#but the writers couldn't even give her the 'no the war wasn't your fault and you tried to help people' using the arguments you've raised

[quizzicalwriter]

i really love ur writing especially with any matt dillon character <3 i feel like u improved sm with ur recent fics too (or maybe i just like the angst HAHA) but uve always been a great writer, i love how u also include canon details and like realistic details (if that makes sense) but u just r really good with expressing ur words!! id love if u wrote smut like dally bothering fem!reader working a shift at the diner or something idk nonetheless ur writing is sosososgood

Cherry

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dallas makes everything better after a shitty day at work, most of which had been his fault in the first place.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Pain in the ass Dallas. Make-up sex, fingering, oral, all that good stuff.

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind words! And thank you for the request!

Word Count: 4.5k

Working at a local diner wasn't necessarily the high point of your life, working the closing shift even less so. Dealing with inebriated patrons, groups of teenagers, and the occasional male who stayed well past the hours of operation was your usual.

It was a cute thing, the diner, owned by a man who'd inherited the land from his grandfather. His wife had based the menu on her recipes, along with a few from her mother, grandmother, and so on. You'd worked there long enough to gain their trust, and if you were honest, you saw them more as your grandparents than you did your employers.

Dallas accompanied you on the busier nights, whenever he passed by and caught sight of the unruly nighttime crowd, he'd duck into the diner and give you a crooked grin before making his way over to the counter. You fed him, or gave him drinks, just as you did the remainder of the guys whenever you could get away with doing so. It was calming, and made you feel safe having your guard-dog of a boyfriend waiting by the front counter until you flipped the sign that hung on the front door.

While his presence was welcome, the attention it drew was not. Possessive streaks weren't something you prided yourself on. You trusted Dallas as anyone would their boyfriend, but you weren't blind to him either. Dallas was a man, a cocky man at that, his cockiness flared whenever a woman looked his way for longer than a second. Had he ever truly pursued someone other than yourself? No, but, you couldn't help your jealousy whenever a woman approached him with glossed lips and bright eyes.

Internally you thrived on him turning down each woman that came his way, although, much to your dismay, some women took longer to disperse than others had. Whether it was due to Dallas's charm, or their persistence, you weren't sure, nor did you have the ability to check during busy shifts, especially when a man who looked as though he'd seen conflict in the Civil War whistled from the other end of the diner.

"Miss!" He called, waving his hand higher than he had seconds ago. Truthfully, you weren't ignoring him, you'd had to run two other checks to nearby booths and had simply forgotten about him. "Miss!"

With a feigned smile, you peeled your attention from the woman all but draping herself over Dallas, her thin fingers splayed over his forearm. He smiled back at her, the sight made your stomach sour enough for you to partially crumble the bill you'd written up moments prior for the increasingly impatient man.

"Here's your bill, sir. I'm sorry for the wait, busy as all get out tonight."

Your apology was met with a gruff laugh, but he seemed to understand your plight as he followed your line of sight back toward the front counter. While he signed the bottom of the receipt, he cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to him.

"Ain't no sense in apologizin'." He responded with a lift of his hips as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. "I get why your attention's elsewhere."

You opened your mouth to apologize, only to be met with the raise of his hand as he placed a few dollars down on the table, enough to cover the tab and your tip. It was generous and kind enough to leave you mentally berating yourself for not having given him better service. But, you ventured by the kind, almost apologetic smile upon his face that he had been in a similar situation in his youth.

Incessant laughter bubbled from the opposing side of the diner, the noise boisterous enough to pick away at your fading patience. You pocketed the cash, inwardly begging whatever deity listening for the grace to clean up shop and kick the girl out without causing a scene.

Their conversation continued, words muffled by distance and the clatter of putting away cutlery, although you tried your damndest to overhear it all. You began your routine of cleaning up house, a wet rag over your shoulder with a bottle of cleaning solution in your left hand. As you spritzed a nearby table, her laughter kicked up a notch, yet again.

"We're closing!" You called, giving her a feigned smile as she turned her head to face you. She returned your smile, just as you had given it to her, coarse and fake. You bit at your inner cheek as she turned back to Dallas, her hand lifting to rest against his shoulder.

"Hey, we're closed!" You shouted, tone louder than before. Dallas peered at you from behind her shoulder, face a mixture of shock and amusement. You were having none of it, not her bold and brazen behavior, his cockiness - none of it. You tossed your rag toward the counter, slinging the bottle alongside it as you moved toward them.

The woman, for what it was worth, met your eyes as you approached. The sudden eye contact left you stumbling over your thoughts, but as you caught sight of her hand still lingering upon his shoulder, all sense of humility left you.

"He's taken, did you know that?" You asked as you grabbed her wrist, quickly shoving it back toward her. Her smile faltered then, her eyes flickering between you and Dallas as she backed away. "No, I suppose you didn't."

All anger you had directed toward her vanished with each step she took toward the door, instead raising and flaring at the man sitting beside you. You turned, meeting his gaze with a scowl and a shake of your head.

"Seriously, Dallas?" You asked, although you knew no response he could provide at that moment would abate the growing ache in your chest. "You're an asshole. A real - fuckin' - asshole."

Each pause was accentuated with a shove of his shoulder, jealousy seething in your mind, burning your eyes with tears you refused to let him see. You could tell from the sudden switch of emotion on his face, albeit blurred from your tears, that he hadn't meant to hurt you. His hands grabbed your forearms, holding you steady whilst simultaneously shielding himself from your jealousy-fueled tirade. You were in no mood for his touch, so you pulled away from it with a grunt.

The sooner you finished closing up shop, the sooner you'd be away from him. Those words rang in your mind as you walked away from him, repeating with each step as though it were a mantra.

It was shitty; your jealousy, his cockiness, it was a toxic mix that neither of you relished in. You had known going into your relationship with Dallas how he handled interactions with women, you knew where his loyalties were, yet some part of you continued to twist and sour with each look his way.

Maybe it was the extra shifts you'd taken at the diner, the fewer hours you were able to spend by his side, being reassured by his touch and his words. Whatever it was, you hadn't the patience to linger on it, all you wanted to do was wallow in your anger - so, you did.

"Doll!" He called, although he was met with no answer as you tossed unclean plastic menus onto the countertop. You could hear him walking toward you, swearing under his breath, yet you continued to ignore him as you snagged your house keys from underneath the counter.

"Christ's sake, I didn't say a damn thing to the broad!"

"That's not the point." You sighed, shaking your head as you spoke, fingers blindly fumbling with your keyring as you neared the front entrance. "Not the point at all, and you know it."

Once your fingers had found the key to the front door, you hastened your pace, not necessarily wishing to have an argument with Dallas in the middle of the night. Dallas, however, absolutely seemed up to the challenge. He stood behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a heavy scowl on his face as he watched you lock the place up.

"Explain it to me then." He whispered, and for a second you believed him to be apologetic. "'Cause this attitude, it ain't helpin' your cause."

And then he ruined it.

You swirled on your heel, months of pushed-aside irritation bubbling to the surface. You weren't one for confrontation, never had been, it was a sore point for you. You quickly pocketed your keys, hands gripping the middle of your jacket, tugging it snug around your middle.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" You asked. "You could've shooed her away, told her you were with someone. And yet, you- you entertain it."

