#but others read it as yes she reestablishes it

[veggiecorner]

while Mineru's send off is a sweet way of ending totk, I think there should've been an ending similar to Skyward Sword - where Link finds Zelda overlooking Hyrule (or I guess Lookout Landing specifically), and she looks conflicted. Once she notices Link she thanks him again for everything and they sit around in their silence. Zelda then opens up about her time in the past, of how she saw Hyrule being established, the first royal family rule over the land, and the war that followed it. She realized that while the kingdom seemed strong and the people seemed happy, she decided that she doesn't want that for her current land now. She tells him that she now is secure in her decision to not make the same mistakes as her own father, or Rauru has done when ruling over the land. She just wants to help her people - but as equals. I think that would be a good way to show where the story will be in the future - and how Zelda (and Link cause lets be real that man is not leaving her especially after the dragon thing) will spend the rest of her life.

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[preciouslandmermaid]

from below, gotham rots (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and is a spiritual successor/sequel to the first fic "from high above" which you can find in this series. (Part 1 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt included "drunk/stoned/under the influence." I used some creative liberty with this one and the Reader becomes affected by a drug that heightens her senses/physical senses (think like ecstasy, I guess?) but also it makes u horny lmao. HOWEVER. Reader is also 100% into Batman so it's not like she's manipulated or anything into sleeping with him.

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. cursing/explicit language. enthusiastic consent during sexual content. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: size kink, dirty talk, drunk/stoned/under the influence | pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Crane looks up from his notepad. His blue eyes are sharp and inquisitive behind his square frameless glasses. His light brown hair frames his face in soft moussed waves.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much use to you. I’ve started working at Arkham only recently.”

You press your tongue to the ridged roof of your mouth. That explains why Dr. Crane was willing to speak to you. He likely hadn’t heard of your prior snooping around. No one warned him. Either he was disliked or not remarkable enough to warrant a heads-up from his colleagues. You decide to play polite and dumb. He thinks you’re a true-crime fanatic with a podcast. Besides, you need him if you’re going to reestablish your story and expose Arkham’s corruption.

“And they treat you well?” You ask with a tilt of your head. Your pen is poised above your notebook and your expression is open and earnest.

Dr. Crane smiles. It disarms you—this sudden charm that radiates from the thin, sharp-eyed doctor.

“They do.” He replies.

Your next question lies heavy on your tongue. He’ll either get defensive, you think, or he’ll play stupid. Dr. Crane is handsome and intelligent, but you’ve spent enough time around shady people to know when someone is hiding something. Dr. Crane doesn’t fidget, cover his mouth when speaking, or avoid your eye-contact. But he does keep glancing at the file cabinet in the left corner. Oh, he is careful about it. You’ll give him that credit. But you’ve caught him enough times to be suspicious.

And being suspicious is healthy in this line of work.

“And the patients?” you finally ask after a weighted pause.

“If you’re concerned,” he begins and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “I can give you a tour.”

Avoidance. An interesting tactic. It’s your turn to smile placidly and shake your head. You close your notebook. The universal sign of ‘we are done’.

“I’m sorry I have other appointments today,” you say.

“Another time then.” He says and now you are both lying. The way he looks at you suggests he knows it too. You zip your coat and tuck your notebook and phone away into your over-the-shoulder bag.

“I really do appreciate that you took the time to meet with me today, Dr. Crane.” You say as he walks you to the door. He opens it for you. It feels as if you haven’t learned the steps to this dance while Crane memorized the whole choreography.

“Here,” he offers you a thin, stocky business card from his wallet, “in case you think of anything else.” The text on the card is simple. The font is black and thin. It’s his name, his role, his work email address, and his telephone number. You already have all this. You take the card and slide it into your back pocket.

“Have a good afternoon, Dr. Crane.”

He says your name and farewell and shuts the office door once you step from the threshold. Your shoulders relax and you sigh. Your meeting with Crane - it’s not exactly an open door into Arkham, but it’s a cracked window. It’s a start. It’s something. You fish your keys out of your bag and walk toward the exit.

Thankfully, these hallways are brightly lit and warm-paneled with wood. It's decorated with cushioned chairs, coffee tables with magazines, and thin dark-green carpets. These offices are for families and caregivers. And – in this instance – a nosy ex-journalist with an important story to write.

You text Bruce: did you still want to get dinner tonight?

He’s been in a weird mood ever since you left a few days ago (once you had clearance from the doctors). He sulked when you told him. He kept giving you sorrowful, pleading looks shadowed by sleep deprivation. However, you’re on his payroll and can’t justify living with him on top of his generous paychecks. Besides, you want to pursue a relationship with Bruce and it’s too soon to move in together. You have to take it slow. You want to take it slow.

His response arrives when you’re getting into your car. A simple and reserved: yes.

A fluttery and giddy feeling enters your chest.

*************

Bruce stares at the screen containing the analysis of your blood samples. Whatever was inside you—it’s not on the market. There are traces of hallucinogenic compounds. There are traces of medication that’s used to treat patients with Alzheimer’s and dementia. And stimulants, too. It’s a jigsaw puzzle of enzymes and chemicals.

He rubs at his bloodshot eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

“You ought to eat something, sir,” Alfred says while setting down a tray of tea and toast.

Bruce replies with a brusque tone, “I’m fine.” He realizes his mistake and corrects himself, “I’m having dinner later with a friend.”

Alfred releases a thoughtful hum. Bruce already knows what he’s thinking. His list of friends is woefully short. And there’s only one person he could go out with.

Alfred asks, “shall I iron your suit? Select some cufflinks?”

Bruce snorts, “It’s not that kind of dinner, Alfred.”

“Then a gift for the lady then?” He begins pouring tea. “You shouldn’t arrive at a date empty-handed. It’s impolite and shows a lack of forethought. Does she like flowers? I could have a bouquet arrangement made of – ah – let’s see.” Alfred mutters various flowers to himself. Bruce catches some of them. Gladiolus, red camellia, tulips. He half-listens and munches on a corner of toast while scrolling through pages upon pages of analysis.

************* 

The little Mediterranean restaurant has an ordering counter, a drink cooler, and three plastic tables. The white and blue bordered walls are plastered with framed photos of beaches in Greece. Your feet stick to the tiles when you stand in front of the drink cooler and grab a beverage.

You flip through your notepad. Dr. Mercer is dead-end. Literally. Despite being only forty-one, he died of a heart attack about two weeks after you were fired. You don’t believe in coincidences anymore. Everything in Gotham is connected. You just have to find the right thread to pull. You start at the beginning.

Dr. Mercer: Gotham University graduate. He wrote his thesis on the behavioral side effects of long-term alcohol addiction. You remember he was a soft-spoken man who genuinely believed in rehabilitation.

Dr. Mercer was your lynchpin. He was the first to express distaste about how Arkham was being run. He confessed that he was providing a substantial amount of pain medication for several of Gotham’s police without a prescription. He suspected they were selling it on the streets, but he couldn’t cut them off.

The police didn’t threaten Dr. Mercer outright, but they did sit outside his house, or remind him that his son was only 12. When Dr. Mercer went to Arkham’s administration, they told him to keep his mouth shut and provide for ‘the brave folks who protect the city’. You recall your last conversation with him and your mouth twists into a frown.

“The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said to you, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

They must have killed him. Whether it was Falcone, someone higher in the pyramid, or someone at the PD—you didn’t know for sure—but you knew Mercer’s death wasn’t accidental. Maybe Dr. Mercer was offered hush money and he couldn’t take the guilt anymore…and rather than protect himself, protect his family, he tried to do the right thing. Maybe he said no. Maybe he said he’d go and talk to the press himself. But before the whistle could blow someone took care of him. A gentle burn prickles at the back of your throat.

“Do you want to order?” The server cuts through your reverie and you blink.

“Oh – um…” You check the time. Bruce is nearly fifteen minutes late. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Please.” You figure he won’t mind if you order before him. As you wait for your food, you return to your notebook and your theories.

*************

Batman drew his fist back and his knuckles connected to the thug’s jaw with a sickening, sharp crack.

“Who does Falcone work with?” He growls. “I need a name.” “I don’t know!” The thug pleads. His voice is thick and congested due to his broken nose. “I swear!”

Annoyed, frustrated, and tired of stonewalling into dead-ends, Batman tosses the injured thug onto the wet concrete. His palms slap against the stone, and he scrambles away from Vengeance toward the mouth of the alley. Batman lets him go. His stomach coiled tight like a loaded spring. He stalks back to the Batmobile like a towering shadow.

There is a text illuminated on his phone. His stomach drops.

It reads: Ouch. I waited over an hour for you, but the restaurant is about to kick me out. I’m heading home. I have work to do and then I’m getting up early to meet a contact. Talk later.

He leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He should’ve suspected this would happen. His duties as Vengeance would overlap his desires to be with you and when it came down to it—he’d choose Gotham. He had to choose Gotham. He is the only person capable of keeping the city safe. He’s the only person who can find the root of corruption and dig it out.

You deserve better than being stood up and ignored. He should’ve texted you. He should’ve sent flowers like Alfred suggested. How is that he can be a good partner to you as Batman but can’t manage it as Bruce Wayne? He slams his foot on the accelerator with more force than necessary. His thoughts whirl inside his mind in a maelstrom. His jaw clenches tight. His fingers flex on the steering wheel.

If only you had stayed at his penthouse then he wouldn’t need to worry about date nights. He wouldn’t need to worry about your safety. You would have been right down the hall. Close, safe, bringing light to the shadows of his home.

The tires screech as he takes a corner too hard, too fast. His eyes reflectively look up to the windows of the building. The colorful lights on your balcony illuminate the glass. You have news for him, a lead, and some tension loosens inside him.

(line break)

When you get home, there is a package at your front door, and it finally felt like something was going right.

It took 3 phone calls. One involved copious begging. It took all the money if your saving account. And a shady alleyway meeting with a Gotham University college drop-out. You have everything you need to tinker with your drugged-up blood samples.

You glance at the stack of manila folders on your coffee table. Your life is a proverbial juggling act. You balance coffee and energy drinks, personal interviews and internet sleuthing, and frequent trips to the library archives. You haven’t seen Vengeance in a week. This isn’t unusual, but how your abdomen clenches, whenever you think of him, is.

It feels treacherous to have a physiological reaction when you’re trying to pursue a relationship with Bruce. Although. You bite the inside of your cheek. Bruce doesn’t seem to be giving your relationship as much care and attention as you’d like. It was one date and he bailed. You’d rather have an awkward phone call with Alfred explaining his lateness than empty silence from your potential boyfriend.

In your distracted state, you misjudge the liquid component meant to react with your white blood cells and pour too much into the glass beaker.

You cough, stumbling backward as the fumes assault your nostrils, and your eyes smart with pain and fill with tears. Once the sensation of vertigo passes, you’re overwhelmed by the texture of the clothes on your skin. It’s too tight. It’s going to block your airway. You tug your shirt over your head and wrestle your bra off. You stand in your kitchen, topless, chest heaving, your skin pebbling with goosebumps from the cold. You wish your shitty fucking landlord would fix the heat.

But it’s your fault for playing Chemistry 101 in your abysmally small kitchen. You flick the switch that turns the fan on over the oven to clear away the thin, serpentine wisps of smoke.

“Ah, fuck.” You scrub both hands over your face. Your skin fizzes. It’s not a hot sensation or a cold one, but it’s as if every hair follicle on your body is alert and vibrating. You press your spine into the cool and softly textured wall. Should you call 911? And how would you explain yourself? You’re certain some of these materials are illegal. Questions would be asked. The PD might search your apartment. They could find your notes. You can’t risk it. You try closing your eyes and breathing steadily through your nostrils.

Your balcony door opens. A cool gust of air trails into the hazy kitchen before it shuts off. There’s only one person who can reach your balcony. Your body tenses with anticipation. Of course, he’d come now. Fuck Vengeance and his shitty timing. “What happened?” Batman’s voice enters through your ears and your thighs instinctively clench. A low, pulsing thrum of pure need vibrates down your spine. Oh, fuck. You’re so fucked. You’re so outrageously screwed.

“The drug.” You press one arm over your exposed breasts to cover them, though it hardly matters. He’s been inside you. You stifle a moan in the back of your throat. Nope. Do not think about it. “I was trying to neutralize it. I did something else.”

Batman’s cool, assertive gaze crawls across your throat and chest. “You’re sweating.” He observes.

“No shit.” You deadpan.

“Talk to me.” Batman steps closer and you recoil, not out of fear, but out of sheer desire mixed with embarrassment. Every neuron in your brain is firing and demanding that you crawl onto him, feel the cold, hard press of his armor against your hot skin, feel his gloved fingers in your mouth or in between your legs.

He glances at the equipment on your counter. “I didn’t realize you had experience in biochemistry.”

You laugh a high and wavering laugh, but the giddiness dissipates. You aren’t experienced in biochemistry at all. However, You have the notes of a biochemist and the tenacity of a warrior.

“I’m not hallucinating.” You manage thickly, “but I don’t think you should be here.”

