#however. have we considered looking at the numbers before we suggest there might be a problem

[broadwaydivastournament]

How do you pair the matchups? I've noticed you often pit two women of color against each other, and it's weird to me because there aren't many of them to start with. It might just be coincidence but it feels like it's harder for WOC to get to the finish line because they are pitted against each other from the get-go.

Hey, so I did some quick calculations for you, and there were nineteen Divas of color submitted to the tournament. As of round three, (excluding the comeback polls) eleven have progressed, making up 44% of our tournament, compared to the 19% when we began. That's a 58% success rate compared to 17%.

In Round 3, seven of the twelve regular polls are BIPOC Diva vs. White Diva, three are White Diva vs. White Diva, and two are BIPOC Diva vs. BIPOC Diva.

In Round 2, eleven of the twenty-five polls were White Diva vs. White Diva, eleven were BIPOC Diva vs. White Diva, and three were BIPOC Diva vs. BIPOC Diva.

In Round 1, thirty-two of fifty polls were White Diva vs. White Diva, seventeen were BIPOC Diva vs. White Diva, and one was a BIPOC Diva vs. BIPOC Diva.

Meaning, and I spent some time on this so you're welcome, out of eighty-seven (87) polls I have put together, only six have pit two women of color against one another. Or, less than 7%.

Handy table for visualization:

So like...I don't know, Anon. I appreciate the concern, and obviously due to systemic racism in Hollywood and the overabundance of Western stars represented, it's going to be a lot of white women. But statistically, you have no reason to be worried. They're doing great. But thank you for raising this point, and for giving me an opportunity to do some data calculations. I cannot stress enough how much I do genuinely enjoy doing things like that.

More on how Divas are paired up (but short version: to start, it was mainly by time period, semi-arbitrarily, sometimes skillset)

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Dancing Lights

Wolf!Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Summary: During a mission on a frigid planet, you get lost in a blizzard and Wolffe becomes desperate to find you before you freeze to death. Once he does, he’s forced to reveal a secret part of himself in order to protect you from a territorial pack of wolves.

Pairing: Wolf!Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon

Tags & Warnings: 18+, implied/referenced nudity with no descriptions, established relationship, hurt/comfort, light angst, suggestive themes, implied sexual content, violence, blood, injuries, reader doesn’t know she’s pregnant, protective!wolffe, snowed in, abandoned cabin, cuddling for warmth, Brother Bear/Balto type spiritual references, happy ending

Word Count: 12.7k

Author's Note: The terms "alpha" and "mate" are used in one part of the fic for a very specific purpose as a language marker (there are NO sexual, kink, or ABO implications). There’s also a distinctive speech pattern shift between Wolffe talking to the wolves and Wolffe talking to himself and the reader. This is intentional. The perspective shifts between the reader and Wolffe a lot, but the change is always separated by a paragraph break. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Smile

Wolffe frantically searches for you. One minute you’re walking behind him and the next minute you’re gone. He trudges through the piling snow, calling out your name, barely a whisper over the raging winds and whipping snow, but receives no response for his efforts. The battalion lost long-range communications soon after the blizzard started and you’re not answering on comms, so his only hope is to find you before the drifting snow claims you. He can’t lose you, not now.

Wolffe only dares to backtrack so far to look for you, or he might lose the battalion as its dark gray silhouettes slowly fade into the white tundra. Wolffe stares out into the nothingness and calls your name as loud as his voice will let him. Then he waits, hoping for a shred of your voice to make it back to him, but he hears nothing. Gritting his teeth, he turns on his heels and uses the backs of his men as wayfinders to trudge his way up to the front of the procession.

“General,” Wolffe shouts over the storm.

“Yes, commander?” Plo Koon asks as his snow covered parka blows wildly in the wind.

“We’ve lost one of the… men,” Wolffe says, pausing to consider whether he should name you as the lost soldier. He knows how Jedi feel about attachments, and he’s not in the mood for a lecture. “They appear to be lost in the storm.”

“Have you attempted to make contact?” Plo Koon asks.

“Yes, sir,” Wolffe answers. “Multiple times, sir, with no success.”

Plo Koon raises his hand to his face in thought. “That is a predicament.”

“Sir,” Wolffe begins in a serious tone, “with your permission, I want to go after them.”

“That would be ill-advised, commander,” Plo Koon answers. “The storm is getting worse and we must advance to the rendezvous point before we become buried in it ourselves.”

“But sir,” Wolffe argues. “We can’t afford to lose anymore men. Our numbers are dwindling as it is. We need to find them.”

Plo Koon crosses his arms and waits a moment to respond, reading Wolffe through the force like an open book. “Attachments are dangerous, commander. As lethal as this storm.”

Wolffe grimaces and shifts on his feet like a child getting caught in a lie. “I don’t believe in leaving men behind, sir.”

Plo Koon’s facial features soften and he places a gloved hand on Wolffe’s shoulder. “Neither do I, but you are needed here. Perhaps we can send a scout.”

The general is both right and wrong. Having their commander walk away in the middle of a stressful situation will reduce the battalion’s morale significantly. They have been marching to their next rendezvous point for days, and the blizzard is only making it more difficult. However, there is no way in the stars above that a mere scout will be able to find you in this storm. The scout is more likely to get himself lost. But Wolffe? He can find you, without a shred of doubt.

“With all due respect, sir,” Wolffe argues, clenching his fists together to hold his composure. “I am the most suited for this mission. You know this. I refuse to risk any more of my men dying in this storm and being buried unceremoniously under a pile of snow.”

Plo Koon considers Wolffe’s words and the conviction behind them, then sighs. “Very well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wolffe says, finally releasing the breath he was holding in.

“However,” Plo Koon continues. “We cannot halt the convoy or render aid if you fail your mission. You will be on your own.”

“I understand,” Wolffe nods before turning to walk away.

“And Wolffe,” Plo Koon adds quickly. “Come back safely. Both of you.”

Wolffe doesn’t answer, but the sentiment shared between the two is unmistakable. He will bring you both back safely, or it’s the last thing he’ll do. Wolffe climbs up into the ATTE he’s been living in for the duration of this campaign and grabs his pack. He grabs everything he might need, including canteens, rations, medical supplies, an emergency blanket, and a spare set of blacks, as well as tossing out anything that he knows he won’t need. Traveling light is a must.

Before making his departure, Wolffe seeks out Sinker and temporarily puts him in charge of the battalion for the duration of his absence. Leaving the battalion in Sinker’s hands is an easy decision for Wolffe to make. The sergeant has been by his side since the beginning of the war, and has shown considerable aptitude and courage under distress. Wolffe knows that he is up for the challenge and has faith in him to lead the men to the rendezvous point mostly unscathed.

With everything in order, Wolffe hops down from the ATTE, his boots sinking deeply into the fresh fallen snow beneath. The wind is ripping and visibility is minimal, but Wolffe steels himself and sets out in the opposite direction of the battalion. After a few yards, he looks back. The gray silhouettes of the men and machines are gone. There’s no turning back now. He faces forward, picking his feet up and over the snow in a painstakingly slow process, but at least he’s moving.

As he trudges through the blizzard, snow begins sticking to his armor and weighing him down. He stops every so often to brush himself off, but it quickly becomes a useless effort. He grumbles to himself that of all the planets you had to get lost on, why did it have to be this one? He’s not angry, but he is scared; scared for you and for the little package you carry inside you unawares. Regardless of how he feels about the situation, he is determined to find you.

After a little while longer, he stops and stands still. The snow swirls around him, covering his visor and the gray markings on his armor. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, calling on the senses lying dormant within him to come to the surface and aid him in his search. No human or comm system can find you in this storm, but maybe he can. Maybe the wolf inside him can. A spirit of a bygone era that speaks to his soul at night and shows him images of dancing lights.

Wolffe removes his helmet, a dangerous move in this type of weather. The temperature alone could kill him with frostbite, but he needs to feel the air around him. The cold nips at the tips of his ears and wind blows through his short hair without caution, leaving little bits of frost at the tips. With his eyes still closed, he breathes deeper, calming every nerve in his body until he can find your presence. If we can’t locate you like this, then he’ll be forced to make a drastic move.

Suddenly, it clicks like a strike of lightning. Whether it’s a feeling, a sense, or an intuition, he knows where he needs to go. He shakes the snow off his head and replaces his helmet, bristling as the cold snow melts down the back of his neck. But, he doesn’t have time to worry about his comfort at the moment. Every second he wastes thinking about himself is another second lost trying to find you. He turns and starts walking, letting his internal compass guide him to you.

As he continues forward, the storm lets up a little. He wonders if the change will be permanent or if it’s just a momentary lull. Again, he doesn’t have time to think about the logistics when you could already be dead and frozen, buried under a pile of snow. He shakes his head at the intrusive thoughts, then notices a ridgeline of trees in the distance. His stomach flips and his breath quickens. He knows you’re in there. You’re smart. Of course, you’d try to find shelter.

Wolffe moves as fast as he can through the piled snow towards the forest of trees. He senses that you are nearby. He stops at the edge of the wooded area and scans to the left and to the right, searching, listening, hoping, and praying that he’s not too late and that he can find you still alive. As he’s standing there, a shiver runs up his spine and he knows he needs to find you soon. If he can find you in this weather, so can they, and he’s not in the mood to deal with that.

He enters the tree line cautiously, then hears a sound in the distance that stills his heart. He doesn’t have much time to find you. Breaking out into his best sprint through the deep snow, he pulls on the trees and branches for leverage, making his movements faster as he frantically searches for you. You're close. He can feel it. He can smell it. His heart is beating out of his chest at the sound. They’re coming, a lot of them, and he doesn’t want to be here when they arrive.

Wolffe releases a heavy sigh of relief when he finally sees you, or rather, he sees your emergency shelter tied to a couple trees. You have the beacon on, but its light is barely visible against the white and gray landscape. The shelter is partially buried by the snow and Wolffe falls to his knees to dig you out. The wet snow seeps through his gloves, and the cold bites at his fingertips, but he doesn’t care. He continues digging until he finds the opening of the shelter.

Once he finds the entrance, he digs a bit deeper to make a little path for him to snake his body down and get into the shelter to get you out. When the path is wide enough for his body, he gets on his stomach and shimmies his way to where the zipper is. He pulls it open just enough to peek inside and no more. That’s when he sees you, curled up into a protective ball, covered in an emergency blanket, with a small heat lamp in the middle of the shelter to keep you warm.

“Cyare,” Wolffe calls gently as he opens the entrance wider and wiggles the upper half of his body into the tent. There’s barely enough room for him to crawl on his hands and knees.

You stir and make a small grunting noise.

Wolffe releases another sigh of relief, then rests his forehead against the cold canvas floor of the shelter. He thanks the stars you're still alive. Sadly, his brief moment of relief is quickly interrupted when he hears the sound in the distance again. They’re getting closer and he’s running out of time. He picks his head up and curses under his breath. He needs to get the both of you out of here now, or there will be trouble, and not the type he can easily deal with.

Wolffe stretches out his hand and tugs on your foot, trying to wake you from your sleep. “Cyare,” he calls a little louder.

You startle awake. The light from the tent-opening blinds you for a moment and the cold air nips at your exposed face. When your eyes finally adjust, you see Wolffe’s familiar bucket staring at you. “Wolffe?”

“It’s me,” he says.

“You found me!” you exclaim with excitement.

Wolffe wiggles the rest of his body into the small tent and pulls you into his arms the best he can, gently pressing you against his armored chest. He removes his bucket and rests his forehead against yours. “I found you.”

The sweet reunion is cut short when Wolffe hears the sound again, but this time, it’s not so distant. He jumps into action, releasing you and putting his bucket back on. “Pack up,” he orders. “We have to go. Now.”

You're shocked by the sudden urgency, but you follow Wolffe’s lead and begin rolling up the blanket. “What’s the hurry? The storm–”

“They’re coming,” Wolffe interrupts while stuffing all of the loose items into your pack.

“Who’s coming?” you ask in confusion. One minute you’re sleeping peacefully in your shelter as you wait out the storm and the next minute Wolffe is rushing you back out into the storm.

“We don’t have time for me to explain!” Wolffe snaps. He feels more afraid than he was before he found you.

You’re slightly offended by his harsh tone, but if you know anything about Wolffe, it’s that he doesn’t mess around, especially when it has to do with someone’s safety. You decide not to push the issue and hasten your pace to get things wrapped up. The good thing about emergency shelters is that they’re quick to assemble and even quicker to tear down. You both finish with the pack and you follow Wolffe outside of the shelter and break that down too.

Before you get in another word edgewise, Wolffe grabs your arm and pulls you along through the snow. His grip is tight and you struggle to keep up, feeling like your arm will rip out of its socket. “Wolffe, stop!” you shout while pulling on his arm with your free hand. “Let go!”

