#a few others are there but i stole most of their dialogue from the game so i won’t tag them

[pluto-bop]

The Person You Care For Most (Terurei-ish)

When Teruya receives his motive video, he already knows who he’ll see. He still doesn’t take it well.

(This is my first DRA/SDRA2 fic, and I haven’t written anything in about a year, so sorry if I’m rusty or the characters seem OOC. And shoutout to @i-cant-stop-fandoming-help for inspiring me to write this!)

“The details of the video are different depending on the person, but each will feature the person you care for most.”

As soon as the words left Monocrow’s mouth, Teruya went stiff. He could tell people had started to talk again, started to ask questions, but their words all went in one ear and right out the other. His gaze lowered to the floor, and his mouth felt dry. The person he cared for most… even now, without her by his side, he could picture her perfectly in his mind. Her piercing golden eyes, her soft ginger curls, that warm look she always saved just for him…

…It couldn’t be, right?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, being jolted out of his thoughts by an abrupt, booming voice. “You’re right!” Shinji cried, his gung-ho energy no less apparent than ever. Who the heck was he talking to…? Who was right about what? How long did he zone out for? “We can just choose NOT to watch it!”

For a few seconds, Teruya almost considered the idea. No way something Mikado called a motive would be any good to them, and maybe they’d be better off not knowing anyway. Maybe he’d rather not know… but as his mind drifted back to her, countless conversations replayed themselves in his head. Countless conversations where, over and over, he’d been told the same thing. Setsuka, Nikei, Sora… everyone. “Dead,” they each told him. “That Rei woman is dead.” Even when he refused to believe it outright, the thought haunted him every waking hour. The question never completely faded. Teruya clenched his jaw and let his hand fall to his side, carefully hovering over the pocket that held his Monopad.

“If you don’t watch the video, you’ll be punished.” Any other day, Teruya might have found the thinly veiled annoyance in Mikado’s voice amusing. Heck, he’d have found it hilarious. But this time… he couldn’t this time. Not now.

One or two people piped up in protest. Hibiki first, then Nikei after her. Part of Teruya wanted to snap at them, to tell them to just be quiet so they could watch their videos, so he could learn the truth, so he could see her face one last time… the other knew better. Of course he was antsy, his concern only growing with each passing second he was left in the dark. But could he really blame them? These people couldn’t be trusted. He knew that much. But still, when they tried so hard to keep it together and work as a team, this kind of setback would be demotivating for everyone. He knew that all too well. Still, the hand he kept waiting over his pocket twitched impatiently, and no amount of sympathy could stop the questions hurtling themselves around his mind in their own little hurricane of stress and anxiety. Teruya grimaced.

He wanted to say something.

He wanted to see her.

He needed to know if she was safe.

“Enough with the nonsense. If you’re gonna show us something, do it already. It’s already nighttime, and we’re wasting valuable time here.”

Teruya’s head snapped upward. He never thought he’d see the day he and Syobai agreed, and he felt a little guilty that they did. Maybe it was too blunt, and maybe it was a bit insensitive, but… what good would stalling be? A few people glared his way, not that Syobai seemed to mind. “Hmm… very well then.” Monocrow conceded with a firm nod. The room went silent, and everyone held their breath. In no more than five seconds, a number of dings went off. “I’ve now sent the videos. Please check your student handbooks.”

No one had to tell him twice. Teruya wasted no time damn near yanking his monopad right out of his pocket, briefly fumbling with (and nearly dropping) the device in the process. One or two others had already checked their student handbooks by the time he’d caught himself, but he barely noticed their reactions, let alone had time to acknowledge them. His focus was entirely set on the device in his hand, held so tightly his knuckles turned white. On it, a black screen with a white play button awaited his input.

Teruya braced himself, and hit play.

At first, nothing happened. No audio. No visuals. Nothing more than silent, black nothingness. Just as he thought to ask if it was glitched, some crackling noise stopped him. He focused back on the video with wide eyes and bated breath. The black began to fade, and the first thing to catch Teruya’s eye was the bright, illuminating flames growing higher and higher in what looked like a plaza. Where was this video taken…? He didn’t remember ever going to a plaza, nor did he remember anyone mentioning one to him, but for some reason it all felt so familiar... Screams erupted from within the video, and for a moment he could have sworn he heard his own among them. The camera zoomed in, slowly travelling closer and closer until it was enveloped by the flames. Teruya subconsciously brought the tablet closer to his face, fully engrossed.

Nothing could have prepared him to see his partner standing in the middle of all that fire.

Unsurprisingly, she recovered from the shock faster than most would have. Rei took a deep breath as she examined her surroundings, keeping her composure despite it all. Teruya had always admired Rei’s ability to keep calm even in the most dire of situations, but even she couldn’t hide her fear behind that stoic expression for long, and a similar sense of dread slowly began to wrap itself around Teruya.

“Damn it… Teruya!?”

He could feel his breath hitch when she started to frantically shout for him. “Teruya!” Rei shouted again, more firmly this time. He desperately wanted to respond, to tell her he was right there, that everything would be okay, and that’s when it hit him. Rei was there, and he was here. She was in danger, and Teruya wasn’t there with her. He was completely helpless to do anything but watch. As the video went on and the realization slowly creeped up on him, his heart began to sink. “I’m fine, just listen—“ she yelped, suddenly yanking her hand away from the fire. She tightly grasped her hand in the other with a pained hiss, but continued to call out to him. “You need to get out of there!” Despite her almost screaming by now, the horrified cries of whoever was on the other side seemed to completely down her out. Rei swallowed, the fear growing more evident on her face as the ever-growing flames closed in from every direction. “Get back to the boat, I’ll—“

Teruya and Rei gasped simultaneously as the bottom of Rei’s coat caught fire. Rei looked just as horrified as Teruya felt as she searched fruitlessly for a solution. An escape. Anything. She swore under her breath, running her fingers messily through her hair. “Alright,” Rei muttered to herself, her face pale and sweating. Her whole body trembled as she opened her mouth to shout one last time. “Teruya, I—!”

The screen went dark.

Teruya waited.

Nothing happened.

He felt sick.

He kept staring blankly at the screen, silently praying. This was just a glitch. There was more. There had to be more, that couldn’t be it. All those desperate attempts to convince him of Rei’s death came flooding back, and each argument seemed to repeat itself over and over on a painful, endless loop. Even as the others finished their own videos one by one, even as they began to scream and panic and cry, even though he’d so desperately wanted to help when he first arrived, Teruya did nothing. He couldn’t. He couldn’t comfort anyone, he couldn’t save anyone, god, he couldn’t even…

Teruya slipped his monopad back into his pocket. His vision blurred, and he struggled to tell if it was his hands shaking, or the rest of him. With everyone talking over each other, he could barely make out what they were saying. He couldn’t bring himself to try. All he could think of was Rei, the fire, her terrified expression, whatever she had tried to tell him before the video cut off… just picking apart his emotions felt like an impossible task. Fear. Despair. Rage. Confusion. And though on the verge of passing out, he just managed to tune back in once Monocrow cleared his throat.

“…To explain, you’ve probably seen a scene involving your most precious ones.” He scanned the crowd as if taking the time to analyze each individual face, and yet seemed to somehow avoid looking any of them in the eye. “I don’t know what kind of state they were in, but you each know what your own was like. So, here’s the highlight: three days! If a murder occurs within three days, I will show the blackened the final part of the video they watched.” So was why it cut off…? “In that video, you’ll see what happened to that person, where they are, and the state they’re in… so, you’ll get to see everything.”

The rest was a blur. So that was it. That was the motive. Teruya wanted to break down and cry, or hit something, or just do anything to rid himself of the utter misery that had befallen him. To be given a choice like that… killing someone to find out what happened to Rei, or never knowing… god, it was cruel. Teruya couldn’t kill anyone. He wouldn’t. He had made enough mistakes in his life, and he wasn’t eager to make more. But having seen all that, having no idea where Rei could be, and having no idea how to proceed… his whole world stopped. He took a deep breath in, then a deep breath out, grasping his scarf for comfort. Keep it together, Teruya. He told himself. What would Rei do? What would Tsurugi do? What am I going to do…?

“M-Mikado… Sannoji…” He whispered, his desperation barely contained as he seethed. “You bastard… what— what did you do to her…!?”

“Oh my,” Mikado sneered. “Has my dear Teruya already forgotten? You can find all the answers your heart desires all by yourself! You don’t even need to ask me! Well…” A sadistic grin formed on the masked half of his face, the other half deadpan as ever. “…If you want it badly enough.”

Teruya froze. It didn’t take a genius to understand the implications. Not after it had been explained so clearly. But he refused to believe it. Any of it. Rei wasn’t really dead. He wouldn’t really have to kill anyone to find the truth. None of this was really happening. Images of that damned video flashed through his mind despite his attempts to cast them out. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. “I-It can’t be true,” Teruya declared aloud, desperately clinging to that last, baseless strand of hope. “Yeah…” He reassured himself again. “That can’t be true!”

He pushed past someone—he couldn’t tell who—in his beeline for the exit. He could hear somebody calling after him, but didn’t look back. He just needed to think. It was a coincidence. No matter what he saw or what anyone told him, there had to be something else. Something that could explain what he saw. All he had to do was find it.

Rei was still alive.

She had to be.

Even if no one else believed it.