His jaw clenches. “Why not?”

“Because I might do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

Like a thousand things, you want to say. Your mind flashes with about a dozen images of Batman fucking you. You stare at the plush shape of his lips.

The truth tumbles out of your mouth, “like kiss you.”

He cups your jaw firmly and your mouth opens, breath wheezing from your lungs, as you imagine him sliding his warm tongue between your teeth.

“Your pupils are dilated.”

You grab his wrist for the sake of touching him, “so are yours.”

“What do you need?” Batman’s gravelly voice is a demand. “Tell me so I can help.”

Your semi-rational thoughts of doctor’s offices or pharmacies fade like smoke. Every muscle in your body aches. Your nipples are tight and hard. Your inner walls keep gripping at thin air and your abdomen clenches at the lack of physical sensory input. You want to touch yourself. You want him to touch you.

“T-touch me. I need you to touch me.” You gasp out as if the words themselves are being ripped from your throat.

Batman releases your jaw and slides both hands down your arms. The rough texture of his gloves is sharp and deliciously grating across your sensitive skin.

“Like this?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“N-no, more.” It’s hard to string sentences together. The word is jagged and blurry. At your guidance, he drags both palms to your chest, and you stumble back into the wall when his hands squeeze your breasts. Your nipples prickle beneath his gloves, and you whimper—your eyes fluttering closed. He squeezes and pushes your breasts together with your hands laid on top his, urging and guiding, every single motion eliciting a sweet, whimpered cry from you.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, but you press his hands harder down against your breasts. He regards you seriously behind his dark, smudged makeup and cowl.

“No. Don’t stop. I think I might die if you stop.”

His lips twitch into a smirk.

“I’ve never heard that before.” He sounds earnest and you chuckle weakly. Batman’s thumb and forefingers encircle your hard nipples and lightly pinch. You hiss and throw your head back into the wall. The slight pain barely registers. His warm lips touch the angled tilt of your jaw. You cry out and tremble against him. Every sensation is magnified by a thousand. Batman’s lips suckle along your neck. He hums to himself when you moan out loud.

“Whatever you did to the sample,” he says while pulling away, “affects your sensitivity to physical stimulation.”

“Yeah, yeah, no shit.” You say, squeezing your fingers between his, and pushing his hand toward the waistband of your pajama shorts.

“Are you sure?” He asks and you manage a short nod. He cups your pussy with a large, gloved hand. Your eyes roll back into your skull. You need his fingers inside you. You need to clench and cum around his hand. Nothing else matters but the desire you have for him. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he hisses and elongates the word, “you’re already so fucking wet for me. So goddamn soaked.” He begins rubbing the outside of your pussy in concentric motions. He presses his body into yours. The sensation of his cold, hard planes of armor draws another breathy moan from your lips.

His kiss is pure, vibrant desire. He suckles your lower lip into his mouth and groans when you whine. His tongue strokes along yours and you writhe and something inside you starts to coil. You shouldn’t be this close so soon, but you are.

You gasp, “fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.”

“Already?” His hand in your shorts moves quicker, “what a good girl you are…cumming for me so soon, so quickly, getting your pussy nice and wet and ready for me.”

You come so hard that your teeth clack together. You’re riding the throbbing aftershocks of your orgasm when Vengeance pushes your underwear aside and sinks his index finger into your cunt.

“Oh, god, please yes—please.” You babble and desperately rock your hips into his hand. His glove creates a ridged sensation that sends sparks of pleasure down to your toes. You clutch to his armor and hike your leg up and hook it around his waist. Batman touches you with a determined purpose. You messily kiss along his jaw. Even the texture of his stubble against your smooth lips is pleasurable. You wonder if you’ll have the courage to ask him to eat you out. You want to feel his stubble on your thighs.

“You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?” Your eyes are closed but you can hear his smirk. “If you’re a good girl and cum for me again, I’ll give you my cock. Would you like that?”

“Y-yes.”

It takes only a few thrusts before he’s stoking that white, pulsing fire in your lower stomach. You latch your mouth onto his and kiss him with every ounce of strength you have. He responds with equal fervor. A single lucid thought crosses your mind—if you hadn’t experimented with the samples would Vengeance still kiss you like this? Desire you? The lucidity is short-lived. You cry out into Batman’s open, wet mouth.

He praises, “Good, you’re so good for me.”

You sway on unsteady feet and lean against Batman’s strong frame. He carefully tugs away your shorts and underwear. He places a tender kiss on your bare shoulder. His blue eyes cut to yours—inquisitive and darkened by lust.

“I want to hear you say it.” He says, “Tell me you want me if that’s what you really want.”

“I do.” You reach forward and palm the hard bulge straining against his gear. You hold eye contact with him. You catch your reflection in his dark pupils. Your chin and lips shine with salvia and your skin glistens with sweat.

You repeat yourself since Batman hasn’t moved yet, “I do. I mean it. I want you. I want you to fuck me.” Your heart threatens to escape your ribs. Batman doesn’t move or break eye contact with you as you find his zipper and release his cock. He hisses through clenched teeth when you touch him. You smile to yourself. There’s something heady and intoxicating that you can make Batman’s breath hitch. Your fingers slicken with his pre-cum.

He sharply pulls your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“No fair.” You pout, “You touched me.”

“Next time, Quicksilver. I’ll let you touch all you want.” He grabs you by the waist and lowers you to the floor. You open your mouth to object that your bedroom isn’t that far (small apartment after all), but Batman looks at you—dark and desperate—and his chest heaves.

He rubs the head of his cock against your folds, “I need to be inside you.”

You can’t argue with that. “Okay.” He plunges into you in one swift, slick stroke. Your pussy envelopes him. The world goes blurry-white and your muscles tremble with the delicious sensation of Batman’s cock filling you.

“You take me so well,” He rasps, “I love feeling your cunt stretch and squeeze around me.” He draws his cock out of you and the thigh-guards on his armor glisten with your arousal. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. The linoleum tile is blessedly cool against your feverish skin. Batman holds your hips, lifting you, and sheathes himself once more.

“Fuck.” His pretty eyelashes flutter.

You whine.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” His thrusts are deep and steady, hitting some apex part of you that makes your toes curl, and your moans hiccup in your chest. “Split open, begging for me, squeezing me,” His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh, “you’re so…fucking…unbelievable.”

He lifts your legs, pressing your knees into your chest, and your hips jerk upward with a gasp. “F-fuck!”

“Is that good?” He rocks in and out of you, teetering on the edge of losing his composure, you can see it in the hard lines of his jaw and the way he squeezes your hips.

“Y-yes.” You choke out, nodding, “don’t stop. Go faster.”

“Yeah?” He nods, panting, “I want to make you cum.” And it says it like a promise. He plants his hands against the tile. You’re nearly folded in-half, surrounded by him, encased by him, his imposing and large armor almost uncomfortable as it presses into your skin. His cock drags along the ridges of your inner walls and then he’s moving into you with confidence and purpose. Your ass smacks wetly against his armor. He grunts, bearing his teeth, pumping into you with feverish desire.

You awkwardly wiggle a hand between your legs. The first touch of your fingertip to your swollen, slick clit is electrifying. Your spine arches off the floor.

“Good girl.” He growls, punctuating his words with a hard and jolting thrust that makes you gasp and tears spring to the corners of your vision. You quickly drag your fingertips across your clit. A flush of goosebumps run down your arms. Your moans echo through your tiny kitchen and reverberate through your eardrums.

“I love—” He gasps, burying himself, “the noises you make for me.”

It feels so unbelievably good that you want to scream or start crying (or both). The combination of Batman towering over you, saying all these sweet words, and the jerky movement of your fingers on your clit is dizzying.

He continues, “Take it. Take all of it. I know you can, pretty girl.” The position makes it difficult to crane your neck upward to kiss him. You settle for gripping his forearms. “Does anyone else fuck you as I do?”

“N-no.” You admit. A wave of guilt threatens to overcast your blissed-out experience, but then Batman grunts and mutters, “good. You deserve this. You’re my perfect girl.”

Your guilt vanishes and you blossom under his praise. You and Bruce haven’t discussed sexual exclusivity. Maybe it’ll be a conversation for the future once Bruce apologizes for missing your date.

“There’s that smile,” he murmurs, “such a sweet and perfect smile. I can feel you getting closer, baby. I want you to cum all over my cock.” His eyes squeeze shut. He exhales your name over and over again. Batman is desperate and panting over you.

“Cum for me, please.” He arches his head back and you seek a peek of his flushed neck, “Please cum for me.”

You scream as you clench and rhythmically pulse beneath him. Your orgasm isn’t a firework. It’s a fucking freight train. Batman fucks you through it, relentless and pounding, his pace steady and controlled. Your pussy gushes and squeezes around him. Batman buries himself and raggedly cries out your name. Your limbs go limp and useless. You release the grip you had on his forearms and your arms flop onto the tile. It takes a full minute for you to come back to earth.

“Fuck,” Batman breathes. You hardly hear him.

*************

He gently moves your legs out from underneath him. Your knees and shins are irritated from where his armor dug in. Your eyelids flutter closed and panic clenches his heart. He presses his two fingers beneath your jaw and checks your pulse. It’s steady and strong. He bows his head with a relieved sigh. He hopes that whatever reaction caused by playing Walter White will wear off when you wake up.

He scoops you into his arms and carefully carries you into your bathroom. The bathwater runs weakly tepid, and Bruce mentally chastises your choice to leave his penthouse. He fills the bathtub enough to reach your waist. He removes his gloves and forearm guards. You barely stir and your head rests against the edge of the tub. He gently washes the cum from your inner thighs and the sweat from your skin.

His heart squeezes painfully. Bruce sighs a pitiful and low sound. He wants you so badly, wants to be with you, but how can he do that when he’s Vengeance? He is the only one able to keep Gotham safe. He can’t keep missing date nights or ignoring your calls. He can’t tell you who he is. He should’ve been smarter about this.

But…it’s you.

You were his first friend growing up. You are carved into him deeper than a tattoo. You’re like a transplanted organ that he needs to survive. He managed – before – without you during those cold, lonely years. He doesn’t want to do it again. He knows it’s selfish. He knows his first (and only) priority should be Gotham. Yet, a world emptied of you would be a world he couldn’t live in.

Bruce reaches over toward the towel hanging on the bar. He frowns at their plushness and strange familiarity. They look nicer than the others. Then he notices the embroidered “W” in gold at the edge of the towel.

Bruce chuckles to himself, “Thief.” He says affectionately.

He wraps you in the towel to carry you to bed. His swollen, aching heart swells with fondness. You stole a towel from Wayne Manor. He wonders if you took anything else—what other pieces of him, his home, that you brought into yours.

In the pitch dark of your bedroom, Bruce lays you on the bed and removes his cowl. His skin itches with vulnerability and fear. Bruce kneels beside your bed and cradles your hand against his face. He lightly kisses your palm and checks your pulse at the inside of your wrist.

“Sleep well, Quicksilver,” he murmurs.

*************

You awoke the next day feeling groggy and sore, but otherwise fine. You would’ve stayed asleep longer if not for the incessant knocking at your front door.

“Good morning!” greeted the delivery person holding flowers under one arm, “I need your signature for this package.”

Confused, yet curious you scribble your signature onto the digital pad held by the delivery person. They pass the bouquet of flowers and a decent-sized cardboard box to you. It takes a few minutes to find something suitable to put the flowers in. But the colorful arrangement definitely brightens your small apartment.

The cardboard box contains a swanky, expensive black laptop with a note taped to the keyboard.

‘For the sake of security – please use a different password.’ – BW

You spend the rest of your morning transferring your notes from your old laptop to your new one. You do pick a new password. It’s the date you and Bruce reunited. The hours blur by in a black-and-white swarm of scanned newspaper clippings and transcribing your interview notes with Dr. Crane.

A text comes through from Bruce a little before 12:00 PM. It reads: can we get coffee? Or lunch?

A petty, vindictive part of your brain wants to leave him on read. Let him stew in your silence and suffer your indifference. But then you remember the scrappy, scrawny boy of your youth. You remember a pair of soulful, sad blue eyes. His fingers tenderly caring for your wounds after Falcone. His soft smile when you agreed to date him. It won’t solve anything to stay quiet and ignore your hurt feelings.

You text him back: as long as you’re buying. Pick the place and I’ll meet you.

*************

Your stomach winds with anxiety as you walk into the little café. Bruce is already here. He’s at a corner table, back to the wall, his eyes on the entrance. You can tell he’s showered and cleaned up. Maybe even shaved. Although his dark sweater is wrinkled and his eyes are shadowed with sleep deprivation, Bruce somehow manages to look handsome. You try to not let your attraction to him fog your thoughts. You need to have a serious conversation. You square your shoulders and approach.

“Hey,” he greets with an uncomfortable shift in his chair. You know he doesn’t like leaving the penthouse. You have to give him some credit that he came out to meet you rather than asking you to come and meet him at home.

“I want to start with my apology before we get coffee,” he begins as you sit down, “I’m sorry. I got caught up in something. I know it’s not - it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not.” You cross your arms.