The words would've rung home for anyone willing to listen, but Dallas, with his stubborn ways, only cocked his head to the side and gave you a lopsided grin.

"I'm not interested in other women." He responded, taking a step closer to you. "I can't help who talks to me, doll. I ain't entertaining anything, you know that."

Did you? Maybe, but in your jealousy-fueled haze, you refused to admit your part in the misunderstanding. He lifted his right hand from his pocket, placing it against your upper arm, thumb gently rubbing along the fabric of your jacket.

"Do you worry about me?" He asked with a duck of his head, trying to center your attention back on him. "Worry about me talkin' to other girls?"

You nodded, and instead of snickering, he pulled you forward. You thudded against his chest, the sudden move knocking a bit of wind from your lungs. His arms wrapped around you as he laughed out an apology, the sound soft, the words genuine.

"Still an asshole." You murmured, resting your cheek on his chest as your hands grasped onto the back of his jacket. You felt him nod, chin atop your head, his hands smoothing up your back.

"I know." He replied. "At least let me drive you home, alright? Even if you're pissed."

"Not pissed." You assured, leaning back from the embrace to meet his gaze. "Might have overreacted."

Dallas clicked his tongue against his teeth, eyebrows screwing together as he nodded his head back. "No," he chuckled. "I would've done the same if some guy talked to you."

The thought made you smile, not that you hadn't seen Dallas's protective side flair. You were both territorial over each other, and there was nothing necessarily wrong with that as long as the feelings were reciprocated - which they were in their entirety.

"Ever notice how empty this lot is at night?" He commented, snapping you from your mind with a gentle squeeze of your hip. "Hardly any cars pass by, somethin' I noticed after a few nights sittin' by the counter."

Dallas hadn't been wrong, not in the slightest. In truth, you would've been surprised if you'd caught anyone lingering in the parking lot after closing. Your town wasn't quiet by any means, but the diner had been built around, years of infrastructure hiding it amidst a cluster of run-down businesses.

With a hum, you leaned into his side. "Guess you're right." You replied, tilting your head back to give him a squinty-eyed smile, on account of the nearby flickering lot light.

"Could make you feel better." He whispered. "On account of earlier, or whatever."

You snickered, rolling your eyes at his blatant suggestion, yet for all its crudeness, you couldn't deny the stir you felt in your lower stomach.

"You're filthy." You chided, nudging his side with your elbow.

Dallas huffed out a laugh, his arm looping around your back. "C'mon," he urged as he began walking, leading you toward his car. "Ain't wasting the opportunity to make you feel better."

Mere moments had passed before you were both clamoring into the back of the Thunderbird, limbs bumping into limbs, soft laughter echoing inside the vehicle as Dallas reached over your middle to pull the door shut. As soon as the door had shut, your lips were on his, your hands blindly fumbling with the front of his jeans.

You'd just gotten the button undone when his hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them back as he pulled away from your kiss. You were left pouting, the sight adorable and pitiful enough to pull a laugh from Dallas as he set your hands down in your lap.

"This is for you, not me. Let me make you feel good."

Dallas focusing his sole attention on you? On pleasing you, no less? How could you refuse? Elated laughter bubbled in your chest as his hands slid up and underneath your skirt, the fabric bunching up around your hips. You helped him with a gentle lift of your hips, allowing him to hook his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, before slinking the fabric down your legs.

"You're going to cum on my tongue." He stated, tone full of nonchalance as he tossed your underwear toward the front of the car. "And, I want you over me when you do."

"You want me to sit on your face?" You asked, lips quirking up into a smile as you bit back laughter, truly believing he was joking. "Is that what you're asking me?"

Dallas only nodded, and only then did the realization of his request register in your mind. Heat prickled at the nape of your neck, spreading forward until it encompassed your chest in a deep blush. Sensing your nerves, Dallas's thumbs rubbed gentle circles above your hip bones, his head ducking down to meet your avoidant gaze.

"Hey," he whispered. "Ain't nothin' I haven't seen before. It'll feel good, doll, promise."

So, you allowed him to help you into a position that didn't have both of you groaning in discomfort. Maneuvering into a position where you straddled his shoulders, in the back of an already narrow car, wasn't exactly the easiest to accomplish. Somehow, you both managed, mostly thanks to Dallas's hands keeping you steady as you moved over him.

The chill of his silver rings bit into your thighs, keeping you sunk in the present, hovered over him as he looked up at you from below. There was nothing other than pure, unadulterated lust pouring from his eyes, pupils blown so heavily there was only a crescent of color visible. His fingers tapped, once and then again, a nonverbal request for you to lower yourself.

So you did.

He met you halfway, tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt, delving between your folds to collect your essence against his tastebuds. He wanted to savor you, that much was readily apparent by his hardened grasp on your thighs, all but cementing you atop his face. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as a plethora of broken-off moans tumbled past your lips.

You begged for him, murmuring his name between praises lost on your ears, but not his. Each word, no matter how garbled by pleasure, left his hips rutting up into the air as he circled his tongue around your clit. Your hips moved in synchrony with his tongue, adjacent swirls, and he let you. He had always favored dominance, being in control of the situation, but having you atop him had him praising every divine figure he could conjure in his lust-riddled mind.

“Dallas-“ You crooned, the noise so sweet it pulled a moan from his chest, the vibration left directly against your aching cunt. You smiled, a mixture of a laugh and moan leaving you as your hands raked through his hair, tugging at the short strands. “So good, Dal.”

With an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, he pulled away. It was for a fraction of a second, needed to slip his right hand between your thighs, but you were left whining and pouting. He tutted from between your thighs, lips, and chin glistening with your cum.

“C’mon, doll.” He whispered as his middle and ring fingers pushed inside of you, delicately curling to brush against a spot that had your thighs clamping down around him. “It'll feel good, I promise.”

His left hand squeezed your hip, guiding you just as he would if you were riding him. You unconsciously followed his guidance, sliding down onto his fingers, before raising yourself, only to repeat the motion over, and over. Lewd squelches sounded from between your thighs, your cunt dripping a mixture of cum and saliva down onto his palm.

“See?” He asked through a breathy laugh, quickly resuming his position between your thighs. “Told ‘ya I’d make you feel better.”

You wanted to berate him for his cockiness, you truly did, but the feeling of his lips encircling your clit left you breathless. If anything, any ridicule would’ve turned into a garbled mess of his name.

A groan of a laugh reverberated in Dallas’s chest, yet he never pulled away. His tongue lapped at your clit, intervals of swirls and sucks following each grunt he managed to sound out. The sounds were carnal, stoking the steadily building flame in your lower stomach. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, pulling him closer, yourself closer. In truth, you weren’t sure if he could breathe, but neither of you moved from where you were.

“That’s it, doll.” He rasped, words hardly audible, muffled from your cunt. You managed a sighed moan in response, your hips rolling, sliding your cunt against his tongue. His fingers thrusted into you, mimicking the tempo of his eager tongue, each lap and circle of the muscle pushing you closer to the edge.