Even if Teruya didn’t believe it.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[fernsnailz]

HI . GET ON THE DISSECTION TABLE. taking your brain RIGHT NOW OH MY GODDDDD. OH MY god ,,, everything in the zine,,,,,

obviously the quality of your work, the art itself is so good ,,,, but OUGHHGGGGHGH i need to bang my head into a wall until im unconscious . like the title itself, starting off . woe mama we are in for a fucked up roboty treat . your comps . your writing . in the most respectful and awestuck tone possible . i need to kill you

my favorite i think is how you draw gemerl ,, all the robots you nail their expressiveness but oughh ,, him in particular makes me kick my feet . 'you are everything i fear becoming' makes me actually tear the fucking floorboards up the themes of autonomy ,,,,,, ,,, and how you storytell through your comic panels,,, the 'what a fool you are to think the doctor is gone' panel set makes me drink 2 Monsters and eat glass

THE . THE IMPOSSIBLE GOAL COMIC RAGHHHHHH. FAV FAV FAV . geninely shaking and trembling looking at it like jesus thats so fucked up ,,, your mind . your writing is so everything !! i would love to get any insight for how you workshop it because it is consistently breathtaking it sticks with me so heavily,,, one time i accidentally stole a line of dialogue word for word from your Never turn back zine comic and had to change it dfhjd,,,,, (wow this line is so cool ! ...a little toooo cool. squint.) but yeah god the last comic wow,, your panel compositions are banger after banger you are so good at consistently writing evocative stuff,,, tragic, rlly funny, hopeful, its so inspirational

thank u so much for putting together such a cool zine, would love to have it physically one day !

GOD. THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS EDIT IS KILLING ME. this is such a rewarding ask to get, i'm so glad you picked up on these things!!

my writing work shopping style is. hm. a bit all over the place. i have a lot of thoughts about it i'll put under a cut if you're interested. there's a lot of little things i've picked up that help me out so so much that i would really love to share!

ok FIRST i should note that it took me so goddamn long to write this thing. like i had the very very VERY first concepts for metal sonic good future like. a year ago. the first scrawlings are literally in a notebook right after some thumbnails i was using for dance in fire and i was editing dialogue up until two days ago. i'm ill

BUT!!! there are a few things i like to keep in mind when i write/edit that have really helped me!

GET OTHER PEOPLE TO READ YOUR STUFF. ESSENTIAL STEP. i get stuck in holes with my work a lot and having beta readers and other eyes on this thing made it like a million times better

sometimes you have to kill your baby. there will be certain lines or moments that you ADORE that simply don't fit into the larger piece, and you gotta just cut it out to make it better sometimes. but usually this gives birth to an even cooler and more epic baby. or sometimes your killed baby is also resurrected later to be used in a different scene. does this make any sense

figuring out what emotion you want a scene to make people feel is very important - with this in mind, i also pay really close attention to how my writing or scene concepts make me feel physically. i think this is the thing that has helped me most with work shopping anything i want to be evocative. does a line make me tense my jaw? make my teeth vibrate? make my chest tight? do i suddenly feel the blood in my hands? if it makes me feel something within my body, i try to draw on that physical sensation when forming the rest of the scene.

ok this last one is. stupid. as i was wrapping up this thing i went through a final edit phase i'd call "Garten of Banban Vision." Garten of Banban is an indie horror game that has uhhh kinda mid dialogue. a lot of it focuses on exposition, and any emotion in it feels a bit hollow. with this in mind, i read through everything one last time and imagined like all of the lines were from a Garten of Banban game and spoken in the character's monotone voices. if the line felt like it could fit a little too well in the Garten of Banban world, i considered editing it. but if i started thinking "oh shit this is pretty good for a Garten of Banban game" i knew it was fine. do you understand what i was alluding to when i said my writing process is a bit all over the place

in conclusion. writing hard

[notquitecanon]

Sacrifice & Devotion // Din Djarin x Reader

Hurt comfort lil fic

here's a fun lil game of spot the dialogue I stole from criminal minds!

tw: no mentions of gender, mention and description of canon typical injury, mention of canon typical violence, reader is a bounty hunter, specifically a sniper, unedited, written in one sitting while I pulled an all nighter

fics where two idiots who are obviously in love are so terrible at pretending to not be in love that it circles back around to one of them thinking its unrequited/being so oblivious they still don't notice are my bread and butter

Summary: Reader and Mando both have insecurities that are starting to boil over and cause some heavy miscommunication. It takes a blaster wound for them to talk it out.

You had stalked off to lick you wounds before the Crest’s engines even cooled, finding a cozy rooftop with a good view of the city, dark enough to feel concealed but enough ligh to tend to yourself. 

Mando hadn’t been able to catch you, he had to deliver proof of service to your contractors. The waiting credits were much needed to repair the ship’s latest malfunctions if either of you wished to leave this system in the next rotation. 

Not to mention the med pac that would need replenishing after you were done. In favor of not bleeding out, you had started with the most severe, the blaster wound to your shoulder. The med scanner had informed you it was primarily superficial, but was at risk of infection. 

You sniffed, for something so superficial, the wound sure was leaking blood like a broken tap. The scanner had suggest a bacta infusion, but after your last hunt, the last bacta infusion was only half full. Still, even half would slow the bleeding and lower the risk of infection. You hissed after spraying it with a coagulant and then cursed with the auto-injector of the syringe delivered the half dose of bacta. Next, you moved onto bandages, wrapping the gauze in looping circles. 

Metal clinked quietly behind you, alerting you to your company. Mando hovered in the shadows until you turned halfway towards him, like he didn’t want to startle you but also didn’t want to attract you frustration if you hadn’t cooled off yet. 

His modulator didn’t hide the concern in his voice, even if he tried to, “Those are too loose, you’ll get an infection.” 

“Well, are you gonna lurk in the shadows or come help me?” You sighed, nodding to the other discarded cargo crate beside the one you had pulled into the light, “How’d you find me?” 

Mando looked around as he approached and sat beside you, like it was obvious, “Easily accessible rooftop, city views and eyes on the ship. Removed but still involved. Sniper’s paradise.”  

You tried to ignore the flush of heat up your neck, sometimes between the very few words Mando spoke it was easy to forget  how astute his observations could be. It always shocked you when he voiced his perceptions of you, and flustered you when they were correct. So you cleared your throat, “Where’s the kid?”

The bounty hunter chuckled before stepping to the side, revealing the pram, closed, “Little one’s been asleep since we hit atmosphere.” 

Mando waited a moment before holding his hand, “Let me help you with those.” 

You licked your teeth before offering the roll of bandages to him. His gloved fingers closed around it before unraveling your previous handiwork. Fortunately the bleeding had mostly stopped, but you didn’t miss how his visor paused on the stained smears of blood down your arms and across your clothes. It made you bristle all over again, which he obviously noticed since he quickly started wrapping the injury before you rescinded your cooperation. It pained you to say he was right, your wrappings had been way too loose. Still, the tightness made you flinch more than you were proud to admit, making you feel like a child at a doctor’s office. Especially with how gentle he was being, how sincere his apologies were with every flinch. Your frustration welled back up at his gentility, your jaw setting which only made the split of your lip hurt worse. 

“You’re upset.” He observed, taking the bacta gel and spreading it on a cotton swab so he could dab at the open slice across your thigh which gave him the perfect excuse to drop his gaze from yours.  Sometimes you wished you also wore a helmet, make it a little harder for Mando to read your emotions. Make him play body language trivia during every interaction of every day, “I shouldn't have left you alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. You have every right to be upset."

Especially, if he was going to to read them incorrectly and break your heart in he process. Of course he thought that’s what you were upset about. The Mandalorian- all beskar steel, blaster smoke, and the worlds he balanced on his shoulders. 

You slumped your shoulders, ignoring the ache from your newly bandaged wound. You averted your gaze off to the Razor Crest, watching half a dozen workers frantically making two dozen repairs. Mando sighed, gingerly working the bacta into the gash with one hand, meanwhile you became acutely aware of his other gloved hand holding your thigh still. Gentle, yet firm, and his thumb was rubbing soothing circles against your exposed skin.  Mando took so much on himself and never expected any sort of reciprocity, didn’t know how to accept it. It filled you with anger all over again.

“Mando. I’m not mad at you for not being there to protect me.” You shook your head, glancing at his hand on your thigh before meeting his visor. You wondering if his eyes were as sad as his posture let on, quickly followed by a train of thought about his eyes that you decided to misattribute to the blood loss. 

“I should have been there. That sleemo never should have gotten close enough to touch you, much less do this.” He growled, taking the tube of liquid bandage and squeezing it across the gash. 

“Yeah, Mando, you should have been in two places at once and done my job for me. You’re right.” You groaned sarcastically, trying to snatch the tube out of his hand only to have him catch your wrist. Seeing your sharp look, he dropped your wrist but didn’t hand over the tube, instead finishing his application in silence. 

“Oh my stars- that was sarcasm Mando. I’m being facetious.” You were gobsmacked, did that helmet cut off airflow? Was his brain so oxygen deprived that he thought you truly expected that of him? How deep did this self martyrdom run? 

“You really don’t trust me, do you?” You finally asked, breaking  all contact to retract your legs from him. If he kept rubbing those circles on your thigh… you might do something dramatic, “I know I’m not a Mandalorian, and I’m probably not the best bounty hunter you’ve ever met, but if you can’t trust me to do my job then why let me keep tagging along.” 

Mando’s helmet was kind of doing a little spiral motion as if trying to follow your logic, “What? I trust you, of course I trust you.” 

“But not enough to do my job.” You snipped, “If you trust me so much why do your part of the job and mine before I even get the chance? Always swooping in to finish things, even when I have it under control. Why call me your partner if I’m basically a piece of cargo you have to feed? Why keep me around if I’m such a hinderance?” 