He ducks into his shoulders, looking chastised, “Did you get your gift?”

“I did.” You glance around the café. There’s only one other patron inside and they’re busy wearing headphones and typing on their laptop. The employees are chatting amongst each other—barely audible over the café playlist. The journalist part of your brain wants you to dig deeper. You want to know what he was doing. You want to know why he was so ‘caught up’ that he couldn’t call or text you to reschedule. Your instincts buzz. A story is here. You can feel it. You can smell it as keenly as you smell the roasted coffee beans in the air. But you tamper down on those instincts. This is Bruce. He’s your childhood friend.

“Listen, Bruce. What you did was shitty, and it hurt my feelings and I deserve better than that.”

“You do,” he agrees.

“I understand if you don’t have time for a relationship.” You shrug, “maybe we jumped into this too quickly.”

“No.” Bruce leans forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called. You deserve better and I want to…I want to show you that I can be better than that.”

The awkward silence lays between you. You pick at a piece of lint on your pants. You avoid his imploring blue eyes. Your skin prickles. Batman was in your apartment last night. More than that—Batman was inside you. You’re raking Bruce over the coals for not calling when you were busy gushing over Batman’s knuckles. You rub your hands over your face.

“There’s something you should know if you want us to continue this relationship.”

“Okay.”

“I slept with someone last night.”

Your gaze flicks upward to catch Bruce’s expression. He doesn’t look as hurt as you expected. He nods. A small smirk tugs at his plush lips.

He says, “I wasn’t expecting sexual monogamy this early on.” Your shoulders relax. This is the best-case scenario: Bruce isn’t mad or hurt that you fucked someone else. Granted, you hadn’t slept with Vengeance because you were mad at him. It happened purely by accident. It was because of that drug. The back of your neck tingles with warmth. OK. Maybe that’s not entirely true. If Batman had shown interest…then…even without the drug…you might’ve still slept with him.

He asks, “Anyone I know?”

A laugh bubbled up inside your throat.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, “and will you tell me?”

You shake your head, “absolutely not. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Fair enough.”

Bruce orders a black coffee with two sugars. You split a fruit-filled pastry with him. In between bites, you tell him about your meeting with Dr. Crane and pass over your notes on Arkham and Dr. Mercer’s untimely death.

“I’m not sure how Dr. Mercer ties into Falcone, or if he does, but I’m sure Falcone has the network to murder someone.”

Bruce nods thoughtfully.

“I’ll see what Alfred and I can find.”

“We’re close, Bruce.” You admit. A tinge of excitement laces your tone and brightens it. “I can feel it. I think I can use Dr. Crane to re-interview some of Mercer’s patients. I could have my story complete within the next few weeks.”

His brow furrows, “You said you don’t trust Crane. You said he had something to hide.

“He does—but for all we know—he could have hidden dirty magazines in his filing cabinet.”

Bruce’s smile triggers an irregular heartbeat pattern in your chest.

*************

You lift the bouquet of flowers from the vase to change the water. A slim, lacquered white notecard slips out from between the stems.

In beautiful calligraphy, it reads: to my perfect girl.

**************************

Part Three >

[deusvervewrites]

Inko is a Saiyan (and the number two hero, poor Enji), making Izuku half Saiyan.

Good news about the Era of Chaos! There was no one to notice the Saiyan pod that touched down on earth. After all, this was around the time Yagi acquired One For All (give or take a few years). With how absolutely fucked everything still was, no one from the small community of survivors batted an eye at the woman with a tail showing up with her infant daughter sharing the same 'mutation'

All Might's work to restore peace meant that the small community was able to survive, and not too long after Inko and her mother, Coli, were taken in, society was reestablished, which was great for their food intake. Coli realized pretty quick that if people reacted to Quirks the way they did, aliens were in even more danger so she took the pod and hid it.

Inko's drive to seek out fights plus her family's efforts at reigning in her worse impulses led her to becoming a Hero. Inko is canonically about 5 years younger than Endeavor, and while I could fiddle with that and make them classmates, it's way funnier to me if she becomes a rising star at UA like immediately after he graduates. Sorry, Todoroki Family, this will have repercussions. As a sidenote, Inko's Hero Costume is based on Shallot's Sadala Saiyan armor, because it represents pre-Freeza Saiyans and looks dope as hell.

Inko skyrocketed up the rankings due to her incredible power and proactive attitude (read: she really wanted to find a good fight), while also being more personable with civilians. Endeavor never hit Number 2 Hero, stalling him at Number 3. The HPSC considers her basically a second All Might, for better or for worse (for them). Because of her higher rank, and her ability to associate more with top Heroes, she does eventually confide the truth of her origins to a select few. Namely, All Might and Star and Stripe: the only two Heroes who can match her when she gets in one of her fighting moods.

Hey so the fun thing about aliens is that they don't have Quirks. All Might thus tells Inko about All For One, since she's also uniquely suited to kicking his ass, and indeed, she is a huge help in mopping up AFO's operations that All Might hadn't yet by this point. Naturally, she's a part of the proper showdown when Izuku is 9, and the two of them together are way more than AFO can handle. The look on his face when he couldn't steal Inko's Quirk was priceless. It was also one of the last expressions he ever had.

+1. As the son of the Number 2 Hero and a Number 1 Hero (Yes it's CathInko. You people know what I'm about), Izuku actually lives the high life. The Midoriya/Bate Family has pretty substantial funding, and Izuku gets the benefits of that. This also means he and Bakugou don't know each other. Inko and Coli train Izuku in using his Ki and his Ozaru Form safely. Additionally, as a half-Saiyan, Izuku can't have a Quirk.

+2. Inko's signature technique is called Emerald Lance

+3. Ashido has a tail and a sweet tooth.

[brumiramybeloathed]

A brumira idea I've had is, what if Bruno actually left the Encanto after Mirabel's ceremony and then Mirabel left the Encanto after Antonio's?

I've seen both of those floating around, and I've even seen a Brumira story where Bruno left the Encanto and then Mirabel decides to leave when she's 17/18 and they meet up at a bar.

But. I'm thinking something that sort of combines the two.

When Bruno leaves, he takes very little with him. Some changes of clothes, some food he pilfers, and that last vision. He hikes over the mountain and settles in the first town he comes across, not wanting to be too far, but not willing to stay. As a Madrigal, he helped the community in a variety of different ways, so he is skilled enough to make a living. So he does. Eventually, he settles on wood working, carpentry. He gets to be artistic and he gets to make things that actually help people, unlike his visions.

Mirabel, 10 years later, pushed aside by her family over concerns of the magic and her lack of gift and other issues, leaves. No one besides Abuela Alma knows he had a vision, as he took it with him and met no one on the way out. So. The day after Isabella's engagement to Mariano, two days after Antonio's birthday, Mirabel packs a bag with a change of clothes, some food, and some of her sewing supplies. She'll need to support herself after all.

So she walks to the next town over and talks to the tailors and seamstresses about someone hiring her on as an assistant or apprentice. Mirabel shows them her work on her clothes, offers to demo her skills, and most turn her away except one. This one calls Bruno over, as Bruno is good at reading people, even after all this time of not using his gift.

Bruno puts down his tools, comes over and talks to her. About her home life, where she's from, why this town, etc. And he recognizes her as Mirabel, his niece. But she says her name is Veronica Mortize.

So. Two weeks after she arrived at the town and she became the apprentice for one of the seamstresses, Bruno finally finds time to talk to her in private.

So she spills that, yes, her name is not Veronica Mortize, it's Mirabel Madrigal. She talks of her family's gifts, how she didn't get one, how things just got worse and worse for her as everyone grew tired of her being in the way and in the middle of things and she grew tired of everyone leaving her behind. So she left to make a name for herself.

Then Bruno tells her his story. His name, his gift, how everyone treated him. They commiserate over food Mirabel makes that reminds them both of Julieta's cooking.

3 Years go by. The two are busy, providing for themselves and holding down jobs in a town far busier than Encanto, but they meet up every month or so and catch up. Then it moves to meeting every two weeks. Then once a week.

Mirabel tosses out the idea of them living together first.

"We are family after all. That wouldn't be weird, and we would both save a lot of money and be far less lonely."

And. Well. Who is Bruno to argue with saving money?

But he also notices that they sit close together on the couch. That they sit next to each other at the table. That everyone around them thinks they are in a romantic relationship and most don't even know the two live together.

Bruno then notices the odd touches they give each other, across the shoulders, down the back, on the arms and legs. Bruno notices that Mirabel will sometimes look at him longer than perhaps a niece should look at her uncle. And he catches himself on more than one occasion looking at her longer than an uncle should look at his niece.

So they talk about it. It is an awkward, stilted conversation of uncomfortable realizations and begrudging agreement to not go further. They don't look each other in the eye for weeks afterwards. They try to keep their distance from each other. Meal times are quiet and suffocating. People and neighbors and coworkers wonder if they're fighting.

No. Not really. Just trying to reestablish the normal boundaries that family members should have between each other.

They break down three months after The Conversation. They cling to each other, the only comfort they have in a (not so) foreign land, the only comfort they have away from home, away from family. They agree that distance was not helping and that a certain amount of damage has already been done. So long as they don't cross more boundaries, they should be fine.

They keep this up for over a year. Soon, Mirabel is 20. Bruno is 55.

And both are done with the boundaries they upheld for several years now.

They get married with a small ceremony at the local church, using Mirabel's fake name and Veronica Mortize becomes Veronica Madrigal.

3 years later, a rider comes from over the mountain in search for Bruno Madrigal and Mirabel Madrigal. Alma Madrigal is dying and has requested that someone send news to them so she can see them in her final days.

Bruno and Mirabel have a serious conversation about the family, how they would react, was it wise to return as a married couple or should they hide it?

"Mirabel, neither of us are good pretenders, and both of us are already outcasts in that village. What good would hiding do?"

They decide to brave the backlash, Mirabel talks to the lead seamstress about a leave of absence, and Bruno closes his shop. Neighbors and friends wave them goodbye as they head to a mountain that has split down the middle, back to a place neither thought they would ever see again.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Imprisoning War Drama is consuming me and I cannot contain it any longer, so... here you go.

Hemisi still couldn’t believe this was happening. Link was here. Zelda had sent him here.

Her beautiful, stupid, wonderful friend was right in front her. Her former betrothed was right in front of her. Her best friend was right in front of her.

The pretense, of course, was that he was there to help reestablish healthy relations with the Gerudo. It had been three years since the war, a time that Zelda apparently deemed long enough to acknowledge their existence again. Hyrule hadn’t helped the Gerudo at all in the past three years as Hemisi had struggled to protect and guide her people, as she’d tried to pick up the pieces from a once thriving civilization.

Hemisi had originally been angry about it. Angry about everything. On the one hand, it made sense – the Gerudo had been Hyrule’s enemy. The destruction of her own kingdom was due to Ganondorf, not Zelda. On the other hand, it felt like one last slap, taking her lover, her dignity, and any hope she had of receiving help for her people despite betraying her own father to help Hyrule.

But that was then. It had been three years. Hemisi couldn’t exactly say she liked Zelda or Hyrule, but she also couldn’t say she wanted to see that kingdom burn anymore. She probably wouldn’t mind beating the queen senseless, though. But that wasn’t exactly noble, and she was trying not to be like Ganondorf. Anger was an exhausting emotion, and she was working on not relying on it or feeding it all the time.

Anger was certainly not what she was feeling now. What she was feeling was utter disbelief and exhilaration.

Link was here.

Truly, such a reunion should merit some sort of show of emotion. Instead, what came out was, “You look like shit.”

Link’s somber expression immediately shattered, bursting into life with as he let out a laugh.

And just like that, it was as if the last three years hadn’t happened. It was as if their last conversation hadn’t been her trying to convince him to come home with her, to part ways with his wife and unborn heir. Link was immediately at ease, and Hemisi felt overwhelmingly happy.

Maybe they were just pretending. Maybe enough time had passed that somehow it just worked. It seemed impossible, strange, ridiculous that they were suddenly laughing in the small space that counted as Hemisi’s court room in their new settlement, but… somehow it worked.

Link’s laughter subsided, fading into a gentle, sincere smile. “You look beautiful.”

Well, that was quite the straightforward statement to say in front of all her guards. Link seemed to realize that too, despite Hemisi’s even blunter statement earlier, and he tried to backtrack, but Hemisi waved him off.

“You doing okay?” She asked, pushing beyond it as she smiled in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“Y-yeah,” Link shakily answered, though it was hard to tell if it was due to his earlier slip up or something else. “I’m… yes.”

The euphoria of their reunion was fading fast as something nagged Hemisi’s mind, and she said, “Well, I’m glad to hear it. There were rumors circulating that you were really ill, and I… I was worried.”

Link’s mood shifted, and he seemed to grow closed off nearly immediately. She’d seen the expression before, a mixture of a mask in front of nobles and superiors and the cold, calculating gaze he’d get when he had to guard himself. She felt a strange sense of pride and reassurance that she could still read him so well, but it was far outclassed by the worry that gnawed at her further.

