leave Stolas alone but changed his mind out of pity. Stolas was the one who kept pursuing him after the fact, which should have told him something about the level of Blitz's interest in him

Also like if I can get dictionary definition for a second:

exploit: make use of (a situation) in a way considered unfair or underhand.

Gee, that definition kind of fits exactly what Stolas did in getting Blitz to agree to the full moon deal in the first place by underhandedly making use of the fact he was being shot at!

If Stolas is 'exploited' in any way here it's entirely his own doing because he cooked up a deal to get sex out of Blitz every month - he literally called him with that in mind, he didn't trip and fall his way into the deal! In no way is it Blitz's responsibility that Stolas caught feelings & outside of the one scene in the circus (that Blitz clearly thought of as a one time thing), we never see Blitz toy with or deliberately manipulate Stolas' feelings so he can keep using the book - the closest he comes is inviting him out to Ozzie's and he doesn't even use the word 'date', Stolas does - Blitz doesn't do anything on that occasion to suggest he wanted to have anything other than a fun evening dancing; it's a club and it's in the lust ring, hardly proper first date material (plus that wasn't even to keep Stolas on the hook for the book, it was him unrelatedly spying on M&M). in all other scenarios he acts like sleeping with Stolas is an obligation he has to fulfill because that's exactly what it is. after the way Stolas had behaved all season he had no reason to think Stolas would assume there was anything serious behind the invite - his breakdown at the end of the episode makes it clear he assumed Stolas would just want sex at the end of the night, like he always wants. Stolas has practically trained Blitz to respond this way!

tldr but in what world does someone propose an 'I'll give you X if you give me Y' deal only to turn around and say they were the one exploited in that scenario when they got exactly what they asked for & had all the leverage in the first place? it's like fans expect Blitz to have traded away actual affection to Stolas, which is horrific considering Stolas never asked for The Boyfriend Experience, just sex, and even if he had Blitz would still be acting and doesn't owe him real love! (and it would still be deeply messed up for Stolas to have set the deal on those grounds too, a transactional relationship is not a relationship at all)

it just boggles my mind that 'Stolas had a bad father and was forced into an arranged marriage' suddenly means he has the right to feel hard done by because the person he forced into his Sex Extortion Deal didn't give him the True Love he actually wanted which he at no point communicated! (and fans get on Blitz's case for not communicating properly)

not to mention that Blitz also had a bad childhood but his supposedly exploitative behavior towards Stolas doesn't get a pass? not to mention that Stolas is a literal prince - yes, an arranged marriage sucks but if he doesn't want the responsibility then he could have abdicated his power & privilege. Blitz meanwhile never had an option to escape his circumstances because he's trying to keep the lights on - circumstances that, once again, Stolas trapped him into!

I just don't understand the mental backbends on display here. genuinely what's going on? are these fans just projecting a crush that didn't return their affections onto Blitz or something?

[end rant]

Sometimes there's not much else I can do but wearily put my hands all over an ask that says everything I want to, and this is one of those times.

[rainbow-nerdss]

Chocolate, Frosting, and a little bit of magic

Written for @augustwritingchallenge day 14: Wizards and Witches Buddie, 1.5k Read it on AO3

Buck's eyes snapped to the door as his charm alerted him to a new customer. A man and his child walked into the bakery, and Buck's eyes widened.

The child led the way to the display case, while his father looked around in a surprised sort of amazement. 

The charm over the door wasn't the only enchantment Buck had over this place. Many of them were simply to make his life easier—alerting him to a new customer, reminding him of his regular's names, calculating change for him, or keeping the pastries fresh for longer. 

Others were a precaution, to keep himself and his customers safe.

There was one charm which kept certain people out, blocked the doorway and wouldn't let them enter, imbued with memories to recognise the people in question before they could cross the threshold. That one had been difficult to weave, but Buck was proud of it. It made this place a home, ensured Maddie and others could feel safe here. 

Another safety charm disguised the front of the store, so those without magic would see a dusty, run down little place, while those with the touch saw it for what it was — yellow shutters, cakes baked with love, imbued with small magics and painstakingly decorated by hand. 

Buck didn't discriminate in who he served, as long as they meant no harm, but it was rare to see a mundane person in here, and that meant Buck's regulars were able to feel more comfortable being open with their magic.

This man, though—Buck knew right away he had no magic. The child, on the other hand… Buck could see something in there. A spark of light, magic. 

Buck stepped out from the back room.

"Morning! I'm Buck, what can I get you?"

The child grinned at him. "I'm Chris, this is my dad Eddie. He said he'd get me any cake I want for my birthday!"

Buck grinned at Chris, then gave the father —Eddie—a softer smile. 

"A birthday cake? Well, that calls for something special!" Buck's charm whispered to him. "Let me guess… You're turning nine?"

Christopher beamed, and Buck felt the magic, pure light, pure joy. This kid was powerful, and his dad had no clue.

Buck showed off his range of birthday cakes, and while Chris deliberated, Eddie spoke to Buck.

"This place," he said. "From the outside, it looked… different."

Buck nodded. He didn't have any hard and fast rules about what he shared with people like Eddie. Some people refused to even talk to them, mostly out of gear for how they might react, fed by negative experiences.

Buck, though… he'd been hurt by enough of his fellow magic users to know it didn't matter how much power someone yielded. If they were a good person, they'd be good. If they were bad, well…

He had a feeling Eddie was good.

"It's magic," he whispered. 

Eddie snorted. "Sure, right."

Ah, Buck thought. One of those.

He inhaled, then blew a gentle breath onto Eddie's forehead, who backed away. "What was—"

"Go look from outside again," he said. Eddie scoffed, took Christopher's hand, and then they left.

Eddie called back an hour later to order the chocolate fudge sundae cake, to be collected in a week for Chris's birthday.

The next time Buck's charm alerted him to Eddie and Chris's presence, he didn't need them. He heard Chris before the door even opened.

"Dad, it looked like that last week! I swear it did!"

Buck looked up to see the pair of them, Chris as bright as ever, Eddie frowning even deeper. 

"I told you it was magic," Buck called over to them. 

Eddie was hesitant.

"Really? Magic is real?!" Chris was delighted, rushing across the small shop over to Buck.

"Of course it is!" Buck crouched down so he was on eye level with Chris. "Try this," he whispered, holding out a small cookie.

Chris looked to Eddie for confirmation that he was allowed to taste it.

"Free sample, for the birthday boy!" Buck clarified, and Eddie gestured for Chris to go ahead.

When Chris ate the cookie, he nodded to show his appreciation, then began to float roughly an inch above the ground. He laughed out loud, a joyful little squeal.

"Dad, look!" He called.

Eddie just stared. "Are you holding him?" He asked. Buck stepped away, hands open and empty. Eddie approached Chris, searched around him for ropes or a platform.

"That's… impossible," Eddie said, finally. 

"If you say so," Buck shrugged, going back behind the counter to retrieve the cake. When he got back, Chris had finished the cookie and was back on solid ground. 

"Can I have another one, Buck? Please?'

Buck glanced at Eddie and saw the answer in his expression. "Sorry, bud. I think one is enough for now. Wanna see your cake?"

He set the box down and let Chris peek in. 

"Is this one magic, too?" He asked.

Buck pursed his lips. "Wanna know a secret?" He asked. Chris nodded so enthusiastically Buck almost worried he'd lose his balance. "All my cakes are magic. This one has a charm that makes it feel like you're eating a real ice-cream sundae, all cold and melty in your mouth!"

Eddie warned Chris not to eat any before they got it home for the party, then gestured that he was ready to pay. Buck took him to the register and rang him up.

"Look, I get you don't believe in this stuff, but…"

"It's not that, Buck. My Abuela has charms of her own, you know?"

Buck raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected that, honestly. "Does she?"

"Yeah. She moved back to Texas recently, but she always said Chris had potential."

"He does. I can see it in him," Buck chimed in, and Eddie's look of surprise was worth the brief panic he'd overstepped.

"Yeah. She makes these tamales, and when you eat them it's like…"

"Like a warm hug from someone you haven't seen in a long time," Buck finished, recognition clicking.

Eddie's mouth dropped open. "How—"

"Isabel was a regular here," Buck explained. "I was sad when she said she was moving. I used to trade these for her tamales once a week." Buck pointed to his éclairs, the ones piped full of cream imbued with a pain-easing charm. "She liked them for her arthritis."

Eddie blinked rapidly, like he was fighting tears staring at the display. "She gave me those once," he said. "When I was hurt on the job."

"Ah, so you're the firefighter grandson she spoke about so much?" Buck checked, though he'd figured that out as soon as Eddie mentioned the tamales.

Eddie nodded, bashful. "She talk your ear off about us?" He asked.