The uptake of an octave, your head rolling back as your eyes squeezed shut; Dallas knew each instinctual move of your body by heart. His eyes stayed locked on you, memorizing the sight of you coming undone above him, riding his face like a woman starved. His free hand lifted from your hip, curving around the plush of your ass, knowing he needed a tight hold on you to keep you steady.

“Dal-“

There it was, the familiar beckon of his name. His cock strained against the confines of his boxers, tip leaking precum, smearing against the now dampened fabric. His thighs tensed as his hips rolled, desperately seeking some form of reprieve as your cunt twitched around his fingers. Instead of verbalizing his reply, he squeezed the swell of your ass, wordlessly urging you to cum.

White-hot pleasure seared your veins, unconsciously twitching your limbs, tightening your hold on his hair. Your cunt spasmed, clit throbbing against his circling tongue. You cursed under your breath, eyes squeezed shut, mind solely focused on the ecstasy overtaking your body. Dallas grounded you with slow brushes of his hand along your thigh, fingers still inside of you, lips placing gentle kisses on your oversensitive clit.

“Alright?” He asked, tone rough enough to pull a surprised laugh from you. You nodded, threading your fingers through his hair.

“More than alright.” You replied. “Way more.”

Instead of hovering over his face for another second with wobbly legs, you moved yourself back, giving Dallas enough time to situate himself upright. His hands found your hips quickly after, gently guiding you back to his lap.

In an almost instinctive move, you lowered yourself to place your lips on his. His hands slid around your back, fingers absentmindedly grabbing at the fabric of your uniform as his lips moved with yours.

You braced yourself against the rear windshield, the slick condensation gathering in the palm of your hands, smearing your fingerprints down the pane as your lips moved against his. If anyone had passed by, anyone at all, they would've gathered what you both had gotten up to.

Neither of you could bring yourself to care, not when Dallas slipped his hands underneath the back of your shirt, his fingernails scraping along the curve of your back to have you closer as he sucked your tongue.

Your lips curved into a smile at the move, the lucrative, nearly addictive slide of his tongue against your own. He knew you, knew your body and how to make it tick. Your hips rocked against his lap, causing his already hard cock to twitch and pulse against the confines of his jeans.

"You're still hard," you rasped into the kiss, "I can make you feel good, too."

He groaned, his eyebrows knitting together as his hips bucked up into you. You bit at your bottom lip as you moved your hands from the rear windshield, letting your now cool skin slide down his front, keeping your eyes locked with his as you unzipped his jeans.

His lips parted in a silent moan as your hand slipped underneath the hem of his boxers, your fingers curling around the thick base of his cock. You could feel each twitch of his cock beneath your palm, the skin slick and warm, coated in his precum. You slid your hand up, leisurely pumping him, the act enough to have him grunting out your name.

You savored each lecherous moan that fell from his lips. With a shift of your hips, you centered yourself over his thigh, rolling your hips down in tandem with each stroke of his cock. You knew you were dampening the denim, soiling it, yet all you saw reflected in Dallas's eyes was the same debauchery you held heavy in your mind.

“Fuck me.” You begged, tired of the hassle, of denying yourself the most innate of pleasures. He relented with a lift of your body, allowing his hard cock to slide along your folds, catching against you. You watched as he lowered you onto him, his cock sliding into you deliciously slow.

Thin, red lines followed his nails as they dragged up the skin of your thighs, coming to a halt at your hips where he steadied you. You could feel his cock pulse inside of you, twitching just before your cervix. You watched him with bated breath, allowing him to guide each movement of your hips, and he did so with precision.

"So tight," he murmured, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of pure lust and concentration, as though the mere sight of you atop him would undo him if he gave into it. "So fuckin' good."

All you could muster was a moan in response, your hips rolling forward, each forward motion brushing your clit against his lower stomach. Your thighs strained, muscles burning, yet you paid them no mind in favor of the persistent push of Dallas's cock, the way his tip brushed against your g-spot with each shift of his hips.

His eyes flitted, sight torn between your breasts and the needy, desperate look in your eyes. He shifted beneath you, planting his feet against the floorboard, giving himself enough stability to thrust upward, pushing himself deeper than before.

The shift in position forced the air from your lungs, a pitiful, broken-off mess of a moan passing your parted lips as you grasped his shoulders. He whispered something to you, but whatever it was had been lost on your muddled mind in favor of the budding feeling of ecstasy coiling in your lower stomach.

"Dallas-" You whined, the urgency in your call not lost on him. He nodded, wetting his lips as he rolled his hips upward. You could feel your arousal dripping between your thighs, smearing along your skin as well as his, coating his lower stomach in your cum.

"That's it, doll." He whispered, his left hand moving between your thighs to circle his thumb around your clit, rhythm syncing with each pump of his hips. "C'mon, cum for me."

Ecstasy coiled tight in your stomach, and with each swirl of his thumb and pump of his cock, you felt it twist tighter and tighter. Your hands moved from his shoulders, fingers threading through the back of his hair where you pulled. His mouth fell open, eyebrows lifting as an expression of shock-induced euphoria crossed his face.

So, you pulled harder, the harshness of your hold mirrored in the desperate way you fucked yourself on his cock, movements so frenzied you felt your muscles burning beneath your skin.

A deep, almost sinful moan rumbled in his chest. You swallowed it with a kiss to his lips, hands moving to his jaw as your tongue moved with his. His thumb was slick against your clit, and with a gasp of his name, your cunt spasmed around his cock.

"Fuck, that's it." He groaned, words strained as he teetered on the edge of his orgasm. "Let it out, doll."

Your lips moved from his, kisses trailing down his cheek, onto his jaw, before you settled your cheek to his shoulder, simply choosing to give yourself over to the onslaught of pleasure Dallas had you wrapped up in. Dallas's hold on your hip tightened as his head fell back, his eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched as his cock twitched inside of you, each pulse filling you with his cum.

You both shared the blissful silence that came afterward, the only noises being the occasional breath and whispered praise, the brush of his hands against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, words muffled by the press of his lips against your throat. "I'm sorry."

Apologies weren't common with Dallas. To his benefit, he hadn't done much to call for one, but this - this you appreciated. You nodded, leaning into his touch, his lips, with a thread of your fingers through his hair. He continued murmuring into your skin, you drank in each word, heart slowing in your chest, calming with the promises he spoke only to you.

His hand moved from your hip, thumb, and forefinger resting against your chin, tipping your head up to meet his eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed together, skin coated in a thin veneer of sweat. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, yet his eyes never left yours.

"You're my girl." He whispered, and you nodded. "I'd never do anything to hurt you."

You placed a kiss on the pad of his thumb, the sincerity in his words causing you to smile. He smiled in return, fingers splaying against your cheek where he held you gently.

"It won't happen again, alright?"

His words were soft, the sentiment mirrored in his eyes. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He met your embrace with one of his own, wrapping his arms around the small of your back, hands gently caressing between your shoulder blades.

"Good apology, been workin' on it for a while?" You joked, placing a kiss on his jaw with a soft bout of laughter. You felt him laugh, the vibration of his chest against yours.

"Nope." He admitted, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "You're worth a genuine apology."

"Sap." You teased, but your tone gave way to your true feelings, how much you appreciated his honesty, his words. He caught on, but never made it known, instead choosing to reply with another kiss to your skin.

"Yeah, guess I am."