Hemisi waved a dismissal to her guards, who all departed, leaving the pair alone. She rose from her seat (she hardly could call it a throne – none of their new accommodations compared to the splendor of their former capital, destroyed as it was) and walked up to him, closing the space between them. “I’m… look. We didn’t exactly end things on terrible terms last time, but we also didn’t exactly end them on great terms, either. I just wanted to say… for my part, I’m sorry.”

Link’s face softened, surprise peeking through the cracks. “For what?”

For what?! “Oh, I don’t know, for trying to seduce you?”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Pretty sure I do, moron.”

Link sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

Well. Now the initial greeting was out of the way, the wave of excitement was disappearing, and they’d quickly addressed their last interaction.

…Now what? Goddesses, she missed when they could just be casual with each other, when they could just be friends. It had almost felt real for a moment, when they’d been laughing together.

Who knows? Maybe we can make something of this.

“The news was that you were to discuss relations with the Gerudo?” Hemisi prompted as Link seemed at a loss for words.

“Yes,” he hastily confirmed, trying to get his footing, lost in her gaze. “I—the queen wants to reestablish trade. With the border, at least.”

Hemisi read into the words easily. “So having a neutral zone, you mean? Where we can interact? But we’re not really allowed in the kingdom still, I presume?”

“Not—what? Hemisi, you came to the baby shower.”

“Upon being invited by the queen,” Hemisi noted, crossing her arms. “You think we’d have been allowed passage without the paperwork?”

Link’s brow furrowed, eyes upset, and he sighed, taking a step away.

Hemisi glanced around him as a new thought occurred to her in the silence created. “Where’s your entourage, anyway? Shouldn’t the mighty King of Hyrule have some royal party following him?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What about your shadow?”

“I asked Lady Impa to stay in the castle.”

Hemisi chuckled. “Oh, I bet she loved that.”

Link’s eyes grew sad, and he tipped his head to the side. There was clearly something he wanted to say, but he’d always been a quiet man. He kept his words to himself, sighing again.

Hemisi felt like she was fumbling some kind of negotiation before it had even begun. For the sake of her people and her sanity, she tried again. “Look, why don’t—why don’t we have a drink? I bet you haven’t had something as good as a Noble Pursuit since the war.”

The tip of Link’s mouth curled up slightly. “We never had a Noble Pursuit during the war. It was mead, remember?”

Oh, that’s right. It had tasted awful. “Well, then that means you’re in for a treat. Can’t a king enjoy a little beverage? It’s our hospitality.”

Link’s smile disappeared, replaced by something new, a soft, strange bemusement, thinly veiled behind a cool gaze.

“What?” Hemisi asked. “What is it?”

Links shifted, trying to find the right words. “Why are… you’re so… last time we talked…”

“Was over two years ago,” Hemisi reminded him. “What, you really thought I was petty enough to hold a grudge that long?”

“Was it just a grudge?” Link asked quietly, voice heavy.

Was our love just worth a grudge? Is that all it means to you? Hemisi wasn’t entirely sure that was what he was asking, but it certainly felt like it. Was he expecting her to be angry as she had been, bitter and vindictive and wanting to snap? Part of the reason she’d been so hostile then was because she’d immediately been insulted by the Hyrulians – she’d been trying to stay neutral during the visit. Her original mission had been to convince Link to return to her. She hadn’t been there to pick fights over anything else. She hadn’t been there to fight.

But there was something in the heaviness of his tone, in the exhaustion in his face that had merited her initial words, in the tension of his muscles. As much as Link played his part of the Hero, as much as he bowed and kissed the ground Queen Zelda walked on, he very clearly held far more feelings about the matter than he expressed.

It wasn’t as if Hemisi hadn’t known Link loved her, hadn’t recognized their parting would hurt him too. But he’d been the one to leave her. She hadn’t exactly expected him to be hurting as much as she had, left completely abandoned just after killing her father, left to pick up the pieces of a shattered kingdom and people by herself when he had promised to be by her side, left to mourn the loss of her entire family alone.

A familiar hurt and anger churned in her stomach and chest, but she bit her lip and tried to redirect it. “You know it wasn’t. But what are you expecting? You look as tired of it as I am. You’re the one who chose Hyrule, chose Zelda over me. Repeatedly. I did try to convince you otherwise both times. Now you’re surprised that I actually respected your choice?”

Link swallowed, taking a small step away, the dark presence that clouded him seeming to dissipate a little. “No, I—I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” Hemisi dully snapped, not quite able to reel in her frustration. “Doesn’t change things. Can we just… try to move forward? And have fun now? Drinks?”

Link nodded sheepishly, letting her guide him to her room. If they’d been in her old home, there’d be an antechamber where she could entertain guests. But as it was, in this new settlement they’d established at the oasis they’d found, she hardly had a regular sized house. The throne room was the only place to have an audience with people formally, and drinks hardly seemed a formal affair to be had there. As she passed the hallway leading there, letting Link get ahead of her, she paused, looking one of her trusted guards in the eye. “Don’t… if we drink a little too much… do me a favor. Don’t let it get crazy.”

The guard raised her eyebrow.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Hemisi whispered irritably. “No matter our feelings for each other, and no matter the choices we make about our relationship, we’re acting on that sober.”

It wasn’t like Hemisi was expecting anything to happen, of course. But alcohol was getting involved. And as much tension as there still seemed to be between them… well. She just… she was better than that. The baby shower had been her last attempt, one last act of hope, a thought that if the queen had an heir Link’s duty was fulfilled. She was not going to be so pathetic as to keep pursuing someone who had chosen another woman, no matter her feelings on the matter.

The guard nodded. “I can respect that. Nothing will happen.”

Feeling far more secure about the matter, she walked into her room. Link was standing in the center a little awkwardly, but his gaze had fixed on one of the walls, eyes a little wide, mouth a little parted, expression unguarded. It was a mixture of surprise, amusement, and regret, eyebrows moving subtly between the three along with his lips.

Hemisi huffed, walking up beside him as she looked at the wall in question. On it was an old painting of Ganondorf (it had originally depicted the entire royal family, but she’d cut him out and kept the rest elsewhere), pinned to the wall with multiple daggers that had been thrown at it. She was still most proud of the one she’d thrown that had ended up between his eyes. It held the piece quite well.

“You like it?” She asked, crossing her arms. “It’s my therapy.”

Link snorted and nodded. “I’m surprised you don’t have one of Zelda.”

Hemisi’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She hadn’t expected that to come out of his mouth. Link seemed equally surprised that he’d admitted it, and he shifted anxiously, asking about the Noble Pursuit. Chuckling, she walked over to where the bottle was sitting in the shade, commenting, “I probably would’ve had one for her a couple years ago. But you didn’t want that, remember?”

She wasn’t quite resentful enough of the queen to throw daggers at her. Zelda herself had seen and dealt with some shit, based on the little Hemisi knew. That didn’t mean she liked her, though. At all. She wouldn’t mind throttling her, honestly. But still. The queen wasn’t nearly on the same level of Hemisi’s hatred as Ganondorf.

This wasn’t something she really wanted to talk about much, anyway. If she vented to Link about how she wanted to punch his wife, he’d certainly jump to her defense, whether he himself liked her or not. And if his defense did prove that he liked her, it would only increase Hemisi’s ire, which was frustrating to just think about. She didn’t want to be petty or jealous. She was better than that.

Even if it did hurt. Even if the past three years alone could have been spent with someone who loved her and supported her, even if maybe her struggle to rebuild the Gerudo might not have been so terrible (or even lethal to some who had died in the interim) for everyone involved.

Hemisi was more than just a spurned lover. She was a chief of the Gerudo, she was a warrior. She would not perseverate on the queen.

She just wanted her friend back. She was hoping a little alcohol would loosen them both up to have an actual conversation.

Three drinks later, they were having more than just an actual conversation. They were having fun.

Link laughed as he put his glass down and leapt to his feet. “Okay, but I want to contribute to your therapy, to your masterpiece over there.”

Hemisi giggled. “With what? You’re not using my knives.”

“I have kunai,” he said easily with a wave of his hand.

“You still carry those, oh mighty ruler?”

“I told you, I don’t need an escort for a reason.”

Hemisi barked out a laugh as she stood on her bed, motioning towards the painting of Ganondorf. “Go for it, then. Good luck hitting anything when you can’t see straight!”

Link wiggled his eyebrows challengingly. “I’ll get him in the jewels.”

“I already got a knife in his headdress and I’m not moving it.”

Link’s smile grew. “You’ll see.”

Hemisi hummed, looking skeptical. What was he going to do, try to knock her knife off the jewelry that adorned Ganondorf’s forehead? Link faced the portrait, hand steady despite how glazed his eyes were from the drinks. He focused for a moment, and oh how her heart fluttered at the sight of it, oh how she remembered all the battles they’d fought together in the war, and oh how—

How the kunai flew, how it whistled through the air it cut as it passed, how it hit sunk into the canvas perfectly, how it landed right between the dead king’s legs.

Hemisi gawked for a moment, Link looked delighted and victorious, and they both scream yelled at the shot, raising their arms in unison.

The air was filled with excitement and glee, at the two young adults laughing and screaming with glee, at how Hemisi leapt up and down on her mattress cheering before she leapt into Link’s open arms and he spun her around. They were giggling in absolute delight, laughing at the release of the moment, at how it finally seemed to entirely break whatever barrier they were keeping between each other. Link got dizzy from spinning and fell backwards, and both rulers landed on the bed with a grunt, breathless from their amusement.

Hemisi jumped up as soon as she had breath to do so, stumbling a little. Link caught her before she fell on a table, and she laughed again, leaning against it instead.

“You’re a lightweight,” Link commented with a chuckle.

“Am not!” She snapped playfully, shoving him away from her with a laugh. Then she glanced at the art. “Feels good to do that, though, doesn’t it?”

Link looked as well, smiling. “Yeah. Too bad I couldn’t make that shot in the last fight.”

Hemisi wheezed. “Goddess, that would’ve been fucking amazing.”

The pair giggled, and then Link seemed to grow contemplative a moment, asking, “You really… I’m sorry. That he… that everything. You know?”

“Why do you apologize so much, Link?” Hemisi asked, far less irritated about it now that her mind was addled.

“I don’t know,” he answered. Clearly alcohol loosed his lips far more than she remembered.

Ah, wait, but there was that time she dared him to call Impa his mother. Maybe she’d underestimated how much alcohol messed with him.

“Pfff, and you call me the lightweight,” she snarked.

Link rolled his eyes, only mildly exasperated. “Fine. It’s all his fault anyway.”

“Damn right it is.”

“But I… I mean… us…”

The air grew thick, and the two grew quiet. Then, softly, Link tried to ask, “Do… do you still…?”

“Do I still what?” Hemisi pressed impatiently, reaching for her drink. “Speak up, goofball. Remember when I used to tell you that when we were first dating? My gosh you were such a quiet, timid little thing.”

“I wasn’t timid,” Link huffed. “Just not used to being allowed to speak.”

“Well that’s stupid.”

“Unlike you, I was just a guard, not royalty.”

“Different now, isn’t it?”

Link sombered again. “Yeah. It is.”

Then he looked her dead in the eye. “I still love you.”

Hemisi nearly choked on her spit, breath ripped out of her. What the—

What was she even supposed to say to that?!

Well. If she was sober she’d probably contemplate that more. Instead, she just said, “I still love you too.”

Link blinked. “…O-oh.”

Hemisi laughed so hard her ribs hurt. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? You’re hopeless! Did you really think I hadn’t? What, just because you said ‘no’ and I respected that you thought that was it?”

Link blubbered, flustered, cheeks far more flushed than they were a moment ago.

“I get it,” Hemisi interrupted his pathetic attempt to formulate words. “You love Hyrule more.”

Link’s stuttering ceased, and he watched her with a clear gaze. Then he sighed, looking away, eyes distant. “I… yeah.”

Hemisi’s heart ached, but it also swelled. His selflessness was one of the reasons she loved him so much. She just… had never imagined it would come between them. “Hyrule has a good Hero.”

Link’s lip wobbled a little, eyes growing glassy, alarming the Gerudo chief a little. He looked at her a moment, eyes pleading, desperately fighting for control, but the alcohol was preventing it from happening, and the tears trickled down his face.

“Oh, love,” Hemisi said, hearing her own voice tremble, and she walked over to him, pulling him into a hug. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried quietly, words thick and choking in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Hemisi felt his tears on her shoulder, felt him tremble in her arms. She was uncomfortable and warm, on the verge of tears herself, addled and ecstatic, and instead of really digging into the issue as she might have when she was sober, she kissed his head and said, “It’s okay. You love Hyrule. But… do you love Zelda more than me?”

Link’s quiet cries were sharply interrupted by a hiccup and a snort, and he yanked away from her, expression bewildered.

“Well?” Hemisi pressed, sniffling and poking his chest. In the back of her mind, a voice that was probably what was left of her rational side whispered, this is so pathetically stupid WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST HUG THE POOR GUY YOU IDIOT.