Wolffe ignores your struggle, believing that you’ll forgive him later for his roughness when you’re both safe. He doesn’t have the time to coddle you or explain why you need to run away as fast as you can. Your yelling doesn’t help his cause, but then again, they don’t need to hear you in order to find you. It’s already too late, Wolffe knows this, but he refuses to give up without at least trying to get you to safety. Even if he has to deal with it on his own, he needs you safe.

You continue to struggle against Wolffe’s grasp and fight him with each step as you demand an explanation from him. He doesn’t give you one. He doesn’t even turn around to look at you. He just keeps walking, not letting up on his brisk pace that has you panting in cold air that burns your lungs. Finally, in a last ditch effort, and to give your lungs and legs a break, you let your legs go slack and plop yourself down into the snow, jerking on Wolffe’s arm on the way down.

Wolffe stops and grunts in frustration. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Wolffe!” you yell through a panting breath while trying to get him to listen to you. “I can’t keep up. My legs. My lungs. It hurts.”

Wolffe lets go of your arm and paces in a circle as he thinks. “I need you to get up.”

“I told you, I can’t!” you argue. 

Wolffe kneels down on the snow in front of you and removes his bucket. He grabs both of your cheeks and forces you to look into his eyes. “I need you to get up. Now.”

His gloves feel cold on your skin and for a moment you see something flash across his eyes, something desperate that you’ve never seen in him before. But before you get to respond, you hear it. The sound of howling in the distance. You watch as Wolffe tilts his head to the side to peek around you and in an instant, you finally understand. How he heard them before you did, you may never know, but that sound is what Wolffe has been afraid of, the sound of wolves.

You find new strength in your fear and get to your feet, ready to start running again, but Wolffe doesn’t move with you. You turn to see him still kneeling in the snow, staring out through the trees at nothing. Your confusion turns into worry which then turns into a deeper fear. You step behind him and place your hand on his shoulder for reassurance. He places his hand atop yours and stands to his feet. He knows something you don’t, but you're too afraid to ask him what it is.

“It’s too late,” he says in a hushed tone.

“Too late?” you ask as your voice quivers. “Too late for what?”

Wolffe turns around and pulls you tight against him, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His cold plastoid armor digs into your clothing. He can hear the fear in your voice and it breaks his heart. This is exactly what he was afraid of, what he didn’t want to happen. The scenario he’s played over and over in his mind since he started out on this mission, the one he so desperately wanted to avoid at all costs, is now inescapable.

Wolffe drags his lips up to your ear and whispers. “Do you trust me?”

You shiver as his hot breath ghosts against the cold shell of your ear. “Always,” you answer.

Wolffe pulls away and plants two firm hands on both of your shoulders. “I need you to listen to me and do everything I say. Understand?”

You look into his eyes and nod your head. “I understand.”

“Don’t move,” Wolffe orders. He shakes your shoulders, like he’s trying to ingrain it in your body. “Don’t move a single inch, no matter what happens.”

You're confused by the instructions, but you trust that Wolffe knows what he’s doing, so you go along with it. “I won’t move. I promise.”

Wolffe nods his head and gives you a small half-smile. “Good girl.”

You watch him carefully, studying his body language, the way he worries his lip and shifts his weight from leg to leg. You can’t help but notice the growing anxiety, so you bring your hand up to cup the side of his face to reassure him. You smooth your hand over his reddened cheek, your fabric glove catching on the rough bristles of the stubble growing in. Wolffe places his hand over yours and leans into the caress, then pulls it away from his face to kiss your palm.

“You know I love you, right?” Wolffe whispers against your hand.

You smile. “I know.”

Wolffe relishes in the simple and soft moment he’s allowed to have with you. He’s not sure what will happen, but he knows that at least in this moment, he has you. He found you, which is what he set out to do. Mission accomplished. But, the promise he made to the general before he left the battalion reverberates in his mind. He swore he would bring you both back safely, and that’s what he still intends to do, no matter the cost.

An eerie silence washes over the area. Every sound of nature is muted by the snow and what’s left in its wake is a hollow peace. However, that silence is pierced by howls and soft steps in the snow. Wolffe closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then turns to face the oncoming enemy. He keeps one hand on you for reassurance, and the other in front of him for his own defense, not that it will do him any good. His blasters won’t help him here either, not against a full pack.

The wolves come into view and surround you and Wolffe in a circle. Their fur coats are light gray and white, perfect camouflage for this place they call home. If it weren’t for their golden eyes and black noses, you wouldn’t even be able to see them. Your breath hitches in your throat at their menacing presence. The wolves are large. Larger than you ever imagined from the books you’ve read, with the tips of their ears easily coming up to your hips. You swallow back your fear.

The pack circles around you and Wolffe, then comes to a stop. Wolffe holds his ground as he waits for their next move, but he doesn’t have to wait long. A large, older looking pure white wolf steps out from the circle. The alpha of the pack, Wolffe assumes. He knows what he needs to do, but even in the face of all of these wolves, he’s reluctant. Without an explanation, he’s not sure how you will react to what he’s about to do, but at this point he doesn’t have a choice.

To your surprise, Wolffe starts shucking off his armor, tossing it about haphazardly until he’s only left in his black bodysuit. You watch him with bewilderment, trying to understand why he’d take his armor off during a situation like this. He’ll freeze to death with so little coverage and be vulnerable to attack. You remember his words about not moving, but you want to reach out and touch him. He must be able to read your thoughts because he turns his head to look at you.

“Remember what I said?” Wolffe asks.

“No moving,” you answer. “But Wolffe–”

Wolffe puts a finger to your lips. “Trust me.”

You nod your head and kiss his finger, earning you a sly grin.

Wolffe turns to face the white wolf and you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Bright yellow lights emanate from Wolffe’s fingertips, his toes, his eyes, and his mouth. Wind blows by your head and swirls around him, obscuring everything but his silhouette. You watch as his body morphs into a smaller form and your breath is stolen in awe. He doesn’t make a sound, even as his body contorts into unfamiliar angles. The wind and light disappear and what’s left behind is a wolf.

“Wolffe?” you ask hesitantly, body shaking from what you just witnessed.

Wolffe cranes his neck around and looks back at you with a single, piercing, golden eye, the other eye is still cybernetic and the scar over it has morphed to fit his new facial figure.

“You’re a… wolf,” you stutter in shock.

You’re stunned. When Wolffe asked you to trust him, you weren’t expecting this. You stare at his new form, a man’s body traded in for dark gray fur across his face and ears that travels down his back, a lighter cream color across his belly and legs, and a black stripe down the middle of his back that stretches to the tip of his fluffy tail. He’s a wolf, there’s no mistake about it. You can’t help but admire his beauty, and also feel a level of terror at the teeth hidden in his mouth.

Quite the show, the Alpha says.

Wolffe turns his head back to look at the Alpha. Not great. Rusty.

The Alpha considers Wolffe for a moment, unsure of what to make of him. Your wolf-speak is less than to be desired.

Wolffe snorts. Been a time.

The Alpha is not impressed with Wolffe and circles around you both, sizing up the situation.

As the Alpha moves around you, you notice that it’s much larger than Wolffe, but it also seems much older. You’re not sure why, but that’s the impression you get. You can see multiple scars across his body, each one a proud win against another wolf, you suppose, just as the clones have scars from their battles. To you, everything is quiet. You can’t hear them communicating, but you watch their body language and hear their growls, which still doesn’t mean much to you.

Wolffe plants his paws firmly into the snow, ears pinned, and snarls. Back!

Easy, pup, the Alpha says as he makes a full circle back to where he started. I’m only observing.

Not pup, Wolffe growls.

No? the Alpha questions. Then what are you?

Alpha, Wolffe answers. Own pack.

The Alpha looks at Wolffe with intrigue. Oh? I would have never guessed. You’re rather small for an alpha.

Wolffe barks at the insult, baring his fangs in an intimidating display.

It works, well, at least on you it does. You flinch at the sudden loud noise.

The Alpha disregards it and looks past Wolffe to you. What is that? A hunting trophy?

Wolffe’s fur bristles at the insinuation and rumbles out a low protective growl. Mate.

Odd choice… the Alpha says as he continues to stare at you with mild interest. He decides to ignore you for the time being. Tell me, alpha, what are the laws that govern?

Wolffe cringes at the question. He knows the answer, it’s written somewhere in the DNA that entangles with his own, but his wolf-speak is poor and he can’t put the words together.

Has your tongue gone still? the Alpha goads. Trespassing in another pack’s territory is an offense punishable by death.

Wolffe retakes his defensive stance and bares his fangs.

The Alpha pauses for a moment before responding. However, I am feeling generous today, young alpha.

Wolffe’s ears twitch.

You have two choices, the Alpha offers. Join our pack at a lower rank and we’ll let your mate go free or give us your mate as tribute and you may go free. The choice is yours.

Wolffe snorts at the two bleak choices and decides to make his own third option. He raises his head and howls loudly towards the sky.

The sound is deafening and you cover your ears to try and muffle it. You’re not sure what they’re doing now, but the tension and uncertainty is making your skin crawl. The golden eyes that stare at you from around the forest make you feel small and afraid. You wish to be able to speak to Wolffe, to get any shred of reassurance that everything will be okay, but he hasn’t said a word to you. Your best guess is that he can’t talk to you, which is the only thing that makes sense right now.

Wolffe finishes his howl and waits for the response.

You want to fight? the Alpha asks. A bold move for one so young and stupid.

Not dumb, Wolffe replies. Protect mine.

The Alpha snorts, then stares into Wolffe’s eyes as he searches his soul. You have the spirit of ages within you, young alpha. My old eyes can still see. The Alpha pauses. I will respect your wishes. If you win, you and your mate will earn safe passage through our land, but if I win, you will join our pack and your mate will perish.

Wolffe takes a deep breath. He has too much to lose not to stay focused. Seal it. Sing the song.

The Alpha lifts his muzzle towards the sky and howls. Wolffe then joins in the howling, letting their wolf-songs mingle and intertwine in the sky like a binding contract.

Promise, Wolffe says. Mate not hurt.

You have my word, the Alpha says. Your mate will not be touched during our fight.

Wolffe nods and takes a fighting stance. The Alpha does the same.

You watch the two wolves with great anticipation as your legs tremble beneath you. You’re still unsure about what’s going on, but whatever it is, you trust Wolffe. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. That’s what he told you to do and that’s what you have to hold on to. You must have faith and believe that Wolffe will work things out and you can both go home soon. But waiting in silence, without knowing, is slowly killing your nerves. You want to run and escape.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when Wolffe and the Alpha lunge towards each other, fangs bared. A gasp escapes your throat and you have to tell your trembling legs not to move, just like Wolffe told you. The two wolves collide, both going for each other’s necks. You watch in horror as tufts of gray and white fur are flung about into the air. The sounds of growling and snarling fill your ears as they tumble in the snow, one on top of the other and then vice versa.

The Alpha pins Wolffe to the ground and clamps his jaw around Wolffe’s shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Wolffe!” you yell and take an automatic step towards him, forgetting Wolffe’s order not to move.

A wolf on the sidelines catches your movement and lunges towards you. You scream and fall back onto the ground. Your cry alerts Wolffe and he snaps his head up. With strength unknown to him he kicks the Alpha off of him and leaves his fight to get to your side. He snarls at the wolf and nips at his legs, causing it to retreat back to the circle. Wolffe whips around and looks into your frightened eyes. He brings his nose to your face and gives your cheek a small, gentle lick.

As sweet as the gesture may seem to Wolffe, you wish you could feel anything other than fear.  There’s blood on Wolffe’s muzzle and blood on his fur, reminding you of what he is doing.

Wolffe turns his attention back to the Alpha and barks. Liar!

The immature actions of a young pup, the Alpha says. I assure you, he will be punished severely. The Alpha glares toward the younger wolf in his ranks and bares his fangs with a low growl. The younger wolf cowers back with his ears flattened and his tail between his legs. Shall we continue?

Wolffe agrees and the fight recommences as they both tumble through the snow once again. Nipping and biting at each other’s necks, legs, bellies, and backs. Wolffe gets in a few bites, but the Alpha is much bigger and stronger, yielding better results with his bites, which leaves Wolffe’s beautiful gray fur coat marred with blood. He pauses to catch his breath and looks back at you, his strength and reason to fight. Mustering what he can, Wolffe forces himself to continue.

The yelp Wolffe makes when the Alpha sinks his fangs into his neck is unbearable. All you can do is watch and pray to the Maker that Wolffe survives this. You don’t know what started the fight, you don’t know the rules, and you don’t know what will happen to you if Wolffe dies. You shake your head at the macabre thought and focus on Wolffe surviving. You wish you could help him. You wish you could do more than watch as he lies helpless and whimpering in the snow.