"Something like that," Buck said. He thought of all those times she spoke about her Eddito, telling him to just say the word and she'd be happy to set them up. "She never mentioned me?"

Eddie made an apologetic face. "Only magical friend she spoke about was someone called Evan," he said.

Buck laughed, gesturing at himself. "I kept telling her not to call me that! Evan Buckley, but I'm Buck to everyone—except grandmas, I guess."

Eddie's cheeks turned pink, and Buck figured Isabel must have been saying the same things to Eddie.

"Daad!" Chris called, and Eddie turned to look at his kid. "I know I can't have another cookie, but could Buck come do magic at my party?"

Eddie, to Buck's surprise, turned back to Buck, waiting for his response.

"I don't really have anything for a birthday party, sorry buddy." If he'd had more warning, he could have whipped something up, but those kinds of things took preparation.

Chris didn't seem phased. "Oh well, you can come anyway if you want!" 

Eddie made a face, but it was more thoughtful than a firm no. "You're more than welcome, if you're free later today. Abuela's planning to face-time at some point."

And that solidified it for Buck. He was agreeing before he even thought it through. 

"I close up here at four, is that okay?" He asked.

"Yesss!" Chris cheered, dancing on the spot.

"Here," Eddie grabbed a napkin and a pen, and scribbled something on it. "Our address," he explained, handing it over. "And my number — just in case."

Buck stared at it, then tucked it away in his pocket. "Thanks, Eddie."

Eddie turned to go, picking up the cake and putting his other hand on Chris's back to lead him out.

"Oh, Eddie?" Buck called. Eddie looked over his shoulder. "I'm not sure what Isabel said about me, but… if it's anything like what she told me about you… I wouldn't mind giving it a try."

Eddie's blush confirmed it had been exactly what he thought.

"I—" Eddie stammered. "We can talk about that after the party, okay?"

"Talk about what, dad?" Chris asked, and Buck laughed to himself as Eddie stumbled walking out the door at Chris's question.

Buck made a note to send Isabel a thank you package of all her favorite treats. A little preservation charm on the box, and they should make it to Texas without much difficulty.

He closed up shop early that day, ushering the few remaining regulars out. He had a party to get to.

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Twelve

Summary: Javier thought, brutally honest: the fuck you think you’re kidding?

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: Brief allusion to sex, dead bodies (kinda gore), violence, torture, angst, feeling of inadequacy, people smoking, gun mention and... cop work? 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: In the middle of a lot of shitty things, I was able to finish editing. Am I happy with this? Maybe. I know that at some point I looked at what I was doing and liked it, so I decided to not change my mind because I’m not that reliable these days - when it comes to accept by achievements. There’s a few political comments, mostly my opinion, so beforehand I warn: I hate captalism. 

Oh, and that gif was a choice because... Yeah. It’s small, discreet, but that interaction will do some good in the future. Keep that in mind!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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You were a cynic - that was both a curse and a relief. A relief, yes, because with that lifestyle, the best way of going through most of your shit was being resilient, added to a big dose of an anesthetized sense of reality. A curse, yes, because it was like you became a numb thing, acting by intuition even in moments where you should just be more… normal. 

It wasn't like you could blame your father, but it sure as hell wasn't something that came from your mother's side. She would definitely have a more genuine and less furtive response to whatever happened inside that office, even if you knew exactly what Carrillo’s words meant.

Because Carrillo used to talk once. 

With deliberate honesty.

You wish you could speak to her, rely on her. Suddenly it had been so long since you walked to her house, talked about your day and the plans for the weekend. Suddenly it all felt too much to handle - the violence, the traps, the long nights, the responsibility. In your moments of calm, spaced and almost non-existent, there were figures that hovered in your imagination and that, despite being equally disturbed by what that life had in store, still made you more innocently accommodated.

Running on the beach. Drinking that good coffee from across the street. Repeating the same things to Mrs. Jackson because, again, she thought you were that girl who used to sell her cigarettes during the 40s. 

It was as if all the control that kept you from smoking your cigarettes or the patience for your morning jogs had gone down the drain, just because Carrillo assumed a truth that made you as afraid as if Juan Marcos had put that knife in your jugular. 

Nobody talked about it. You went back to that room as if nothing had happened, lit a cigarette and went back to your papers; Javier and Steve maintained silence for nearly an entire hour, perhaps deciding whether to keep things as they were or whether to be more combative. Your head went back and forth with the sound of Carrillo's voice saying those things, all mixed up with the jumble of useless information that you had to review because you weren’t fucking paying attention. No one wanted to open up a hornet's nest of problems for an unofficial case in that environment so inhospitable for such indulgences.

You looked up at the sound of a glass being placed on your table - Peña poured three fingers of whiskey and that was as close as the three of you came to a resolution. Silence, then it would be. Temporary consent, in other words.

You couldn't be more grateful for the team you had there.

------------------------

“How are you feeling?”

Murphy was always comfortable being in the background as a listener - he knew himself well, he knew he needed to preserve as much stability as he could for Connie, so he avoided getting mixed up with Javier's shit or your shit, unless it had to do with work. Still, that day, a couple of weeks after that happened, Steve waited for the right moment to make his notes known, before Javi could arrive for work or anyone else entered the office.

At that moment, everything was a complete mess. Things were nothing short of heated with all that hunting for the golden eggs, with a lot of people dying and even more dead ends. Your father took your peace. You readily offered not to attend meetings with Carrillo if you could avoid it, and you even got offensive to Messina in one of her bureaucratic inconveniences. 

“Well, if you’re so worried about it, you should ask him. I’m not inside his head.”

And you remembered how Javier and Steve hid the urge to laugh, even though they were equally worried about the consequences of that comment. Fortunately, nothing happened, and afterwards it became a reason for relaxation between you. 

Which wasn't the same with Horacio.

He lived up to his word and wouldn't make your presence more than a mere inconvenience to his routine. At cluster meetings, he gave direct comments about the work and it was strange not to have any bickering sessions between you two - even if that didn't lessen the discomfort. Sometimes he would flex his fists when he heard you talk and stand back while watching you show him something on the satellite maps. Javier would look at you from the corner, Steve would watch Carrillo; sometimes they switched.

You didn't think any of that was fair. In the letters, you mentioned this to your mother and she said that it was up to you to make that decision: about how you were going to take it all forward and whether you could keep the man in his own torture. She knew, however, that it was also torture for you. That you missed the nights you spent together, the escapades at work, the way he touched you. It was too soon and too pathetic to mention feelings like 'love' or 'infatuation' or… whatever. You two were too skeptical for that. The company made everything more bearable, just as Javier had the girls and Steve had Connie. You and Carrillo didn't have anyone; or at least you didn’t. Juliana was still there for him. Always have, as it seemed. 

Maybe, deep down, that was what bothered you the most - knowing that he had a past connection and that it was easy, in a way, to take the initiative to go for the easier, more comfortable side. You couldn’t provide him that. None of it, to be honest. 

“... It happens, right? With the best and the worst of us. In the end, this is all kind of fucked up.”

You knew that in other circumstances (maybe in another life) Steve would be more reticent about this, more traditionalist. He was the type. So you didn't show much more than muttering under your breath and taking another drag on your cigarette as you continued to sit on that cheap leather couch, the morning sun scorching your back a little.

It took you a moment to answer something - when you did, you saw that he looked uneasy, as if he wanted to say something else.

“I’m fine.” 

“You just make it sound like it's a sacrifice.”

And it wasn't really a sacrifice - in that kind of profession, there was a fine line between just choosing the best and giving things up. Addictions went hand in hand with lucidity, just as the withdrawal from a normal life distanced you from the fact that not having a gun in your belt was like walking naked. You knew yourself; like any human being, you clung to the smallest moments of comfort, stability, joy and pleasure that arose. You were weak for the good life, tired of the constant resilience and warning signs that went off in your head every single day.

Again, you almost left him unanswered. Steve noticed your uncertainty, though. It scared the shit out of you.

“... It’s complicated.”

“Not that I want to be a bitch or something-”

“I know.”

“-But it’s a surprise. 

If he still had the innocence to believe in the system that governed their lives, Steve would be indignant, be the church boy he always was. But no, that wasn’t the case - at least he didn’t show it. He had seen the real world too brutally to fill it with more moralism; otherwise he would ignore it, be rational, move on. Then he blew the smoke that was stuck inside his mouth, shook his head and smiled, all the while staring at the ashtray on his table.

“You two used to hate each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it some kind of kink? Love-hate stuff?”

You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head and mirroring the smirk he threw in your direction. 

“At least it wasn't on my table,” Steve teased, as if coming to the realization just seconds before. “Isn’t that fucking considerate?”

As usual, you both laughed with an almost hopeless acceptance surrounding what little humor you shared. Not that it was fun, or worthy of such genuine laughs, just… That. Rational complicity. And you didn't want to ruin the moment, but inside there was another reason for your amusement - when you and Carrillo were making out in the building back in the day, maybe you bumped into something or other on Steve's desk, and you almost broke his desk lamp.