Meh. She wanted to know. They could hug after.

Link laughed. “You—you really—you have to ask??”

Hemisi grew mildly annoyed. “Yes!”

“W-wait, I—” Link moved out of her reach, heading for the table. “I need more alcohol for this.”

“Coward!” She called after him, his laughter contagious.

After taking another swig, Link walked back to her and pulled her to him, their lips meeting, and goddess she immediately drank him in, their bodies pressed so close, and Link poured all his energy into the kiss, hands roaming, and great Din above, Hemisi started to tug, started to feel her heart quicken, her body scream for just one thing, and—

A pole wedged itself between the couple as one of her guards jutted the handle of her spear to separate them. “That’s enough of that, Majesties.”

Link’s cheeks matched Hemisi’s hair, and the Gerudo chief rolled her eyes. “Leave us be!”

“Your orders, my chief.”

Ugh. It was a stupid order.

The guard gently but firmly grabbed Link by the arm, dragging him for the door. Before he left, though, he shot her a smile and a wink, and she knew, she knew in that moment who he loved more.

She smiled, collapsing on the bed, and before the door had even closed she was drifting off to sleep.

XXX

Hemisi groaned. Her head was killing her, and everything was too freaking bright.

She really didn’t remember much of last night, but she knew she’d had far too many drinks. Even if she didn’t recall that much, her body was certainly screaming it.

What had even happened last night? She remembered how it had started. As she tried to comb through fuzzy images, the linear progression steadily unraveled. She blinked her eyes open hesitantly to find herself alone in bed, still wearing her attire from yesterday, and she sighed a little in relief from that. At least nothing neither had planned had occurred.

So where was Link?

Slowly sitting up, Hemisi hissed as some sunlight peeked between the curtains of her room, hitting her eyes like a slap to the face. She shielded her face, grumbling and cussing as she nearly crawled out of the room.

“Good morning,” her guard greeted her.

Hemisi glowered halfheartedly at her, ignoring the fact that she likely looked like a disaster. “Where’s the king?”

“In the guest quarters.”

“We have those in this place?”

“We converted one of the guard’s rooms into one.”

Did they? Was that something Hemisi had planned for Link’s arrival? She didn’t remember that either. Great.

Leaning against the wall, she half dragged herself to the room in question, finding Link leaning over the bed, head nearly buried in a pot. He spat in it, clearly having just gotten ill, hair spilling over his shoulders. A twinge of sympathy pulled at her, and Hemisi sat on the bed, pulling his hair out of his face.

“Morning,” she echoed her guard’s greeting, waiting for a similar bite in reply.

Link just groaned.

In the past she would have laughed at him. Today, she just felt pity. She had been the one to encourage it, after all. She rubbed his back a little apologetically, waiting to see if he was going to get sick again. Instead, he slowly pulled back, grabbing a handkerchief and wiping his mouth.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been hungover,” Hemisi noted quietly, feeling her head throb rhythmically. She grimaced, closing her eyes. She almost apologized, but she chose the better route, smiling. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”

Link huffed, turning and nearly pouncing on her, tackling her to the bed and holding her hostage in his arms. Hemisi yelped, irritated at the motion as it made her headache worse, but also giggling at the roughhousing. She shoved hard against him, but he refused to let go.

“What are you doing, you butthead?” She grumbled, wiggling in his grip.

“Sleeping,” he slurred tiredly.

“Your breath smells awful.”

“‘S your fault.”

Hemisi huffed, admitting defeat. Her heart hammered with cheer at his behavior, at how they could still be casual around each other without the help of liquid confidence. Perhaps it was just that his mind was still addled from the hangover, from feeling uncomfortable and ill, but she’d take it.

Besides, she felt like garbage. She wanted to sleep. Link clearly was slipping back into a nap. So she just joined him.

When the pair woke again, It was nearly midday. A pitcher of water was resting on the nightstand, though neither knew when it had been placed there. Hemisi honestly didn’t want to really start the day, boneless and warm, safe and comfortable in Link’s arms. She remembered all the times they’d snuggled together to stave off the cold, for protection and a sense of security, weapons at the ready, wanting some kind of assurance that the other was okay, that they themselves weren’t vulnerable.

She missed the war. She missed the war.

Things were far more straightforward back then.

Killing was straightforward.

Link shifted a little, snapping Hemisi out of her musings, and she looked over to see him watching her. He was half asleep still, eyes a little glazed but so, so soft, face relaxed and open.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly.

“Hey,” he whispered back.

The moment lasted too long, each lover lost in the other’s eyes. Hemisi felt herself leaning in, Link reciprocating, and they both pulled away at the same time, sitting up with excited energy.

“Well,” Hemisi quipped breathlessly. “Guess we should do those negotiations, right?”

Link blinked, watching her a moment longer, and then squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. We should.”

“Not that last night wasn’t fun, of course,” Hemisi added with a nervous laugh, genuinely adding, “I don’t remember much of it, but what I do remember was… really nice. Maybe we can still have fun, you know? Without blacking out, at least.” Curious, she added, “Do you remember anything?”

Link huffed a little, mildly amused as he stretched. “Not really.”

Oh well. She was wondering if she could get more information on what had occurred, but whatever. They’d had fun, at least. “Well, we both could use a good start to the day. What about a nice warm bath? With some salts and nice oils… and a massage! Goddess, I sure could use one. I could arrange for it.”

Link peered over at her, letting his hand fall to his lap, and he smiled. “That sounds nice.”

Hemisi felt herself smile in return. They could have a nice day. They could. She scooted in front of him and leaned in cautiously for a hug. Link let her relax against him, carefully wrapping his arms around her once more.

Humming, melting into the embrace, Hemisi noted, “Goddess, I’m glad Zelda sent you alone. This would be way less fun if she came.”

For a moment, nothing happened. She listened to Link’s heart beat against her ear. His arms pulled her closer. And then his entire body stiffened. She felt his chest go rigid, trapping a breath in it, and slowly his arms slipped away. Hemisi pulled away, a little confused, and saw Link staring at nothing, eyes hard, face like a stone.

“Yes. Yes, she did send me alone.” He noted quietly, voice like ice.

Hemisi blinked a few times, feeling like she’d just gotten whiplash. “Y-yeah. She… what’s wrong?”

Link rose abruptly. “We should go downstairs to discuss the trading between Hyrule and the Gerudo.”

The entire atmosphere had changed. The coldest desert nights had never felt this frigid. Hemisi hesitantly rose. “R-right. I…”

She didn’t know what had happened, what was wrong, what she had said. Given how carefree and silly they’d been last night, given how gentle and caring they’d been this morning… how had she said something wrong?

Doubting and overthinking everything she’d stated today, she clarified, “You know I meant… separate. Separate baths. Right?”

Link glanced at her, and though his expression didn’t change, his eyes melted a little, trying to show some concern. “I know.”

That was all he said, and there was still finality to it. Reluctantly, Hemisi walked out of the room, wondering what the heck just happened and how she’d managed to ruin everything.

Link joined her downstairs shortly after, looking somewhat put together. Despite little hints of lightheartedness that she’d throw him, he kept everything strictly formal. The negotiations were quick enough, and before sunset he was ready to depart. Hemisi offered for him to stay the night, to rest and relax, to eat something because by the Goddess Din herself he didn’t look as healthy as he used to, but he refused.

Hemisi watched him go in the dark, her heart heavy, wondering how seeing him again had made things so much worse.

XXX

The king’s arrival in the throne room was unexpected, but the room was cleared quickly as he walked towards the queen.

“Welcome back,” Zelda greeted, a little confused. “I thought you might be gone a little longer. Did it—”

“You did that on purpose, sending me there alone,” Link interrupted her, eyes fierce. “You used me.”

Zelda flinched a little, not used to this vehemence from him, never having seen this. Even at his darkest, cruelest moment, when he’d refused to see Sonia, he’d been cold and quiet. This was the exact opposite. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t speak to me like I am fool, Your Majesty,” Link growled. “I did not enter our marriage out of blind loyalty and obedience. I’m not your political toy to continue abusing! You sent me there to curry favor with Hemisi!”

“I—yes,” Zelda answered honestly. Somehow, that derailed her husband a little, though it seemed the fire was quickly returning. It gave her time to elaborate. “I wanted to reestablish relations with the Gerudo, and you were the best person to choose for that. You two love each other.”

Link’s brow furrowed further. “Yes. We do. And you knowing that means you sent me there to exploit it. You’re using me to get to her.”

“I just…” Zelda stumbled over her words, heart racing, trying to not feel slightly afraid by this turn of events. “I just want you to be happy.”

“And you want to be able to conveniently control the Gerudo through me!” Link corrected her. “This has nothing to do with me being happy. Do you think so little of me that you assumed I’d just go there and throw myself at her, that I don’t take my vows seriously? Do you think I am that much of a simpleton, a mindless animal driven only by feelings and cravings? You think I’m an idiot?”

“No!” Zelda argued, rising from the throne. “I just—it isn’t meant as an insult or a trap, you wouldn’t be the first—”

“You’re comparing me to your father now?” Link scoffed, voice rising as he gestured angrily. “Can you insult me any further? Will you call me Ganondorf next?”

“Link—”

“I agreed to our marriage because it was a desperate plea, a last-ditch effort to prevent further destruction,” Link growled. “I did it to protect Hyrule, to protect Hemisi, to protect you. You weren’t trying to use me as much back then – you were trying to look out for your people. And you were willing to sacrifice both of us, and I understood and accepted that. I didn’t just follow your orders, I knew what I was agreeing to, I meant my vows when I took them! I committed to this arrangement in every way possible, and you dare treat me like some pawn you can—”

Link cut himself, seemingly enraged beyond words, and he took a breath to calm himself a little before hissing, “Don’t try to use me like that. I am not a blind fool. You think I have spent years in this castle and not learned the politics? I’ve allowed you to utilize me multiple times, but I will not be your tool to hurt or control her. You will never control Hemisi.”

The throne room was deathly quiet as the two monarchs stared each other down. Link’s red eyes were like fire, glare furrowing his brow deeply, while Zelda’s green eyes held uncertainty and hurt, confusion and fear, and the king gave a jerky, terse nod of acknowledgement before storming out of the room.

Zelda slowly sat back down on the throne, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and buried her face in her hand as she leaned to the side. There were quiet footsteps, carefully loud enough to be heard when they had every ability to hide themselves.

“I thought you had ensured everyone left so no one could listen to our conversation,” Zelda noted tiredly.

“I did,” Impa replied. “And then I came back.”

Zelda blew out a frustrated breath, rising to her feet. “I don’t understand why he’s so upset! I was doing him a favor! He loves Hemisi, they can be together and it still benefits the kingdom!”

“Zelda,” Impa tried to explain gently, but her tone only irritated the queen further.

“Don’t,” Zelda cut her off. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some ignorant little girl. I’ve been ruling Hyrule for almost five years now, I’m not a child who knows nothing!”

“I didn’t say you were, Your Majesty,” Impa said appeasingly.

“Link shouldn’t be—this is so—I can’t win with him!” She snapped, feeling tears sting in her eyes.

Just like with my father.

Why couldn’t this just be easy?! Why couldn’t one thing in her life be easy?!

“Your Majesty,” Impa tried again. “You can’t… you can’t control others’ lives. It’s not like… just giving orders to accomplish a goal.”

“I’ve healed Hyrule through my orders,” Zelda reminded her advisor.

“Yes, you have. But Link isn’t a kingdom, a distant group of people, a problem to be solved. He’s a person.”

“So are the nobles.”

“You manipulate them because you have to. That doesn’t mean you should manipulate everyone.”

It was called manipulation when there was a negative outcome. It was called helping when there was a positive one. If Link had just listened and understood his duty, it would have been a positive outcome!

Zelda sighed tiredly, hugging herself and turning away. Impa was her confidante and advisor. She should listen to her. But…

She needed to pray. She needed to sort this out.

“I’ll be in the temple if you need me,” she said quietly, leaving the throne room, trying to get the terrifying image of Link’s furious face out of her mind.

[sharonccrter]

The thing that strikes me about Taylor is how insensitive it is and how she is talking about mental health. Did she really love Joe? Because it seemed to me she was eager for a marriage she could show off and was mad that Joe’s mental health was getting in the way of that. Because if Joe was the person she could see herself getting married to and having children with then I am sure you could have found a better way to overcome it together other than fantasize over a racist man.

I personally I’m on a long term relationship (5 years) and a few months ago I got into this very heavy depression and it was ruining our relationship. I became really closed off, in constant bad mood and didn’t notice much that my partner was also struggling with that. I constantly felt like a burden and like I wasn’t making them happy anymore. Dating someone with mental health issues isn’t a walk in the part. It got so bad that I couldn’t eat sometimes and got panic attacks very frequently. But we spoke a lot, reestablished if we wanted to be together and decided that yes we’ll work on it. I went to therapy and have been taking prescriptions (only now at times when I’m feeling particularly anxious) and I’ll say our relationship has gotten way better now. And also myself. So reading lyrics like “get your sht together so I can love you” is really weird because does that mean mentally ill people cannot be loved? That he suddenly is another person to her? Don’t know Taylor, I wouldn’t want to marry you either if this is the way you act at the first sign of trouble.