Wolffe is out of breath and running out of strength. For a wolf so young, his stamina isn’t at peak performance, but for someone who rarely uses his wolf form, it’s better than he thought it would be. He lays in the snow, chest heaving as he tries to breathe. The bites sting him like fire and slow him down. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to last. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against a seasoned alpha. He may be the leader of the ‘Wolfpack’, but he’s no alpha.

You want to cry. You don’t know how long the fight has been going on, but you’re getting sick of it. You know you’re not supposed to move, but you can still speak. They can’t stop you from cheering him on. Whether he understands your words or not is a gamble you’re willing to take, because you can’t lose him like this. “Wolffe!” you yell. “Wolffe, get up!”

Through his pained haze, Wolffe can hear your voice calling out to him. The sweet sound of his mesh’la, warped by the fear caught in the back of your throat. He knows you’re trying to be strong for him and he finds it endearing. The need to protect you and to protect his unborn child, overrides his pain. He shifts his legs in the snow, trying to get back up, using your voice as a crutch to stand. He rocks himself onto his stomach and hoists himself up onto his shaky legs.

Will protect, Wolffe chokes out between pants as blood drips from his muzzle. Won’t lose. My mate. My pup.

The Alpha watches Wolffe carefully. His own white coat has been stained by blood. Some of it is his but most of it is from Wolffe. He finds the young alpha compelling. His protectiveness over his mate is rivaled by that of many an alpha and he admires him for his strong will. The Alpha can sense it strongly now, the spirit that resides in Wolffe. An ancient spirit from many generations before him. The one that chases the moon at night and howls with his brethren in chorus song.

The Alpha approaches Wolffe and bows. I concede to you, young alpha.

Wolffe heaves in a labored breath, his shaking legs about to buckle underneath him. He’s not sure if this is a trick, but according to the laws that govern, this means he wins.

The Alpha steps closer and Wolffe takes a cautious step back.

Your spirit, the Alpha begins to explain, it’s strong and powerful; ancient as the dancing lights that adorn the heavens. Don’t lose it.

Wolffe stares into the golden eyes of the Alpha and sees his truth. He bows to the Alpha, turns, and limps his way over to you.

You and your mate will have safe passage through our land, the Alpha exclaims to Wolffe and his own pack.

Wolffe turns back to look at the Alpha. Thank you.

And with that, the pack of wolves disappear into the trees as silently as they came. You stare with wide-eyes, then drop to the ground, your legs refusing to bear the load of your body any longer. You don’t know if you should cry, scream, or laugh. Regardless, you and Wolffe are safe, at least you hope you're safe. You startle for a moment when you feel Wolffe’s nose touch you. You look into his tired eyes, trying to read them as best as you can, but you understand nothing.

“Can you turn back?” you ask. “To a human?”

Too weak, he answers, but his voice won’t reach your ears.

You sigh when you get no response. With no way to communicate with Wolffe, you’re not sure what to do. You don’t know where you are and with no comms to contact the battalion, you’re on your own. You stretch out your hand to pet Wolffe’s head, but you recoil it when you get too close, scared he might not be who you think he is. Wolffe sees your hesitation and lifts his head into the palm of your hand, nuzzling it for comfort. You smile and scratch behind his ears.

Overcome with the emotion you are holding in, you throw your arms around Wolffe’s neck and bury your face in his soft fur. “You saved us. Thank you.”

Wolffe wants to melt into your embrace, but a snowflake landing on his nose reminds him of the other situation. Wolffe pulls out of your arms and starts pushing at his armor with his nose, piling it together. You tilt your head at his actions, but when you see the snow start to fall again, you get the idea. You stack Wolffe’s armor neatly and wrap a cord around it so you can tie it to your pack. Wolffe grabs his bag between his teeth and you grab yours, slinging it onto your back.

Wolffe starts limping forward and you walk closely behind him, following his lead through the forest. If anyone can get you home, it’s Wolffe. You soon reach the end of the forest and stare out into the wide advance of nothingness. The snow falls harder and the wind begins to howl. You shiver as the cold air breaches your layers of clothing. Wolffe turns around and stands behind you. He noses at his bucket tied to your pack and you wonder what he wants.

You put your pack down and carefully remove his bucket from the neatly tied package of armor, then hand it to Wolffe, unsure of what he could possibly want with it in that form. It’s not as if it will fit on his head.

If Wolffe could roll his eyes, he would, but instead he pushes his nose against the bucket so it goes back towards you.

You sigh and shake your head, still unsure of what he wants you to do with it.

Put it on! Wolffe growls as he drops his pack from his mouth.

His sudden outburst startles you. “I don’t know what you want me to do!” you snap at him.

Wolffe tries to calm himself. The language barrier is grating on him, so he takes the bucket in his mouth and places his front paws on your knees to gain some height, then haphazardly drops the bucket on top of your head. It sits crooked and looks funny from Wolffe’s vantage point, but it should get the point across.

“Oh,” you realize. “You want me to wear it.”

Wolffe nuzzles his nose against your hand as an affirmation.

You situate his bucket on your head, but it’s too big on you and bobbles around. You think you look ridiculous, but if this is what Wolffe wants then this is what you’re going to do. It’s probably to keep your face from freezing off in the cold, but it could have other uses as well and you just don’t know it.

“How do you see out of this thing?” you ask as you try to walk forward, but the HUD throws you off balance.

Wolffe can’t smile or laugh, but he snorts through his nostrils at your comment. He sees just fine out of it, but then again, it is made for him.

You watch Wolffe’s reaction to your comment and wonder. “Can you understand me?” you ask.

Wolffe nuzzles his nose against your hand again to answer your question.

“We can work with that,” you think out loud. “We need some way to communicate... How about for yes or no questions, touch your nose to my hand for yes and growl for no?”

Wolffe touches his nose to your hand in agreement.

“Well, that was easy,” you breathe.

Actually, none of this is easy. You're several klicks away from your battalion, out in the middle of a snowstorm with a small amount of supplies, and an injured Wolffe who seems to be stuck in a wolf’s body. At least, that’s what you gather from the fact that he is still a wolf and not a human. You don’t have any way to confirm that theory, but you can’t imagine that he would choose to stay a wolf if he had a choice. The words you speak in your mind surprise yourself and you sigh.

Wolffe can smell the storm coming and he nudges your back to push you forward, causing you to stumble.

“Hey!” you turn around and exclaim. “Just because you’re a wolf doesn’t mean you can’t have manners!”

Wolffe snorts, picks his pack back up, and limps past you.

You huff, then hoist your pack onto your back and follow after him.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been walking, but your legs are tired and your body is freezing. The blizzard began to rage not long after you left the forest, and you're both out in the thick of it without much protection. The wind whips around you and threatens to knock you over as it bites your skin through your clothing. Wolffe was smart with making you wear the helmet. There’s no way you would’ve been able to see without it and your ears would have fallen off already.

You have one hand holding the strap of your bag and the other holding onto Wolffe’s tail as he guides you forward through the storm. You don’t know where he’s leading you, but you trust him that it’s towards shelter. Well, that’s what you're hoping for anyway. He, at least, has fur and is made for this type of weather, but, you don’t have a fur coat to keep you warm and your two heavy legs sink further into the deep snow while his four lighter legs sit closer to the surface.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to start staggering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Wolffe when his tail gets yanked. It hurts, but it’s better than losing you in the storm, so he bears it without complaint. It’s when you let go of his tail that he gets worried. He turns around and looks back to see you laying still in the snow. Panic washes over him and he limps back over to you. He knows that if you stay like this, you’ll get buried in the snow and he can’t let that happen.

Wolffe drops his pack and digs with his paws to get your head out of the snow. He pushes you with his nose to try and get you back up, but you don’t budge. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heartbeat, but you still won’t move. He digs around each side of your body as the snow continues to bury your limbs. He grabs onto your outer jacket with his teeth and pulls, but with the weight of the snow you're too heavy for him. He steps back to reassess the situation.

Wolffe paces beside you as he tries to think, then howls in frustration towards the gray sky. Get up, cyare, Wolffe pleads. Please, get up.

He noses at your face, but gets no reaction.

We’re so close, Wolffe says, trying to encourage you to keep moving, like you did for him during the fight, but his voice falls on deaf ears. You have to get up! That’s an order!

He still gets no response. Not even a stir from you.

Don’t make me do this, cyare, Wolffe growls.

He only has one option left and it makes him sick to his stomach. It’s the last thing he wants to do, and he hopes you will forgive him when this is all over, but he’ll do anything to keep you safe. To keep you both safe. He digs out your left arm that has been re-buried by the heavy falling snow and bites down hard.

You jerk at the searing pain in your arm.

The adrenaline in your body starts pumping and you're quickly awoken. You figure you must have fallen asleep since you’re laying in the snow. You look up through the HUD with half-lidded eyes and see Wolffe crouching in front of you, your arm in his mouth. He’s biting you. He’s eating you. You stare at your arm as blood begins to soak through your coat sleeve. You’re scared. Not of the storm, but of Wolffe. He has your arm in his mouth and you're afraid he’ll rip it off.

“Get off me!” you yell hoarsely, scrambling to get up out of the snow and away from him. “I’m not your dinner!”

Wolffe drops your arm before you hurt yourself. I’m sorry.

You stare at him and then your bloody arm in shock and disbelief. “You bit me!”

Regret washes over him at your reaction. I’m so sorry.

“Why?” you ask. You feel heartbroken and confused as to why Wolffe would bite you. Why he would intentionally hurt you. You don’t understand. All of those sweet promises he’s whispered in your ear during moments of passion slip away on the raging winds of the blizzard. He told you he’d never hurt you, but he did. He hurt you and you’re bleeding. “Why would you do that?”

Wolffe drops his tail between his legs and lays himself flat against the snow to seem less intimidating. He wishes he could explain, but he can’t. He never meant for you to misconstrued his intentions so far as to think he would attack you on purpose, or eat you. It’s the worst-case scenario, but he’d rather have you alive and hate him than have you dead and love him. You both need to keep moving, but he lets you settle down before making any more movements.

You lie in the snow as you let the adrenaline run its course. The snow starts to pile around you and in a moment of clarity, you understand why he bit you. If he didn’t wake you, then you would have been buried in the snow and froze to death. It doesn’t make the wound hurt any less, and you’ll never forget what it looked like to have your arm bleeding in his mouth, but you can push past your anger for the moment and move on. You can talk about it later when you’re both safe.

You make an attempt to push yourself up and out of the snow, but struggle. Wolffe gets up and places his muzzle under your other arm, trying to help lift you so you can stand. You get the picture and use him to pull yourself out of the snow. Once you’re up, you lean against Wolffe to help regain your balance before trekking on. Moving is a chore for both of you now. Between his wounds and limp and your frozen and tired body, it’s a miracle you’ve even gotten this far.

When you’re ready to get moving, you grab onto Wolffe’s tail. He picks up his pack, and once again guides you through the blizzard to shelter. It’s not much further before you see a dark shadow appear through the blinding snow. As you get closer, you see the outline of a cabin and breathe a sigh of relief. You knew Wolffe would find shelter, and you’re so thankful that he’s with you. If it weren’t for him, you’d still be back in the woods, waiting to be devoured by wolves.

You approach the cabin and Wolffe scratches at the wooden door, whining for you to open it. You pull the latch and Wolffe drops his pack and runs in before you to be sure it’s safe. The last thing you need is more danger or obnoxious critters. The cabin is dark and cold, but solid, and not too drafty. It will do just fine to wait out the rest of the blizzard. Wolffe circles back from his perimeter search and presses his nose into your hand to let you know it’s safe for you to enter.

With Wolffe’s nose-touch of approval, you pull the door shut against the merciless winds and latch it closed. You drop your pack down, pull out some glow sticks, and the small heat lamp you had in your tent. You crack the glow sticks and place them around the outer areas of the cabin to get some much needed light, then place the small heater in the middle of the room. It won’t throw enough heat for the entire cabin, but it will take the chill out of your bones for the time being.

Wolffe can see without the glow sticks, but he knows you can’t. As you settle in, he does a more thorough reconnaissance and assessment of your situation. There’s a fireplace, some chopped wood, an old table, some broken cabinets with no food in them, and a worn out rug in the middle of the floor. It’s not much, but it’s enough. More than enough, actually. Wolffe turns when he hears you strike a match to light the fireplace. The small fire casts a warm orange glow in the room.

Finally able to relax, you take Wolffe’s bucket off and place it on the table alongside his armor. You pull your coat and gloves off, and blow into your hands to warm them up. It will take a little for the fire to heat the entire cabin. You look over at Wolffe and see the blood dripping from his shoulder. You’re not sure how he’s still standing, but you need to get that wound taken care of before it becomes infected. You grab the medpack from your pack and walk over to the fire.

“Come here,” you call as you sit crisscross on the rug and pat the area next to you.