Rational complicity then, you decided, averting your gaze from Javier, who entered the office with nothing more than a grumbled ‘good morning’. 

-------------------------

The landscape became more arid, spaced out - at the very least, isolated. You stared at the bodies splayed out on that cave, trying to somehow decipher what could not be deciphered. There was a morbid but equally cold atmosphere surrounding this discovery; you watched five Carrillo men taking one by one out of that hole, placing them side by side for further identification. The youngest of them was nothing more than 20 years old; at some point, you just turned your head to the side because the ones with more time there were already smelling. 

You stomped to a distant spot and, making sure no one was looking, you threw up. Years of experience or all the circumstances of that job didn't always make you have such a strong stomach. Later that day, you found yourself in your apartment just to brush your teeth - that led to a few minutes of a shower you thought would clean all of those images inside your head. 

Again, you sat alone in the office with more than enough whiskey inside a cup and a third cigarette ready to be lit between your lips. Steve rushed home to Connie; Javier had a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed that you would stay, but you assured him that it was okay, that nothing would happen. For the first time in days, you felt sure of something. 

“Stechner will follow Juan Marcos' lead.”

You turned your eyes from the mountain of papers in front of you, brows raised at the sudden intrusion - out of politeness or not, your father didn’t ask what you were doing there. At worst, he took the cigarette out of your mouth and made you tsk.

“He can be more persuasive than the rest of us, I suppose,” You said nonchalantly. “Or just more than me.”

Again, if he noticed the way you eyed him up and down, probably too full of bitterness, your father decided to keep it to himself, both hands behind his back.

“You agree, then?”

“That's not a question you associate with someone like Stechner.” It sounded almost like a warning, a subtle message of how your ‘soft spot’ used to lead your conceptions and moral judgements to a place way more complicated for that line of work. 

He hummed. Nodded his head. You thought that the conversation was over, of course, but you always should know better than to believe your father could be less than suffocating.

“I figured we could have dinner. I know a place nearby, still discreet enough.” 

“Trying to make me feel better?”

“We're past the stage of understanding that this is your mother's job.” 

The blunt honesty with which he said it made you consider the possibility more; it would be more than enough, spending some time with your father, to understand that there were people in life who knew how to make moments more bitter - or bitter enough to distract your mind from the worst. 

So you accepted. 

Frijoles Rancheros, he said with the best accent he had. 

“Didn't you stop with that?” He said, again, this time without the flirty smile to the waitress or the good Spanish of his.

“Tried to,” You shrugged, cigarette finally being lit and the smoke flowing through the air. 

“Not tryin’ anymore?”

“I needed to keep my list of disappointments with you,” With a smirk, you leaned more comfortably against the chair you sat at, legs crossed and eyes with that devilish spark he hated so much. “What brings you here? Stechner missed you licking his balls or something?”

“... We talked.” He said in a low, stern tone. “Apparently even the CIA knows how to recognize your work around here.”

“So you talked about me.”

“About your achievements, that is. Too emotional-”

“Of course,” You scoffed, dragging more of your cigarette with sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“-But efficient. The one raising your voice to the stubborn Colonel Horacio Carrillo.”

The mention made your stance falter, but just for a moment. You gave him a side-eye, then got back to look at anything but his face - not wanting to fail in your attempt to not show how affected you felt. It sounded like a sin, the fact that your father would use such an indifferent manner to talk about Horacio. How it was so easy for him, a man with so many flaws, to talk about Carrillo as if he was just as insignificant as… Anything. You grew defensive. The guy could still have that way of his, but you didn’t act (even before) like he was nothing. 

“Is it supposed to be a bad thing?” You decided to ask instead, watching him sip his beer faster so he could answer. 

“Have I already told the story of Cúcuta?” 

Probably, but you didn’t pay enough attention back then and wouldn’t pay there. Still, he kept talking. 

“We had discovered that some communist groups were regrouping and we took the National Police guys there. You know, for fact-finding.”

Or killing. Whatever he called it to make him lay his head on the pillow every night. 

“We stayed there for two weeks. Maybe Carrillo was involved, I can't be sure,” But then he got quiet, as if it was the end of the story. After a few beats of silence, you made a face.

“And…?”

“Ah, well, I didn’t know he had that in him to become what he is now. Not the most remarkable cop, but committed to the cause. Very Catholic, however, he called his mother every day. It amazes me that he has come as far as being on the front lines to catch Escobar. It takes a certain obscurity to be good at this job.” 

You considered it silently, watching your dad's grimaces as he just talked about the situation like it was a normal thing. Maybe it was after all. Reality was lighter if you took it as a routine, using conformism as a shield. You wondered if he knew about what happened with you that afternoon - if Carrillo, once, was the type of guy who would throw up because of it. You even wondered, with the space your father gave while simply not paying attention to you, what it would be like to meet that version of Horacio and whether he would make the same decisions, or think that this would be his future.

“I'm sure he has his own demons just like anyone else,” You said out of nowhere, taking in the way the man just watched your motions. “No one gets away with this kind of shit.”

“This shit is catching a communist pig like Escobar.”

Communist, you almost laughed, but you didn't argue. You couldn't even count the number of Americans involved in the lists of secondary cartels in the States, nor how many white-faced people who signed Republican votes negotiated with these 'communists', which only made you more skeptical of the idea of ​​what you were really doing there or the kind of person you had the pleasure of not being raised by.

Under the circumstances, Carrillo's revulsion was understandable.

“You know, you really look like your mother.”

“Conscious?”

“Naive. Maybe not all the violence in the world will make you realize that we are not always the villains.” 

“... No,” You puffed out more of the smoke, arching an eyebrow. “Sometimes you find a shallow ditch full of bodies and it turns out to be Escobar's fault.”

Because everything, from the bastard son who was hidden in the bowels of that country to the resistant hands of Juan Marcos against your neck, had a finger of the communists. If the pain you felt earlier or the pain you felt in childhood with his absence existed, it was because of the communists.

Damn communists.

-------------------------

You threw the other two packs of cigarettes in the trash that same night, as soon as you got back to the office.

With effort, you would remember to look for nicotine patches or anti-smoking gum in the morning.

-------------------------

Carrillo was familiar with the feeling of self-repression, and for some reason, he too deserved the strict discipline. Never a hair out of place, but that same hair wouldn't be styled any other way than the way he saw fit; short, practical, that was not an interruption but also a form of imposing.

This discipline made him learn that the way we present ourselves says something about us. That's why he really didn't understand why he saw you with a subtlety that definitely didn't exist in that job and, consequently, in you.

That day, you were at one of those reunions. The atmosphere was tense, as always, but Carrillo watched you climb on a small step to gain access to a higher part of the discreet shelf in the corner of the room to reach a cup, all the while laughing at something Peña was saying. It wasn't just the way your thighs flexed in the material of your jeans or the way everything felt tight enough that you had the flexibility to move; your manner changed, your modus operandi. There were no delicate mannerisms in your posture, nor in your approach - the harsh parts made you look like a hedgehog, even with that smile on your face.

If the whole situation had hurt you the way it seemed to him, if… that moment, inside the office, had a similar meaning, he didn't know, but he understood the mystery. There was so much going on and suddenly you had your dad and your issues and your life; Carrillo knew better than anyone that neither he nor you would want to bring up yet another drama. 

He valued that effort, was familiar with it. As at other times when Horacio had to be the rational figure, the loneliness of being dedicated to a discipline was something he knew well how to live with.

Carrillo also knew your frustrations about your father were bubbling to the brim. You tried to cover it up as best you could, always scratching the back of your neck or looking away when a CIA decision interfered with the DEA's. It was obvious that hanging out with guys like him could be like idle work - he, of all people, knew that being here on the ground following more archaic strategies wasn't your style. Or worst: that his presence there meant that he was almost always a flawed tool of a plan he was never fully a part of.

For him, watching you was like watching all the energy that walked beside your manners when you arrived disappearing because, in the end, it sounded as if only he, Horacio, saw the full magnitude of your achievements and efforts. Like an awed spectator of a hungry muse, all teeth and claws for what she believed but cutting off by… the others.

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” You said then, sitting at the edge of the table after serving a good amount of coffee. “I remember seeing you there and I’m pretty sure the night ended really differently.” 

“Well, we didn't say goodbye on my doorstep.”

Carrillo frowned at the suggestion, especially at the way you two seemed to forget he was there too, watching Javier using that natural flirty personality with you. And then you turned to see Steve walking in with Trujillo, away from the commotion, and when Horacio decided that it was his sign to stop staring at you, he saw Peña himself sending him a curious gaze. 

That day, Horacio discovered that Javier had been measuring the situation like a scientific project.