Here's the thing, I do think she loved him. Have you ever heard of the theory that famous people get emotionally stunted at the age they become famous? Because I think in the case of ts, it's a solid theory. If you hear "The Alchemy" and "So High School", the two songs written for Travis, you can see how she craves being the 'cool kid,' she wants to be the cheerleader with the footballer boyfriend. She's still acting like she's a teenager.

Going back to the theory that she was emotionally stunted in her teens, I do think she loved Joe; did she love him enough? No. She's clearly very self-obsessed, and there are times when she can be self-aware. For example, in her Instagram post, she admits that a lot of the wounds were self-inflicted. The only grace I will give her is being with someone with MH issues is hard, and it's not for everyone. But she could have left at any point. Clearly, Joe's MH got worse or had a bad spell during the end of their relationship.

If that was too much for her, she should have left. She didn't have to run into the arms of a sewer rat before their relationship was even really over. She didn't have to make out he'd wronged her, or write songs giving away details of Joe's struggle which were private.

I think ts needs to grow up.

[serenity-ren-bliss]

I've found my ambition again

VALENTINES INSTALLMENT #1

Prompt(s)/Premise: Kazuha + prompt 6: Reunited + Quote 6: "It's so nice to see your face"

Notes: WOOO! The first fic for this event is finally out!! Have I written a modern Au of this? Yes. Am I possibly tiring out this premise? Possibly. Do I care!? Hell nah.

TW: fem!reader, Not beta read

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

Kazuha stared off at the sea, lost in thought. "Kazuha!" The familiar, booming voice, sounded behind him, causing him to jump and almost fall of the bow of the Alcor.

He turned to face her. "Captain Beidou." She crossed her arms. "This is the third time today I had to scream in your ear to get your attention. What's up?"

Kazuha sighed. "My apologies, Beidou, I'm just... thinking." She smiled at him, concerned. "Well, whatever it is, you know you can talk about anything with me, right?" He nodded. "Thank you, Beidou"

She pat his back. "Well, Wei Yin needs you on deck for something." Kazuha nodded. "I'll be right there." She smiled and walked off. Kazuha took one last look at the horizon.

Later that night, the members of the Crux rejoiced. They broke out their bottles and Beidou made a toast. "Have some fun and get some rest tonight, my friends, cause tomorrow we'll be in Inazuma for the first time since the abolishment of the Sukoku decree!" Everyone cheered.

No one could deny that coming back to Inazuma after the decree was amazing. Basically any member of the crew would agree that the decree made Inazuma one of the worst nations to visit. Kazuha, tho, was extra excited. This was his hometown, and he was so happy to see everything in its full, reestablished, glory.

He drank a full bottle of sake that night, and he might've had more had Beidou not kept her eye on him. "You had enough, Kazuha, go to bed." He agreed without arguing.

The next morning, Kazuha was more giddy anyone on the Crux would ever see him, practically jumping in his seat as the Alcor pulled into the docs in Inazuma. He ran over to the rail.

"You looking for something?" Beidou asked it as a joke. She didn't expect Kazuha's face to light up at the sight of something, and he ran off the ship.

"Kazuhaa!!!!" An unfamiliar voice boomed through the air and the members of the Crux watched in awe as Kazuha, who had never once mentioned anyone from his life outside of his late best friend, ran up to a girl they had never met.

She was running towards him as well, and they met in the middle, with him picking her up and twirling her. "Kazuha!!!" He put her down so she could look up at him, cupping his face.

"It's so nice to see your face again, my love." He gave her a passionate kiss. She returned it, and when he pulled away, she gave him a small giggle. "I missed you so much. All that time in hiding was misery!"

She's been hiding away since the vision hunt decree was announced less than two weeks after her vision manifested. Kazuha used to come visit her often, however after joining the Crux fleet he never got the chance and was only able to slip letters for Thoma to give to her, which they are both endlessly thankful for, but seeing each other's face again is the best thing to happen to both of you.

"I have so much I need to show you tell you, do with you!" Kazuha giggled fondly in response. "That sounds amazing, my dear, but first, I need to introduce you to someone." She nods, practically bouncing in place as Kazuha beckoned Beidou over.

"You never told me you had a partner, Kazuha." She came up behind him. "I'm Beidou, captain of the Crux fleet." The girl shook her hand. "Y/n L/n. It's nice to meet you, Captain Beidou."

"You too. Glad to know Kazuha here hasn't been staring off into space these past few weeks for nothing." "Really!?" Kazuha blushed a little. "Aww, Kazu! You've been thinking of me!!" He chuckled. "Of course, my love. There's not a moment I'm not."

[sunstar706]

Hear me out: Bucky Barnes is 100% not Jewish.

I’ve been doing a lot of scrolling on Tumblr/Ao3 the past few days looking for other people’s opinions on the nitty gritty of Bucky Barnes’ background, and realized- a lot (a *lot*) of people headcanon him as Jewish, which I find really interesting. Judaism, on the whole, is an extremely interesting subject, as the only non-universalizing Abrahamic faith, the only ethnic Abrahamic faith, and the oldest Abrahamic faith (making it one of the oldest monotheistic religions ever to exist).

Let me present to you my speculation on Bucky’s religious background. First of all, we know Steve is Catholic. Just getting that out of the way.

Am I a geography and demography nerd? Yes, yes I am. And I also have a strange hyperfixation on names. That’s why this stood out to me immediately.

James Buchanan Barnes, born March 10, 1917, into a poor family in Brooklyn, New York.

James is a really ambiguous name, with versions in pretty much every Indo-European language, as far as I know. It’s the number one baby boy name in the United States of all time, beating out the second place name (Robert) by over 300,000. Honestly, this name tells me nothing. Moving on.

Buchanan. It’s Scottish. That says a lot. It was fairly common at the time for the eldest sons middle name to be the mothers maiden name, so we can safely say that Winnifred Barnes (née Buchanan) was most likely Scottish.

Now, this is where we get historical, and also where speculation starts. As many Outlander fans will know, things went south for Catholics in Scotland after the battle of Culloden Moor and the Jacobite rebellion, however… The Roman Catholic ecclesiastical hierarchy was reestablished in Scotland in 1878. Catholic emancipation occurred in 1829, and there was a revival of Papism in Scotland, along with an influx of Irish Catholic immigrants coming in (especially with the potato famine starting in the 1840s in Ireland), so, while Catholicism isn’t as popular in Scotland today (approximately 15% of modern Scots are Catholic), when Winnie was born (likely somewhere between 1897 and 1900, I usually put it at 1899) there would have been a good number of Catholics in Scotland. There’s a really good chance she was Catholic.

Now. Barnes. If there was ever an extremely English surname, it was Barnes. It’s pretty hard to provide reasonable evidence that George Barnes was not English, so, let’s run with that. While England today has high percentages of Islam, Hinduism, and even reasonable amounts of Sikhism and Buddhism, it was… very Christian back in the day. In fact, the only really established non-Christian religion in England was Judaism (England contained approximately 60000 Jews in 1880, a number which rose to 300000 by 1914. However, please consider that the majority of these people were fresh immigrants escaping anti-semitism in Eastern and Northern Europe, who would not have had the surname ‘Barnes’). Delving further into English Christianity- they were Anglican, pretty much.

Guess what? Protestants (ex. Anglicans like George) and Catholics (like Winnie) don’t like each other. While marriage between Protestants and Catholics wasn’t illegal in the uk at the time, it is extremely unlikely their families would have approved. So, Winnie and George moved to NYC. (Actually, this is how my very own great-great-grandparents ended up in New Zealand).

So, where does James Buchanan Barnes lie on the religion side of things? I can tell you The chances that he’s Jewish are very low. I’d say he’s probably Catholic, even if just to blend in- New York is extremely Catholic, even today. He could be Anglican. After all the shit Hydra put him through, he’s might’ve given up on religion all together. Or maybe he converted to Buddhism. A lot of people do that (Buddhism is the third largest universalizing religion on earth). I’m kidding, don’t take that seriously, he’s not a Buddhist.

I think he’s Catholic.

But hey, nothings concrete. I’ve read some really great stories where he’s Jewish. I’ve read great stories where he’s Catholic.

-Ranger616

[selene-moonie]

my thoughts while reading shatter me

I'm two thirds of the way into Unravel Me, and unravelling, things definitely are.

It reads like a YA novel - Big surprise Selene, it's a ya novel. Yeah, it's slightly annoying though. I know in my heart and soul I am wrong for comparing it to Hunger Games but I have not read a YA dystopian novel that hits the same. The themes? The fact that the romance was just a ploy in the book that we ate up irl as well? The 2024 relevance? Come on, nothing compares.

Everyone is super touchy - I'll be the first to say as an undersocialised teen, these kinds of books set me tf up for a lot of real life experiences. Does sex always equate to love? No. Are there other ways to show love? Yes. - Ok but Selene, Juliette is touch starved. Fine. But again, why is it that all you guys seem to think about when it comes to emotional intimacy is these extreme sexual touches? - I'm at the point where the switch between Adam and Warner in Juliette's mind is happening, and I think Adam cares more about the physical aspect of it than Warner does - which I enjoy as a reader because again, lust and sexual desire does not equate to love. There are other aspects of relationships that don't include physicality.

I judged the YA teens too harshly when I was a teen - Or maybe I didn't. I didn't want to read about simpering girls whose parents died and suddenly they had the power of a thousand suns but was held back by choosing between two boys - blond and brown haired (it was not the vibe in my years). - On the flip side, I was no better than these confused girls, and many of us growing up were not either. So maybe I misjudged them. It took me years to learn how to stand on my own two feet, and that's with things like therapy and stuff. Nobody had that in those books.

I remember why I stopped reading these stories - Stress mostly. I am so distressed reading this story because every 0.2 seconds, Juliette is about to have a meltdown, every time we see Adam it's because he's melting down, Kenji is just trying to be responsible because he sees the bigger picture, and if that author kills Kenji, I will find her, but no one else ever will.

It seems disconnected from the main point - Or maybe not. Let's look into it - Juliette seems more preoccupied with her new feelings about these boys than she is about the actual fucking threat of the world collapsing. Or something to that effect. She's disconnected from the actual threat, which is the Reestablishment. "Oh the Reestablishment is bad, Warner yum yum." Stop. You just want a normal life, and you are playing at these very adult games. "People have died." Have they? She's so preoccupied with her feelings about Adam and Warner that she actively forgets that Brendan and Winston might be dead. I'm sorry? Should Castle have threatened her after she showed up fucking empty-handed after getting to know Aaron Fucking Warner? Come on.

Kenji is superior - He's the only one who deserves anything ever. He's the only one that understands the threat of what's going on that I don't even think Castle gets.

I'm still on the fence about Omega Point - We've seen it in the French Revolution and my favorite dystopian ya story ever (Hunger Games if you couldn't tell): the people who takes the position of power may be no better than the ones they killed to get the position.

I wonder if killing James will give Juliette and Adam some context - If James dies, it'll definitely be a point of no return. They'll both take the threat seriously, and they'll do their best, or worst.

[aniron48]

friends were a fate that befell me

“What’s the film, then?” Bond asks, resigned. “And how did you know I would have a DVD player?” “Lucky guess,” Eve says, at the same time as Q offers, “Takes a relic to own a relic.” Bond sighs, and Tanner intervenes. “It’s Steel Magnolias,” he says. “Have you seen it?” “I can’t say that I have. Comedy or tragedy?” “Yes,” Q says, and that’s all anyone will tell him before the screen fills with the opening credits, and the camera pans to a young Daryl Hannah walking down the street.

My first creation for MI6 Café 007 Fest 2023! This fic is for @anyawen, who suggested the prompt lyric "friends were a fate that befell me" from the song "Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier.

Trigger warning for grief and discussion of both M's death and losing an (adult) child, if these are things you need to treat tenderly right now.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but spoiler warning for Steel Magnolias, I guess, even though it came out in 1989.

You can read on ao3, or here, below the cut.

It’s two weeks to the day since Skyfall went up in flames when Tanner, Eve, and Q knock on the door of Bond’s new flat. It’s still so empty that their voices echo as they push inside, all talking at once.

“—figured you wouldn’t be doing anything—“

“Anyway, Q picked the movie, I hope you—“

“—told them you wouldn’t have any good snacks, so I’ve brought an assortment.”

They shuck off their jackets and leave them piled unceremoniously on Bond’s floor, revealing a ludicrous assortment of casual wear. Tanner is clad in navy joggers and a worn grey sweatshirt with the name of his university across the chest, and Moneypenny and Q are wearing pyjama separates. Eve’s are a respectable emerald green silk with white piping, while Q’s appear to have a Fair Isle print, but on closer inspection, reveal a pattern of snowflakes interspersed with the TARDIS from Doctor Who.

“What,” Bond says finally, over the din, “is all this?”