Mando actually flinched back at your sudden outburst, and you quickly looked away, maybe you had let more of your own insecurity show than you meant to. But it was all true. If he told you to take care of the perimeter, he’d flush out the inside and do a perimeter sweep before you even got to a good stakeout spot with your rifle. If you were both engaged in hand to hand combat, he’d recklessly rush his fight so shoot your opponent for you.  

The armored warrior was silent for a good long while, his visor watching you as you started to squirm under his gaze. You were about to interject, tell him to drop it and not worry about it, but as you opened your mouth he held a hand up to stop you, “I have no reservations about your skills. I trust you with my life.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, reopening the cut through the one over your left eye, “Then-“ 

Once again, he interrupted you by saying your name quietly… reverently. You went silent. 

“When I went against the guild on Nevarro, you were the only guild member to stand with me. I never would have made it off planet with the child if you hadn’t intervened. You gave everything up to help me, you didn’t know me and yet you threw your life away to help me escape with the child. You could have earned enough credits to retire three times over by turning me in, you’ve had chance after chance to betray me, and yet,” He paused to look at you, really look at you, “You’ve risked your life time after time for the child, for me. You devoted yourself to this quest as if it were your own. How could I do any less than you?” 

His gloved hand reached for yours, his thumb grazing over your split knuckles from a up close encounter with a pirate, “Every time I allow someone to hurt you, it’s an affront to your sacrifice.” 

Your eyes softened, letting him dab that bacta cream across the marred skin, “Mando, we’re bounty hunters. Getting hurt is an occupational hazard. I knew the risks when I did what I did.” 

He was silent; his visor tipped away from you over to the pram where the Child slept, “You do too much for us.” 

“Hypocrite.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood. His confession had eased your frustrations, a balm to your own insecurities. Of course this had come from a place of protectiveness, how very… Mandalorian. Considering him for a moment, you angled your body back towards him. You knew all this duty weighed on him, and often there wasn’t much you could do to help, but at the moment, on your perfectly chosen rooftop, you knew what he needed. You handed him a new cotton swap and the small bacta patches that would prevent the cuts on your face from scarring, “Do my face so we can find some dinner?” 

He nodded quickly, taking the supplies and pulling you a bit closer to him, so close that you knee overlapped his own armored thigh, and you were close enough to count the scratches on his chest plate, even in the dim light. The slight lean taxed your sore core and back muscles, so you steadied yourself by placing a hand on his knee. He almost jerked, but cleared his throat, taking a moment to relax again. Your lip tugged up, he unconsciously moved closer. 

You let him work in silence for a long pause, enjoying the night breeze. He gingerly cleaned each cut and scrape, gloved fingers grazing your cheeks, the slope of your nose, your lips and a whole bunch of other places you knew weren’t injured. You tried not to let your breath catch, in case that would spur him to stop. 

Eventually, he stopped pretending to be using both hands, leaving his left one cupping your cheek ’to keep you still’. You leaned into the touch, allowing the softness of the moment before your next bounty or side quest came along. You liked when it was just the two of you, Mando talked a lot more, he was unintentionally one of the funniest people you knew.

You were shocked to find his company so enjoyable after all the rumors of him being only slightly more human than an assassin droid. Sure he was stoic, usually silent, focussed, but he was also kind, more compassionate than he would admit, and unwaveringly loyal.  Dank Farrik, he made it hard to stay mad at him. 

Closing your eyes (a big sign of trust for a sniper), you laid your hand over the one cupping your cheek, “Mando, I didn’t make this sacrifice expecting anything from you. I just wish you’d let me help you more, you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I hate seeing you hurt, more than I know how to explain.” His voice was gruffer than usual as he placed a patch over the split in your brow. Your hand on his knee squeezed gently. 

“I don’t need you to protect me, I need you to know that, especially at the risk of your own safety.” You reminded him with a softness to your voice that you seldom used to anyone other than the Child. A thumb brushed across the peak of your cheek before moving a stray piece of hair so he could patch a scrape under the corner of your eye. 

“I know that, ner kar’ta.” His tone matched yours: soft, gentle, intimate. Your head cocked to the side, but Mando wasn’t feeling up to explaining so he continued on, placing another patch across the bridge of your nose, “Still, I think I’ll stay on the job a while longer.” 

________

After dinner and chasing the pit droids out of the Razor Crest, it was time for some well needed rest. Mando had managed to scrounge up some light dosage pain medication when he stopped to replenish the medpacs. Not enough to leave you delirious, but strong enough to make you drowsy and a little loose with your thoughts. Nothing you’d regret, just a couple more direct than usual questions for you beskar wrapped bunkmate. You watched him putter around the cargo hold from your cot with half lidded eyes, as he went through and checked over everything the droids might have touched.  

“How much longer?” You couldn’t help but ask, wondering if your days with the Mandalorian were already numbered. Mando’s helmet turned towards you before sliding the circuit panel back into the wall. 

“Sorry, I’m almost done. Try to get some sleep.” He answered quietly, trying to minimize the noise he made as he moved about the small space. 

“Not that.” You waved him off, the motion much clumsier, heavier than usual, “Protecting me- a fool’s errand by the way. You said you’d stay on the job a while longer.” 

Mando sighed, moving towards his rack, the one with the closing door that he’d tried to give to you, but you refused. It was the only place other than the privy he could remove his helmet, you refused to let him give that away. He flicked lights off as he went, leaving only the dim glow of button lights to reflect on his armor. He was silent long enough that the darkness lulled you into a bit of a half sleep. Maybe that was his goal, still he answered you. Quietly, in that same reverent tone he’d said your name with earlier that evening. 

“Every single day for the rest of my life.” 

Exhaustion, blood loss, and narcotics dulled the effect of that declaration, but you heart still clenched at the sincerity of his voice. Your eyes wouldn’t open anymore and your thoughts were becoming increasingly sluggish with every beat of your heart. 

“Thanks, Mando.” You breathed, listening to the clicks of his armor being disassembled and neatly placed away, finally the hiss of his helmet being disengaged, knowing it must be dark enough he wasn’t worried about you seeing his face. 

“Din, that’s my actual name. You can call me Din when it’s just us.” He breathed into the night, barely registering in your mind, but you tucked away that information where you’d remember it tomorrow. You heart clenched again at his offer to you, showing how much he trusted you. 

“Thanks, Din."

-----

Ner K'arta - my heart

now that's what I call shitty writing

[overwatch]

I played D&D yesterday at a board game store and I am still a bit shook from it. This isn't a D&D horror story but there's a few things I need to vent about.

- the DM who we did not know handed us character sheets. Apparently this had been agreed with the guy from my group who was arranging everything but he forgot to tell everyone?

- I never related more to a drag queen who gets the role on a ruchallenge they hate. I was forced to play a low charisma wizard whose whole thing was being religious. I did rly good and moved the plot along despite this horrible character, I killed it.

- Anyway straight men are animals they immediately go "IM ROGUE" "IM BARBARIAN". They don't even read the character description or backstory. Or ask me and the other girl in the group if we wanted to read the roles first??

- nobody was doing character voice 🫠 "he says x" "he asks why"-- I interrupted the other players to speak like the characters and they were just stuborn. Especially the straight men they barely used dialogue they only wanted to fight?

- one of the things I HATED the most was that I got a crystal (important plot device) and one of the straights says a) he wants to break it. I start *discussing* with the group that I don't think that's a good choice. B) suddenly the guy says "I take the crystal from her and save it on my things."

????

- me and the group and still discussing what to do with the crystal but the guy decides he takes it and doesn't need to roll or interact/ask me. He then triggers a boss to appear who wants the crystal.

- Before we can discuss as a group why we should give him the crystal the same guy throws the crustal at the guy??

- The DM who had obviously put some effort into describing the boss and voice for the boss just goes ok. I guess he leaves with the crystal then.

- the same guy says he wants to fight the boss. Not for the crystal. Just because he wants ti fight.

- I see the horror flash on the DMs eyes. This is obviously a very high level boss to fight later in the campaign. He even goes "are you sure..?" I save it by saying no obviously not. We already lost the crystal let's not get killed too. Dm says "good choice".

- playing in a boardgame store is horrible. There's so much noise. I have adhd and oh my god. Also dm said something rly serious to my character and I couldn't understand him and didn't wanna ask him to repeat himself bc he did character voice and it was a tense moment.

- straight men's characters kept trying to "go investigate on their own". Boy we just started the campaign??? Maybe idk we should stick together. One of them kept "I go way ahead of them" or "I go way in the back". Which triggered events without us being there yet. At some point the DM ignored the guy and just spoke like he was there with us too.

- I was the only one (aside from dm) actually roleplaying and doing voices.

- one of the guys was mad the dm didn't let him use his own figure on the map even though it was three times the size of the figures the dm had for us.

- I am 100% sure the men were angry I was the hero of the battle we had. (It was bush like creatures and I used burning hands... They were all upset at the dm when the attacks they used barely did anything. And I mean actually arguing.

Anyway I just to take this out of my chest. They also kept asking for feedback/compliments on WhatsApp and I was nice and said I rly liked meeting with them and the dm was way better than I had imaged. And the guy that stole my crystal without asking and almost ruined the game an off comment about me being "uncomfortable" because I didn't join them for dinner after (worded like an accusation)? 🫠 And didn't even say anything about me carrying the game and helping him with his fuck ups. But ok.

[silent-words]

Yayyyy I love your game idea for BG3 city! If you’re taking asks, I’d love to read your thoughts about Gale’s school, the one he went to as a child. Maybe that’s where it was discovered he was a prodigy?

Maybe I’ll join in and tag you, too!