Wolffe, absolutely exhausted, slowly limps over and lies down on the carpet beside you. He places his muzzle on your left leg and you run a hand across his head. He closes his eyes. You gently move your hand down to touch the area where his shoulder is bleeding and he whines. You frown, then grab the bacta and start applying it. Wolffe kicks out his hind leg at the pain, but he stays still for you. Finally, you wrap the wound in bandages, then take care of the other bites.

Once you’re done with Wolffe’s wounds, you move onto your own. You pull the sleeve up on your left arm, and wince as the movement opens the scabs that are stuck to the fabric.

Wolffe picks his head up off your leg when he hears your pain. He looks for the source and sees the puncture marks of his teeth on your arm. His stomach drops. He gave you that wound. It’s his fault that you’re bleeding and he wishes he could fix it. If only he had the strength to change back, he could bandage your wound, instead of forcing you to do it yourself. In an effort to help, he leans forward and licks at your wound, but you recoil and reflexively whack his nose.

“Ow!” you exclaim. “That hurts!”

Wolffe whines and lowers his head to rest on the rug between his front legs. He didn’t mean to hurt you even more. He just wanted to help. I’m sorry, cyare.

You look at how sad he is and sigh. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

Wolffe remains still, but lifts his eyes to look up at you.

You meet his gaze and offer him a sad smile. You can never stay mad at Wolffe for long, even if he did bite you. Usually you like it when he bites you, but not when his teeth are as sharp as a vibro-blade. Besides, there’s no use in staying angry at him, not when he’s already saved your life three times in one day. You pat his head and give him a small scratch behind his ear, which seems to perk him up a little. “Good boy.”

Getting back to the task at hand, you apply the bacta to your wound and wrap it in a bandage. It’s not the best job you’ve ever done, but you did it with one hand, so you feel somewhat proud of yourself. Now that the wounds have been taken care of, you move onto food and water. You get up from the floor and rifle through Wolffe’s pack. You grab the canteens and rations from it, since you used your supply back in the forest, and sit back down next to Wolffe.

You reach out to hand one of the canteens to Wolffe, then stop when you remember he can’t drink out of it like a person. You sigh, stand back up, and walk over to the kitchen area past the old wooden table. There’s no food in the cabinets, but there has to be a bowl you can use, and it doesn’t take long for you to find one. You wipe it out with your shirt and bring it back to where you were sitting, then place it in front of Wolffe’s nose and pour the canteen of water into it.

Wolffe continues to lie on the floor, but picks his head up to lap at the water in the bowl. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until the first droplets hit his tongue and he eagerly drinks the rest of the bowl, being careful not to spill any of the precious resource. When you try to refill the bowl with more water, Wolffe stops you. He doesn’t need it as much as you do, and if push comes to shove, it’s easier for him to go find water in his wolf form, than it is for you as a human.

Once you’ve had your fill of water, you open up the ration pack and toss one of the bars to Wolffe. He catches it mid-flight in his mouth and eats the entire bar in one bite. You’re a little surprised, but you’re not sure what you were expecting, considering the size of his mouth and what wolves actually eat for sustenance. You chuckle. “Well, those aren’t going to last long.”

When you try to give Wolffe another ration bar, he does the same thing he did with the canteen of water and declines it. He intentionally doesn’t catch it, and the second bar comically bounces off of his head and onto the ground. Wolffe gently picks the ration bar up in his mouth and drops it in your lap for you to eat. He can survive on the one ration bar for a while. It’s more important to him that you get your proper nutrients to help keep you and the little one healthy and safe.

You pick up the ration bar and cringe in disgust that it has some of his wolf-saliva on it. But, then again, it can’t be the worst bodily fluid of Wolffe’s you’ve ever put in your mouth, so you eat it without complaint and try not to think about it too much.

After you finish the ration bar, you and Wolffe sit in silence for a while and just listen to the crackling fire in front of you and the howling blizzard outside. It’s peaceful, in a sort of sense, and almost comforting. You look over at Wolffe and wonder if he’s fallen asleep. He has his front paws crossed with his head resting on top of them and his eyes are closed. You look back over at the fire and yawn, thinking it’s best for you to get some sleep as well. You’re exhausted.

You get up off the floor, walk over to the table, grab the blanket from your pack, and sit back down next to Wolffe. You look over at him and his eyes are open and staring at you. You shake your head at his alertness. Not much gets past him. You stretch your arms out over your head, then lay the blanket on your body. You rest your head on the hard floor, which quickly becomes uncomfortable, and you know you’ll wake up with a crick in your neck if you try to sleep like this.

You sit up and look at Wolffe, who is still watching you. “Can I…” you fidget with the edge of the blanket. “Can I lay on you?”

Wolffe picks his head up and beats his tail against the wooden floor.

You giggle at his response. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Wolffe changes his position and lies out flat on his side with his legs outstretched towards the fire. He doesn’t care what position he sleeps in, because his fur works as a buffer against even the hardest of surfaces. He’ll gladly be your pillow and he’s happy to oblige you. You're still his cyare, even when he’s in his wolf form. The wolf form changes nothing about how he feels about you or his devotion and duty to protect you. He may be in a wolf’s body, but his heart is his own.

You situate yourself between Wolffe’s legs and lay your head on his side, being careful not to disturb any of the bandages. His body is warm and his fur is soft. You can feel him breathing steadily as his chest rises and falls, and the sound of his heartbeat is so similar to his human form that when you close your eyes, you can imagine it’s him you’re laying against. You nuzzle your cheek against Wolffe’s soft fur and let yourself drift off to sleep, safe by his side.

When you wake up, you feel a slight chill and notice the fire has died down. You need to get up to put more logs on it to stay warm, but you don’t want to move. You lazily rub your face against Wolffe, but it doesn’t feel right. There’s no fur. You pick your head up and look at Wolffe, but he’s no longer a wolf, he’s human. He’s also completely naked. Realizing that he’s going to freeze to death being exposed like that, you lay your blanket on top of him and get up to rekindle the fire.

You're glad he’s back to normal. You weren’t sure how long he was going to be a wolf, or if he was ever going to change back into the man you know, but you feel relieved now. You carefully lift the blanket to check the bandages, and you can see his injuries better now without the fur, and they look good. Nothing is infected, but the bandage on his shoulder needs to be changed. You run your fingers through his hair, then warm yourself by the fire and wait for him to wake up.

It’s not much longer before Wolffe begins to stir and shift uncomfortably on the hard wooden floor. You smile as you hear the familiar grunt he makes when he wakes up from a good night’s sleep and you bask in the sound of the deep voice you love so much. You turn from the fire to look at him, and you see him try to push himself up from the floor and onto all fours. You scoot across the rug and gently push him back down before he reopens the wound on his shoulder.

“Cyare,” Wolffe says, his voice rough with sleep. He tries to touch his nose to you, but he misses by several inches, not realizing that he’s back to his human form.

“It’s me,” you giggle.

“You can understand me?” Wolffe asks in confusion.

“You’re you again,” you explain as you grab his hand and touch it to his face. “See? No fur.”

Wolffe grunts like he has a hangover and places a hand against his throbbing head. “Must have changed back in my sleep.”

“Yeah, about that…” you say, trying to segue into the obvious.

Wolffe slowly sits up, the blanket falling down around his waist. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” you counter while sitting down next to him. “The blizzard hasn’t let up.”

Wolffe sighs. He knew this conversation was coming and he thought of several ways to explain it to you without it sounding like some bizarre folktale, but he’d rather not. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me,” you say with folded arms.

A shiver runs up Wolffe’s spine and he realizes he’s naked. “Can I have my blacks first?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” you say before getting up and grabbing the spare set of blacks Wolffe put in his pack, then returning to hand them to him. “Sorry about that.”

Wolffe chuckles and grabs his blacks from your hands. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Wolffe quickly puts his blacks on and melts into the comfort of the tight bodysuit against his bare skin. He sits back down next to you and immediately pulls you into his lap, your back against his chest, and wraps his arms around your stomach while burrowing his face in your neck. He peppers your neck with soft kisses, making you smile. His kisses become longer, more focused, and he trails them from your neck down to your shoulder as his hands creep under your shirt.

“Wolffe,” you say knowingly.

“Hm?” he mumbles into your neck.

“You’re stalling,” you say as you remove his hands from under your shirt.

Wolffe grunts at your perceptiveness. He really thought he could make you forget by working you up, but he was dead wrong. You want to know, and he knows you well enough that you won’t let it go until you have an answer. With a heavy sigh, he stops his attack of kisses and shuffles you around in his lap so you’re facing him. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” you answer. “Tell me everything.”

Wolffe sighs and begins his recount of the events.

“It was near the beginning of the war. My first campaign after losing my battalion and my eye. I was at my lowest point back then.”

Your shoulders slump and eyes soften at his words.

“During the campaign I got separated from the battalion, on a world similar to this one, and I found myself cold and alone on the side of a snowy mountain, staring up at the night sky and waiting to die. Thought I was going to.”

You lean your head on his shoulder as you continue to listen.

“Then I saw these green and blue lights appear out of nowhere and dance across the black sky, right over my head. They were beautiful. As I stared up at the lights, I saw this white figure jumping down from them like it was a staircase or something. As it got closer, it kinda looked like a wolf, but it was see-through and wispy-like. I’d never seen something like that before.”

You chuckle at Wolffe’s descriptions.

“You find it funny, but I thought I was dying and seeing things. So, the wispy-wolf-looking thing came over to me, and I mean it stood right next to me, and started talking to me. It said I had a ‘strong heart’ and a ‘wise mind’, or something like that, and then it asked me if I wanted to live. I actually thought about saying no, but I ended up saying yes for whatever reason.”

You grab onto Wolffe tightly, and he rubs your back to soothe you.

“Then it spoke again and said it was an ancient wolf-spirit that travels across the night sky, waiting for someone worthy who can tether it back to the ground, or something like that. It didn’t make much sense to me, but I agreed. It was better than dying on that mountainside. Then that thing walked right inside of me and I nearly pissed myself.”

You snort.

“That was my first transformation into an actual wolf. Once I was in the wolf form, I could smell and see and sense all kinds of things. That’s how I found my way back to the battalion. The general was the only one who knew it was me, through the force I guess, and we never told anyone. It took a little to figure out how to transform back, but the wolf-spirit’s been inside me ever since.”

“You can’t get rid of it?” you ask. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Not that I know of,” Wolffe shrugs. “It’ll probably leave me when I die, and go back up into the dancing lights.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you say.

Wolffe tilts his head to the side. “It does?”

“Well, yeah,” you answer.

“So, you believe me?” Wolffe asks.

“Of course,” you say with a small laugh. “There’s no reason not to. Besides, there’s lots of things in this galaxy that we don’t know about, and wolf spirits now aren’t one of them.”

Wolffe gives you a crooked smile and places his forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve you.”

You lean into the embrace and sigh, but your happy moment is interrupted by your growling stomach.

“Hungry?” Wolffe asks.

“A little,” you answer while getting off his lap.

You walk over to the table and pull out the last package of rations from Wolffe’s pack. You open the package and put one of the bars in your mouth, then throw the other one to Wolffe. He catches it, but he doesn’t eat it.

“You can have mine,” Wolffe says.

You cross your arms. “You need to eat.”

“I can wait,” he says.

“You're injured,” you argue. “You need energy to recover.”

“I have reserves,” he retorts.

“Wolffe,” you huff. “I’m not arguing with you. Eat the bar.”

“I said, no,” he says sternly.

“Fine,” you say as you put your coat on. “Then I’ll go find you something to eat.”

Wolffe gets up from the floor and grabs your arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You give Wolffe an incredulous look, then yank your arm back. “What is your problem all of a sudden?”

“I’ll go out and find us some food,” he says.

“You’re injured!” you exclaim. “If you transform back into a wolf, you’re going to break open your wound!”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he says.

“Well, I’m not,” you huff and start walking towards the cabin door.

Wolffe stands in front of it with his arms crossed. “You’re staying in this cabin and that’s an order.”

“Wolffe, I swear to the Maker, you can’t just pull rank on me whenever it suits you!” you exclaim.

“Too bad,” he says.

You fume and try to push past him. “Get out of my way!”

Wolffe groans. “Stop fighting me!”

“Stop telling me what to do!” you yell.

Wolffe grabs your shoulders and shakes you. “What do I have to do, huh?” he asks. “Tie you up?”

“Maybe,” you sneer.

“Why can’t you just listen to me?!” he exclaims.

“Because,” you begin, “you’re not making the best decision for the two of us!”

Wolffe’s patience snaps. “Only because I’m trying to make the best decision for the three of us!”

You pause, taken aback by his choice of words. “Three?”

Wolffe sighs and leans his head back against the door, kicking himself for saying the one thing he didn’t want to say.

“Wolffe,” you ask slowly. “What do you mean by three?”

Wolffe wipes his hand across his face and looks at your confused expression. “You’re pregnant.”

You gasp in shock. “What– How– When– How do you know that?”

Wolffe rubs the back of his neck. “It started out as more than a hunch, but when I transformed into a wolf, I knew for sure because I could hear its heartbeat.”