“No tenemos tiempo para esto.” We don't have time for this. 

Was all Carrillo said as soon as the reunion was over and they were walking side by side down the corridor. 

“No se de que estas habl-” I don’t know what you're talking ab-.

“Tu sabes.” You know. 

They both stopped in their tracks, interrupted by the Colonel's gruff voice and the way he jerked him around with a shoulder pull. Javier frowned, tried to understand where that all came from, then raised his eyebrows at the realization. He sighed, looked around and put his hands on his hips.

“¿Alguien te ha dicho alguna vez que no eres la persona más sutil que hay?” Has anyone ever told you that you're not the most subtle person around?

Horacio kept quiet. Caught. 

“Su padre es un gilipollas, quizás uno de los peores con los que me he cruzado. Ha dejado muy claro que quiere la oportunidad adecuada para sacarla de aquí.” Her father is an asshole, maybe one of the worst I've ever come across. He's made it very clear that he wants the right opportunity to get her out of here.

And for a moment, Carrillo almost understood those motivations. If he was a worried parent, he wouldn't sleep easy knowing his only daughter was putting herself in front of bullets or curled up in the arms of a fucking narco, nearly suffocated to death. He himself didn't like to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time. 

“... No estaba coqueteando con ella, si eso es lo que te preocupa. Nunca saldríamos bien, esa mujer es una diabla.” I wasn't flirting with her, if that's what you're worried about. We would never work out, that woman is a devil.

True. So true. 

“Pero es mejor que decidas qué va a ser de eso, porque está bastante claro que te estás engañando a ti mismo.” But you better decide what's going to become of it, because it's pretty clear you're kidding yourself.

Javier didn't elaborate, and despite not being the most sensitive of men, Carrillo knew when he was being put up against something he was avoiding. As Peña walked away with a frustrated posture, he wondered if that was the effect he had on you, of disappointment at being… him.

Of course, he didn't openly mention this to anyone, nor did he feel able to do so; to the fullest, he reinforced his serious expression when he saw you leave the operating room and look for someone. You looked one way, then the other, and saw him standing there. Something must have gone through your mind with the way you swallowed hard and clenched your fists - Carrillo wondered if it was the same memory of that night in your apartment, when you were still fresh from sex and with other perspectives.

For an instant, just one, he felt it. Like a replica of that same night.

When he was the first to look away, smothered by the idea and tempted by the sensation you offered those days, Carrillo knew he was probably letting you down again.

As he should. 

-------------------------

You felt frustrated. You'd been having that feeling for a while before the whole Carrillo situation, but it wasn't like you could deny that that disappointment had lessened dramatically once you'd spent time in his bed.

They began to monitor letters sent by employees exported from the States. Peña always walked around with an even more frown on having the letters he sent to his father being invaded in this way and, as much as Steve didn't complain while having Connie there, he complained about the intrusion just like Javier.

You felt suffocated. 

That’s how you ended up getting fucked inside a restroom stall, legs attached to the sides of the hips of a guy named Carlos and dress hiked up to make it easy for him to access… you. Or your decency, if such a term existed at the moment. There was an effort there, though. Carlos made the time well spent. When you went home that night, maybe you really were more relaxed, your shoulders less rigid and your spine relaxed.

But there was a reason you couldn't sleep a wink that night.

Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo.

Perhaps, you tried to justify, it was because there was a greater reason than just the attraction with the two of you. There was an almost paranoid fear that the days were uncertain, the daily stress of a job that seemed to be failing and the frustrations - Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo. The kisses, the touches, the look; two opposites. You would close your eyes if you were Horacio, you would sleep like you haven't slept in days. Surely you wouldn't wash yourself so vehemently after sex either if it was him. 

It wasn’t though. It was Carlos. 

So when the phone rang around two, you got up without difficulty and answered it on the second ring. There was no need to rub your eyes to chase away sleep because it didn't exist, even if physical fatigue made you massage your shoulder while listening to a brief recorded message from a woman saying it was a private and recorded call.

“¿Es usted responsable del caso de Juan Marcos de las Puentes?” Are you responsible for the case of Juan Marcos de las Puentes?

The voice was too Latin to be Javier's and too different to be Carrillo's; even if it were one of them, they wouldn't use Spanish or act like they didn't know you. Your first reaction was frown - and the second, unconsciously, was to look around as if the answer to the as yet unspoken question was in your living room. 

“... Sí. ¿Quien habla?” Yes. Who’s speaking?

“Soy Frances Tenorio, directora encargada del Centro Especial de Detención de Medellín.” I'm Frances Tenorio, director in charge of the Medellín Special Detention Center.

The last time someone called you this late at night, five years ago, was when the family found out that your grandmother had passed away. Your uncles, two other men who lived in the South, asked if it made sense for you to help them with the funeral arrangements - not that there was any intimacy to it, but because she would like to be treated with a delicacy that none of the three had. You took responsibility because you knew your father wouldn't do it out of hurt. He never had a good relationship with his mother.

Still, all that cold commitment to ensuring that the body was well treated and the ceremony well organized, such as the mass that took place seven days later, did not compare to the coldness with which you reacted to Frances' words.

There was no clarification and you didn't ask; just requests you weren’t so used to having, but obliged anyway. You listened to the instructions, hung up, got dressed - gun in the holster, badge on your belt. When you left, you locked the apartment door as usual, walked down the hall, got in the car and realized that the radio was still on a specific station, at that time of night repeating romantic songs. You didn’t turn it off. 

Your mind hesitated to do the call - you didn’t want to. Circumstances did not have an exact logic in the chronology of the facts that you knew. Juan Marcos wasn’t supposed to be there, least in Medellín. Whatever the fuck Stechner tried to do wouldn’t be placed there for obvious reasons. There were at least five people who received that kind of information before you, and suddenly the director of a place you didn't even know was part of Juan Marcos' punishment had your phone number. It was statistical to know that no one died like that at a time like this - the guy was a bull, healthy from head to toe, with at most a late tetanus vaccine.

Then, all of the sudden-

“As I said, dead.” 

Frances didn't have the best of English, but the heavily accented words made a lot of sense in your ears, even if they didn't make sense on their own. His office was poorly lit, and generally speaking, you had a lot of questions, but you just stared at that death certificate with nothing but open confusion on your face. Perhaps it was the way you lagged to say something, because Frances kept talking.

“The National Police was already warned about-”

“The National Police?” You abruptly raised your head. 

“It's the norm. Rules. I couldn't let another gringo into my jail alone.”

Before you could ask what he meant or process the information, you noticed someone entering the door and, of course, it needed to be Carrillo. The National Police. He looked at you with a big frown, then at the officers behind and Frances - mad. 

“¿Desde cuándo es este un protocolo aceptable?” Since when is this an acceptable protocol? Horacio asked in a harsh tone, standing right beside you. Looking at the door again, you spotted Trujillo, confused and a little taken aback by the sudden situation. 

“Llegaron los gringos y tenían orden de interrogatorio. Eso es protocolo, tú lo sabes mejor que nadie.” The gringos showed up and had an interrogation warrant. That's protocol, you know that better than anyone.

“Que gringos?” 

The silence that followed, short but helpful, was like an obvious answer to an even more obvious question. You faced the early death certificate, then Carrillo, who didn't express any reaction. You, by yourself, couldn’t express any reaction.

“I want to see the body.” 

“Qué?” What?

“Do you think that’s a good id-”

“Quiero ver el cuerpo. ¿Ahora me entiendes?” I want to see the body. Do you understand me now?

Carrillo wasn’t combative with your interruption, nor with the way you were snappy with Frances; otherwise, he nodded in approval of your request, as if none of that hadn't already been the same as everyone in that jail dropping their pants for the CIA's threats, as if they needed just Carrillo’s approval. 

At some point in your education, you learned about the special rooms for political prisoners during the communist uprising and the government's quiet work of putting down Sierra Maestra-influenced guerrillas. 64, the formative year of half the men inside those halls and, arguably, the golden memories of that Frances Tenorio. With the 'peace sealed' by right-wing groups, you knew that many of these rooms became normal interrogation spaces or, as in the case of that institution, an improvised mortuary that looked more like a shallow spawning pit.

Fractured skull from a fall, the obituary said. They were opening an internal investigation into a possible gang rebellion.

Juan Marcos was a man nearly six feet tall, with truly thick arms, long legs, and robust from head to toe. You knew his weight, strength and physical skills like no one else. The hands, you noticed, did not bear a single mark of retaliation or defense. You would know if he had; moreover, healed from the clash with you months earlier. Looking from there, with nothing but a pale, lifeless face, motionless, you noticed that Juan Marcos looked no less frightening or dangerous or… Well, the face of a criminal. 

You wondered how many guys came to do the job. Two to tie, one to intimidate - maybe one more to watch. They used to had this one.