I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I wanted to make it a fic, but then I realised I can only make a headcanon. And there will also be a lot of self-insert (because my school years felt like hell, I was happy to enter my Uni).

A little bit of lore first. As we know, Gale attended the Blackstaff Academy in Waterdeep (he says about it in the Arcane Tower). According to the Forgotten Realms Wiki and other sources Blackstaff is both a school and a university. Only the magically talented students are accepted as apprentices there, and they are at first taught by senior students (probably at the age of university students) and only after a few years they start being taught by professors. So future sorcerers and wizards spend more years in the Blackstaff tower than people do in school IRL. It's like a boarding school and a university campus combined, you can spend up to a couple of decades there.

We also know that Elminster first met Gale when the latter was 8 years old. Maybe it was the age Gale was accepted as an apprentice at Blackstaff. He was young, upset with his own abilities and very talented as a mage. Children at school can be pretty much evil, when it comes to relationships between them. I can picture Gale as a shy, naive person at first. Other children made fun of him both because they all thought they were talented and because he was always "lost in thought". They needed to call him twice or thrice to respond to them. Of course it annoyed everyone and made him an outsider. Maybe he was desperate to have a friend and prove himself in this community, so that he stole the Blackstaff (the staff of the very first headmaster, Khelben Blackstaff himself) and opened a portal to Limbo. /the story with the portal is also from the Arcane Tower dialogue/

In my view he only came to be respected by his peers when he reached the age when apprentices started receiving tutelage from professors and teaching the younger students. That's where, I think, Gale got his experience as a teacher (in the Weave scene he tells the character "I know" if they mention that he is a good teacher). I have a headcanon that his best friend from Blackstaff was a lesbian dragonborn, but she got jealous when he became the Chosen of Mystra, and they parted ways. But that character is only in my head.

We also know that Gale had romantic partners before Mystra. In my opinion he was good-natured, funny and handsome in his late teens and early twenties, and that made him a desirable goal for romance. He most probably liked the attention which he had thrived for in his childhood, so he had a lot of trysts and affairs with fellow Blackstaff apprentices of his age (of all genders and sexes, of course). Yet these romances were not meaningful enough for him to remember them and affect his life. His first serious long term affair was with Mystra, but I think it started after he graduated from Blackstaff.

Even when he was the centre of attention, he was still the weird guy envied for his talents and despised for his vast knowledge. He did not make any bond with his peers (or that bonds were shattered later on), so he had no anchor in the material plane to stop him from pursuing the Goddess of Magic.

That's what I can say on the subject right now. It's very self-indulgent (apart from the "centre of romantic attention" part), because I generally project a lot of myself in Gale. Nevertheless I hope it is interesting to read.

[hotcocoabombb]

So, I just finished Astro Bot.

I'm gonna get this out of the way immediately: this game is a fucking masterpiece in my eyes. A genuinely flawless game. If you don't wanna read this whole long ass yapfest I wanna just say this upfront. If you own a PS5 and don't own this game, you are doing yourself a disservice. With that out of the way, allow me to glaze the fuck out of this game.

Before I start with the game itself I wanna talk about Production Value because holy shit it is off the fucking charts here. Every inch of this game is fucking gorgeous. Water is so good Mario WiiU would be brought to tears. Particles and physics objects are everywhere, to the point where it feels like Team Asobi was just showing off with what the PS5 was capable of. I have no issues calling it the best looking PS5 game. Sure, God of War or The Last of Us Part 1 may look better technically but Astro Bot's artstyle combined with a locked 60fps that I didn't notice dip once despite the amount of stuff on screen at once pushes it over the edge for me. On top of that, the music is incredible. Every level has a new tune that you'll sometimes just sit down and listen to for a moment before starting a level. Slo-Mo Casino, Crash Site, and Sky Garden are highlights for me but the whole soundtrack is incredibly good.

But that doesn't really mean much if the game kinda sucks, so I am glad to report that Astro Bot might be the best controlling 3D platformer I have ever played. Everything just feels like it has the just right amount of fine tuning. Astro's jump is just right between floaty and weighty, and his hover helps mitigate platforming mistakes without being essentially a get out of jail free card. His attack is basic but you can also damage enemies by hovering, and the game switches it up often enough for it to not feel repetitive. The levels compliment the control perfectly. While Astro Bot is generally a pretty easy game, I don't think that's a bad thing because of how comfortable it feels to play. Everything just feels good. Every time you mess up a jump, it feels like your fault instead of the game's. This rings true even in the face button challenges (which is what im calling them for lack of a better term lol). These little challenges, themed around the Sony face buttons, can be a lot more challenging than the regular game, but they remain fair. Even the final challenge of the game to get the last bot is a fair challenge. The game never resorts to cheap deaths which makes it way more fun than some other "difficult" games. The boss fights are also really good. The wait times between attacks always remained interesting to me because the pace of everything just felt snappy. They never last more than a few minutes and by the time you're done with them they don't overstay their welcome. They're always a nice change of pace from the main game. Also, going for completion never felt like a slog. I got all 301 bots (missing 4 because my playroom file got deleted on accident :/), all puzzle pieces, and all achievements and I was never bored. Just goes to show how incredible the gameplay is.

The story is nothing super complex but I like it for what it is. Basically an Alien just decided to be a jerk and stole the pieces from the PS5 and scattered all the bots and it's up to Astro to fix everything up. Not the most inspired story ever but that's not really an issue imo. The main alien is constantly bullying the CPU of the PS5 and it's honestly really funny to watch the scenes. For a game without any dialogue they really put their all into the story and I personally think they did an amazing job with the story.

Overall, like I said at the beginning of this, Astro Bot is a masterpiece. Everything this game sets out to do, it not only succeeds, but excel's at. This game doesn't have a single bad level or dull moment. I am not kidding when I say I don't even have any dumb nitpicks to muster up. Astro Bot is a perfect game in my eyes and Team Asobi should be goddamn proud of themselves for releasing a game this fucking good.

Astro Bot gets a 10/10 from me. Please go buy and play this game. It's wonderful.

[eversleepings]

disclaimer: i love kel omori

was talking to juno (hi juno!!!!!!!!) last night about something or other and i got on the topic of kel. and i thought about him.

i generally like the interpretation that he's accepted mari's death.

i know some people like to make it so that he hasn't, that he's faking a smile, but i truly believe he did. mostly because my idea of acceptance =/= never grieving. i still think kel is grieving, but he's accepted that mari's dead, and he's accepted how mari died, and maybe he's accepted that there was nothing he (a 12 year old at the time) could've done to help her (or what he thought was happening).

tl;dr: kel is complex (but not in the way most people think) and i would like to read more flawed kel please. a scrap for the desperate.

this is, obviously, a stark difference from the rest of the cast. sunny is directly in denial of her death, and in the first few days, convinces himself she's just in college. aubrey doesn't directly deny her death, but she seemingly is unable to accept that mari would kill herself - and hero moves from being unable to accept mari's death as a whole to accepting her death, and that she killed herself, but not that he couldn't have helped, and not that he isn't at fault (again, all theories)

so kel accepted mari's death. seemingly, this is where most misunderstandings come from over the game. what i want to talk about is one of the bigger ones: (apologies for the bad photo quality)

[in case you can't see - KEL: You know, MARI would be really sad to hear that...]

THIS scene right here.

this is also the scene where aubrey drops the bomb that mari is dead. The "It Means Everything" scene. one of the most iconic scenes in the game. but I never see anyone ever talking about this line of dialogue from Kel and one of his earlier ones, where he brings up how they used to be friends.

kel throwing mari's death in aubrey's face and i don't even think he meant to do it.

he truly believes that because they used to be friends, aubrey should listen to him. he truly believes, and is probably right, that mari doesn't want them to fight. but he throws her (seeming) suicide in aubrey's face in order to try and get her to see things his way, and stop bullying basil, and she lashes out, resulting in the following fight.

i see lots of interpretations where kel is knocking on sunny's door for 4 years. if that's the case, why didn't he talk to aubrey? since we have no knowledge of the 4 years, we can only assume that either 1. he did, and was rebuked (likely if he was 'too late'), or 2. he didn't, period, for whatever reason.

and the thing is, i didn't even like aubrey when i first played omori. i thought she was annoying and a bully, and i thought her "redemption" was underwhelming and rushed, and i hated it. i've gotten over it now but we are framed to see (rightfully) that aubrey is in the wrong - allowing us to ignore kel's part in this.

the game establishes aubrey as an enemy pretty quick. she fights you in her first scene, her hooligang are the obstacles for most of your tasks on the first day, she stole something from basil (someone you likely have an emotional connection to via. headspace, and sunny as our pov character has a connection to) and she's bullying him. the only other people we fight in the rw are all imaginary.

kel is our deurotagonist (secondary protag) for the real world. he's our guiding light, the rock in the shore. he must be right because we have to be right. and he generally is!

it is wrong to steal and bully from basil. and aubrey is in the wrong to attack us. but, while not an excuse, kel hurts her emotionally, and doesn't even apologize or acknowledge it - and this is likely why despite kel's seeming social prowess, it's hero (a neutral third party, who always has deescalated their arguments) who has to step in to stop their feud.

kel tries to get aubrey to see how he feels, and in doing so, says some of the most hurtful shit on the planet. so aubrey says it right back. this is the fundamental misunderstanding that separates them, even though they seemed really close, despite their arguing, as kids.

i just think kel is pretty complex, but not in the way people think he is (the earlier mentioned fake smile stuff). i think he also has his flaws, like the rest of the cast (minus mari and hero) that we miss because we're so focused on aubrey here (esp since her reaction afterwards is again, really iconic) and i wanted to share my thoughts.

also made this post because i want more flawed kel please. please give us more fucked up kel thanks xoxo

[chipistrate]

Cough cough

Trans Gregory headcanons?