The three of them exchange significant glances until Eve gives in and answers.

“It’s been a bloody terrible two weeks,” she says. “And we thought you might like some company.”

She’s only half right. It has indisputably been a bloody terrible two weeks, but company is the last thing Bond needs. He’d been intending to spend the evening much as he had the last several before it: waiting to be sent back into the field, replaying the events leading up to M’s death to decipher when it all went wrong, and drinking until he was able to fall asleep. 

“So you decided I needed a pyjama party with someone who shot me, someone who helped sell off my old flat, and someone who still has spots?” He says instead. It’s not so much that his hackles are up, as that he’s certain theirs ought to be. It’s a slippery slope from whatever this is to forgiveness, and from forgiveness to trust, and he’s just proven with spectacular aplomb exactly why trusting him is a bad idea.

But Q just looks at him over the rim of his glasses. “I see you’ve still only got the one joke, 007. You might consider another.”

And then he’s making himself at home on Bond’s expensive, uncomfortable leather couch, with Moneypenny on the other end. She hands Tanner a pillow and he sits on the floor with it, leaning back against her legs. Bond is forced to squeeze between Q and Moneypenny, but instead of shifting away, they both lean in even further. Moneypenny has produced a pair of fuzzy blankets from somewhere, and they settle in as if they are here to stay.

It’s ridiculous, is what it is. He needs neither comfort nor coddling; he has lived long enough without either that their sudden appearance registers somewhere in his hypothalamus as equal parts bewilderment and threat. It would be best, now that he’s officially back from either Turkey or the dead, depending on how one looks at it, to reestablish some boundaries. This is not the kind of fraternization he is wont to engage in. But he’s hemmed in by his colleagues and their soft pyjamas and their ridiculous blankets, and James Bond, the man who once escaped from a locked ice chest in the back of a burning train plummeting down a mountain pass in Kazakhstan, decides that he is effectively trapped, and may as well stay where he is.

“What’s the film, then?” Bond asks, resigned. “And how did you know I would have a DVD player?”

“Lucky guess,” Eve says, at the same time as Q offers, “Takes a relic to own a relic.”

Bond sighs, and Tanner intervenes. “It’s Steel Magnolias,” he says. “Have you seen it?”

“I can’t say that I have. Comedy or tragedy?”

“Yes,” Q says, and that’s all anyone will tell him before the screen fills with the opening credits, and the camera pans to a young Daryl Hannah walking down the street.

Bond has not exactly made a habit of watching films about the American South in the 1980s, so he’s not sure what to expect. He’s taken in by the banter and the witticisms and Dolly Parton’s sky-high hairdo, and thus, despite Q’s earlier comment, he is unprepared when the film takes a turn for the tragic. Even so, he can admit that Sally Field is masterful playing M’Lynn Eatenton as she mourns her daughter, taking a scene from heartbreaking to hilarious and back again as her friends gather around her to help her grieve. It is nothing short of wrenching in its raw humanity. Q and Moneypenny are both openly weeping as they watch, holding each other’s hands through it in a way that would be sweet were they not further infringing on Bond’s personal space by doing so across his lap. Tanner is dabbing manfully at his eyes with a napkin, his wine gums and Stella forgotten beside him on the floor. Bond swallows. The back of his throat feels tight. He must be getting a cold.

“I just sat there. I just held Shelby's hand,” M’Lynn is saying onscreen, “There was no noise, no tremble, just peace. Oh god. I realize as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life.”

It is nothing at all like when M died. He was holding her when she died, yes, but the similarity ends there. Though it was quiet in the chapel, too, he supposes, the explosions and the guns all gone silent. It was quiet enough that Bond heard the moment she stopped breathing. 

He absolutely would never have called her a wonderful creature, or anything approximating it. Anything approaching an honest sobriquet would be unrepeatable, the sort of thing that was banned on the BBC. And yet he understands, deep in whatever is left of his soul, what M’Lynn means when she says it was precious, to be there at the end, knows what it means to have inhabited a moment that is profuse with grief and horror and regret, and yet somehow limned with the holy: to have been there, to have been alive together, and then alive alone, as she left all of it behind. To know that part of him is in that moment, still, and maybe always will be.

Bond clears his throat, then looks around. Tanner is at the wrong angle to see his face, and Moneypenny and Q are very pointedly not looking at him, and there is nowhere, he realizes, that will be safer than this uncomfortable couch in his empty flat, surrounded by elite members of Britain’s intelligence services who are nonetheless willing to pretend that he’s crying over M’Lynn Eatenton mourning her daughter’s death. He clears his throat once more, and lets the tears come.

There is no drastic sea change, after, once the film has ended and he has seen Q and Moneypenny and Tanner and their bags of snacks out of his flat. He doesn’t stop drinking or replaying what went wrong or seeing Skyfall in his uneasy dreams. He doesn’t suddenly join Q and Moneypenny for their boozy brunches or agree to watch a match with Tanner down at the pub. But from time to time, when they meet in the halls of MI6, Tanner will say, “My COLORS are BLUSH and BASHFUL” in the worst approximation of a Southern accent that Bond has ever heard, and when Bond walks into Q Branch without all of his gear, Q will sigh and say, “If he’s trying to drive me crazy, it’s too late” in a surprisingly accurate one. What he feels in those moments isn’t exactly peace, he doesn’t think, but it is the closest he has come in a long, long time.

In memory of N and P. Every moment with you was precious.

[tharrb]

Having read a few of your posts, I'm curious as to why you consider one of Amphibia's main themes to be 'It's okay to want better/You deserve better.' Having watched the show myself, I never really got such an impression.

Sure, you could argue Anne learning to stand up for herself against Sasha is an example of 'I deserve better than to be treated like this,' but that's more to do with Anne's growing willingness to do the right thing, even if it means going against the pressures of others. In All In, Anne does say she didn't really love herself before Amphibia, but I think her blossoming self-worth is more of a personal arc that relates more to the overarching theme of change than any 'You deserve better' message.

When it comes to everyone else's arcs...I can't think of a single instance besides maybe Wally and his father reconciling after the former refuses to bend to the latter's expectations any longer. Sasha's arc isn't her deciding 'my parents are abusive/neglectful and I deserve better than them.' It's 'I'm a bad person and I need to change to become somebody worthy of Anne's loyalty and love.' Heck, even Andrias' arc which culminates in him standing up to Aldrich isn't about 'I deserve better than an abusive father like you,' and more about 'I should have done better and stood up to you a long time ago, and I'm going to accept punishment for my crimes.'

I mean, you say a problem with Marcy's arc is that she's punished for wanting 'better', but that isn't what Marcy was looking for. Marcy never wanted 'more' for herself, she only wanted to keep what she already had: Anne and Sasha in her life. Her lesson was that she never needed to fear losing her bond with Anne and Sasha just because she loses physical closeness with them, which is part of the whole point of the ending regarding friendship.

So again, I'm curious as to how you got the impression that 'deserving better' is one of Amphibia's main themes.

Thanks for the question anon. In regards to “you deserve better” being a recurring them for amphibia, i’d point to several characters:

Anne is the most obvious example, and since you already pointed it out, I wont elaborate

True, Sasha’s arc is about becoming a better person…but i feel like it’s important to mention why she was a bad friend to begin with. Yes she wanted control, but it was a fragile sense of control meant to hide her insecurities. He arc isn’t just about being a better friend, but learning not to be controlled by fear and be comfortable not having total control. She ends up being a much happier person because of this.

Andrias is very much painted as a victim in season 3. His arc is standing up to his abusive father, so he can live the remainder of his days in peace.much like Sasha, his redemption makes him a happier person (plus, I don’t think his punishment was that severe)

Much of the same can be said for grime, who goes from a bully in a tower to a beloved hero.

Wartwood of course stands up to the toads in season 1. And in season 3, all three races realize they’ve been duped by Andrias, so they unite to free amphibia from his control and reestablish the kingdom under a more equal system.

By contrast, the core’s idea of “wanting better” involves the suffering and oppression of others, which is why it’s destroyed in the end.

This is what I’m referring to. Which is why I feel like Marcy’s arc is so out of place.

For the record, while Marcy wanted to keep what she had, she also wanted to escape her miserable life. Amphibia offered her a chance to indulge in her interest, and made her feel accepted and appreciated. Only for her to be punished for the entirety of season 3.

She’s not allowed to make new friends or happy memories in amphibia(she technically does, but season 3 either ignores it all, or dismisses them as being meaningless escapism/not true friendships), and it comes off as the show not thinking she deserves them. To quote someone else:

Yeah, no, the message definitely reads as "Marcy was wrong when she tried to change her life circumstances and she needs to leave the place where she genuinely has the resources she needs that weren't available on earth and go back to earth so she can work twice as hard as everyone else to pull herself into a decent life. Because struggling through a world that wasn't built for her on earth is The Right Thing To Do and hiding from reality in Amphibia would be Wrong."

As for her lesson, i have two major issues with it. 1) Anne and Sasha barely thought about her this entire season, and while they may recognize that they mistreated her in the past, they never apologize. 2) have Anne and Sasha be the only friends Marcy has doesn’t really do anything to help Marcy’s codependency on them, if anything it reinforces it.

Plus, despite marcy accepting change, her homelife never actually improves, and she never gains the tools that would make her life easier. So the message cones across as “Marcy’s fear were proving correct, and she just has to suffer through ten years alone until she’s allowed to be with Anne and Sasha again.

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 281

McCoy

McCoy was pleased when they had the salad made. He could pronounce all the ingredients in Gaelic nearly as well as Scotty. He could still see the amusement in his boyfriend’s eyes, but he could see the pride there as well. Francine had kept up the praise from across the kitchen.

“Now what?” McCoy asked Francine. He was very much enjoying being so helpful in this happy home.

“Jim and I can finish,” Francine said. “Then it’s just waiting for it to finish cooking. Go relax.”

“Wanna go read?” McCoy asked Scotty.

“Sure.”

McCoy picked up his PADD when they reached Scotty’s room.

“I want to send Leah a quick message,” he said to Scotty. He sat down on the edge of the bed while Scotty got the book ready.

*There was someone taking pictures from a car down the street this afternoon. We were cleaning up the gardens. Spock saw the camera flash after it drove by the fourth time and parked. Just letting you know.*

McCoy had barely set the PADD down and was moving to get comfortable next to Scotty when the PADD chirped. Scotty gave him a questioning look.

*Do you want more security? I can send more.*

He thought for a moment.

*No. Not yet.*

“Everything alright?”

McCoy looked up. He nodded.

“Just letting Leah know about the car. She asked if I wanted more security. I don’t… Yet.”

“Oh. Are ye sure?”

McCoy settled back against the pillows next to Scotty.

“I’m sure. More security means less freedom for us. Spock is one thing following us everywhere; he’s our friend too. Other guards would be older, adults. It wouldn’t be the same anymore.” He looked over and saw the concern still on Scotty’s face.

“Isn’t it better if ye’re safer?”

McCoy sighed and pulled Scotty close.

“Of course it is. But this isn’t worrisome, just annoying. I promise you, if it gets worse than someone taking photos down the street I will tell Leah and have her send a couple more bodyguards.”

“Ok,” Scotty said slowly.

“Whose turn is it to read?” McCoy asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Mine?”

“I can if you want,” McCoy offered.

He put out his hand for the book. Scotty passed it over, and he found their marked page. McCoy began to read as Scotty settled his head on his chest. McCoy wrapped an arm over him and tilted his face down to kiss the top of Scotty’s head.

McCoy woke with a start at the knock on the doorframe. Scotty stirred under his arm. They had both dozed off. Well, an afternoon's hard work could do that. As he blinked his eyes he noticed Jim standing at the door.

“Yeah?” McCoy asked.

“Dinner’s ready. You guys didn’t come when we called.” Jim’s face wore a faint smirk, but his eyes hid something else. McCoy couldn’t be sure what.

“We’re coming,” Scotty yawned. He pushed up from McCoy’s chest and stretched.

McCoy looked around for the book and found it closed next to himself. He opened it back up and found the last page he remembered. Quickly he marked it and followed Scotty to his feet.

Downstairs, everyone else was already sitting at the table.

“Sorry,” McCoy said. “We were reading and fell asleep.”

“All that time in the sun, that’s not surprising,” said Granddad. “Ye’ve got a fine garden again Francine.”

“Thank ye to all of ye,” Francine beamed.

Part 282

Scotty

“No problem mum,” Robbie said, pouring some water into everyone’s glasses.

Scotty could see that his brother looked much better now. The talk with Leah must have helped him a lot. The domestic peace was reestablished. Thanks to Leonard.

The Scotsman’s eyes moved over to his boyfriend who was chatting with Granddad about the man’s woodwork. He really seemed to be interested.

It filled Scotty’s chest with happiness to see how well Leonard got along with the family. It was almost like he was part of it.

Before Leonard had arrived in Scotland, Scott really had been scared about his family’s reaction. He had feared that they wouldn’t be themselves and that they’d try everything to please Leonard.

Francine had been so busy preparing the whole house. And Granddad hadn’t said much.