A/N: Siri, play "Lover, You Should've Come Over" by Jeff Buckley, please! No, but seriously, I finished this piece with that song on repeat. Alas, I am not dead! I won't lie, I've suffered with pretty damn bad writers block. Somehow, I finished this. I hope you all like it! Thank you for your continuous support of me and my work, I value you all more than I could ever put into words! I hope this piece makes up for my time gone, see it as an early Valentine's gift!

[randomnameless]

Considering the game is trying to present Rhea as "pure," it doesn't make sense that it tries to blame her for the war via the false history.

I agree in general with your post, and if the Fodlan games were only about their own subtext, then I guess we wouldn't get half of the headaches we have when trying to determine what was the intent behind the game.

However, we still have that part in the support :

Though my intention was to keep the peace in Fódlan, I still propagated a false history and deceived my faithful followers. I also took advantage of my position as archbishop to further my own selfish goal of seeing my mother again. If my foolish actions had anything to do with the war, I—

Of course Rhea self-depreciates here because she literally opens the conversation with "should I be happy that I survived" - note how, her own POV contradicts the devs' interview, here in this support where she is written at her lowest (or one of her lowest states because CF is a thing! - but here, she's basically asking for death apparently listing all the reasons why she shouldn't be happy to have surived...) - to self-depreciating!Rhea, the rez Sothis plan was her own selfish goal to reunite with her mother. But per Word of God, Rhea's obsession with reviving Sothis isn't only her "selfish goal" to see her mother again, but it has a deeper meaning to her, as a Nabatean : she wants to bring the Creator, aka her Goddess, back.

Maybe the writers wanted Billy to, not play her game and straight up give her the answer "we're happy you're here so please stop saying you feel like living is something you shouldn't do" instead of countering everything she said to end up giving the same message...

But in a game riddled (even if SS is the basis!) with Church BaD, with "Can't we walk uwu with her uwu" and, basically, a humonguous Rhea shaped scarecrow that is never truly revealed to have only been a red herring because we know what kind of Tea wouldn't have sold otherwise...

Maybe it's me, but it still feels somehow wrong that, Rhea, who maybe heard all the insanities Supreme Leader parroted, isn't allowed in her supposed "big moment", her S-Support, to be treated as a victim (she was tortured for 5 years due to this racially oriented war against her ffs) or at least not an accomplice to her own torture. The game is very cruel to make her believe, to her who lovs Fodlan and its inhabitants more than anyone else, that she is the one responsible for Supreme Leader's war, that bled the continent.

And so, the subtly raised issue about the previous war and who started it is subtly ignored, with the grace of a french drunkard, to assure one of this war's victims that while it is nice she survived and everyone is happy... well,

We're still avoiding the "difficult" questions, and thus, she will continue being a scarecrow for the remaining 80 seconds of this route.

In the same vein...

By triggering the S Support, you've accepted that you're romancing a dragon but that dragon, owing to Rhea's role as a protector, has saved your life and the lives of others twice while being captured or severely injured as a result.

While it serves as a good foil (?) to CF - I still feel like the two situations cannot be compared.

You mention that you (as in, Billy) accept that you're going to live with a dragon who saved your life and the world - but in CF, you - as Billy - aren't accepting a thing, Supreme Leader is the one sprouting her racist crap, and while we can suppose Billy agrees with most of it... they still disobey, if given the occasion, with Seteth, Flayn and Indech.

Removing Billy here, we have CF!Supreme Leader who thinks Nabateans are cruel beasts and monsters who should die and cannot live with humans... and in this route, we have SS!Rhea who thinks her "other form" should be a reason why she should die :

Tell me... Is it wrong for me to be happy that I escaped death? (BIlly either says they're happy or Rhea should be happy) Can you still say such things to me, even after witnessing my...other form?

We know Billy nods or says yes, because Rhea later thanks them. But curiously, this is off-screen or not mentionned at all, Rhea just thanks Billy so we can only supposed they nodded/said yes.

And yet, I guess, if the game really wanted to part from a certain someone's idea that Nabateans are beasts who should not interact with humans because of their race - we could have had something more, anything than an implied nod from the player/avatar/character!

I'm not of Ike so I'll ignore him for Eli-Roy duo - but what would have been the biggest "i'm your inverse" slap to CF, an implied nod that dragon or not dragon we're happy to see Rhea, or a character saying on-screen that race doesn't matter and people are happy to see Rhea, let her have scales or not?

By purposedly avoiding even voicing (well, writing) anything that would mean Nabateans are loveable, even if they are not humans, the game, far from acknowledging - even in SS which is supposed to be the most "life discovering journey" and "enlightment" route! - that you can marry a dragon, it's again the old tale of the french drunkard who gracefully avoids spilling any tea :

I would seriously have loved a bit more this S-Support if it was only, as you said, about the symbolism, the colors, Rhea supporting Billy instead of the inverse, not marrying the hegemon who will continue to War, but the Guardian who will usher a miraculous era.

And yet, because of that damn screenshot, Rhea's S-support is another way to push for the scarecrow/red herring we've heard and that was apparently, but never too loudly, debunked throught the route, with a good dose of victim blaming because that's Fodlan's bread and butter.

I was thinking more about the symbolism surrounding Rhea I was talking about last night, and her S support. Considering the game is trying to present Rhea as "pure," it doesn't make sense that it tries to blame her for the war via the false history. Sure, Rhea spread a false history but despite what Edelgard says it wasn't done out of an attempt to rule humanity. It was done in order make peace with the Elites and end the war of heroes. Because here's the thing, the history Edelgard believes isn't the truth either.

Wilhelm wasn't tricked and betrayed humanity, he started the war in order to unify Fodlan and stop all the violence and bloodshed that Nemesis caused. It was Edelgard's family who ruled Fodlan, not Rhea's, and the Empire was broken up by the Slithers in preparation for this war. Rhea doesn't control the nobles, most nobles ignore what the Church preaches. Likewise, she taught people not to abuse their power and work to help others, only for the nobles to fixate on obtaining power by any means which included through Crests.

Yet Rhea still worries, not because she's guilty but because she cares. She cares about the people and is upset that her actions may have caused this war. This is in contrast to Edelgard, who has dehumanized the casualties of her actions as "necessary sacrifices" that will be smaller in number than the hypothetical people who will benefit from the war. In addition, it also stands to reason that it's meant to put Rhea into a better light by contrast, as Edelgard has a tenancy to shift the blame for whatever bad happens onto others in order to not take responsibility.

Even Rhea treating her other form serves as a contrast. In Flower, Edelgard's anti-Nabatean rhetoric has Byleth telling their allies to kill them if they can't hold onto their "humanity." Not to mention how Edelgard turns herself into a monster in Moon yet still acts like she's qualified to rule the world. By triggering the S Support, you've accepted that you're romancing a dragon but that dragon, owing to Rhea's role as a protector, has saved your life and the lives of others twice while being captured or severely injured as a result.

And let's not forget, if Rhea hadn't tried to bring Sothis back then there would have been no Byleth and in turn Edelgard would have won.