If you're asking if I have any, then yeah! I've got a few<3 No really "serious" headcanons, just mostly stuff I thought up when ranting about him to a friend (hi Azzy<3)

-Cassie met him pre-transition, but it was during his "tomboy" phase. Dressed like a boy, cut his hair to look like a boy, literally changed his name to Gregory to people who didn't know him, didn't mind when people mistook him as a boy or used masc terms/pronouns on him- And when Cassie was like "are you sure you're not trans?" he was like "nah, this is normal tomboy behavior." Cassie never bought it. She sniffed him out the moment she met him and was totally part of the reason he realized he was trans

-He 100% stole his name from a piece of media (most likely Freddys related, like a character from a Freddys show or comic or something)

-Dr. Rabbit respects the trans hustle. When he took over for Gregory at school and realized that his friends still called him by his old name and feminine pronouns, he gaslit the SHIT out of them. "wdym, I've always been a boy" " "tomboy" was just another word for boy, wasn't it?" "I never had pigtails." "Are you guys okay?" "My name never used to be ----, I've always been Gregory". Gaslight Gatekeep Boyboss yknow

-If his hair gets too long he'll panic and grab the sharpest thing he can find and cut it- he's good at doing this without cutting himself, but the first time he did it after moving in with Vanessa she had zero idea what he was doing so that was a bit of a heart attack on her end

-Cassie is also trans in my heart and she gave him all her old clothes. He lost them all after becoming homeless, but he appreciates it even during present day<3

-When Vanessa first started taking care of him, she bought every cheap shirt in the boys isle at Walmart so he could wear something other than his in-game shirt. He appreciates it, but everything she bought him looked absolutely horrible. She bought him a shirt with a printed on tuxedo and he's only ever worn it once (Freddy thinks it's a very nice shirt)

-Plot twist; Dr. Rabbit actually killed the therapists because they misgendered Gregory

-He helped guide Vanessa through her non-binary awakening (he was a terrible guide)

-I think these specific pieces of dialogue me and my friend wrote between Vanessa and Gregory when we were joking around is enough

In short? He's full of transmasc swagger 4ever and ever

[lemon-tart-221]

Tag Game: AO3 and fic writing!

Tagged by @kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon and @she-makes-things. Thanks to you both!

How many works do you have on ao3? 15 as LemonTart, 55 as 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (For simplicity, I'll answer the rest of these as LemonTart)

What's your total ao3 word count? 220,461 counting huge collabs! But without those, I'm at 100,923.

What fandoms do you write for? Good Omens currently, but I've also written for BBC Sherlock.

Top five fics by kudos:

Simmer (The Long-Awaited Reply to a Lingering Kiss)

A Slightly Overdone Miracle of Maximum Lust

Unbuttoned

An Angel with Questions, a Demon with Answers

The Other Half of His Heart

Do you respond to comments? Yes! I really try to respond to them all. (Although I admit I haven't kept up with replies on with my older Sherlock account, but I do appreciate each and every comment!)

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? That would have to be They're Not Talking. Mmmm, angsty.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of them have happy endings, but the most romantic happy ending is Simmer.

Do you get hate on fics? No, fortunately.

Do you write smut? *cracks knuckles* you bet I do

Craziest crossover: Uhh, I don't think I have a crossover? I do have a human AU.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not Good Omens, but yes, several in the Sherlock fandom have been.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! I've done a few big collabs, including the amazing Coming Home - A Choose Your Own Adventure Story. I'm currently working on a fun Hallmark AU with a few other writers.

All time favorite ship? I fell in love with Aziraphale/Crowley last year -- the final 15 stole my soul. I have numerous other favorites, but currently it's Good Omens.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I have three WIPs I'd like to continue with, but I'm stuck for a variety of reasons. Never say never.

What are your writing strengths? I feel like I'm good at capturing characters' voices, and I really enjoy writing sensory details and descriptions. And smut.

What are your writing weaknesses? Planning out a plot (frequent pantser here, although I'm trying to do better outlining). I also struggle to do deep dives into emotions. That part doesn't always come easy to me.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? Great, but please provide context or translation so readers get the gist.

First fandom you wrote in? Way back as a kid I wrote some Star Wars stories on notebook paper, lol, then as a teen a lot of stuff with boy bands, movies, you name it. My first AO3 posting as an adult was for Sherlock.

Favorite fic you've written? My favorite Good Omens fic I've written is probably Simmer, because it was the first long fic I'd written after taking a hiatus from writing. Plus I indulged in every foodie, bookish, whisky, romantic fantasy I wanted to. It's a pure comfort food fic for me.

Tagging: @zin-lynn-c, @cordsycords, @isiaiowin, @fishey-me, @kitty-kat-undercover and anyone else who wants to play!

[corgibardballads]

Foulques, man. He was my first taste of what FF14 was going to do to me.

Foulques. Holy shit. Foulques really changed my outlook of Final Fantasy 14. MMO stories usually play it pretty safe when it comes to characters. For story longevity you don’t really want to have to hard commit to big character decisions. So I was pretty shocked when, at only level 30, they committed to killing a character that felt like was being set up as a much bigger story. Really? At level 30? I guess the game is really gonna fuck around and find out with my emotions then. It set the tone of the story for me, I started going into every quest with the thought that no character other than my WoL was safe. But I’ll backup. I think most people can agree that the story quests for the initial classes are… uh… well they exist. I can hardly even remember most of them. Generally I only see people actively remembering two: Rogue and Lancer. The rogues’ guild was quirky, but I honestly didn’t think the actual story was great. It was more the theme and dialogue that made it memorable. The Lancers guild story was unique in that it felt more connected to real world problems than other guilds. Right outside the darn guild you see how Gridanians treat Duskwight elezen of darker skintones. Gelmorra is so destitute that Duskwights resort to thievery. Too proud to ask for help from those they feel abandoned by and too poor to try and turn it all around on their own. A stereotype. A bad reputation. And Foulques just embodies the result of that hatred. Now this is all just wild speculation and me replaying it 20 times and being sad. Foulques doesn't even seem to really know what he wants. He claims he wants control of the Lancer's Guild but he doesn't really have any endgame. He boasts and berates all to hide his fear. But you? You immediately embody what he wants to be. That fearlessness. A mere novice but even Ywain is starting to respect you. So he takes you as his most promising "student". It seemed like it had no purpose. So it always made me wonder if really he was begging you without asking to help him. Frantically trying to prove to you that Ywain and the guild were wrong and bad. The more he failed to do so the more he panicked. And in the end he failed you too, as a mentor. He froze in fear at the Lord of the Bramble Patch while you stood bravely in front of him. It seemed like something in him just broke. He had nothing to offer you and no way forward to convince you to his side. He just snaps. Getting a bunch of novices seriously injured is just the last straw. By the time you find him he's just mad with fear. Broken and humiliated. He's barely even making sense. But in between it all he tells you story of being poor and destitute in the Lancer's Guild. That when he and his mates stole and got caught they just turned on him. It's the Duskwight. It's always the Duskwight. He's abandoned and thrown away, no one cares about Foulques. So he nearly kills himself to be stronger and it wasn't enough.

I was upset by the ending. It just seemed so wrong. Even in his last moments, he's reaching out to you. You may just be the only person who ever just listened to him. And it just sours your whole experience with the guild. Ywain may not literally be a bad guy but his dismissal of Foulques' issues then and now directly contributed to everything. A decent person can make shit decisions.  I remember thinking if the both of us had reached out to Foulques, just tried, it could have made all the difference. It just seemed to unfair. And that made it a great story and easily one of my favorite class/job quests. Of course it doesn't help that Foulques was one the few darker skinned Duskwights we even interact with. Considering what happens in the following Dragoon quests, I always secretly hold out hope he will one day come back.

[feline17ff]

Where in the world are those…brownies?

For the Ever After High Holiday Gift Exchange organized by @eah-exchange

This is a fic for @everafterwhy

Summary: Someone has stolen the chocolate brownies Lunch Lady Hagatha made! Right in the middle of hex-ams! The gang needs to solve this mystery before things get out of hand.

Rating: General. All.

Characters/ships: Maddie Hatter, Raven Queen, Apple White, Darling Charming, Rosabella Beauty

Holiday message for the @everafterwhy:

It was my first time participating in an exchange and the first time writing a mystery, I had big plans for it but mysteries are HARD. And so many characters in this one! Making the dialogue flow was a pickle! Plus irl stuff and procrastination. I hope I did your idea justice. I may have used Maddie a bit more than needed but I had difficulty to write this so it's justified, hehe. Sincerely hope you like it :) Happy holidays to you and @eah-exchange and everyone who reads or doesn't read this :)))

It was Beanstalk Sunday at Ever After High and the castle-teria was packed with students enjoying healthy servings of the nutritious vegetable.

But something else was going on.

And not just the sleep deprivation from studying for hex-ams.

Something else the students were actually looking forward to.

Sparrow was strumming his fingers at his table, Blondie was curling her finger through her hair, even Daring was using his handheld mirror to occasionally catch glimpses of the scene behind him: the door to the school kitchen.

Maddie, Raven, Apple, Darling, and Rosabella were seated at a table right next to the large wall-length windows. Apple noticed first, “Hey, why does it seem like everyone is waiting for something?”

Maddie slurped her beanstalk stalks like spaghetti with a loud slurp then replied, “I know, I know! That’s because…,” everyone leaned in, “they are!” She switched her plate with Raven’s and started eating anew.