But now that Leonard was here, everything was alright. Though Scotty had to admit that he was still worried about what had happened earlier that day.

The Scotsman surely would feel better with more security around, but Leonard was right. Everything would change with adults around them all day. And Spock was good at his job. He could protect Leonard quite well. So… no need to make a drama out of it.

“So, ye helped Francine cook laddie?” Granddad turned his attention to Jim and the blond instantly straightened his back, grinning proudly.

“Sure thing. She taught me so much.”

“I’m sure yer own mother will appreciate it,” Granddad joked and Jim’s smile faded, but only the slightest bit.

“Well… maybe I can get her to stay home longer by cooking something for her.”

Everyone seemed to notice that this was bothering Jim a bit, so Francine quickly changed the topic.

“So ye boys really wanna play with us adult folks?”

“Of course! It’s gonna be great!”

There Jim’s brightest smile was again! Scotty could see how grateful the other boy was for it.

“Robbie and I can take care of the dishes. Ye can prepare the living room and choose some games.”

Even though Scotty didn’t like the thought of being apart from Leonard, he wanted to talk with his brother in private.

“Good plan.”

The others stood up and left for the living room while Scotty and Robbie picked up the plates.

“I’m sorry Robbie.”

Scotty was drying the dishes the younger Scott brother handed to him.

“What?”

“I… I never thought about how unfair it is to ye. I invite my boyfriend over and… ye just have to watch us all day.”

Scotty was surprised when Robbie quickly shook his head.

“I want ye to be happy, Monty. And… I shouldn’t have been angry at ye. It’s not yer fault that Leah and I… have a rough road ahead of us.”

Scotty placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Then pulled him in for a hug.

“I will help ye. And so will Leonard.”

He felt his brother nod against his shoulder.

“I know.”

It wasn’t much than a whisper and Scotty pulled Robbie closer for a moment before a voice pulled them apart.

“You guys ready for- Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

The Scott brothers looked over at the door where Leonard was standing. He looked slightly concerned.

“It’s okay. We’re almost ready,” Robbie quickly explained and Leonard nodded.

“We’ll… wait for you then.”

Scotty watched Leonard leave and then smiled at his brother.

[fandom-shitposter]

Alt-Tech

Fandom having fun with in show concepts is all good fun, but you do actually get that Tech is a cyborg. Right?

That he’s the Kaminoan equivalent of Echo and all of his neurodivergent traits are exactly the same thing that people see in Data in Star Trek, and for the same reasons?

That both he and Echo used to be a regular clones but aren’t anymore, and for much the same reason?

That his utter lack of interest in, or reciprocation to Phee is a byproduct of this, and is exactly how Arnie’s Terminator responds to women around him?

It isn’t like they’ve been subtle about pointing towards it, he’s literally named ‘Tech’ like it’s a product description and not a name – in the same way as the rest of the Batch’s names work like that as well

Not only does he peel back a durasteel plate from the holding cell wall like it’s made of tissue paper, but when Wrecker’s chip activates and he grabs Tech’s arm to prevent him from stabbing him with the needle he’s holding he’s able to push back against Wrecker’s strength, not enough to overwhelm that strength, but enough to hold steady against it

Does he go down when Wrecker throws him at the wall? Yes, but so would my laptop if I threw that at a wall. A shutdown and reboot would definitely be needed, at the very least. Just like when Tech overexerts himself following his leg being damaged (we have to take his word for it that it’s broken based on the zero medical scans we see being performed). Shutdown and initiate his self repair cycle. Good as new in no time!

He never eats. Not once. We see everyone else eat, but not him. He still likes to be around at mealtimes, to be social, to happily see his brother’s needs being met, but he doesn’t participate. Which leaves Wrecker to be the only one complaining about being hungry

Only droids can compete at Riot Racing, and yet Tech wins. Yeah, because his internal computer can process as fast as the other droids on that racetrack. It’s also the reason Echo had to be elsewhere in that episode, because Tech wouldn’t have been the first choice if he’d been present

Oh look, I parked very slightly off the mark I was heading for, ho ho, isn’t Tech funny about a distance no one else would even have noticed. Yeah, because a human wouldn’t have bothered to take note of such a small amount but a droid would (but I’m not going to get into detailing every droid moment that he has or we’ll be here all day)

Tech doesn’t remember the man he used to be, not entirely at any rate, hence the ‘reading from a textbook’ type answer he gives to Omega when she asks him what the war was like. Wrecker has memory issues and fails to recall standard aspects of their basic training, and we know why this is too

We see the technology that’s done this to them in action, both in this show and in the Mandalorian. We see those machines being used and recognise that they’re the same thing. We see Pershing’s memories being removed or buried so deeply within his brain that he’ll never get them back unless a Jedi could (potentially) manage to reestablish those connections, and the alteration in Crosshair’s personality following his ‘chip enhancement’ is horriffic and in direct contrast to the smiling, ‘joking and competing with Wrecker in a fun way’ man we saw in the Clone Wars arc

And this same technology can almost certainly be used to implant memories as well, to create a false persona that seems real to the person it’s been forced upon. To upgrade regs to commandos without needing to spend the time training them. To create loyalty in someone where it wasn’t present before. Both in clones like Crosshair who didn’t have any actual loyalty towards the Empire to begin with, but also in those who’ve started to question their place in the world, especially now they’ve been out in it and seen what life beyond Kamino’s walls is actually like

All of those repeated references at the start of the show about the clones being programmed weren’t dropped in there for no reason

Tech is an older model of cyborg than Echo is, and created from different technology. Likely based heavily on Separatist tech retrieved from multiple battlefields on the pretext of needing to better understand the enemy to efficiently defeat them. B1 battle droids are limited and stupid, but Super Tactical Droids were far from that and were capable of high levels of processing, strategising, and creative thought

Why else is there that whole thing with the Separatist archive and his opportunity to recognise that the Separatists themselves were a broadly varied people with their own histories and cultures and not just a bunch of war obsessed droid manufacturers and haters of the Republic? Like so much else in the show it sure hasn’t ever been mentioned again

We see him be slower to process some forms of information than others are at times, like when Omega realises that they can track the ship via Gonky instead of him realising that before her. He falls back on familiar operation modes such as suggesting an old action plan on Eriadu which is then rejected because the Empire have adjusted their strategies faster that he’s currently able to do since he’s no longer getting product support now he’s not returning to Kamino for updates

When Hemlock appears with Tech’s shattered goggles he says that they’re all he could salvage, not that that’s all that was found or all that could be retrieved or rescued, but all that he could salvage. Like you’d salvage lost or broken equipment. You don’t salvage people. He fell a long way down, and now he’s broken until they whip out the never yet directly mentioned on TBB component which can restore him to functionality which Echo is already in possession of. That missing aspect that he logically must already be in possession of, but they’re careful to never ever show even though several scenes make no sense without it appearing

Because they want so much to have several big ‘gotcha!’ shock reveal moments to drop into the final season that they’re willing to have totally nonsensical aspects of plot in order to avoid mentioning them or to have a natural flow of conversation or seen events in order to try to keep them concealed, knowing full well that their fanbase will rationalise them for themselves later on

And this is affecting both the Bad Batch and the Mandalorian hard right now

[mandorebelsspb]

Woke up very annoyed this morning. Among other vexations, the pens are old and slow and what they should have done is build a young group around an old core…Rutherford and Hextall😡

However Grogu’s Dad being imprisoned by Moff Gideon (again with Moff Gideon? 3rd times not a charm)…

Paz sacrificing himself? Not needed and could have escaped.

BKK using the darksaber to cut out and not In to save Din?

Hello group of writers (who can’t seem to create emotional heft and linger on what’s important and keep making characters do OOC things)…I’m very annoyed at the marvelisation of this lovely show. And yes I agree they should have spent an episode on the 2 groups learning to live along side each other (has no one read the captive prince?).

The title though… “spies” gives me hope.

I don’t think the armourer is a spy- sorry. She too is revisiting her beliefs. She has sacrificed too much and has spiritually led this reconciliation…

Could the spy be Jack Black who fed news back to the imperials? He could be a baddie and worked with the mercenaries…underdrawn and under-utilised in that episode. Lizzo was the one Grogu bonded with. Surely he’s going to have a bigger role next season?

Yes there is a Mandalorian spy giving info to imperial remnants (a droid or a person?) but who haven’t we seen yet?

Who could save the fleet and the mandalorians in space? Yes, Ahsoka , Sabine and Ezra (and there has to be a tie in/cameo again because that’s how these muppets work and yes I’m referring to the writers)… but where are the journeyman protectors? Where is Fenn Rau?

The imperials have been infiltrated too and there are mandalorian loyalists on Moff Gideon’s base (surely)…that’s what spies refers too. Maybe Din will have help breaking out?

There’s also a mythosaur and a dinosaur causing chaos and there are more mandalorians out there who are coming.

Grogu is going to save his Dad and hopefully this is the end of Moff Gideon (yes Grogu needs a pet, bigger than a rancor, someone who can destroy an imperial base, and he also has child sized beskar armour to protect him and a droid for weaponry. And he can say yes, no and this is the way…next word? “Dad”!)

I mean I’d love the Wrens and rebels to show up here, and a Jedi or two, but the mandalorians are going to save themselves I think. In a very mandalorian way? Krownest clans, Boba fett, the protectors are all around….

Also Din defeated Moff Gideon but the darksaber is a weapon that BKK wields very effectively. Full circle is BKK killing Moff Gideon. It’s coming (foreshadowed that’s he’s not worthy of the weapon). Or BKK will sacrifice her life and Din will wield the weapon and kill Moff Gideon.

My HEA personal headcanon-Destroy the base with a mythosaur, keep safe under the electromagnetic storms and underground, living covertly and letting the galaxy believe they are gone and fade into oblivion while covertly rebuilding their home and culture. Mandalorian bounty hunters become scarcer and they rebuild Mandalore quietly, and because of electromagnetic interference when Gideon fails and (he’s good at keeping secrets right) his network fails and the shadow council can’t reestablish his work or find out what happened.

The first order never learns about the mandalorians and the retaking of mandalore.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

My Rogue to Ruin by Erica Ridley

The Wild Wynchesters #4

The Wynchester family was born one year when Baron Vanderbean adopted a motley crew of orphans. Each book in this series stars one of the siblings that are related by choice and not by blood. Stronger ties than they have are rarely if ever found anywhere else. Each story provides excitement, a quest, a problem to solve, action by the family members, group work, and the main character ends up with true love and happiness with their partner added to the family. Is it realistic and believable? Perhaps not. BUT the stories are fun, action-packed, emotional, zany, filled with animals, and a nice escape.

What I liked:

* Marjorie Wynchester: experiences sound, smell, and taste in colors; is partially deaf from a childhood disease, extraordinary artists and forger, sometimes feels lacking in comparison to her siblings, steps up and steps out as she is lead in the effort to expose a forger

* Lord Adrian Webb: banished by his family, artist, forger, treated badly by his father and brother, wants to reestablish his relationship with his sister, more caring than his rogue-title, not nearly as rakish and depraved as people believe

* The way the Wynchesters work together to provide what is needed to right wrongs

* Their motto or saying that “Wychesters do impossible things all the time – every day” and how they prove it in each book

* Jacob’s menagerie and the way he reminds me a bit of Doctor Doolittle – it will take someone special to be his partner – look forward to his book

* Elizabeth – someone who seems blood thirsty, learns quickly, sees more than others realize, and will star in her own book next

* Seeing how those already partnered up are doing

* That Snowley, the crook, was taken down

* Knowing there is another book or two to look forward to in the future

What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Thinking about Adrian’s family and how he ended up abandoned for something he did not do…wanted to take the one that did what Adrian was accused of to task…wished that person had been exposed and dealt with, too

* Thinking about the way the poor lived during this time and how difficult their lives were

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

Thank you to the author for the ARC – This is my honest review.

4 Stars

BLURB

The riotous Wynchester family has taken on a new case to expose a forger, but the prime suspect isn't at all what he seems in this captivating Regency romp from a New York Times bestselling author. Lord Adrian Webb is a no-good, roguish, rakish scoundrel of the first order, which is why his father sends him to the Continent and cuts him off without a farthing. When (penniless) in Rome, what's a disgraced gentleman to do, but dabble in some light forgery? After all, better to leave the original works of art where they belong instead of some English snob's drawing room. But soon his scheme snowballs out of control, and a blackmailer is out to ruin him. The Wynchester family is known for their daring capers to help those in need. Until now, Marjorie has always let her siblings take the lead when it comes to planning undercover work. But someone in London is trying to pass off counterfeits and this time she's the only one with the skill needed to find the culprit. Her investigations lead her straight to Lord Adrian Webb. But every time Marjorie thinks she's figured Adrian out, she learns something new that turns all her assumptions on their head. He's a sinner. A saint. A heartless scoundrel. A loyal brother. A liar. A good kisser. Er…wait… She can't afford to lose herself in the passionate embrace of a man she'll have to turn over to the magistrate as soon as the case is closed.