You place a hand on your stomach and stagger backwards, looking for a place to sit as you try to process this life-changing information.

Wolffe catches you and guides you to one of the chairs by the table. He kneels down in front of you and takes your hands in his. “I wasn’t going to say anything until you figured it out on your own. I’m sorry. It would’ve been difficult to explain.”

You stare at Wolffe, still in disbelief. “I’m pregnant?”

Wolffe nods his head. “Yeah.”

“I’m pregnant,” you say as you continue to stare at Wolffe.

Wolffe isn’t sure what to do, so he just stays still and waits for you to make the next move.

Suddenly, the lightbulb turns on in your head. “That’s why you gave me your rations and why you didn’t want me to leave.”

Wolffe lets his shoulders relax as you finally understand. “Exactly,” he sighs. “I was worried about the baby.”

You start to laugh and Wolffe raises his eyebrow in confusion. You throw your arms around Wolffe’s neck and squish yourself against him tightly. He pulls you from the chair to sit in his lap and holds you there for as long as you will let him. He rubs your back with his hands and soothes you with soft kisses along your neck.

“Will you let me take care of you now?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

Wolffe gives you one last big squeeze, then hoists you up to carry you over to the rug near the fire. He places you down gently on the rug and wraps you up in the blanket, then gives you a small kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” you ask.

“Promise,” he answers.

Wolffe removes his blacks, since it’s the only pair he has and he doesn’t want to ruin them, then hands them to you. “Here, they should smell like me now.”

You smile, take them from him, and breathe in his calming scent.

Wolffe leaves the cabin, making sure the door latches securely behind him, then transforms into a wolf so he can find some food. His shoulder wound still hurts, but he can walk on it without much of a limp now, which is fine for him. Even if it was broken, he would still go out and find you food. The urge to protect and provide is so much stronger now that he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re carrying his child. He would do anything to keep you both safe.

Now that you’ve settled down and have time to think, you feel bad for being angry and argumentative with Wolffe. Everything he’s done for you since he first found you in the forest has been to protect you and the baby you didn’t even know about. You can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it has been for him to keep that secret for so many weeks. You’re body hasn’t changed, so it never even occurred to you that you could be pregnant, but he knew.

You wait diligently in front of the fire for Wolffe to return, wishing you had a data-pad to distract yourself with, or even a deck of cards, or anything. Waiting in the quiet is making you fidget out of boredom, and if you’re not careful, you’ll fidget your fingernails right off your fingers. You need something busy yourself with, so you scan around the cabin to try and find inspiration. Then you realize that whatever food Wolffe brings back with him is going to need to be cooked. Bingo.

You throw Wolffe’s top blacks over your head, so you don’t have to carry the blanket around, and you walk over to the kitchen portion of the room. You go through all of the broken cabinets and drawers until you find something to cook in. You have a fire, but throwing some dead carcass on an open flame makes your stomach churn. Eventually, you find a large pan hidden away in a corner. It’s a little dusty, but it’ll do. You clean it off, then set it near the fire to preheat.

Satisfied with your preparations, you sit back down onto the rug and continue to wait for Wolffe. Your wait isn’t much longer before Wolffe returns from his hunt, but then again, without a chronometer, you can’t tell how long he’s actually been gone. The latch on the cabin door opens, then closes abruptly, and you smile while stoking the fire. You hear him take a few steps into the cabin as the floor creaks beneath his weight, but the steps are followed by a loud thud.

You whip around to see Wolffe lying on the ground, his fresh kill next to him. You rush over to check and make sure he’s still breathing, and he is. Thank the Maker. His body is cold from exposure, which makes sense, but you notice his breathing is labored and he’s sweating. You put your hand to his forehead and it’s hot. He has a fever. You curse under your breath, and check under the bandage on his shoulder. It’s red around the edges, just what you were afraid of.

“Wolffe,” you say. “I need you to get up for me.”

Wolffe groans.

“Come on,” you say while putting his arm around your shoulder. “You’re too heavy for me. I need you to help me.”

Wolffe musters what he can and you do your best to drag him over to the rug by the fire. His body is cold, and you need to warm him up so he has a chance to fight the infection. You lay him down on the rug and work to get his blacks on. It’s a struggle, and you wish he would’ve stayed in his wolf form since it came with its own fur coat, but you guess it’s better if he can talk to you. You cover him with the blanket, then focus on cleaning and redressing his shoulder.

Once you get Wolffe situated, you turn your attention to the dead creature at the door. You're not completely sure how to turn it into dinner, so you just throw it into the pan next to the fire and hope for the best. It’s better than starving, but you wish you could make it into soup to help Wolffe. You think for a moment, then get an idea. You grab snow from outside and use it to fill the pan. Then take the electrolyte package from the medpack and dump it in the pan too.

You look at your concoction brewing by the fire and narrow your eyes. “That’s going to taste awful.”

“Mesh’la,” Wolffe calls in between pants.

You turn your attention away from the pan and back to Wolffe, then scoot over to him. “I’m here.”

“Sorry,” he breathes.

You smile and wipe his forehead with your sleeve. “Don’t be. You took good care of me, of us. Now it’s my turn.”

Wolffe doesn’t respond, but you know he would if he could. What’s important now is that he gets rest.

After a little while, you check on the weird soup you’re trying to make and see that the creature is thoroughly cooked, at least, you think it’s thoroughly cooked. You taste some of the ‘broth’ and you’re not impressed, but at least it has salt and nutrients in it. You scoop up the broth into one of the bowls you found and bring it over to Wolffe. You situate yourself behind him so he can sit up against you and you can help him drink it. He fights you on it, but you eventually win.

Once you’re both fed, you throw more logs on the fire and settle in on the rug next to Wolffe. He’s shivering from his fever, so you snuggle up to him to try and keep both of you warm. It’s not ideal for you, but you know Wolffe would try to give you the blanket and his blacks if he knew you were cold, and you can’t let him do that, not when he’s sick. With Wolffe heating your back and the fire heating your front, you let your mind slow down and drift off to sleep.

The next two rotations, you guess, are similar. Wolffe’s fever continues as he fights the shoulder infection and the blizzard still rages on outside. You wonder if it’ll ever stop. The only good thing about the cold is that you can leave the leftovers outside and defrost them by the fire when you need them. Lucky for you, Wolffe brought back a decent sized creature that you’ve been able to ration out. But, the food reserves are dwindling, and neither of you will survive on nothing.

Finally, on the third rotation, you think, Wolffe’s fever breaks and his infection looks much better. He continually apologizes to you for getting sick, but he knew that if he didn’t bring back food, and he fell ill, you both would have been in trouble. You, of course, tell him not to worry about it and that you’re glad he came back safely. He saved your life, again, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Actually, he saved both you and your baby’s life, which makes you love him even more.

Not long afterwards, you both notice a silence. It’s still dark outside, but there’s a certain sound missing. The sound of the howling winds. You walk over to the cabin door, with Wolffe right behind you, and you open it to see nothing but a white ground and a black sky. The storm is over. You smile and lean back against Wolffe’s chest in relief. Now you can leave and head towards the rendezvous point to meet up with the battalion. It won’t be difficult with Wolffe leading the way.

As you stare out into the darkness, hot puffs of breath mingling into the cold night air, the sky lights up with green and blue colored streaks. Your mouth gapes and your eyes widen at the magical sight. It’s just like Wolffe described, dancing lights in the night sky. Wolffe wraps an arm around you and pulls you close against him and smiles. He’s happy you get to see them too. Then he hears the spirit within him howl towards the dancing lights above and he feels complete.

Masterlist

AO3

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[onlycosmere]

REGARDING AUDIBLE

Brandon Sanderson: Hey, all. Brandon here, with what I consider to be some pretty exciting news. Many of you may remember when I wrote last year about my worries regarding audiobook royalties (particularly for independent authors). You can read it HERE, but some of the main bullet points are as follows:

I seriously worried about the opacity of reporting to authors about audio sales. We didn’t know what a sale meant, how much of an Audible credit was given to authors when a book sold via one, and how royalties were being accounted.

I felt that the industry was taking advantage of authors because of their lack of powerful corporate interests to advocate for them. While video game creators and musicians get 70–80% (88%, in fact, on two major platforms) of a sale of their products in a digital platform, Audible was paying as low as 25%–with the high end being instead 40%.

I felt I could have gotten a better deal for myself, but the entire state of this industry was seriously concerning to me. So, I made the difficult decision NOT to release the four Secret Projects on Audible, costing me a large number of sales, to instead try to bolster healthy competition in the space, highlighting some of the smaller Audible competitors.

I hoped this wake-up call would prompt change. I didn’t refuse to put my books on Audible out of retribution or to declare war; I did it because I wanted to shine as powerful a light as I knew how on a system that highly favored the audio distributors over the authors. I was convinced that the people at Audible really did love books and writers, and that with the right stand taken, I could encourage them toward positive change.

I’m happy to say that this stand has borne some fruit. I’ve spent this last year in contact with Audible and other audio distributors, and have pushed carefully–but forcefully–for them to step up. A few weeks ago, three key officers high in Audible’s structure flew to Dragonsteel offices and presented for us a new royalty structure they intend to offer to independent writers and smaller publishers.

This new structure doesn’t give everything I’ve wanted, and there is still work to do, but it is encouraging. They showed me new minimum royalty rates for authors–and they are, as per my suggestions, improved over the previous ones. Moreover, this structure will move to a system like I have requested: a system that pays more predictably on each credit spent, and that is more transparent for authors. Audible will be paying royalties monthly, instead of quarterly, and will provide a spreadsheet that better shows how they split up the money received with their authors.

This part looked really good to me, as I understand their decisions. I tried poking holes in the system, looking for ways it could be exploited, and found each issue I raised had already been considered. This doesn’t mean it’s going to be perfect, and people smarter than me might still find problems that I didn’t. However, I think everyone is going to agree the new system IS better. We will better be able to track, for example, how Audible is dividing money between books purchased with a credit and books listened to as part of their Audible Plus program.

It’s all very technical, but I have to say I’m impressed with the effort they have made. The people there listened to my complaints, and have tried to improve. I’m not at liberty to explain in its entirety their new structure right now, as they’re still tweaking it, but they did say I could announce its existence–and that I could promise new, improved royalties are on the horizon.

Now, before we go too far, I do anticipate a few continuing issues with the final product. I want to manage expectations by talking about those below.

What I’ve seen doesn’t yet bring us to the 70% royalty I think is fair, and which other, similar industries get.

Audible continues to reserve the best royalties for those authors who are exclusive to their platform, which I consider bad for consumers, as it stifles competition. In the new structure, both exclusive and non-exclusive authors will see an increase, but the gap is staying about the same.

Authors continue to have very little (basically no) control over pricing. Whatever the “cover price” of books is largely doesn’t matter–books actually sell for the price of a credit in an Audible subscription. Authors can never raise prices alongside inflation. An Audible credit costs the same as it did almost two decades ago–with no incentive for Audible to raise it, lest it lose customers to other services willing to loss-lead to draw customers over.

These are things I’d love to see change. However, this deal IS a step forward, and IS an attempt to meet me partway. Indeed, even incremental changes can mean a lot. When I was new in this business, my agent spent months arguing for a two-percent change in one of my print royalties–because every little bit helps. These improvements are going to be larger than two-percent increases.

Because of this, I will be bringing the Secret Projects to Audible very soon. I consider Audible to again be a positive force for the industry, and I have decided to shake hands with them. Audible has promised to release their new royalty system for all authors sometime in 2024, though I should be testing it in the next month or so.

And…if you’ll allow me a moment, I’d like to say that this feels good. It isn’t what I wanted, but I’d begun to think that nothing would ever change–that even my voice, loud though it can be, wouldn’t be enough. Yet change IS possible.

I know that there are plenty of people out there who are tired of hearing about me and my works (I’m sorry–I do have quite the group of evangelists, and we can be an enthusiastic lot). However, for better or for worse, I am one of the bestselling authors in the world. Historically, one of the best ways to change things in my industry is for authors like myself to force it to happen.

Feeling this responsibility, when I was first talking to Audible about these issues in 2022, I made it very clear that I wasn’t just seeking some quiet deal that gave me an individual advantage. I wanted to see positive change for all authors. And while I don’t think I can take sole credit, I do feel like my efforts this year have had a significantly positive effect. Soon every independent author who publishes on Audible (and maybe, eventually, traditionally published authors with the huge publishers–depending on what New York decides) will be getting a larger cut of the profit, with more transparency about how that cut is allocated.

So, for those who have been waiting until Audible had the Secret Projects, you’ll get your chance soon. I hope you’ll support them, and support Audible for their decisions. And thank you to all of you who shared the news about my problems with the audio industry last year; I believe that pressure really did help. This is a victory for all of us, because happier authors able to make a better living (particularly those authors who are struggling in the midlist trenches) make for a more vibrant world for everyone.