“Thank you, Maddie. Can you tell me what they're waiting for?”

“Yes, I can!” She took another loud slurp of her beanstalk meal.

Raven gave Apple a nod and a placating hand, then turned to Maddie. “What are they waiting for, Maddie?”

“Hmm, Narrator?”

They were waiting for the lunch staff to serve the chocolate brownies made from an old Ever After recipe that was lost to time and only recently discovered by Lunch Lady Hagatha.

“Thanks, Narrator! They’re waiting for chocolate brownies! Lady Hagatha found an old Ever After recipe.”

Rosabella pushed back her glasses, “An old recipe? I hope they’re sourced organically. But why does everyone except us know about these brownies?”

Everyone at the table shook their heads and shrugged.

“Maybe it was because we were too busy with the Dragon Games?” suggested Darling.

There was silence for a moment where they stared at each other.

Then the five nodded.

“Yeah, makes sense.”

“We were busy.”

“Lots to do.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Glad that plot point is resolved.”

As if on cue, the door to the kitchen swung open and Lunch Lady Hagatha came out. Every one of the students stood up and ran to be the first one in line.

But Lady Hagatha shook her head and yelled at the top of her lungs, “NO BROWNIES!”

There was outrage.

“Why? We’ve been waiting for those brownies all day!”

Lady Hagatha just shrugged and replied, “Someone stole ‘em.”

Various versions of “What?” and “That’s not fairest!” could be heard throughout the room.The looming threat of exams, on top of the anxiety and sleep deprivation, were messing with everyone’s brains, making them antsy. The students even started blaming each other!

Sparrow, his Merry Men, and Kitty seemed to be the prime targets, being mischief makers and having been heard talking about the brownies the most.

After a few minutes of pointless blame, a shrill shout echoed, "It. Wasn't. Me!" Kitty stood up, slammed her tray down, then disappeared, her frown being the last thing visible before it too vanished.

It was definitely very serious if Kitty, the enjoyer of mischief, left the scene of mischief.

Baba Yaga entered the castle-teria soon after, perhaps Kitty had disappeared to her office? A very serious debacle indeed if the mischief maker contacted the authority figure themselves.

“Now, now. I know we were all looking forward to those delicious brownies," she said, "but that doesn’t mean we should start blaming each other without a shadow of proof. Please, if the perpetrator will come to my office, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Silence.

She clasped her hands, "Glad that's settled," and floated out back to her chicken bird office.

But that wasn't the end.

The blame game continued.

Those chocolate brownies were quite the treat apparently.

Well, that's what the five girls were assuming, based on all the commotion around them that had unfolded in the span of a few minutes.

Rosabella raised her voice loud enough for the table, "Who would do such a thing? I do hope they come forward soon. Look what one bad deed can do," she tsked.

Apple agreed. "Yes, totally unfairest." Then she turned to Maddie, "As co-presidents, it is our duty to do something about this, isn't that right?"

"Indubitably."

"Great! I suggest—"

"—solving this mystery? A great idea!" she turned to the rest of the table, "Gang, looks like we have a mystery to solve!"

Darling grinned and pumped her fist in the air without hesitation, "Awesome! I've been meaning to do something funner than studying for hex-ams," she rolled her eyes.

Raven briefly glanced, “All the best, you guys," She was almost done putting the finishing touches on her sandwich, just had to slice it in two now, but where was that knife? She looked all around and finally spotted it under their table. She reached for it but when she sat back up, her sandwich was gone! Disappeared! Vanished! Into thin air! She looked right and left, where could her sandwich have gone?

Then she saw Maddie daintily wiping her mouth.

“Maddie. Did you see my sandwich?”

“Why, yes, I did see it, Raven. I saw you make the most delicious sandwich with my own eyes!”

“Yes, but did you see where it went?”

“Yes, I did!”

“And that would be…” she smiled encouragingly at her friend.

“I saw it go into my mouth!”

“Your mouth? Did you eat my sandwich? I didn’t know you were so hungry, Maddie.”

“What can I say, solving a mystery always gives me such an appetite. For sandwiches and particularly delicious snacks that are most definitely not dog treats as some would incorrectly believe.”

"Uhhh—"

“—So you’re in?” Darling asked Raven, her hand tightly gripping the table in excitement.

“Well, um—” Raven began, only to be cut off.

“Of course we are! Can’t solve a mystery without two characters to always use as bait!”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, just give us these snacks,” she searched for, then took out a box of snacks from under her hat, “and we’ll be more than willing to be used as bait!”

“Why? What’s so special about those snacks?” Raven reached for the box but Maddie handed it to Rosabella.

“Nu-uh,” she tutted, “these snacks are a secret tool that will help us later. Now, let’s go solve a mystery, gang!” And she dragged her friends off towards the castle-teria kitchen.

—------------------

The gang entered the kitchen only to be met with gingerbread men, elves, and pixies busy at work banking and cooking mountains of food. There was no way they could get an investigation done here, it was total pandemonium.

“Cook, cook as fast as you can!”

“Elf, pixie, mend that stew!”

So, each girl slowly walked backwards out of the kitchen.

“What should we do now?” Apple said. “We can’t possibly investigate in that very unwonderlandiful mess in there!”

“Hmm,” Darling started. “What if…we go…when it isn't so messy in there?”

Raven raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean, Darling?”

“I mean…stealth mission! Tonight!”

“Excellent idea, Darling Charming! Certainly no harm, no fowl feathers in a twist if there are no wings a-flapping!”

Rosabella looked at Maddie uncertainly, “Uh, right!”

“Not to say that’s not a good plan," Apple began kindly, "but the lunch ladies lock the castle-teria after their shift. How will we unlock it?”

“Oh, I can do that.” Everyone except Maddie turned to look at Raven. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. So," Apple grinned, “We have a plan! We’ll get in tonight, investigate, and catch whoever’s stealing those chocolate brownies!”

—------------------

“Okay, guys. Here’s the plan.”

The five had met up outside the castle-teria after hours, ready to catch the brownie thief.

Apple continued whispering, “Raven will unlock the door using her magic–”

“Done.” Raven blew the remaining purple fire off her hand.

“Raven. You’re fable-ous.”

“Why yes. Yes, I am.”

One by one they entered the kitchen.

“Okay. Now, we look for any clues we can find about the mysterious Ever After thief that stole those brownies,” Darling declared.

“I suggest we split up.” Maddie interrupted.

“Good idea,” said Darling.

“Quick question. What do we do if we bump into the thief?” asked Rosabella.

“Oh, I know!” Maddie popped up in front of her, “We run!”

“Run?”

“Run!”

“But we want to catch this thief, Maddie.” Apple reminded.

“Yeah!” Maddie didn't look the slightest perturbed.

“Umm, Maddie.” Darling tried her luck. “Why would we run if we want to catch it?”

“To set a trap for it later of course!”

“Why not set a trap now?” spoke up Rosabella.

“Oh? Sure, we can do that, I guess,” she tapped her cheek, then nodded. “Yeah, we can do that! Let’s do it!”

Darling thought out loud, "Okay, so let's see what we know about the thief? So, what do we know?"

"It likes chocolate," Rosabella said.

"It likes that new recipe," Raven added.

Then Maddie asked, "But where do those brownies go? Do they eat them all in one night?"

"If they do," Apple said with a wince, "then they're in for one big bad stomach ache!"

"You're right. Hmm," Darling was lost in thought. "Who could it be?"

Raven was the first one, "We can just hide and see who comes in?"

"Hmm, we could, but what if we can't catch them in time?"

"Darling, you can use your magic touch when they're stealing the brownies," suggested Rosabella.

"And one of us can stand by the light switch," Apple said, "and we can sprinkle some powdered sugar or something messy for good measure."

"Oooh, that's a great idea!"

"And Apple and I can have our mirror pads ready to record them as soon the lights are on," said Raven.

Apple bit her lip hesitantly, "But we're not going to mirrorcast them or publish them in the yearbook, are we? That seems…heartless."

"Oh, no, never. But they won't know that!"

"Evilly genius, Raven!"

"Apple…"

"I meant that as a compliment! But yeah, sorry."

Maddie nodded, then asked, "So, we know what to do when the thief comes, but what do we do when they don't?"

"Hmm, a very good observation, co-president! But I guess we'll just have to try again next time then."

"Gotcha, Madame President! Now, what are we waiting for? They're almost here!"

There was a sputter of confusion but everyone started finding hiding places as they whisper-shouted at Maddie.

"How do you know that, Maddie?" Rosabella asked.

"Because the author had trouble writing this mystery so decided to nip it right now!"

Rosabella and Apple, who weren't used to Maddie's or Wonderland's antics, said at the same time, "What?"

Raven rolled her eyes fondly, "It's her magic touch."

"Oh."

—

Someone unlocked the kitchen door. One figure entered, and then another.

They tried to sneak in softly, seemingly well aware of their surroundings even in the dark. They stood over the trays of brownies and started eating with such discretion as if they were professionals trained in the art.

Halfway through, Raven switched on the lights, her mirrorpad ready.

On the other side, Apple did the same.

Darling flipped her hair and used her magic touch, slowing down the perpetrators.

Rosabella and Maddie came out of their hiding spots, Maddie with an oversized sandwich she somehow made in the few seconds she spent in her hiding spot.

"Hello, Ever After High," Raven pressed record (to be deleted later), "look who we have here! Your classmates and brownie thieves, Helga and Gus Crumb!"

"Gasp," said Darling with a smirk.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Gus tried to say, but a mouthful of brownies and being in slow motion while wearing PJs laced with powdered sugar didn't exactly help his case.