Not to mention, that the ending acknowledges you're there because of your own free will and the choices you've made. You decided to seek out Rhea to get her support rank up despite her not being a party member, your choices either rejected Flower or prevented you from going down that road, and finally you chose to be with Rhea at the end. And because of that, Fodlan sees reforms and advancements that is said to be nothing short of miraculous while Byleth ends up being leader because of their merit.

You achieve what Edelgard promised by hooking up with Rhea.

The ending serves as a contrast to Edelgard's, where you are required to call her by a nickname that's also a title for a god. Whereas Edelgard celebrates having wiped out the Children of the Goddess, allowing TWSITD to win their war, Rhea is more humble in the face of the Nabatean victory. Whereas Edelgard is now free to rule Fodlan as she sees fit, Rhea is prepared to assist Byleth. If Flower is the path of the beast and of thorns, then Snow is the path of Enlightenment and of righteousness.

It really is black (Edelgard, leader of the Black Eagle Strike Force) and white (Rhea, the Immaculate/White One) when you understand what the game is saying through it's symbolism. And of course…

[lemonmoxy]

Ok, I know I'm a year late but MY BOY. They murdered my boy! Poirot is my favorite gay uncle, he is NOT my straight sad uncle.

So, I watched A Haunting in Venice which is an adaptation of Agatha Christie's Halloween Party by Kenneth Branagh, and I did not care for it. I did not care for it a lot. And that is why I have held you hostage here.

So disclaimer: I do not care about adaptational changes. I have the books. I have the David Scuhet's movies. Kenneth can make changes. Halloween Party is even a fine Christie story to change. It's fine but its not a masterpiece. It's just, if you're going to change things they should be lateral changes or better changes, not worse changes.

Now, for disclosure of bias. I have not liked any of these. I've found them all overwrought wastes of my time. But my partner loves Poirot, me, and doesn't mind wasting both of our times. And when he offers me fancy cheeses and movies, I say yes.

This movie was an absolute waste of my time. I did not like it. I got nothing of value out of it. It wasn't even bad coz that would have been interesting.

I do not like this Sherlock- I mean Poirot. They made him straight, they took away his OCD. They took away his heart of gold. He's just a sad mean old man, and he's not fun to watch. What does Kenneth think he's here to do? And its not just Poirot its the whole world. There's no sense of fun in these movies. In Orient Express it makes sense (although it made no sense to adapt that one first Kenneth). But Halloween Party? Guys live a fucking little.

Someone needs to explain to male directors that just because they're telling a story of cultural importance, doesn't make it epic. Agatha Christie's stories are fantastic! They're major cultural pieces of art. They are not epic though. They are fun mysteries. Kenneth, buddy, do you know what fun is? Because your movies haven't captured an iota of it.

That's maybe a slight exaggeration. There was one moment that made me smile. When Poirot said he would kill himself if the police solved the mystery before him, that was a real moment.

Poirot doesn't need war trauma guys. I don't even know how to tell you this. I fucking blame all the Sherlock adaptations for this. The detective shouldn't have that much going on, because we're here for the mystery not Poirot's damage. And if he must have damage it should be from things that we've seen and care about, not like, his dead wife. Or God forbid his dead congregation, looking at you BBC One. come on.

Making the killer the mother who couldn't stand to let her daughter grow up is predictable. It was my partner's first guess and he never gets these things right. I had guessed it was a Romeo and Juliet went wrong, which I think would have been interesting. But no, once again the faults of the child belong at the hands of the mother.

Also the whole time my partner was joking that the movie was going to decide that ghosts were real. And it did (kinda). Bizarre. I mean if you're going to that fucking go all out guys. Show me the dead girl waving to the survivors through the window. Have any fun with the idea. Please

Why was the parrot there? What was the point of it? Why is this child acting like the most world weary 11 year old? Has Kenneth met a child? Normally I'd be like "oh Lemon, it's just for fun" but Kenneth is determined we not have any, so what the hell?

Ah yes, let's put the man in the sound proof room and give the key very pointedly to one person. My partner and I were like "well whatever he knows is going to his grave" and yeah dead next scene coz duh. It was all very... I mean I know it's rude to compare a writer to Agatha Christie, but they're the ones who decided to square up. Every important clue dialogue is so obvious. Every death flag. They might as well do a pop-up on the screen. I've played Nancy Drew video games with more subtly.

They assassinated Ariadne, Christie's stand in for herself. And I feel very very negatively about this. Ah yes, kill her movies with shitty adaptations and then do a character assassination of her self insert. I mean, you can't say they're half-assing this. Tina Fey was actually good, it's not her fault almost all her lines were terribly written.

You can get the Dutch angle privilege back when you show me know how to use it properly Kenneth. Until then it's on the shelf.

If you wanted to do a horror movie hiding in a mystery story or a mystery story hiding in a horror movie, you need to commit to either idea Kenneth. Do something.

I am so so so tired of directors who keep acting like they have something important to say when they have nothing and refuse to have fun with the things that they do have.

They cannot keep getting away with this, guys. It's imperative we do something about this. Don't go see Nolan's Odyssey, I'm begging you. I'll never escape any other way.

[rubberduckyrye]

I think I have to be honest with myself and say that: The moment I saw the Sumeru interlude quest and felt such a strong need to fix it that I wrote 50k in a week was the moment I think I lost interest in Genshin Impact as a story.

I knew before that story came out that Genshin had a bad rep for mental health, noting Kokomi's side story and how the solution to the mental health crisis of the soldiers in Watasumi wasn't therapy or counseling, oh no--but to give them something to essentially take their fighting spirit out on. Like okay cool but can we also have therapy for these war scarred warriors? No? Okay.

Anyway I knew before hand that Genshin's writing was not like. Great about mental health. Like they showcase mental illness well, but they don't show how to heal well at all. Wanderer's whole story being botched up and being a suicide attempted disguised as a botched-up self-sacrifice muddied the whole message about how you can't erase your past by erasing yourself, your mark on the world will still be felt. That suicide isn't the answer, that you will find a way to deal with your hurt and trauma and move forward.

Granted, Wanderer himself was always written well--it's the Traveler and Nahida and Paimon in this instance that botched up the whole fact he tried to commit existential suicide--and I really liked his and Mini Durin's story in the summer event. It felt like the writers really understand Wanderer's story and that he is a damaged but healing character who can relate to this other creation who means no harm but has been hurt in the past beyond comprehension for reasons that aren't his fault.

When everyone was talking about how Mini Durin was violent, Wanderer quickly pointed out that his actions were logical, actually. Because Mini Durin was hurt and scared and everyone else who had come into his lair aimed to kill him. His reaction wasn't just logical, it was expected, and that moment really especially reminded me how much I actually love Wanderer's story and how well he's written. He's got a scarred but gentle heart that he tries to hide away, but it shines when it really matters most.

But the sour taste in my mouth over the Traveler, Paimon and Nahida essentially ruining the Sumeru interlude quest never went away. I couldn't stand the implications that Nahida knowingly led Scaramouche to his suicide attempt, the belittlement of that attempt/not taking the attempt as a true attempt but some botched-up self-sacrifice gone wrong--it just. It felt like the higher ups were so scared to show a playable character as actively suicidal that they forced changes to the narrative that were like taking puzzle pieces from another puzzle and forcing them to fit in a new one.

There's a reason why I got so obsessed with fixing the interlude quest that I dropped everything and went insane about it.