[loverhymeswith]

Let's Be Alone Together || Part Three

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: After being rejected by Tommy, your attempt at avoiding him fails miserably

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death, smoking, angst, Tommy being Tommy

A/N: When I originally planned this chapter, it was going to be much longer, but I ran out of time before going on vacation and I didn’t want to leave you all hanging. Thank you so much for all the love and support for this story. There are at least 2 more chapters on the way. Shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta-read and invaluable suggestions as always 💖

Masterlist

The bookmakers on Watery Lane is eerily quiet. Silent in fact, which is a rare occasion indeed. The building is usually a hive of activity, the air full of cigarette smoke and testosterone, of quick tempers and over-inflated egos. 

But today, it’s just you.

Today, the Shelbys are at the races. 

Despite invitations from both Polly and Arthur, you had been firm in your decision to stay behind after taking the morning’s bets. As far as the family is concerned, you have a migraine. However, the truth is that after Tommy’s behaviour the other night, you have been mindful to stay out of his way. 

Spending the afternoon taking stock in the betting shop seemed like a far safer option than being in the vicinity of Tommy Shelby and his expensive suit on race day. The longer you go without seeing him, the easier it is to convince yourself that his rejection - his dismissal - doesn’t hurt. That you’re not ashamed and embarrassed for suggesting that you might have wanted him to come home with you. Even if at the time it had been true.

The longer you go without seeing Tommy Shelby, the easier it is to convince yourself that you don’t want him.

Hearing the telltale sound of the front door unlocking, you look up from your desk, a jolt of panic nudging you out of boredom. With the exception of Finn and the handful of loyal foot soldiers tasked with keeping watch over the Shelby empire, everyone else is at Cheltenham.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear”, you mutter under your breath when a pair of piercing blue eyes meet yours across the room.

Missing either the irritation in your voice or the comment altogether, Tommy strides into the room, a cigarette resting between his plump lips as he surveys his surroundings. “Any trouble this morning?” he asks around the cigarette.

You shake your head. As far as race days go, today has been particularly quiet. By now, the local gambling men know better than to cause trouble on Shelby soil.

Tommy hums under his breath, starting to remove his dark woollen coat and jacket. You ignore the lump forming in your throat as you realise this isn’t a flying visit. Something or someone has brought him back to Small Heath. 

It proves a struggle to return your attention to the ledger before you. Your eyes are unwillingly drawn away from the small handwritten numbers, focusing instead on Tommy as he sinks into the chair opposite. An expensive suit indeed, judging by how perfectly the clothes are cut to his powerful body. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Tommy observes, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray between you. When you don’t reply, he adds, “And now you’re ignoring me, eh?”

Rising to the bait, you level him with your best attempt at a Shelby glare. “What do you want, Tommy? Haven’t you got someplace better to be? I thought your horse was racing today.”

As usual, Tommy doesn’t respond immediately. A heavy silence stretches out as he watches you intently, his lips ever so slightly parted as he carefully considers his next words. 

Slowly, he blinks. “We need to have a talk.”

“Sounds serious,” you scoff. But the humour is a front. In reality, your heart is pounding, your fingers clenching the folds of your skirt beneath the desk as you wait for him to continue.

After another beat of silence, Tommy reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a roll of notes. You follow his hands, calloused and scar-flecked, as he stretches across the table, placing the money in front of you.

“What’s this?” You raise a brow, discomfort rapidly spreading through your stomach as you try to make sense of the gesture. “You know I’m not one of your whores. The other night…”

You trail off when a burst of white-hot anger flashes through Tommy’s blue eyes. Then it’s gone just as quickly and he clears his throat. “That’s why I want you to take the money.” When it becomes obvious he’s not making any sense, he elaborates. “You don’t belong here.”

Your heart sinks as his words register, recognising this for the familiar Tommy Shelby ploy that it is: throw money at a problem until it goes away.

“You’re trying to get rid of me.” 

Tommy blinks again, his mouth a thin line neither confirming nor denying the accusation.  It’s a struggle, but you manage to temper down the hurt, matching his stoic expression. “Why?” 

Tommy lights another cigarette before replying. It gives you time to run through the myriad of reasons why he wouldn’t want you around. Eventually, you settle on the most obvious explanation: the other night, you overstepped the mark. He simply doesn’t want you.

A cloud of smoke escapes his parted lips as he leans forward in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours. “Birmingham isn’t safe.”

“Oh come on, you think I don’t know that?” You shake your head, fighting the sting of angry tears. “It’s been two years since you brought me here. For my safety, if I recall. A promise to a dying man… Do you intend to break that promise now?”

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticks, the only indication your words have any effect on him. “Times are changing. We have more enemies now. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“You’ve always had enemies, Tommy. So why now? Who are you really trying to protect me from?”

Yourself?

The unspoken answer hangs in the air between you, the heaviness an indication of its truth. Tommy blinks rapidly, his mouth closing firmly as he inclines his head. You’ve hit a nerve. “I hear Sheffield is nice.”

“Sheffield?” You laugh bitterly. “You’re not even going to give me a choice, are you? Let me guess, you have a family lined up for me to go and stay with. People - friends - who will keep an eye on me and report back when the guilt becomes too much for you to bear. You’ve probably arranged a husband for me while you’re at it.”

“You’ve got me all figured out, eh?” He leans back in his chair and takes a long drag of the cigarette. 

The haze of white smoke obscures him from view just long enough for you to compose yourself. “You really are a piece of work, Thomas. Did it ever cross your mind to consider what I might want?”

As his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, you force yourself to maintain eye contact. Looking away would be a sign of weakness and you can’t afford to let your guard down around him. Not again. 

“And what is it that you want?” he asks, too patiently.

At the end of your tether, you push back your chair and rise to your feet, fists clenched. “You want to know what I want?”

Tommy nods slowly, his sharp gaze following you as you round the table and come to stand before him. 

“I want to know what’s really going on inside your head. I want to know what changed since we left the restaurant the other night. I want to know why you-”

“You deserve someone better.”

His abrupt admission startles you into silence and you stagger backwards, desperately trying to make sense of his words. You heard them the other night when he was referring to Lewis Powell, but now…

You wanted the truth but you hadn’t really expected him to offer it so willingly. And now that you have it, you’re not sure what to do with it.

Tommy stubs out his cigarette and rises smoothly. He’s standing before you, mere inches separating the two of you as his eyes rapidly dart across your face. Whatever semblance of control he had earlier is quickly slipping away. “You talk of being alone. Well, I feel the same way. And sometimes, I think that maybe we could be alone together.”

You let out a quiet breath, your head continuing to spin with every new revelation. “So what’s the problem?”

“You know what the problem is.” Tommy's eyes shutter, as if the thought alone causes him pain. “I made a promise to your husband.”

“Who is dead,” you snap, despising the harsh words even as they rush from your mouth. “He left me. And now you’re going to do the same thing. Don’t think for one minute that you’re being an honorable man by sending me away, Thomas Shelby. You’re just a coward. You’re a -”

Before you can finish, Tommy reaches out, cupping your jaw with his large, warm hands. Firm but gentle, he forces you to look into his eyes, the action so intimate, so unlike the Tommy you have come to know. 

“You’re right.” He smooths his thumbs over the tears now freely running down your cheeks. “You're right. But only when it comes to you.”

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy

[goodqueenaly]

Who do you think Hoster was looking at for Lysa, before the Petyr Incident? There are relatively few Lords Paramount, and most of them and their heirs were taken. Would he consider his own bannermen? Other people's? Maybe a cross match back to the Whents?

We know whom Hoster wanted Lysa to marry in the months (and perhaps years) leading up to the tourney of Harrenhal:

Jaime, meantime, had spent four years as squire to Ser Sumner Crake-hall and earned his spurs against the Kingswood Brotherhood. But when he made a brief call at King's Landing on his way back to Casterly Rock, chiefly to see his sister, Cersei took him aside and whispered that Lord Tywin meant to marry him to Lysa Tully, had gone so far as to invite Lord Hoster to the city to discuss dower.

"You asked me to reward you for your efforts in the battle," Lord Tywin reminded him forcefully. "This is a chance for you, Tyrion, the best you are ever likely to have." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. "I once hoped to marry your brother to Lysa Tully, but Aerys named Jaime to his Kingsguard before the arrangements were complete. When I suggested to Lord Hoster that Lysa might be wed to you instead, he replied that he wanted a whole man for his daughter."

Jaime could see archers moving behind the merlons on the castle ramparts. Above them streamed the banners of House Tully, the silver trout defiant on its striped field of red and blue. But the highest tower flew a different flag; a long white standard emblazoned with the direwolf of Stark. "The first time I saw Riverrun, I was a squire green as summer grass," Jaime told his cousin. "Old Sumner Crakehall sent me to deliver a message, one he swore could not be entrusted to a raven. Lord Hoster kept me for a fortnight whilst mulling his reply, and sat me beside his daughter Lysa at every meal."

What Hoster imagined for Lysa between the tourney and the outbreak of Robert’s Rebellion (as well as her pregnancy by Peter Baelish, whenever Lysa revealed that vis a vis the start of the war) is uncertain, though I think it’s important to keep a few points in mind. Number one, this period was likely pretty short, certainly relatively speaking; if the “false spring” of 281 AC lasted only two months, and baby Aegon was born by the end of 281 AC or, at the latest, at the very very beginning of 282 AC, there may have been only a handful of months for Hoster to consider Lysa’s marital future before the next major bombshell on the political scene (followed by the more personal, but perhaps nearly equally shocking to Hoster, bombshell of Lysa’s pregnancy news). However long Hoster had been considering and planning the now-impossible Lysa-Jaime match, I doubt he had nearly as much time post-tourney to think about what he was going to do with Lysa nuptially. There were likely, as you mention, no obvious replacements who would serve the aims of the southron ambitions bloc, nor any obvious candidates Hoster may have considered sufficiently grand enough to match with the future sister-in-law of the Lord of Winterfell and indirect relation by marriage to the Lord of Storm’s End (and that’s without Hoster perhaps worrying that any marriage he arranged for Lysa too quickly after the tourney would be seen as trying to hush up a scandal - Hoster trying too hard to prove that Lysa was desirable, when Jaime Lannister had for all appearances chosen to go celibate rather than marry her). Indeed, that Hoster summarily and haughtily rejected Tyrion as a bridegroom for Lysa, presumably in this pre-war period, demonstrates that Hoster was not feeling so anxious about Lysa’s future that he needed to rush into just any aristocratic marriage for her (certainly not that he and a number of other Westerosi lords considered an insult).

Maybe more importantly, certainly from a political perspective, Hoster may have been less interested in trying to broker a match for Lysa in this period and more interested in performing damage control and shoring up the future with his allies in the southron ambitions power bloc. To all the world - certainly all or virtually all the attendees at Harrenhal -  Rhaegar had looked like he was trying to make Lyanna Stark his mistress, grossly publicly insulting Robert Baratheon and the Starks (among others) - and with the Starks the fulcrum of the southron ambitions bloc, Hoster may have feared that the web of nuptial alliances on which that bloc rested its future was in jeopardy. Too, with the king and his heir so dramatically and publicly at odds - and with Aerys so shockingly declined in appearance and personality, as evidenced by his attendance at the tourney - Hoster may have suspected that open conflict between the king and the crown prince leading to civil war, or a proxy conflict for their antagonism erupting into civil war, would come sooner rather than later; if the ultimate aim of the southron ambitions power block was to change the political power dynamic between the Iron Throne and its major vassals, this sort of conflict may have seemed like the ideal, or only, opportunity to do so. Securing the bloc before any move would be undertaken would mean securing those established and planned, but not yet completed, marital alliances - first Brandon and Catelyn, then Robert and Lyanna. Perhaps, in this flurry of politico-nuptial activity, Hoster considered the identity of Lysa’s future husband of secondary importance; Lysa, still only in her early teens, was not so old (even by Westerosi standards, *eyeroll*) that Hoster needed to fear her being left a spinster while he attended to what he may have considered more pressing matters.

[tesseractrave]

The Happy Mask Salesman's design makes me wonderfully crazy, and I have to talk about the way my brain processes it because it's a big part of why I love him so much.

[Analysis is under the cut]

——————————————————————–——

The first detail I'd like to point out would be the color theory.

He has the bluer purple on both his tunic and trousers, or the whole piece if you consider it a jumpsuit (I personally don't draw it as a jumpsuit, but I do admit that it might be the most game-accurate interpretation), and it gives him a very direct foundation and center for the outfit's base.

The vest and shoes are a darker magenta, however, which adds hue variation while staying analogous with his tradmeark purple shades, and the light grey is a value used to balance the more saturated purples as an accent.

The golden accessories are a complimentary (opposite) color to purple, which Nintendo seems to be very adept at in general (cough, Splatoon, cough).