“Is your father in Medellín?” Carrillo asked in a low tone, not daring to disturb the intense staring you’re giving the guy right in front of you two. 

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head slightly, then turned to Frances. “Stechner.”

“Protocol.” Was all he said, already turning to leave the room but probably standing still on the other side of the door. 

Three fingernails had been torn out and there were electric shock marks on his nipples, groin and mouth. The face was disfigured and torn by what looked like blows; if you turned him on his side, you probably would see the marks on the backs of the knees just as you saw them on the wrists and heels. The corpus delicti examination, still unsigned as well as the obituary, only recorded the head injury that didn't really exist - done with a typewriter that probably came from the office you had come not so shortly before.

When you raised your head, Carrillo was watching you carefully, measuring every reaction that could come out of your neutral expression. He knew how it was. He did it himself. You could see that, probably, he was just mad that he wasn't responsible for it. Maybe you were too, just a little - deep down, better saying. 

“I need a cig.”

The conversation must have lasted ten, fifteen minutes? You only managed to finish the first one, leaning against the hood of the car and alone in the side parking lot of the prison. The nicotine patch must have been lost somewhere in those hallways and his arm was still marked by the glue. When you went to take the second cigarette in your mouth, you saw Horacio approach and also the way your hands were shaking. He chose not to be at your side, but in front of you; as soon as you lit the cigarette, you kept both elbows resting on the car hood behind you.

No one said anything for a good minute. When you dared to give him a look, just once, Carrillo was lighting a cigarette for him - something way stronger than yours, as always. 

“What was it?” You broke the silence with a single question, one he just shrugged at first. “I’ll give it an hemorrhagic shock.”

“I’ll give it a fractured skull from a fall.”

“Please,” You scoffed, raising the cigarette to your lips again. 

“The CIA put in their report that the last operation didn’t suffer any casualties. I had to sign two letters of removal and I almost signed one of death. So yes, a fractured skull from a fall. ” 

It was difficult. You knew it was. When you started to get close to him and understand a little more of what was there, under the skin, you could see that his biggest frustrations were in the fact that the potential of his work was limited. There would always be a Stechner, a CIA, a DEA, a bunch of outsiders with funny accents and shitty Spanish. That he, as a man and as a professional, always had the cards in his hand but would only play them if someone from above said so; that when he started to overcome this hierarchy, he was banished to Madrid and then back with a freedom tied in very loose halters, under conditions that you didn't know, out of sheer whim.

Carrillo knew those marks and those consequences - many had his name transcribed. And he could say it was hemorrhagic shock or whatever the fuck fucked up Juan Marcos' life, but you both knew that outcome held particular satisfaction for him. At least enough to accept it unchallenged.

“... He was my suspect,” You said in a defeated tone, blowing smoke in the air. “It's pretty stupid of me to think they'd at least consult me ​​first, right? To say they would come here to destroy the guy?” 

“Yeah. But you’re smart all the same.” 

“Not enough to not do the math on why my dad pretended he wanted to have dinner with me.” 

“He wanted?”

“He did it.” You responded vehemently, tapping your thumb on the end of your cigarette to knock out more of the ash. “I should have known better when I saw him there in the office so late at night. Talking about Stechner taking the lead as if he wasn’t already planning on killing the motherfucker.”

“And do you think it would have made a difference if you had known?”

“... No.”

You didn't say it was because you were witnessing what your father could do for the first time and that it scared the shit out of you; they were childish thoughts. After years of paddling against the tide, seeing him miss his own mother's wake and even all the disappointments he could’ve caused you, everything was more tolerable when his stories were just that: stories. You also had your share of lives under your belt: one guy in Compton, one in South Beach, one more in a warehouse during a drug traffic operation. Still, you learned to live with them because it was your job. Yours only. And sometimes you could forget that someone who was supposed to give you a little more petting reduced you to one more small obstacle to doing his.

Again. And again. And again. 

You felt stupid. Naive. Again.

“It’s like fucking Hotel California,” You muttered, eyes closed and fingers massaging your temple. 

“Like what?” He asked in sincere curiosity, making you look at him in time to spot his own cigarette mid air. 

“Like the song. On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…? Nothing?” Your hands gesticulated. 

“Too gringo for me,” Carrillo inhaled on his cigarette and pretended (pretended) he was keeping a straight face. You rolled your eyes.  

“Your friend Frances must agree with that.”

“By your time here, you should know that not everyone trusts you.” 

“There’s a few exceptions.” You defended. 

“Yeah, some people might lose certain opinions for one person or another.”

With another drag on your cigarette, you let out a low 'huh' and shook your head, but when you glanced back at Carrillo, you saw that he was watching you with a very wide gaze. Again, measuring your reactions, as if trying to send a message with his silence. You did the same. 

It's been a while since you've been like this, with time to observe each other and capture details that captivated your encounters. He was more tired, visibly fresh out of his static spot in the office on the upper floors, probably with a couple of glasses of whiskey in his system. Damn pretty, you could add. Prettier than Carlos - poor Carlos. 

He broke eye contact first. 

“You’ll talk with your father?”

“Well, at least to know if it was hemorrhagic shock.”

“I don't know if this will make you sleep better.”

“Nah,” You shrugged, tilting your head to the side. “Just looks like I forgot the guy can be sadistic as fuck.” 

“Habit.”

“Personality.”

Again, silence. This time though, you were the first one to break eye contact, mostly because that thing got into a place you wouldn’t like to go. You didn’t tell Carrillo, probably wouldn’t, but your mind was building scenarios and creating perspectives about something you really preferred to forget. 

Your mom always knew better - you wished you weren't so curious as to choose the same career as your father to know what kind of shit he did.

“You’re going back to the office?” 

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He walked in your direction, but went straight to the door to open it. Before he could do it, though, Carrillo turned to you. “I would do the same.”

You nodded. 

“I know.”

“And you too.”

“Not with the same motivation,” You looked at him nonchalantly. “I have personal reasons. The type I could understand.”

“He don’t?”

“Well, we’re not the same,” Another shrug, this time dragging more of the cigarette before blowing the smoke out the side. “Perhaps I’m more different for not being adept at this, but is it really that different? I don't feel guilt, but I do feel angry that he disappeared with a guy who could give me information. Screw his life, right?”

“... Sometimes this type of life makes us forget that we are humans. You're not Gandhi or any shit like that, you're you. Flesh, bone and a gun in hand, ready to fire at the right time. I would do it, because I know what he's done to other people, but I've also seen what he's done to you.” 

He took a step closer - just one. And when you instinctively backed away with your eyes closed and a hurt murmur coming from your throat, Carrillo froze in place. 

“We don’t need to talk-”

“I know.”

“But stop playing with me, Horacio. Stop.” For a moment, he looked confused, then noticed something that perhaps even you didn’t and nodded in defeat. “Don’t be like him. Not now.”

Don't be opportunistic like him, don't be selfish like him, don't be capricious like him, don't use you like he always did. That's what you meant. That he shouldn’t pretend he didn’t say no twice and approached you later with some kind of warm conversation because it seemed convenient. You didn't need it - what you wanted and what you accepted he denied too quickly.

“... I’ll be back in the office.” You said after a time, eyes on the floor right where the cigarette landed and hand brushing your left eyebrow. “Body identified, death certificates and stuff like that. It's just, isn't it? Do you proceed from here?” 

Carrillo gulped, considered your face like a brave man and said a simple ‘yes’ before insisting on opening the goddamn door for you. And you let him, even when he stood there, the door now closed, staring at you through the open window. 

“Good night, Colonel.” 

“... Good night.”

He tapped the opening twice, took three long steps back and inhaled on the cigarette which, as you had barely noticed, was still lit in his hand. You watched him through the rearview mirror, just for a moment longer, and after that split opportunity you also stared at your own eyes - coming to a conclusive revelation. One you already knew, in fact. 

Carlos was Carlos. Carrillo was Carrillo. 

And damn you for always choosing the complicated ones. 

--------------------------

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons ​

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@mysoulisasunflower​ 

[azrielgreen]

Hi! <3 I finally took some time this winter break to read Prism and it was absolutely incredible. I really appreciate the obvious amounts of time and effort that must've gone into creating such an intricate and heavy story. I think there's sometimes a tendency to portray victims of almost anything as blank slates and perfect, empty vessels of whatever trauma they've experienced. This never sits right with me so I really apreciate your dedication to creating such well rounded and devastatingly real characters.