And from there it just, kind of snowballed.

Fontaine's story was pretty good, but the huge oversight of making Fontaine uplifted on land, sitting up above a bunch of waterfalls and above most nations, and then flooding the entire nation without thinking about how every other nation would experience tsunamis thanks to that, with so much water that even the tallest structures of Fontaine were submerged, really hit me in a sour note. Like it was the first instance where I really felt the "rule of cool" overtaking logic, reason, and thoughtfulness. Like at least say there was some magical barrier protecting the other nations from the flood? Like. Something. I maintain that Fontaine should have been lower in the ground rather than higher above, but yeah.

I think in retrospect, the trial against Furina with it being a "trap" felt really upsetting too. Especially with how the preview for the final part of Fontaine's story blatantly told us that the verdict for the Hydro Archon was the death sentence. So the whole time I was watching I felt like the characters were marching her to her doom and that REALLY soured that plotline for me, especially because I love Furina as a character.

The Traveler makes me especially salty though because they've sen a human with adeptus-like strength (Shen-he, I know Hoyo has forgotten about her but like???) and a puppet becoming a god (Scaramouche) so why is it such a problem for them if a "human" was a nation's god? Like they were acting like it was a carnal sin or something, and when Furina was about to "die" they only reached out for her because they wanted answers. It felt like they didn't even care about her well being at that point.

Like having a trial against a "god" was cool, don't get me wrong, but it felt... stupid. Like I don't have any other way to put it, it just felt kind of stupid and cruel of the characters setting Furina in that trap. (Also: Hugely disappointing that Arlecchino played no part in that??)

I haven't seen much of Natlan's story, but the design choices for some of the characters were. Grating. And it finally dawned on me that I've had a problem with Genshin as a story for a while now, but I was in denial about it.

So... yeah. I think that I need to be honest with myself about how disappointing Genshin has been for me the past year or two. And I have to be honest with myself and say that I'm extremely disappointed by it. Disappointed and detached, missing the days when Genshin didn't need to care about the rule of cool and just told the story it wanted to tell.

[dumbblondesposts]

Since klayley is literally tagged here and I follow the damn tag AND I'm one of the opinion He did in fact care about Hayley more, I don't say it for the fun and giggles it's based on literal canon scenes, it's not "competing", i literally loved hope and I loved their little family so much, if he canonically loved hope more I couldn't care less because if anything it's a good sign the writers FOR ONCE were consistent.

Some of you act like his ass didn't put hope (and Hayley in 1x07) at risk out of nothing but sheer jealousy over Hayley and Elijah, didn't risk hope's life in 1x20 to potentially save a pretty much dead Hayley or stand by her corpse for hours In mourning as if hope couldn't be slaughtered at any moment in 1x22, or once again come back to the city risking a war, countless deaths and even hope's life (even he says it) to save hayley

He literally disowned and hated Elijah for what happened to Hayley and it wasn't even really Elijah's fault before he proceeded to not give a fuck about Elijah killing himself for no reason and mind you he was ready to die to save him in season 4,

I can still go on and on, but the point is when a klayley shipper specifically says he cared more about Hayley they're speaking objectively because everytime there was a choice between Hayley and hope in any way he chose Hayley one way or another and I've already stated CANON scenes I'm not making shit up but it is absolutely dumb to think Klaus , literally the most inconsistent character especially regarding love interests since tvd who literally ignored the fact hayley has info so crucial to not only save his life but also his family's to hang out with her and be absolutely nice before letting her go for absolutely no reason, who's also the same man who let aurora live after she targeted cami, him, Elijah, Rebekah and Freya and still tried to save/avenge Finn after he almost got his daughter killed twice in one day would simply love hope more than anyone because she's his daughter

If your biggest proof is dialogue that is absolutely inconsistent not only with every other piece of dialogue he has because he's a hypocrite but most importantly with his actions then you're dense

I'm not looking to start shit but this was not tagged properly so I responded with an argument based on CANON if any of you watched that show objectively and built your said opinions based on what actually happened on the show and not "b-but she's his daughter" , and "b-but he kinda said whatever (which is always inconsistent) even tho his actions completely contradict it) about an unstable inconsistently written serial killer with severe mental issues we wouldn't be here

It’s honestly so weird to me how many KC, CK, and KH stans jump through hoops to justify their “Klaus loves x girl more than Hope” arguments. As if their ship isn’t valid unless they can prove Klaus loved their fave over his own child. Do they not feel a bit odd trying to compete with a infant/toddler/teenage girl for Klaus ROMANTIC/SEXUAL affection??? They act as if Hope herself gave af about who Klaus was dating/actively went out of her way to sabotage any of his ships.

Because while the writing for Klope is very (and I mean VERY) iffy, the one thing that remained constant for all 5 seasons was that there’s no one he would choose over Hope. Joseph said it, the writers said it, Klaus said it, and even multiple characters in the show (Cami and Hayley included) said it.

They're the same people who excuse his or any Mikaelson's behavior, so I'm not surprised.

I'll start with saying that there is no one Klaus could ever love more than his daughter, no one: not Caroline, not Cami and certainly not Hayley. If you don't agree you're just delusional and haven't watched the show, because The Originals is constantly throwing in your face how Hope was the only thing and person Klaus couldn't live without.

Granted, they had no time together at all but Klaus adored her. Saying any woman would come before her is stupid, and while Klaus is impulsive and has done things that could have prevented them from being together (him dying for Cami in season 2 aka giving his own life for her, biting Elijah when Hayley was pregnant aka putting his unborn child in danger, and etc) she has always been his first priority.

"My daughter, my heir, you're my heart" "Because you've helped me feel something that I never thought was possible: unconditional love" "She's my heart and soul" "You are all that matters to me" "Because you are my peace. And I regret a lot of things, but I don't regret a single moment I spent with you. I love you so much" Klaus said all those things to Hope and yet people believe she was second in his life??? Like, what.

Hayley and Cami were definitely important persons in his life, but they would never be as important as Hope. Klaus "allowed" every single thing that Hayley did because she was the mother of his child and he couldn't harm her, not only because Hope would hate him but also because his family wouldn't allow it. I mean, even the episode of her wedding is more about Klaus and Hope that is about Hayley herself. He was terrified of anyone other than him being Hope's father, and Elijah noticed.

"Elijah: Just listen to yourself! Fueled by your delusions of persecution! Think, Niklaus-- if you kill Jackson, the wolves will descend into chaos. You're acting out of fear, terrified that Jackson might be a better father to Hope.

Klaus: Do not bring the child into this.

Elijah: Your child arrived here today, her security strengthened by those wolves that would defend her, and you would jeopardize that alliance? Niklaus, you yourself have mentioned that had you been raised by Ansel, you might have been a better man. Now, perhaps, a better man has entered Hope's life, and having seen that, you are shaken to your core."

And then he proceeded to get jealous about Elijah spending time with Cami. Like, all of season two is Klaus not wanting Hayley to marry Jackson because he knew he was a better man than he could ever be and he could be an even better step father to Hope, of course Klaus didn't want that to happen. And he eventually agreed, because his love and need to be with his daughter was bigger than his fear and etc. And it's something Hayley agreed on: she married Jack because she wanted to, but mainly because her kid could be back home.