Darling resumed the two to their normal speed.

“Yes, Gus and I were just, uh, catching the thief, same as you,” both cousins nodded furiously.

"Give it up, you two," said Rosabella.

"We caught you snow and four!" said Maddie.

"Yeah!" agreed Darling.

Helga and Gus stared at Darling, "What?"

"She means fair and square," translated Raven.

"Ohhhh," drawled the two. Then Gus added, "Makes sense, makes sense, I get it. It's because ‘fair as snow’, and two is a squared number."

"Very smart of you, cousin!"

"Thank you, Helga!"

"Alright. Now that that's settled. What should we do with these two, Ms yearbook editor and co-president, and other co-president."

"Ooh, I have a hex-cellent idea!" Apple clasped her hands, a glint in her eye while the two cousins shared a nervous glance.

—

Helga and Gus Crumb had admitted to stealing then duplicating a key to the school kitchen during a busy rush hour at the start of their year at Ever After High.

When the new brownies turned out to actually be good, they decided to steal them all to themselves as a reward for the stressful hex-ams.

Of course, this didn't fly with anyone. The two were put on lunch serving duty for a week. But their knowledge of tasty treats and youthful energy made them a favorite with the lunch staff, so they received extra brownies every day, some punishment that turned out to be.

"What's wrong, Maddie?" Rosabella slid her tray and sat down next to her.

"I didn't get to be used as bait. I didn't get those snacks to persuade me to be used as bait." She sighed and slumped down on the table.

"Aww, don't worry. I still have those snacks in my dorm. I can give them to you if you'd like."

"It's not the same," she sighed again.

"Aww," Apple interrupted, "So you'll only have those snacks during a mystery and only when you're being used as bait to set a trap for a villain?"

“That's exactly right, Ms Girl Detective!” Maddie perked up. "Got any good mysteries?"

“Haha, no, sorry. But 'girl detective'? I like the sound of that! We’re all girl detectives now, aren’t we?”

The group muttered in agreement.

“Sure, lock it down, Holmesie!” Maddie had gotten her gusto back.

“What?” Apple asked, confused.

“Yes, forced, I know. But anyway, we did it!" she sat back straight and pumped both fists in the air," You're right, we did it! We solved one mystery! That means we'll have so many more mysteries now! A new mystery every week! The victims always closely related to us, and a themed mystery every holiday!"

Apple, Raven, Darling and Rosabella tried to make sense of Maddie's ramblings, but then caught each other's eyes and laughed.

"Sure, Maddie. Whatever you say."

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

The End

[candied-cae]

"Izzy's appearances in 2x03 with Stede were some of the only times I could stand him." - Allow me to further explain

I want to preface this with "I know." I know I was not an Izzy Enjoyer during Season 1 and I know I wasn't really looking forward to a redemption arc for his character because I was worried it wouldn't be taken seriously enough, since this show is a comedy. And, so far, I feel like I was right. His forgiveness feels rushed to me, and Stede's adverse reactions to him are the only times where it felt like this was in fact Izzy Hands from season 1 and not a guy with the same name and face but with a clean record and softer disposition.

The instances where Stede is put in Izzy's proximity are the only ones that really make sense coming out of Season 1. As far as we see, a few months has passed and pretty much everyone on The Revenge has forgiven Izzy for the simple reason that they can tell Ed is taking a little extra of his anger out on him. We see no apologies made, we see no kind gestures, we see no really complex stuff about him realizing he fucked up.

They skip right to his breaking down and the rest of the crew picking up the pieces behind Ed's back, even though for most of them Izzy was their torturer at least twice before all on his own.

So it felt weird and jarring that he seemed completely washed free of his "sins" of the last season, especially since it happened right there in the first episode. I wish the production team put more time in making Izzy "earn" the kindness the crew affords him, but I digress. The interactions Stede has with Izzy feel the most right (to me) and I adore how much character work we can pull from them.

(In agonizing detail by going over every word of dialogue and expression exchanged between them, you've been warned.)

The first time they address each other, goes as follows:

"Bonnet. Good to see you." "Piss off, Izzy. I don't wanna hear from you."

With Izzy approaching Stede without reason and speaking first. He limps on over and opens up with something polite almost. But when it comes from Izzy Hands - the man who personally insulted Stede, insulted all his favorite activities, insulted his crew, challenge him to duel and skewered him through the side, went on to call on Calico Jack and the Royal English Navy to take down The Revenge, who stole his crew and ship after he'd been arrested, and Stede's clearly got suspicions that Ed's behavior was influenced by him - that greeting is a slap in the face.

It's that kind of fake sweet pretend-we're-friends-for-the-sake-of-social-graces thing that Stede left behind on the mainland.

So he just tells him to leave. That he doesn't care what he has to say if it isn't information, and even if it was, Stede doesn't trust what Izzy shares.

And Izzy's a little caught off guard by that reaction. We see him sort of sway and look to the side. He looks rejected, which he is. And it's the first time all season that someone hasn't really let him have a fresh start (except for Ed). It's the first time anyone's tried to hold him accountable for the litany of things he'd done to the crew in the last season. Events that seem to have taken place only weeks/months before.

The second time Izzy speaks up, he does so to tease:

"What about my painting? Why was it all stabbed up?" "That was me." *sighs*

Izzy puts on a smile and leans his head back a bit. He's try to act proud and sort of snarky, since Stede isn't playing with him like they did previously. So, he tried to goad him into saying something. Into getting snippy or bitchy in return. He's trying to push Stede into giving him something to work with.

Because if people talk to him, and they play his games, and they soften up, that's how (it seems) he's been able to win them over and get into folk's good graces.

But Stede doesn't give. He doesn't want to play Izzy's mind games. He doesn't want to volley a few insults back in forth until it's fun. He doesn't want to give Izzy any of his time or attention or energy, because Izzy doesn't deserve any of it to him.

Stede walks away, and we see Izzy's expression freeze and fall. He's stuck and confused, because he thought that was a good move. He thought that one was going to get a reaction. And maybe that's how he's always gotten people to talk to him, by pushing them into a retaliation, but it doesn't work.

What's the quote? About how hate isn't the opposite of love, indifference is? Stede is being indifferent to Izzy's presence, and that's doing more to Izzy's feelings than if he outright hated him.

The third time they interact, Izzy's followed Stede into the captain's quarters and jokes:

"Don't cry, Bonnet. We just redecorated." "I don't mind, actually. I think the knives really help bring the place together."

Again, he's tried to push Stede's buttons. Playing on already used jokes that Stede's too posh and soft to, say, appreciate something like a dozen knives thrown/stabbed into the walls and ceiling of his cabin.

He's teasing, on the edge of calling Stede a cry baby, either just to see if it'll work him up, or if that's the only way he knew how to start their discussion. But again, Stede isn't playing with him. He brushes past the implied insult and moves to something more like "I don't care" in response.

Instead, turning his attention back to the subject of Edward Teach. Because he knows the crew were all dodging the question and he knows Izzy would have to know what happened to Ed.

During that same conversation they pivot to more serious matters:

"What'd you do with him? I know he wouldn't have left by choice." "I know you think you understand him-" "He was either going to watch the world burn or die trying. So which was it?" "Alright, Bonnet. Have it your own way. He went mad. He tortured the crew. He took my fuckin' leg 'cause I dared to mention your fuckin' name. He was a wild dog, and we dealt with him like one." "You sent him to doggy heaven." "No, I could never do that. We deserted him on a beach. Left nature to do the rest. More than he would've done for us. You and me did this to him. And we cannot let this crew suffer any more for our mistakes." "Why would they suffer?" "If your captain senses mutiny, she'll kill us all. That's pirate code."

The most notable expressions during this conversation are Stede's who almost seems to wince when Izzy says Ed retaliated against him over mentioning Stede's name, his defeat when he believes Ed was killed in mutiny, and his concern about making sure his crew will be spared.

These are feelings that are barely about Izzy, and mostly about the fact that Stede is taking on a lot more blame than he's saying. He feels a lot of the responsibility for what's happened (further exemplified by him cracking to tell Zheng Yi Sao that he should've told Ed how he felt and avoided all of it). And this is the first time Izzy really gets anything out of him from all his poking and prodding he does in the episode.

And though Stede is convinced that Ed was simply marooned and it's its own kind of tragedy and means there was somewhere to go to try and get him back, Stede worries about saving his crew first. He pleads with Zheng Yi Sao and even wins her over until Auntie finds Ed's "body."

After that revelation, Izzy's in The Red Flag's brig and only says:

"Go on, Bonnet. Give me your worst."

And Stede says nothing. He looks at him. He hears what he has to say. But he doesn't do anything. Nothing except having to physically push himself off the bars to walk away.

And again, we can tell there's blame he's assigned to himself for it.

It's a little bit his fault that Ed's "dead." It's a little bit his fault the rest of his crew is going to be executed. It's a little bit his fault, and it's a little bit Izzy's. He knows so, because Izzy said it to him himself. "You and Me did this to him." And Izzy huffs, gives him permission to fly off the handle. To pour his rage and grief all over Izzy, to retaliate with words or with blades.

Izzy would take it. Whatever Stede was going to give him, he was going to take it. Just like he was trying to make him mad earlier, Izzy was still grappling for something. For acknowledgment. For something in his last moments before an entire career of piracy ended at The Pirate Queen's behest.

But Stede gives him nothing.

And that hurts worse. That brings tears to his eyes. That settles in the quiet idea of "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed" that cuts so much deeper.

And the last time Izzy tries for anything, he tries being grateful:

"I just wanted to thank you for-"

But Stede still doesn't listen. Doesn't even let him finish thanking him.