It has been so so fascinating to spend some time in Steve's head and get to know some of his darker and more intense desires. They're kinda like snakes too sometimes, for Steve, I think. There's something almost equally serpentine to the things he wants and the things that make him feel good and safe. I just wanted to thank you both for taking things so deep and far with his character. Getting through those darkest days with him and ending up on the other side of it was a catharsis I've rarely experienced with fiction. All my love <3

I have a question, though! It's something I've been thinking about since reading that specific chapter and I can't get it out of my head. It seems that Eddie was very deliberate in getting Steve's fingerprints all over the drugs he later planted in Billy's car. I still can't quite figure out why this was so important to him. Hopper even mentions later that they're not persuing any drug related charges because he wants to keep Steve out of it. Wouldn't it have been much easier to get Billy out of the way if the cops could've pinned all the drug charges on him alone? I think Eddie must've known that Hopper would jump in to save Steve like that. Was he trying to clean his own hands from the drug related stuff as well? Was he worried that he would be implicated otherwise? I may have missed this explanation since there were some small parts I've skimmed for mental health reasons, but I was still very curious about this.

Looking forward to the new chapter!

I hope you have a lovely weekend <333

Oh, what an amazing and wonderful thing to share, thank you SO much!! We are so happy that people are resonating with parts of the story and I really do believe in and will always fight for the importance of catharsis through a controlled narrative frame.

To answer you Q, yes! This was very deliberate and Eddie's motives here are somewhat sneaky beyond "involving Steve", so at surface level, Steve's fingerprints being on the drugs means that firstly, Hopper would feel insanely protective of Steve (something Eddie anticipated way in advance, he knows more about Hopper than we realise at this point) and he would interfere to ensure Steve was kept out of it, and that Billy's whole thing was expedited under the table.

Secondly, it keeps Eddie's drug business untouched by official law. People would have asked where all that cocaine came from and Billy would have LOVED telling them, but to protect Steve, Eddie knew he would probably keep his mouth shut and go along.

Thirdly, and this I can only allude to vaguely, but Eddie doesn't really want Billy's case "air tight". He also wanted Hopper to bend the rules if not outright break them because a bent cop (albeit a good hearted one) is potentially useful to him down the road.

The thing here is that Eddie didn't really want Billy out of the way, he could have dispatched of him a long time ago much easier. It had to be Steve's choice (so Eddie thinks of it) and Steve's involvement and Steve's path. Eddie thinks of that whole encounter as having minimal interference from him, he's that delulu. It's also worth noting that Eddie, in somewhat terrifying fashion, has actual feelings for Billy, in a way a shark might have feelings for a human it sees swimming above on a surfboard. As we see in the previous chapter, he likes to set things up and have them ready (the order to kill Billy) but ultimately he can be quite mercurial. Eddie is not done with Billy and he's good at leaving doors half open, little opportunities to return to later if he so desires because he knows himself and anticipates his own desires way, way in advance.

I hope this was helpful! Prism is LONG and complex and if a small thing is mentioned and seems strange, it's usually done on purpose and will later be important so well done for noticing!

All my love, Az.

💜💜💜

[pokefossilclub]

Dear Professor Gingko, I'm sure by now you've seen the paper published by the Académie Kalosienne des Sciences last month, but apparently work with reviving frozen Amaura has revealed that, in life, they were Electric/Ice types, as opposed to Rock/Ice, and that the Rock typing only crops up in specimens revived from fossils, and those descended from them. I'm curious about the implications this has for reintroduction efforts, and how this impacts both Pokémon revived from fossils, and our reconstructions of ancient ecosystems. I'm also curious as to how your... I feel "nemesis" is the best term, Cara Liss managed to avoid the artificial Rock type insertion of standard revival technology. Obviously, if you don't have any information on that topic, I understand.

Oh yes, I was fascinated by that article; I heard the research was proceeding apace a few months ago at a conference and was awaiting the results. Honestly, the fossil scientific community had somewhat anticipated something like this; it seemed rather too unlikely that every single species thus revived was a Rock Type!

Obviously though the scientific confirmation of this does have implications! First of all, to my mind, it confirms that re-introduction efforts should be, and really never should have been, about re-introducing the Pokemon exactly as it was in prehistory to the modern world. That would, in any case, most likely not work! The world was extremely different back then! Now that we have proof that the creatures being brought back are fundamentally different enough from the creature that left the fossil to be an entire different Type, even in part, I believe this should lead to greater efforts to make them, shall we say, modern-day-friendly. By which I mean not attempting to deliberately change their behaviour or physical characteristics per se, but instead working to make sure they can cope with the modern day changes in oxygen levels, the different foods, changed climates and so on.

Of course, that then raises more questions about re-introduction, as fossil Pokemon who have been bred to be more adapted to modern conditions will have an easier time potentially out-competing existing Pokemon species and becoming a nuisance or actively damaging to the ecosystem. However, re-introduction efforts should already be considering the possibility that the re-introduced species becomes invasive, and the re-introduction efforts should be kept to small and extremely well-observed areas for some years after they are begun!

Obviously, Fossil Pokemon bred from revived individuals are another kettle of fish, and tend to be much better adjusted from the get-go, especially the further back in the family tree their revived ancestor was. However, giving them a solidly well-adjusted genetic line from the beginning can only be beneficial in my mind!

Another option is of course to continue to refine the revivifiation process until it is capable of erasing the artificially induced Rock Typing and bringing back the original Typing. I am not actually a scientist who works in the labs reviving fossils; I have a Master's degree in Fossil Pokemon Care, meaning I work with the living specimens only! This means that although I would follow any research along these lines with interest, it is somewhat less in my wheelhouse!

The last option would be to attempt to work with revived Rock Typed fossils to see if they can regain their lost historic Typing, perhaps using similar methods that developed regional forms. However, the methods even of regional form development are still rather unclear in many cases, and obviously attempting to induce essentially the same mechanism artificially runs the risk of causing harm. Admittedly, so do the previous two options! Unfortunately, it is something of a hazard of working with living, breathing creatures full stop. However, I believe this method runs the risk of causing the most harm.

The impact on paleontologists is fairly obvious: it can no longer truly be said that the behaviour of revived fossils maps exactly to the sort of behaviour they would display in prehistory. Of course, only academically lazy individuals ever tried to say it would these days, but there are unfortunately more of those about than you'd like!

As for effects on the Pokemon themselves brought on by gaining the Rock Typing... well, it's honestly very hard to say. They are forced into gaining a great deal of new behaviours simply by having to adjust to living in the modern world, after all. It doesn't appear to be leading to notable physical health issues, or issues using Rock-typed moves, at least in the vast majority of individuals. Again, bred individuals who have, as you might say, been 'born into' the Typing, show what I would call no significant problems that could be ascribed to being the 'wrong' Type. It would, however, explain the fact that many of them show unexpected affinities for learning other Typed moves!

There are obviously arguments that fossils should never have been revived in the first place, but to that I apply the same logic as to the chimera fossil species: they are here now, and they are not going away, and thus it is our responsibility as the species who brought them back to give them the best lives we can manage!

As for how She managed to avoid the Rock-Typing... as I said, I am not a revival scientist myself, so the intricacies might be escaping me. But I do have one guess. It seems to me that the process of forcing chimerism, and whatever processes she used to force, for example, organ growth in Dracovish, would interfere with the DNA extracted from the fossils a great deal more than usual revival processes do. However naturally enough this is unlikely to result in 'natural' typings either!

[lunatic-fandom-space]

Ludwig (1973)

I went through so much trouble to watch this stupid film and it took me so long to watch it because its four hours long and I kept getting headaches while watching and had to keep taking breaks, but it was all worth it because this film was so unbearably unbelievably good, its my favorite thing in this whole marathon so far by a long shot

Its so good Im actually having trouble talking about it because I truly have no complaints, but I cant just talk about what I liked either because its basically everything. The pacing was great, it could get slow at times but it was never unengaging and if it werent for my headaches I wouldve definitely been able to watch the whole film in one sitting, which is high praise coming from my low attention span-ass. I feel like I never really mention the cinematography in these posts because its usually just fine in a very unremarkable way, but it was absolutely amazing in this one, the framing and composition of every scene felt so deliberate, its like every shot was a painting.

The acting was incredible, I was a little unsure about some of the performances initially because this is an english-language film mostly starring actors who are very noticeably not native english-speakers and I thought it would interfere with their acting because idk, some of the early line-deliveries had that kind of stilted kid-having-to-read-something-outloud-in-english-class quality to them, but that ended up not being the case at all. Helmut Berger as Ludwig was especially great, he did such a good job capturing him, both in the very beginning when he's this naive romantic/idealist and later in the film when he becomes more disillusioned and unhinged. He was also very babygirl, similar to the actor who played him in Ludwig — Glanz und Ende eines Königs (1955), so I liked that. Romy Schneider of the Sissi-trilogy played Elisabeth here as well and I really liked her too, she's still very charismatic and I think she did a great job with this more flawed and less romanticised portrayal.