Or in 2x12, his whole fight with Jackson was basically him whining and being jealous because he got to met Ansel, his biological father aka the man Klaus had always wanted in his life. And his argument/fight with Hayley just proves my point:

"Klaus: Well, allow me to make this simple for you-- under no circumstances will you divulge any family secrets, especially none that would endanger our child!

Hayley: Except it's not that simple, Klaus. You saw what Finn did. He's growing more powerful by the day. Right now he controls over half of the wolves. This marriage could change that.

Klaus: The outcome of your strategy is not worth the risk it imposes on our daughter."

"Hayley: Klaus, think. We could have a whole army of super-wolves who could protect Hope as one of their own.

Klaus: Hope doesn't need a wolf army! I'll protect her myself! And an easier time I'll have of it, too, without you running off sharing secrets with every motley member of your werewolf brethren.

Hayley: Damnit, Klaus! This is our chance! We can bring her home. We have to at least consider this!

Klaus: I have considered it, and I have deemed it absurd. And in this matter, there is no one above my decree, not even you."

It took three seasons for them to be able to even stand each other, not to talk about the fact that Klaus was cosplaying as a single father for months demanding Hayley came to apologize to him, knowing she was in potential danger. And well, he was in fact flirting with Caroline while being aware Hayley was kidnapped and suffering, so let's not lmao.

It's the same thing with Cami: she was well aware she wasn't Klaus's light and yet she asked him in her deathbed to be the light for Hope and stuff, to let go of his anger and he swore to always carry her with him and etc, and it was clear he did but Hope was still his main priority and the one he loved the most. And Camille loved Hope a lot, Klaus and Hayley and actually all the Mikaelson siblings knew her and were aware about the impact she had on Nik.

Klaus and Caroline are something like a wtf, because when it comes to them the writing for both characters just disappears. But well, Klaus did some decent things for her but he never actually changed until Hope was born (he was forced to tho, but that's another conversation) and Caroline was aware of that. She trusted him with her twins and Klaus with his daughter, and they had a mutual respect in The Originals because they had grown in their own personal ways.

Caroline, Cami and Hayley are all very different women who managed to leave a mark on Klaus, but they weren't even in the top of three persons he loved the most. Hope was the first one, Rebekah the second and Elijah or perhaps himself is the third, not his love interests.

People need to stop being mad about the fact that a daughter is the most important person to a father 💀

[jessiebulby]

A Mean to an End

Here's a langsty mini fic, because somehow my anti-depressants don't work like they used to...

TRIGGER WARNING (REALLY TRIGGERING) : graphic suicidal attempt...

DON'T READ THIS IF YOU ARE DEPRESSED OR SUICIDAL, OR IF YOU KNOW YOU ARE EASILY AFFECTED BY THIS KIND OF SUBJECT...

-

He was fine when Keith left. At least, that's what he had assured him.

After the war, Lance had fallen into depression. His family had helped him get through it by making him work at the farm with them. Keith visited him for a week one month later. They spent every day together that week and just before he left again, Keith had confessed to him. It had mean a lot to Lance who had accepted his love with open arms, as if this was his saving. After that, Keith always visited him in between benevolent missions, until two years later, when they decided to have their own place on Altea, which was closer to where Keith did his missions.

Lance decided to become a teacher in a pilot school, but needed to be trainee for a year before that, supervised by Iverson who was way more pleasant with him now.

Things were going great... At least, that was what he was trying to convince himself daily.

The depressive thoughts had been bothering him for a while again. He dismissed them with dark jokes in front of his friends or family, creating awkward silences sometimes.

He hated himself for it.

He hated himself for the dark emotions he felt, even if he had everything he had ever wished for. He was a famous pilot, had saved his family, would become a teacher at the Altean Garisson, and had a loving significant other... What could he wish for more? What could he have more that would make the dark thoughts disappear?

Nothing...

There was nothing else, really...

So, why was he feeling so down and hopeless?

What was eating at him now that he still couldn't get rid of?

Insecurities, guilt, pressure... Yeah, that's what it was.

He didn't know how to fight the overwhelming despair in his mind anymore.

"You should have save more people."

"You don't deserve happiness when so many innocents died."

"You could've saved Allura."

"It's your fault if she died... If all these people died."

"You were too weak, you should have stepped aside before."

"And now you want to teach young pilots? What are you really going to do? Teach them to be as weak and useless as you?"

Lance wanted the thoughts to stop. He wanted to silence them forever, but he had only one way in mind to do so.

He should probably have told Keith, should've told someone about how depressed he felt, and how he was not dealing well with the dark emotions that kept growing in strength inside his fragile heart.

Was it that he didn't want to bother them with it anymore?

Or that he wanted to try and deal with it by himself, to prove that he was strong enough?

Or... Maybe it was because he didn't want help?

Maybe he just wanted the dark thoughts to finally give him the courage to end it...

Keith was gone for a few days only. He had noticed that Lance wasn't feeling so good these days, and had asked multiple times if he wanted to come with him, or if he wanted Keith to stay. Lance had refused both options, saying that he was fine and that he was super busy anyway.

Lance looked at his phone again. Incognito tabs were open. "How to kill yourself and make it look like an accident?" "How kill yourself quickly?" "Which way can you kill yourself with the least chances of surviving?"...

These tabs had been opened and closed again a few times in the past weeks or so. He still looked at the suggested ways, often asked and answered by "writers" on forums. Nothing seemed to fit what he was looking for exactly, but he already knew that there was an almost sure way.

He closed all the tabs one last time.

Keith was going to call soon to get news from him and wish him goodnight, like he always did.

Once this was done, no one would be calling or looking for him until the next morning.

So no one would find him in time...

He had bought cutter type refill blades at the school's coop. He already knew then for what he would really use them.

He had taken them out of their hiding spot, in a place Keith would surely never find them.

He made sure the front door to the apartment was locked, then locked himself in the bathroom. Double protection, allowing more time to be found just in case someone unexpectedly visited him before he was completely gone.

Lance breathed deeply a few times. His hands were shaking. He made sure once more that he hadn't forgotten anything. He had cleaned the whole apartment and left his goodbye letter on the kitchen table. The doors were locked, the lights were closed, except those in the bathroom, he had his phone and the blades.

Good...

He waited a few minutes before Keith finally called. Lance hesitated a moment, before answering. Talking to Keith and hiding all this from him would be hard... But he needed to do this... He needed to hear his voice one last time.

"Hey," Lance answered, clearly too low and shaky to be normal, despite his best efforts.

"Hey, you alright, sharpshooter?" Keith asked right away, concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah, just a bit tired. What about you, samourai?"

"I'm tired too. We had a long day here. There were way more people to help than expected, but we were still able to do everything we planned on doing today, so I'll be back home in time, don't worry. Can't wait to see you and hold you in my arms."

Lance felt a knot form in his throat, knowing that Keith wouldn't see him alive again.

"Lance?" Keith asked after a few seconds of silence.

Keith was not the one to monopolize the conversation usually, and even if he did sometimes, Lance was quick to answer questions or comment on anything he said.

"Yeah, sorry, I just spaced out a moment... I love you, Keith."