Even though he went as far as to save Izzy's life along with the rest of the crew (he could've struck him down or declared he was unwelcome to join them back on The Revenge if he really wanted to), he still hadn't earned acknowledgment. Hadn't deserved pity or anything else. He doesn't even deserve to stand next to Stede and fluff his ego, as far as Stede seems concerned.

Stede hasn't forgiven Izzy. And maybe it's because he feels there's nothing to forgive, it's mostly Stede's own fault- maybe it's because he blames him too much and will never let it go- maybe he's too hurt to feel anything but tired and sad once the immediate danger has passed... Izzy doesn't know.

What he does know, is that he has tried everything to get reactions out of Stede. Everything except apologizing. So, I'm personally hoping for an apology in the upcoming episodes. For some vulnerability and truth and embarrassment. Because these are the beats of a redemption. These are the plot points of turning your life around, and people either don't believe it's genuine at first or don't care.

This is the "cost" of Izzy's actions in Season 1. And it's something they haven't given us from anyone else yet. I'd also really like Ed to make some kind of address of the fact ("You wanted Blackbeard as dark and demanding as he could possibly get, I gave that to you"). Because that's how a redemption arc works best. The guy who fucked up has to put in an effort expressly to be forgiven.

To me, it's not enough that his life sucked for a couple months and he didn't get exactly what he wanted (aka, he didn't realize he didn't actually want it like that) and he lost a leg. He's going to keep pirating on one foot, but to receive a position on The Revenge happily shared, there needs to be something more.

More OFMD

[enne-uni]

Writing habits tag game

Stole this from the open tag of @yesireadbooks because it seemed fun lol. (Thanks!) I pick: @ashwithapen, @sixthesnek, @stanrendipity, and an open tag. Feel no pressure to do this, friends :]

(Just highlight the one that applies to you, as I understood it. I picked multiple for most of them because that's how it be sometimes.)

I write: daily | most days ❘ a few times a week | a few times a month I random

I write most often: when I first get up | later in the morning I afternoon | evening I the wee hours of the night | whenever

In one sitting, I tend to write: a few sentences at a time I a few hundred words | a few thousand words ❘ a complete chapter | section no matter how long I an outline | whatever comes

I tend to write scenes: in chronological order with no skipping I mostly in order but with some filler/skipping | whatever scene I feel like | who knows what's gonna come out

The things that comes easiest to me are: dialogue | description of senses | description of action | description of characters | exposition | other

I tend to write: on a phone | on a laptop | in a notebook | on whatever paper I can find | with speech to text I in the blood of my enemies it doesn't really matter to me I on paper first and then typed up | old school typewriter I on a computer

When I take a break from writing, it usually lasts: a few days I a few weeks | a few months | it's kind of random

My favorite thing to do when I'm on a writing break is: recharge with other creative hobbies I read/consume other media | do something physical | catch up with old friends | work on my WIP in other ways like with playlists or art other

(none?? I'm just mad at myself for not writing.)

In general, I think my writing habits are: pretty much what I need them to be I okay, but I'm working on making them better | non-existent | not great | i'm excited to develop them further | totally random | perfect for me

[novaalexanderwrites]

Writeblr Q&A Tag

1) What motivates you to write? Usually it’s a single scene or piece of dialogue that I want to write. But in order to get to it, I need to write the rest of it, don’t I? And then I make characters and get obsessed with them and making them do sexy shit (such as drinking tea, overthrowing assholes, and falling in love), so it becomes a reward in itself. When I’m writing, I feel like I get to hang out with these characters, so it very much feels like being with friends.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

(Blood and Thorns, chapter 6 - Please excuse my self-indulgent heart, I'm definitely not sorry about it.) They sat in the quiet for a few minutes, Razi’s face buried in Frigga’s hair with an arm around her waist, Frigga’s hand on top of it and her cheek leaning on Razi’s arm. They finally understood that they wanted each other, but there was no way to realize that dream. Razi wanted to take all the pressure away, to free this woman from her responsibilities. She prompted Frigga to sit up and with her free hand she moved Frigga’s single braid to fall over her shoulder, brushing the skin she found along the way. It was partially in comfort for Frigga and partially because Razi couldn’t resist touching her. It left part of Frigga’s shoulder and neck exposed. She wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to take her away from here if only for a heartbeat or two. So she did. Razi planted one kiss on Frigga’s neck, then two, and when Frigga turned her head slightly, she planted a kiss on her cheek, as if whispering a question. Frigga turned, answering the question. They touched lips, gently at first, asking each other over and over with their touch, do you want me? And over and over they answered each other: More than anything. They gently held each other, wrapped up in the moment, wishing the world was this simple, and for a few secret minutes they stole each other’s hearts. When they slowed and hesitantly pulled away, Frigga smiled as tears freely streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do.”

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like? I mean, my main four OCs are like this (Frigga, Razi, Rosalind and Marcus), but I think Marcus makes me smile the most because he’s such a Good Boy. He’s the incarnation of my joy and what little social charm I have (apparently Libras are meant to be charming. I have yet to confirm this). Marcus is a sweetheart, a little bit oblivious, but very well-intentioned. He grew up with loving parents in a wealthy home, so he had a bit of a head start in life, but he knows that and does his best to help others when he sees them in need. Others think of him as a bit of an airhead and a bimbo, and maybe he had that phase of his life for sure, but he lets people continue to think that because it does give him an advantage. He can still be an airhead at times, but he’s a lot more cunning than most people realize and will do anything to protect those he loves. Anything.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most? Coming up to the finish line, when I can see all the work I’ve put in paying off and that I can be proud of it all. Like, omg I did this!?

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay) I think being consistent is something I’ve been really good at. I write five days a week minimum, most weeks it’s six or seven. Not always what I meant to and not always what I expected, and it might not even be good, but most evenings I’m at my desk.

6) What is something in the writeblr community that is the most enjoyable? (Sorry I edited the grammar of this question, I had to) Honestly I love doing these tag games and getting to know people. I’m really quite terrible at reading others’ writing (I have a really hard time starting new media series in general because it’s an investment and I know that, if I get hooked, there goes the next year of my life a la The Locked Tomb) and I want to get better about it. These tag games really do help me get to know other writers and it helps me to know I’m not the only one that struggles during the process.

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc) Text-to-speech is indispensable in my writing, I don’t know what I’d do without it. The software is built right into all my devices (because I’m an Apple slave, I know I know) as an accessibility feature and I listen to my own work over and over and over.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc) I feel like this is a cop-out, but I LOVE the Honeyshore Coven. We don’t actually see much of it in Blood and Thorns, but we see a LOT in the next one: Restructure. It’s such a weird mix of people that have almost nothing in common except magic working together (or trying to). I love how petty some of them are, how devious, and how oblivious they are. It was a lot of fun developing them and I can’t wait to share more of them with you. I’m hoping to start posting Restructure early next year. 💖

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch? Write something else. Don’t give up but do take a break and come back to it. What I do is I have a folder full of short stories about my characters that aren’t in the books (they happen before, after or at the same time as the main story) and I find that it really helped me get to know my characters, how their relationships worked, and how the world functioned which helped me get un-stuck in places.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters: @orbwrapsupreme - my OG @asterhaze @holdmyteaplease @scifimagpie (Thank you for tagging me, this was a lot of fun!)

[dujour13]

Obligatory OTP Asks - Siavesh and Woljif - #3 #19 #22 #41

3. Do they wear the other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.) Have you seen the bard class gear in the game? Yeah, so, there’s kind of a running joke about Siavash’s taste in clothing, between Daeran raising a horrified eyebrow at the latest Commander-inspired fashions, and Woljif looking at him and going, “Whoa, man, you’re going out like that?” So no. Although Siavash does like dressing up like a bandit now and then.

19. How do they feel about PDA? Woljif secretly loves it, but there are a couple scenes where he’s mortified by the outpourings. One of my favorite silly scenes is when Siavash calls a meeting of the Merry Band to announce their relationship status and Woljif is red as a beet and about ready to crawl under the table. There’s a more serious moment when after the Fleshmarket massacre Woljif decides he doesn’t care if people think he’s mushy because it takes a lot of guts to love the chief. It’s a big step for him, letting on publicly that he’s silly in love. Siavash is an azata, he doesn’t hold back much. (Come to think of it, off topic but now I have to write a scene where Regill gets the Friendly Hug buff. Well, that’s my night now.)

22. What reminds each of their partner? For Woljif, it’s music. There are a few dialogues in the game that hint that he likes music, and he basically falls in love with Siavash’s voice before he even sees him for the first time, chained up in the basement of the Defender’s Heart wishing he was allowed upstairs in the warmth and light. Another thematic moment (I’m such a nerd for those). This is a bit obvious, but what reminds Siavash of Woljif is the crescent moon. The Moon of the Abyss represents Woljif’s dangerous, chaotic side that Siavash finds so attractive, but it also symbolizes Woljif’s hope that one day he will be somebody worthy to be loved, which is the most appealing thing about him. Later, Siavash gets him a big, expensive, sky-blue gem to replace the demonic one.

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering? Although they’re both attentive, I think Woljif is more likely to notice and do something, whereas Siavash would be busy dreaming of cuddling up by a warm fire. Before they’re together, Woljif’s attraction often manifests in little gestures, like giving him an orange he stole from Daeran when Siavash is sick of eating porridge, or clearing a spot for him by the fire, or looking out for him in combat. Another one of my themes with Woljif is that when he finally has stuff of his own, he has to learn to look out for what’s his, and also how to let go.