To be honest, I was really expecting Elisabeth to play a bigger role in this film, I think the synopsis that I read gave me the impression that it would show both of their lives and sortof parallel them or something, but that wasnt the case, it was really just Ludwig's life, from his coronation to his death, and Elisabeth was in it sometimes because theyre important to each other and like to spend time together. They have some romantic tension and they even kiss each other on the lips in one scene, which suprised me, but it wasnt really elaborated on, it causes some drama between her and Sophie when she's engaged, but after they break it off the film mostly focuses on Ludwig's relationships with men while focusing less on Elisabeth as he starts to isolate himself. Also, speaking of his relationships with men, I am very disappointed to tell you that there was not nearly as much sexual tension between him and and Richard Wagner as in the other film. for shame.

Anyway, I cant really think of a way to organically transition into the next section, and theres really only one last thing that I wanted to talk about, so Im just gonna talk about it. I said earlier that this was an english-language film but it also has a lot of sections in italian and bits in german. Now, the german bits are like, theres a scene where Sophie sings a song from a german opera and whenever theres large crowds shouting stuff theyre shouting in german (like at the very end when theyre all looking for Ludwig after he went outside with his doctor), which I like because I feel like it adds a certain authenticity to those scenes, but the italian parts are just kinda confusing to me. The film has these little talking heads segments where its characters from the film, usually right before they take an active role in the story, talking about like, Ludwig's downfall is how I'd describe it (except for Richard Hornig, hes just like "Ive been his confidant for 10 years and thats all Im gonna say" which is cool), and the first few of those segments are in italian while the rest of the film is in english, so I initially assumed that those would be the only italian parts, but then we get a scene of Ludwig and Elisabeth talking that starts in english but then in the middle of it, theyre just suddenly speaking italian. And thats something that keeps happening throughout, sometimes theres just random italian scenes or scenes that randomly switch into italian, and some of those talking heads segments are inexplicably english, its very strange and honestly pretty jarring, I had to keep switching between the raw film and a version with english subtitles to properly keep up. So I guess that would be my one complaint for this film, but honestly Im not even sure if it was meant to be viewed that way ?? Like, the wikipedia page doesnt mention the fact that this movie was filmed in two languages even though I feel like that would be worth mentioning, and the italian parts all have this dubbed-in quality to them, like the audio quality is a bit different and Ludwig's voice sounds completely different when he's speaking italian vs when he's speaking english, its weird. But I mean, it didnt disturb my experience watching this, its basically just giving me an excuse to make my very own subtitles which Im looking forward to because itll give me the chance to rewatch it

So yeah, that's it. In conclusion, this film is really great and you should definitely watch it if you have four hours to spare and no headache

[arospecsyourblockdudes]

fanfic ask game - 7, 8 and 17? 💜

Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. I've already answered this one but I can do another!

"Death stood placidly by as Pearl picked herself up and readjusted her grip on her axe. The hellhound barked and crouched, staring her down. It wanted her closer, probably so it could maul her. But there was no other way to injure it, so Pearl ran, axe held high above her head. 

When she got close, she swung down, axe biting into its left paw. It only seemed to get angrier at that, and snapped its fangs at her arm. Pearl stumbled backward, managing to haul her axe with her, but her right forearm was cut up and bleeding badly. It hurt like absolute hell, but that's what she got for being careless. She grit her teeth and hefted her axe up again, watching as the hellhound crouched down again. 

This wasn't going to work. Just charging in blindly and hoping she hit something. She needed a fatal hit, to the heart or the neck preferably. If she somehow could get it to charge her again she could try something, but putting it on the defensive would make things harder. 

Pearl shifted her weight, holding herself at a more defensive stance. She kept her eyes on the hellhound and slowly started backing away. It growled, low and ancient, before flinging itself at her. Pearl let herself smile as she watched its approach. By the old gods, she'd missed this thrill. 

She held her stance until the hellhound was near breathing down her neck, then dropped to her back and pushed her axe up into its stomach. The hellhound just about screamed as it tore itself open on her blade, hot blood gushing out over her. 

The hellhound collapsed, shaking, onto its side and Pearl was quick to stand up and bring her axe down on its neck. The moment her blade cut into flesh, it vanished into smoke."

I like this from "how queen pearl almost defeated death" which is also an empires smp fic (season1 though!). I like Pearl's character a lot in empires sigh. I wrote a decent amount of fighting/action in that fic, which is something I don't usually do so it took a lot of mental finagling. Short action sequence, but I was very deliberate with how I wrote it so it made logical sense and was possible to do, especially because the character involved is a pretty good brawler.

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

"“This isn’t ‘cause you still feel sad I got shot, right?” Jack pointed her cigarette at him accusingly. “I’ve had just about enough of people trying to be sweet and nice about that all at work, I don’t need it from you.”

Atticus sighed dramatically and took a bite from the cake without bothering to slice it. “One, you were meant to take the whole week off for recovery. Two, I don’t need ulterior motives. I genuinely just thought this would be fun. Stop being paranoid that people care about you and eat the stupid cake. It’s marble.”

“They needed me at work, no one in that station can do a damn thing.” Jack grumbled, but put out her cigarette in an ashtray and grabbed a fork. “And it’s not like my work is really that demanding. I just sit around.”

“You’d show up to work if you were a stuntman and the bullets went through your skull.” Atticus grumbled and opened her fridge. “Why do you only buy shitty alcohol? You need taste.”

“I have taste. Sorry I don’t exclusively drink hundred year old Italian reds.” She wanted to tell him she only went into work because she was losing her mind in her apartment, head filled with the memory of the dead man and the slow, precise gunshots. Because Atticus was put-together and at work and wasn’t around to take her mind off it. Because those six dead men were her responsibility. “Anyway, I think the case might actually be over soon. I’ve got two solid leads, we’ll see where they end up.”

Atticus nodded, still rummaging through her fridge. “Really? That’s nice. Here, I’ll be a barbarian for tonight.” He turned around holding a bottle of bourbon. “Doesn’t look half bad, except I goddamn know you got it at the gas station.” 

“It’ll do fine. You know where cups are.” She smiled around a mouthful of cake. “But yeah, we’re getting somewhere. We’ve gotten into the phones of the victims, they all messaged Whoever Finch about meeting to hook up or buy drugs. No idea who the hell that is, it’s fake names anyway. But today, got an email from Ashton and Sons, car rental. Give it a day or two and I’ll be able to see who got that rental car the killer had.” She pointed her fork at him. “That’s when we go out and celebrate so hard we throw up. I’m sick of this case.”

“Jack, I love your morbid career choices but can we please discuss things that are actually interesting?” Atticus snapped. He was frowning at the mugs of bourbon. “Sorry. Long day. I’m going fucking crazy.” He handed a mug over to her while downing his own. 

Jack nodded slowly and sipped her drink. He’d probably been stressed out tonight and she hadn’t noticed. “Alright. Sorry I pushed it.” She said softly. “What do you wanna talk about?” 

Atticus smiled and refilled his mug. “I dunno, I’m just tired. Mind if I crash here for the night?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine. If you don’t mind the couch I’ve some spare blankets and pillows.” She knew she’d never get to the bottom of what was bothering him so bad, he was never an emotional person like that. And maybe it was hypocritical of her to want to know, because she barely liked even thinking about what bothered her. She just wanted to comfort him. 

“Thanks.” He nearly whispered it. Atticus packed the cake into her fridge, which apparently meant the little event was over. Jack felt a bit bad about ruining the mood, but there was nothing to be done about it now."

I'M CHEATING BECAUSE THIS ISN'T TECHNICALLY FANFIC ! It's my own original shortish story BUT it's on ao3 so it counts in my heart. This one's also very long but hey, I have to get the whole thing. I love the dialogue and general interactions between the two characters. This is from a later chapter but I honestly think someone could understand their relationship from just this interaction. This part in particular because it's just very soft and sweet, I love it a lot. Ah, I love these two characters so much, they're like my awful little babies. Again, I really do think someone could get what their relationship is like and even a bit about their personality from this bit of dialogue which I'm really happy with. I love all their interactions but this is my personal favorite

Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

I have to do it start to finish. My organizational ass would die if I had to do it out of order, because I end up improvising a lot when I write. So if it goes Scene A - Scene B - Scene C, if I write Scene C first then there might be something I end up writing in Scene B that changes things so I'd have to go back and change what I already wrote, etc etc. Easier to do it all in order.