"Ok... Are you sure everything is alright? You sound really out of it."

"Everything's fine, babe. I'm just tired. I'll go to sleep soon..."

And never wake up.

"I love you, Lance," Keith interrupted him. "Don't lie to me. I... I can feel it, like I did when the war ended. I wanted to believe you, but, I'm sorry, I can't lose you because I wasn't careful enough. Pleasr, tell me what's going on."

Lance felt all his walls fail him and he knew that he had to end this call right now, no matter how worrisome it would look. If he kept talking to him, he would become unable to get going with his plan. Everything was ready, he had prepared everything, he was suffering, he couldn't let anything or anyone stop him at this point.

"I'm sorry, I love you."

"Lance... Lance! Don't..."

He hung up and put his phone away. Keith called back a few seconds later, just as Lance took one of the blades and walked to the bathtub. When Lance didn't answer, Keith sent him multiple texts, and tried to call again. Lance turned the shower on and sat right under the running water with his clothes on. Tears were falling down in cheek, his whole body was trembling, his heart was beating hard in his chest... He didn't know if he was scared or excited. But nothing could stop him now, not even the incessant calls and notifications he was receiving.

He put the blade on the inside skin of his left wirst, where multiple faded scars lined already, as a reminder of his old unhealthy coping mechanisms. He pressed it against his skin, piecing it right away. He let out a small scream under the pain, but still dragged the blade down his arm. Blood poored out and Lance took the blade to his other wrist with shaky bloody hands to do the same.

Once he was done, he dropped the cutter blade and watched with a growingly blurred vision the diluted red liquid flow down the drain. His wrists were burning, but he still smiled softly at the weird exhilarating sensation that settled in his stomach.

This was it.

He had done it.

Finally.

It would all end.

The pain inside, the dark thoughts, the guilt, the insecurities... Everything. He would be free.

Free...

His body felt numb now...

He could barely hear anything.

He was cold.

So cold...

His eyes opened and he realized that he couldn't remember having closed them.

Oh.

This was really the end, uh?

He hoped his friends and family would be alright.

Keith...

He closed his eyes one last time.

But didn't see darkness this time, only a bright encompassing light.

And then Allura appeared, softly extending her delicate hand toward him, a sad smile on her lips.

He took her hand.

And she took him away.

[isaackuo]

Thanks for your further thoughts! From my perspective, the Armorer was never established as a just character. She was mysterious, and was never even firmly established as the leader of the covert. The only thing that was clear, was that the covert hid the truth from Din. He was profoundly ignorant of Mandalorian history and culture.

It wasn't previously clear that it was the Armorer's fault, but she was always a prime suspect considering that she seemed to be the leader and definitely was a source of knowledge for the covert members.

And fans were confused from the start about the helmet thing. Even if you never saw any animated Star Wars, the prequel movies showed Jango Fett.

The helmet thing was the big reason why a lot of fans gave The Mandalorian their favorite fan complaint: "Bad writing!" But really? Was Dave etc just winging it and ignoring the Star Wars universe, and only hastily pasted together an explanation in Season 2 in The Heiress? I dunno ... I don't think so. Or I don't feel it. I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt.

My point is ... the covert has always been more than a bit suspect.

While Bo-Katan is obviously not presented as an unbiased point of view, her statement had the ring of truth thanks to consistency with what little we did know. Furthermore, she demonstrates at least some familiarity with the ways of The Children of the Watch, properly using "This is the Way" in context twice in that episode. The first time with a cutting edge of irony; the second time with earnest.

Up until the latest episode, we have never been shown how the covert governs itself, leaving us to guess. It has always been implied that the Armorer was its leader, but we never saw her do any leading. The biggest decision of the covert - to come to the rescue of Din and baby Yoda - took place off screen, without the slightest hint how they decided.

What we see is decidedly mixed. There is a contrast between the public open debate demonstrated by Din and Paz, and the private decision by fiat demonstrated by the Armorer. This gives us a rich inside look that has more subtleties than simply "It's a cult". It is consistent with what Bo-Katan initially said, but it's also more complex with details she couldn't have possibly known from the outside.

This all didn't come out of the blue, though. The writing gave us the impression, even if it didn't fill in the details yet.

But yeah ... maybe I'm just being too generous how I'm giving the writers the benefit of the doubt.

I was planning on dropping a full-blown rant about The Mandalorian s3 after the finale (and I still plan to) but here I am getting out of my system the one thing that won't slide with me, no matter how good the last episodes might be.

That is, the "You walk both worlds" bullshit. Or rather, the how the handled the whole thing.

Hear me out before you jump at my throat.

I've seen people talk about how we heathens criticizing the show don't know anything about storytelling and that Bo-Katan's and Din's situation with the Creed is very different, thus the Armorer deciding to handle them differently.

This is, theoretically, correct. They are different people with different pasts and a different relationship to the Creed (I dare to say that Bo-Katan has none, since her sentiment about the whole matter is still vague aka rushed).

But. The Armorer is basically a priest. A minister, if you want. Someone with authority, who handles the sacred matters of the Creed (baptisms, forging beskar, assigning signets). As such, she should be completely impartial to each one of her devotees.

Well, she's not impartial with Din and Bo-Katan, am I wrong here? Din has to repent after breaking the Creed, but Bo-Katan, who hasn't ever even believed in the Creed and mocked it until mow, gets to walk scot-free and become the new Mand'alor to retake Mandalore.

Which is totally fine. That makes the Armorer a complex character, someone who is willing to bend the rules if she sees the sense to that (even if we're bordering OOC here). What doesn't sit right with me, is the perspective we're given on the whole thing.

As I said, what she does is not by any means agreeable from a sheer belief point of view. It's straight favoritism, if you ask me. But it's not put into a critical light by storytelling. Nor is it shown as questionable, or is the Armorer depicted as hypocritical or at the very least biased. It's like everything is neat and fine and solemn and you're supposed to be in awe for her decision (even though there was something ominous in the scene of Bo removing her helmet, but I don't think they even noticed with how bad the writing for this season is).

Anyway, the last drop was Din nodding in seeing Bo-Katan helmetless. Din fricking nodding. After he thought he had lost his Creed and family and felt guilty to the core for removing his helmet. After the Armorer marked him as an apostate and told him he had no identity anymore. After he had to repent and travel to a forsaken and supposedly toxic planet in order to do so.

And he nods. Happily, even.

Guys, this isn't a matter of what's coming in the next episodes or of different situation at hand or even of bad plot handling. This is not understanding how characters work and should react.

Din should've been livid. Confused at the very least. He should've felt betrayed, dismayed by seeing Bo-Katan without her helmet and walking side by side with the Armorer. No matter how much respect he has for his leader, this should've been reason for conflict. A deep conflict, the bitter taste you feel when you see someone you respect put you down and praise others for the very same things you did.

He took his helmet off to save a Foundling, which now we know is the most honorable deed for a Mandalorian. And he got punished for it. While Bo-Katan gets the crown, literally, even though the Darksaber belongs to him.

This is lazy writing. This is not wanting to acknowledge an issue in order to get "to the real point" even though the characters should be the real point.

I don't care of they set up some conflicts in the next episodes/seasons (and they will): that simple nod managed to make the whole show crumble.