Of course, we can't forget his hair. Whichever specific shade you see it, it's always agreed that the color is at least somewhere along the ginger spectrum. The red, orange, auburn, etc. hues are analogous between the contrasting gold and purple, adding a transitional color to link them.

His skin serves the same purpose with the varied addition of having a lowered saturation and a lighter tone to aid the grey in balancing the depth of the color of his clothes and hair.

Though we unfortunately have no canon answer to what his eye color is, Ember Lab's creative decision to make them green may have been the best choice from a design standpoint because it balances out the purple in his clothing and makes his face stand out more.

The distribution of color in this design as a whole is pretty genius to me, as well.

His hair, being the only part of him that's that ginger color, directs the eyes upward to his face, while the main, deep purple is focused on the direct center.

The gold is arranged widthwise across the center, most heavily on the neck once again to direct the eyes upward while also distributing down to both of his wrists for balance on either side, almost like a scale.

The magenta and grey both run lengthwise down (and wrap around) the center and sit in mostly horizontal detailing at the bottom of his legs like the base of a pillar.

It's not something I added to the example image or spoke about before, but his white teeth in his smile are another aspect that is, of course, very eye-catching for his face and important for his design.

There's also the topic of the geometry.

I'm using my own art as an example because this is the way I interpret it, but the first image is just a breakup of how the edges of each section line up with one another in a way that fans out from the center, and the second image is the addition of marks measuring the estimated centers of each section.

Looking closely, you quickly realize how his gorget makes everything line up geometrically, and as a whole, the design is entirely symmetrical apart from the way his hair is parted, which adds all the asymmetry needed to make him feel natural, albeit incredibly well-groomed and organized.

The color of the inner edge of his vest and the the soles of his shoes is the same as the two rows of stitches running down the front of his torso, which gives the otherwise separately-coloured pieces of the outfit a common detail to link them as a set.

(At one point, I think I had an exact estimation for the number of stitches in each row, but I think I started ignoring it in my art to save my sanity. I know it's on my cosplay, though.)

His gorget and bracers also have a matching scallop pattern (though it seems to be debated on whether the scallops of the bracers face up or down), which adds an additional sense of uniformity.

The majority of details follow the lengthwise median, and everything suggests an overall polished feel and a balanced center of gravity. All in all, it's a fantastic design. I've seen so many wonderful takes and artistic adjustments on it, and I've even made my own, but the character designers at Nintendo really popped off with this one.

[coraniaid]

The actual reason Season 3 has Buffy decide that Angel (who killed a large number of people over a long period of time, on purpose, and vocally enjoyed doing it, and only stopped because of magical nonsense that cannot apply to Faith) rather than Giles (who killed one person, sort-of but not entirely by accident, and obviously regrets it though he mostly prefers not to talk about it at all) was the best person to talk to Faith (who has just killed one person, sort-of but not entirely by accident, and obviously regrets it thougb she's currently loudly refusing to talk about it) is, presumably, one or more of the following:

The writers know where Faith's arc is going this season and are trying to set up more parallels between her and Angel

In a few episodes time Angel will be leaving for his own spin-off show, and people are more likely to watch that if Angel gets more screentime this season

Giles has more speaking time than Angel this season anyway, so they may as well give Boreanaz something to do here

The writers don't trust the readers to remember what happened in Season 2

The writers themselves don't remember what happened in Season 2

[Surely not, but ... maybe?] the writers really do think that killing one person, by mistake, when you've been told repeatedly that your destiny and entire purpose for being is to spend most of your short life killing monsters that look just like people, and you have been killing such monsters all night, and you know there are lots more out there, and something that might be a monster wanders up to you in the dark and ... oh, no ... is, somehow, closer to being a centuries old serial killer who loves to murder for fun than it is to accidently getting your friend killed while recreationally summoning an evil orgy demon [I mean, the writers of Ted seem to think a teenage girl defending herself from an abusive adult man means she deserves to go to prison unless she can prove he was a robot, so we can't rule this one out, however absurd it appears]

But in-universe, what is exactly is going on in Buffy's head that makes her think Angel is the right person to help Faith? Buffy found out about Giles past as 'Ripper' only last year, and it was brought up again earlier this season in Band Candy (though, notably, the writers already seem to have forgotten that Giles' 'Ripper' phase didn't happen while he was a teenager). Buffy herself thought that she'd killed a man last season, and Giles's own unwitting role in a man's death was brought up then as well: in fact, the police detective who interviewed Buffy and Faith after Finch's death also investigated Buffy for murder last season (twice!).

Why isn't Buffy talking to Faith about Ted? Why hasn't she asked Giles to talk to her about Randall? What makes her think Angel could possibly help? Is it because Faith brings up Angel first ("I can't pretend to investigate [Finch's death]", "Oh, but you can pretend that Angel's dead when you need to protect him?")? Yes, Faith tells her she doesn't want to bring Giles into it, but she says she doesn't want anybody else involved.

(It can't just be that Angel has the strength to restrain Faith, since the way the episode is structured means Buffy must have asked Angel for help before either of them knew he needed to chain her up.)

And yet, when Buffy finally admits the truth to Giles, there's no point where she acknowledges Giles himself might be in a good spot to help Faith. Buffy suggests she could talk to Faith again, or that "one of the guys" could, and ultimately settles on Angel (she must have asked him before he turns up at the motel and finds Faith attacking Xander: I doubt he was dropping in for a social visit) but there is literally no suggestion that Giles might have some relevant personal experience to bring to bear here. Why does Buffy not even consider asking Giles to talk to Faith? Does she just assume Giles's values "not talking about his past" more highly than "helping a Slayer he's supposed to be taking care of"?

(I've complained before about Giles himself not volunteering for the job, and to be clear I do think as the adult in the room Giles is more responsible here for Faith's wellbeing than Buffy. He has a duty of care to her than Buffy, still only a teenager herself, simply cannot be expected to match. Why does the man who -- less than six months ago! -- made a deal with the Council to "look after" Faith until she got a Watcher of her own, and who (as per Doppelgangland later) still considers himself qualified to make decisions about what missions she does and doesn't go on, tell Buffy he had to pretend to believe Faith's story because he "needed to make her think I was on her side". I mean, isn't he meant to be on her side? Why does he tell Buffy he "needs more time" to decide what to with Faith? He'd already ruled out getting Wesley or the Council involved, the only other adults who might be able to help -- he's already decided that this is something he should have some involvement in, despite having been fired as a Watcher; he's still acting as somebody who has the authority to make those calls -- so what exactly is he waiting for?)

Still, what's odd here is why Buffy just ... doesn't even seem to consider it. She's been trying to talk to Faith for most of the episode and not getting anywhere, so ... fine. It makes sense to ask somebody else for help, and it even makes sense that (when she does) she more or less completely defers to their judgment about what to do next. She's been trying her best and it doesn't seem to have been helping. Why not let somebody else take charge? But why Angel of all people?

I don't think this was what the writers were going for, but Buffy's entire thought process here seems to be "oh no, my 'good friend' Faith, the girl with whom I share a connection even my best friend could never understand, has killed somebody! This means she's in the same position I thought I was last year going through the same thing my Watcher did when he was just a bit older than her just like my boyfriend."

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

idk why people think Miguel and Peter are the perfect father figures like they’re the worst ESPECIALLY MIGUEL HES SO VIOLENT

ionkno ima be honest miguel... Miguel might be my Tio. (not in the 'papi' way, he literally my uncle)

A RANT where I get progressively angrier and more confused at Miguel and Peter B.

[Peter B. Parker Hater Club]

Like....I can't defend him in anyway cause like my GOD, I've seen Peter fighting Green Goblins less violently. Miguel was being brolic as hell on a child.

But I like think that like...day to day.. he isn't as much of a (number of words that might be a bit too vulgar).

I...I don't know how to feel about him. Because on one hand we have the logic hints that he is normal most of the time - based on how people treat him. But we don't see that at all.

We never get to see Miguel OR the Society just exist and I don't think we will in the next movie cause there's no time plot-wise but considering what Miguel truly believes I'm like - maybe you just need to be put on ice for a minute. Look at yourself, you look insane.

I'm HOPING GOD IM HOPING that theres a scene where Miguel gets to Miles and just stops and is holding Miles down and now that Miles can't leave he just begs Miles not to make the same mistake he did, because he believes the even if Miles saves his dad - his dad will die anyway when the universe collapses (like Gabbie did).

just so we can see some range or like self-reflection from him. Because..if he's so guilty about Gabbie I assume he self-reflected a lot so he uhhh needs to do that...again.. right now.

And like....that's not how that works but it's like telling a flat earther that the earth is round. Until they go up and see it, they will have an argument for everything you say.

I trust Spider-people, and I trust them to be able to call out a evil person so I'm like...the Society is run so well, ALL of these spider-people can't be stupid - we know Insomnia Peter, we know Hobie. Hobie was there before Gwen so like...Miguel must've been, not bad enough for him to refuse??? I guess?????

I really have no idea about Miguel's character and it's a long movie so I understand not getting alone time with the Society but I'm like..

At WHAT point does Miguel stop and be like "What the fuck am I doing?" AT WHAT POINT DOES JESS OR PETER?

It's like.. (k now I'm mad) You're an ADULT!! And Miguel yeah I know it's a trauma response but standing there at that platform with dozens of people watching you. How is that not like waking up in a cold sweat!!

And realistically speaking - Miguel what are you gonna do? Forreal what are you gonna do?

Okay, so you lock him up and his dad dies. What about his next canon event. Some canon events you have to be active in. Like what if his canon event is marrying his MJ - what, are you gonna MAKE him marry her. What if his canon event is meeting Dr.Otto. What, you gonna make Miles work for him.

Even if this canon event happens it's not like Miles is gonna co-operate for any others??? So what is the goal?!?!?!

That's why I'm like nah, Miguel cannot be like this all the time. He can not be this blindly stupid because what he's doing is DUMBBBBBB

Im gonna be real even if a Spider-person had caught Miles, Miles would've tried to explain and be like 'please let me go', and because everyone else doesn't have the drive like Miguel, they'd probably be like "Oh shit, ok go on kid."

BUT PETERRRRRRR FUCK THIS DUD OKAY I HAVE A QUESTION

In the scene where he's like 'hold the baby' to Miles and his watch goes off- do you think he was purposely trying to give Miles up? Because that's what I thought. Someone the other day suggested that it was an accident and I was like "???"

NO MA'AM. No, Ma'am.

I always saw the scene as this:

Peter B. KNOWS Miles isn't gonna take off while holding MayDay. He's not, Miles not going to kidnap a baby.

So Peter is continually pestering Miles to hold MayDay, to get him to stay in while place, while he intentionally alerts them of his location. However, Miles won't take MayDay, and Peter's watch goes off.

Because Miles isn't holding her, his hands are free, and he can escape.

That's what I got from that, no?

Or you mean to tell me Peter's watch went off by itself? Maybe, but then what was with the 'Hold My Baby' shit? Why wouldn't he take 'no' for an answer?

He was using MayDay to trap Miles. Like are you fucking kidding me.

Wow, betraying his trust again AND manipulating him with that 'I had her cause of you!' speech.

Miguel - He's having a psychotic break, he's full Primal and honestly he needs to go somewhere. Perhaps a small red bubble and just..look at himself in the mirror. Like - fuck are you doing? The most, for no reason. Cut it out!

Peter - Nah, why are you even here? What are you getting out of this, seriously? Gwen HAS to be here, Hobie knows WHY he's here, Pav just GOT here. Why are you here? What do you get out of this? What, do they have free daycare or something at HQ. What even compelled you to be on Miguel's side in the first place. WHY DIDNT YOU FIGHT HIM THE SECOND HE MENTIONED MILES NEGATIVELY

Like Peter doesn't have the trauma Miguel has, he doesn't have the professionalism Jess has, and he doesn't have the brains Hobie does. What is he adding to this society, what is he getting out of it?

He's just THERE. Being a NUISANCE and I MEAN THAT!!!

You can't tell me Lyla be looking at missions and be like 'Oh yeah we need to get Peter B. on the case' NO!

And then to not help Gwen and also try and rat Miles out????????? He should fall into a 'metaphor for capitalism' if u know what i mean

Jess - She's literally doing her job and going home at 5:00:01 and as someone who is anti-work....understood ma'am have a nice day but also maybe reconsider your parenting practices before that baby gets here, just a suggestion.

Rio and Jeff are the only adults with some sense in this movie. Captain Stacy, you're fine but you're on thin fucking ice.

Fuck Peter B. All my Hobies hate Peter B. (not a typo)

And Miguel:

"I - I can't even with you."

[nero-vanderwolf]

It seemed like ages passed in the hospital, eons spent waiting for results.

Akihiko’s knee bounced incessantly, even after Makoto put a hand on it reassuringly. Akihiko looked over at him, noted how pale he looked, noted the blood that had dried under his fingernails from the desperate attempt to staunch the bloodflow from Shinji’s wound.