[sokkastyles]

I'm reviewing atla right now and I want to skip all the scenes with Aang. He is so annoying and immature. Unfortunately, he will remain immature by the very end of the series. He will just get superpowers to solve all his problems. I love naive and positive characters, but Aang is not like that. He's not positive and he's not naive. He deliberately ignores what he doesn't like. He chooses those cultural traditions that are important to his comfort. He has a toxic masculinity and selfishness. And those qualities don't go anywhere. Aang's selfishness caused the world to suffer for 100 years. Gaang suffered from his selfishness ( and Aang is indirectly to blame for the SWT genocide). Aang still doesn't have the ability to take responsibility for his actions. He runs away and it reflects badly on the world. As always, I was pissed off by the episode with Bato and The Fortuneteller. Aang sexualizes Katara, also shows great disrespect for her culture. Aang doesn't apologize for this disrespect. Aang acts like a rat and an egomaniac in these episodes. I still don't understand why Aang has so many fans and why he is considered the best partner for Katara. People ignore so many bad things about Aang.

Okay, this is...a lot.

Whenever I rewatch, I actually do love Aang more than I enjoy interacting with his fandom because I feel like his fandom makes him into something he isn't (and a feminist hero is one of those things).

I do want to address what you say about Aang not being as positive as other people think, and that gets to something I said in my last rant about the way people talk about Azula and toxic positivity in fandom. There's a difference between being a positive person and denying anything negative in favor of "being positive."

I don't think it's fair to say that Aang is responsible for the war and the genocide, but I do wish we saw more of his grief and guilt explored. When it's brought up in "The Storm" and Aang is confronted with blame by people who suffered during the war, like the fisherman in that episode, that character is derided as horrible and forced to learn a lesson about what a hero Aang is, and Katara declares that Aang won't have nightmares about running away anymore. Why? How is Aang's trauma solved that easily? Why is the poor fisherman who suffered from the war painted as the one in the wrong for losing faith in the all-powerful hero when that hero never came?

I feel like Aang stans are actually a lot like Azula stans in that they both have this idea that they stan a character who is wrongly maligned and that feeds most of their interactions in fandom, and that does create an environment of toxic positivity, especially when they believe their fave is righteous (or in the case of Azula, enough of a victim). The biggest example of this with Aang I think is "The Southern Raiders," because people paint Aang as positive and morally good for promoting forgiveness. I've written a lot about what's wrong with Aang's attitude in this episode, but it boils down to the same thing when we try to portray Azula positively because she was "nice" to Zuko in a situation where she was clearly taking advantage of him. The main difference is that I don't think Aang was aware of how much he was hurting Katara by insisting she forgive her mother's murderer, but the end result is similar to Azula telling Zuko that he's stupid for daring to question the imperialist regime that has kept him under the thumb of his abuser his whole life. In both cases, Katara/Zuko both get to the point where they no longer are listening, and then they get painted as the negative ones for questioning the status quo and fighting back.

Because in the end, positivity and "why can't we all get along," when one side continues to believe that they have the right to abuse the other, only benefits the oppressors. There can be no tolerance for intolerance. Those two things don't go together.

The hypocrisy is also easily highlighted when you question why Aang was pushing Katara to forgive Yon Rha, but ignored how she was constantly quarrelling with Zuko. If Aang was really a force for positivity wouldn't he want to create harmony within his own group first?

Moreover, is remaining naive the same thing as being positive? That's why Zuko called what Aang was saying in that episode "Air Temple preschool" because he's all too used to being told that he shouldn't be angry at being hurt.

I feel like a better moral would have been an exploration of Aang's duty in relation to how his absence led to the creation of Jets and Hamas and Yon Rhas and Zukos. And that includes how war forced Aang to take on a role he wasn't ready for and that made him run away in the first place. That's not really a fault of Aang but I feel like the show wants us to see Aang as above it all too much, rather than acknowledging that his inability to face conflict is in fact a symptom of the war as much as any of the other characters are shaped by it. A lot of people like to say that Aang is the symbol of childlike wonder that the post-war world needs when in fact, Aang was a child who should have been allowed to be a child longer and Gyatso knew that, too, which is why he wasn't ready for Aang to give up his childhood, either.

I saw a post recently that said something interesting about how if there had been any Air Nomads left in the present timeline, their culture probably would have evolved and adapted to fit the changing world. The post claimed that therefore it was a good think that Aang never came into contact with such people, but WOULD that be a bad thing? It would be tragic, yes, but ultimately it would have also presented a learning opportunity for Aang to grow, and fit with ATLA's themes of learning and growing and changing, something that should absolutely go with the element of air.

[medusanova]

Sambea + accidental hand-hold in public

She had no clue when he entered her orbit. All her life she’d minded her own path, stuck to her goals, kept her distance. And all of a sudden, he was there with his own gravitational pull, hauling her close. Eclipsing the darkness that had always surrounded her like a burning star. Like the fucking sun.

How dare he, honestly.

The worst part was she couldn’t even blame him for the series of events that had lead to this. No, she only had herself and her damn curiosity — and maybe her secret longing — to thank for this ridiculous farce of an evening.

“So,” intoned the starchy woman, pursing her lips. Like seeing someone like Beatrix and someone like Harvey at one table was wrong. Distasteful. “How is it you two, er, got together?”

She’d been so damn close to finding them. To finding the answers she wanted. To finding the family she deserved. And just as hope started to peak and her spirits started to lift up, the universe had to make sure poor little Beatrix was kicked down once more.

When she’d first received the letter from the Academy that one Isobel Daniels and D’arcy Daniels attended, she’d been ecstatic. It was only when she opened the letter and read phrases like ‘each of our young ladies and gentleman come to our school from the most esteemed families in the Otherworld’ and ‘we cultivate the brightest of minds, kindest of dispositions, and bravest of souls’ that she’d known waltzing in and meeting them would be to good to be true.

As far as Beatrix was concerned, each word in that letter was a brick laid into the growing wall between Beatrix and meeting Isobel and D’arcy. Her only family. And if she’d been anyone else or remotely capable of expressing a feeling, she would’ve admitted how crushed she felt. How dejected and hopeless.

It was only when she saw the disgusting sight of Sky walking hand-in-hand with Bloom that she started to formulate an idea. An idea that could elevate her look, her reputation, and her bloody disposition all in one fell swoop. A buffer for her sharp edges, a teacher to educate her in the elusive art of being pleasant…

A teacher’s son.

Harvey had been perfect. Practically oozing kindness from his pores and constantly shimmering with charisma. The golden boy, the botany nerd, the charming fairy. And the perfect way for Beatrix to get an in. To mold herself into the perfect long, lost sister in a steady relationship and plead her case with the Headmistress of the school.

It had taken her three failed attempts at blackmail, two rebuffed attempts at bribery, and a full week of cajoling for him to finally agree to help.

“Fine. One night. And you’ll owe me.”

“Not looking for any new fuck buddies, thanks Harvey.”

“Christ. Not a sexual favor. I meant a helpful favor. As a friend. Wait. Sorry, you don’t have those. Forgot I was talking to the princess of darkness.”

Only problem was, Beatrix severely underestimated just how charismatic Harvey could be. Or maybe she overestimated how much his personality could soften hers. Because this stick-up-her-arse lady did not seem to be eating out of the palm of Beatrix’s hand. No, she seemed perfectly content to ignore Bea in favor of any scrap of attention from golden boy blinding the restaurant with his sweet, sunshine-laden smiles.

“It’s a long story actually,” he chuckled, leg fidgeting under the table, bumping into Beatrix’s. Every fourth shake, she’d counted.

She barely heard the rest of the story he made up, all she could hear was the echoing chasm of disappointment and anger at yet another obstacle thrown in her path. Another person who hated her. When would something finally go her way? When would Beatrix get to be the one who was looked upon with fondness and amicability? When would-

“Isn’t that right? Beatrix?” His leg brushed against hers again, this time more forceful, more deliberate than all the others.

“Uh, yes. Absolutely, Ha- Sam,” she corrected herself.

In all honesty, she hadn’t heard a word he’d said, too lost in her miserable musings and another failed scheme to keep up with the farce.

But when she looked up, it was to find an expectant and open look on the headmistress’ face… directed at her. At Bea. And suddenly Beatrix lost every rehearsed line, every practice conversation they’d had before they’d come here tonight.

Fuck, she thought. She had to respond with something. She wouldn’t let this opportunity slip through her grasp. Not again.

Desperate for something to buy her time, she reached for the stem of the water glass next to her, intending to take a long, fortifying sip, until she encountered a warm hand blocking her way. She was about to pull hers back instinctively when Harvey twisted his hand and held hers in his grasp.

So shocked and appalled — mostly at the fact that she could feel her cheeks heating up — she couldn’t help but dart her eyes to his, wondering if he’d lost his damn mind. He seemed to be quite sane though, giving her hand a small squeeze.

Encouragement, Beatrix realized. He was cheering her on.

Then, inexplicably, came that small quirk of the lips that had made every person in the room that evening fawn and soften.

For some reason though, this one seemed.. different. A little deeper, more real. Like all the other smiles were for everyone else, while this smile was for her.

And somehow, for reasons Beatrix would never care to explain, it was the spark she needed to turn to the Headmistress and flatter her way into a visit to the Academy.