“He was still breathing when we brought him in,” Makoto pointed out, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands shook, the one on Akihiko’s jumpy knee and the one clenched into a fist around his mp3 player.

“I’m scared,” Akihiko confessed, his voice shaking. “I’m scared that I’ll end up losing my best friend. I can’t- I can’t lose him too...”

He was aware of Mitsuru looking at him, of the worry that furrowed her brow, but he ignored it. He was busy throwing up his heart.

“I know. ‘There’s nothing we can do right now,’ that’s what they always say in movies. But it doesn’t take away the fear. I’m scared too, Akihiko. I’m terrified that I’ll lose a guy I never had the chance to know better beyond a few gruff words in the lobby. I don’t want to lose him either.” Makoto really did look scared. His lower lip trembled, his eyes shone with unshed tears. He was pale and shaky and looked like he was about to throw up.

The telltale click of a door shut everyone up. All eyes were on the doctor as he walked out, bearing a clipboard and a grim face.

That expression made Akihiko’s blood run cold. His skin turned to ice, and he froze. Please, he silently begged. Please, let Shinji be alive.

“He’s in a coma. Thankfully, it isn’t a deep one- he’ll most definitely wake up. However, we are looking at about two to three weeks before then.”

He was alive. Despite being shot, despite losing so much blood, despite those wretched suppressants that Akihiko now knows he was taking, Shinji was alive.

Akihiko should have known better than to doubt him.

“Can he have visitors?” Yukari asked tentatively, and the doctor nodded.

“Yes. Whenever you all are ready. Though, I suggest only one at a time for the first week or so. After that, it is up to you how many you deem fit to visit.”

After the doctor turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, all eyes turned to Akihiko.

“You should visit him, Akihiko. He’d want to see you first,” Makoto murmured. Akihiko knew he was right, and had to admit that the kid knew Shinji better than he gave himself credit for.

“Yuki. You can visit him next. After all, you helped save his life,” Mitsuru said.

Akihiko didn’t linger to hear Makoto’s arguments. He made a beeline straight for Shinji’s door, the dried blood on his hands itching the entire way.

There he was, Shinjiro Aragaki, laying on the bed. He was hooked up to a number of machines and wires, like some kind of speciman from his shitty sci-fi movies.

And yet, he looked almost peaceful. There was no scowl on his lips, no furrow to his brow. But he was still pale, his cheeks were still gaunt, his eyes were still darkly circled and sunken. Some things couldn’t be changed in a few hours.

Akihiko sank down into the chair beside him, sighing. “You’re a dumbass, Shinji. You know that? I mean, what were you thinking!? Did you think you deserved to die? Did you think at all?”

He knew it wasn’t fair to Shinji to unwrap all of his rage and grief and sorrow right there beside him, but he continued to anyways. He figured Shinji wouldn’t mind.

“We care about you, Shinji! Did you think we wouldn’t miss you? Did you consider the grief you’d cause us? Mitsuru can’t handle another heartbreak! I can’t handle losing another person!”

He was crying now, sobbing at Shinji’s bedside, clutching his hand and clinging to it.

“You’re selfish, Shinji. You’re a selfish asshole and I’m so fucking glad you’re alive because I don’t know what I might have done if you weren’t,” Akihiko whispered, breath catching with a new wave of sobs.

“...God, when did I get so soft, huh? Probably sometime around when Makoto arrived. Guy’s got a knack for that sort of thing, doesn’t he? Even Mitsu likes him... Do you think Miki would have liked him? He’s pretty quiet, so she might have tried to get him to talk more. Probably would have driven him crazy asking about his mp3 player. But I think... I think they would have been friends.”

Akihiko glanced at the clock, cursing quietly when he saw how long he’d been in there for.

“I’ll visit you tomorrow, okay? I’ll bring Ken along. Bye, Shinji.”

The ride home seemed to last forever, but it was forever spent in relieved silence. Makoto and Fuuka were sharing earbuds, Mitsuru, Junpei and Yukari were talking quietly, and Akihiko was hugging Ken as tightly as the kid would let him.

Ken was trembling with sobs, his tiny hands shaking as they clung to Akihiko’s vest. Sometimes Akihiko forgot how young he was, how young he had been when the incident happened.

“It’s okay, Ken... He’s okay. I’ll bring you there tomorrow after school and you can talk to him all you want. We can get ice cream after, even, if you want. Does that sound okay?”

Ken didn’t move his head from its place against Akihiko’s chest, but he nodded slightly. Akihiko rubbed his back, holding him close.

Shinji was alive. And somehow, just the fact alone was a comfort.

Because that meant that one day, he would wake up. And everything would be okay again.

RAYAGGGYHG JUMPING OFF WALLS RN of course aki would be mad at shinji. them insulting each other is how they always talk. its like a love language. also AKI COMFORTING KEN!!!! THE FATHER FIGURE AKI!!!! shinji lives... the tension in waiting to hear if shinji would live or not is so..... ghhhrghrhhh eatjng this fic like a tasty snack

[teh-tj]

The 2nd and 11th primarchs: My theory

In the Warhammer 40k universe, there are eighteen (plus one) primarchs, each numbered in order of when the Emperor found them. They're totally expunged from the record but from what little we know about them

-They were killed by Leman Rus and/or Lion El-Jonson

-They participated in the Rangdan Xenocides

-Their legions were subsumed into the Ultramarines

-They're called the LOST primarchs

This is what Rogal Dorn said about them.

"The second and eleventh plinths had been vacant for a long time. No one ever spoke of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

Remember, Rogal is a very stern figure. Very blunt, known for not liking to talk. We know that whatever happened to them was tragic, and Rogal seems saddened by their disappearance. This leads me to believe that whatever happened wasn't intentional. When the living primarchs reflect on the heretical primarchs, they usually do so in anger and disgust. Yet on the rare occasion II and XI are mentioned it's often through a neutral turn. Let's also remember that the two primarchs most likely responsible for killing the primarchs were Leman and Lion, who are both considered the loyal executioners of the Emperor. Of all the primarchs, they're the ones the Emperor would most trust with a secret plan to execute plans other primarchs like Guilliman or Vulcan may object to. Their legions were also subsumed into the Ultramarines; this suggests two things, their legions lost their loyalty to their primarchs and their legions weren't tainted by their primarch's actions. We also know that the primarchs were originally on the Emperor's side, since they're suggested to have participated in the great crusade.

Horus had this exchange with XI's geneseed when he recieved a lucid vision of the past.

"He stopped by the tank with XI stenciled upon it ... feeling the untapped glories that might have lain ahead for what grew within, but knowing that they would never come to pass."

This suggests that Horus felt as if XI had potential. However, in the book "Deliverance Lost" it's revealed that Corvus Corax never met them.

(Emperor) "You and your brothers were taken from me by denizens of the Warp before you were ready."

"Brothers?" Corvus was excited by the prospect, pushing aside the questions that the Emperor's answer had prompted. Though he had made many friends amongst the prisoners of Lycaeus, always Corvus had been aware of his otherness, and when they had started to call him Saviour any hope of normal relationships had ended. That there were others like him filled Corvus with hope again.

"Yes, you have brothers," said the Emperor, smiling at His son's delight.

"Seventeen of them. You are the primarchs, my finest creations."

"Seventeen?" Corvus asked, confused."I remember that I was number nineteen. How can that be so?"

The Emperor's expression grew bleak, filled with deep sorrow. He looked away as he replied.

"The other two." He said. "That is a conversation for another day."

This means they were expunged after Horus was discovered, but before Corvus was.

Here's my theory. I think during the great crusade they might have fallen ill to some sort of disease. I think if they had an organized heresy or rebellion, they wouldn't have been lost. Horus and the traitor primarchs aren't lost to those in the know. I also think the Emperor killing them over a disease would explain why he'd hide it from later primarchs, because a part of the deal is practical immortality and if a primarch thinks too much about his mortality he may act selfishly. This would also explain why their legions didn't fall, simply after a period of quarantine certain legionaries were assimilated into the Ultramarines. This may be a stretch, but I think the way Horus mourned them is closer to when someone you know prematurely dies of cancer rather than when someone dies in an accident or of natural causes. This is why the Emperor had to send his most ruthless primarchs to kill them. Of the brothers, Leman and Lion are the most trustworthy and eager to please the Emperor. Can you imagine Vulcan or Roboute killing a cancer patient? In contrast, can't you imagine Lion or Leman doing it with no expectation? It's why all the primarchs, regardless of affiliation, were sad about it. When someone dies prematurely, it allows you to reflect on them biasly and lets you fill in the blanks for all the unknowns. Meanwhile, if they somehow maliciously attacked the other legions they'd be more reviled. There's even a history of the Emperor killing sickly creations, namely the Thunder Warriors. This may have helped radicalize Horus, between the Thunder Warriors and the Lost Primarchs, it becomes clear that immortality is impossible and that the Emperor will throw you away when it's convenient.

I think this even drives into one of the deeper themes on 40k, that being neglect and cynicism. The Emperor is a cynic who'd get rid of his marines the second he finds a suitable replacement. Horus himself says as much. The primaries who knew them are deeply troubled by their "disappearance" because they know how easily it could happen to them. I think this is why the pimarchs who remained loyal did it out of love for the Imperium, and the ones who fell to Chaos (except Fulgrim who just fell because snake pussy had him acting strange) mostly did it out of spite and self-aggrandizement. 40k is a series of stories of how neglect and narcissism drags humanity away from its potential greatness. The Emperor, in this case, killing two of his sons because he didn't want to shatter the illusion of immortality from his other sons.

[tinyidle]

Can you do scenario for Yeosang and Miyeon? Home Gym! Miyeon been distrusting Yeosang by touching him anywhere and he can't risk it so he immediately bring her into their bedroom and dominated her!

making this into a drabble (that might turn into a full blown fic as i write this because who knows really) let's goooo nsfw, based-ish on irl (not too much tho now since they're no longer mcs :( ), groping, overstimulation, pussy slapping, slight degradation, fellatio, insatiable!miyeon, teasing!miyeon, switch!sub!miyeon, brattamer-ish!yeosang, switch!dom!yeosang, all fiction ofc; 1.27k wc

having exchanged numbers from their once-in-a-blue-moon merging of schedules, miyeon was surprised with how easy it was to find interest and similarity with yeosang, and so was yeosang with miyeon. both were current mcs for music shows, both were visuals in their group, were very much dotted on constantly, and had an awfully quiet side to them. the only two extremely stark differences were age, heights and genders, but even looking past that they could very easily get along.

both of them were also workout gurus, so they've been going to the gym as partners for the past three months. miyeon recently got a new apartment and, knowing how much yeosang likes to exercise, offered him to work out with her at her house whenever they couldn't necessarily go to their companies' gym. he would always accept because it was a place to workout with a partner who was 100% willing, and miyeon was 1000% willing to work out.

it was a pretty chill day for both them, so yeosang got to miyeon's house. when miyeon opened the door, yeosang was met with a tempting sight: a tight athletic crop top with loose athletic shorts, showing off her toned abs and legs. he always giggled at the thought, considering miyeon's only worked out for a couple of weeks.

refocusing on why he came, yeosang greeted the older. "good morning, noona," he said.

miyeon made a small grimace before smiling brightly. "good morning to you, too. but you don't have to call me noona, yeosang. just call me, myeon, okay? come in," she invited him.

as the two walked to the small gym area, the man looked around before putting his workout jacket on the nearby coat hanger. "so, myeon, what do you think h we should work on together before doing our own thing?" he asked.

"how about arm workouts?" she suggested. miyeon had an ulterior motive, which yeosang obviously didn't know about, but hopefully through this workout he would cave in to his desires like she's been wanting him to for the past month.

"okay," he unknowingly agreed. "we'll start with bicep curls. my goal is for my guns to pop," he joked before flexing his arms, showing his already hard muscles. miyeon but her lip from the sight before nodding in agreement.

they started working out, miyeon following the directions of the alluring man beside her. after ten minutes, yeosang felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around.

miyeon's eyes shone mischievously, while her lips pursed outward form a slight pout. "im trying to lift my dumbbell to get my bicep to protrude, but i don't see any results like you."

yeosang snorted before moving behind miyeon, holding the dumbbell near her hand, inadvertently causing his own arm to slightly flex. as the man was trying to teach miyeon how to properly use the weight, he caught miyeon staring at his arm. "myeon! eyes down here," he instructed. "you can't see what im doing to your arm if you keep looking at mine."

miyeon looked up innocently, though her fingers started tapping where yeosang's fingers connected with the weighted metal. "why not? i can see everything you're doing to help me get it right."

yeosang let out a sigh of annoyance before shaking his head. "let's focus on our own exercises instead. we have plenty of time left today for me to show you how to properly bicep curl," he said before resting the dumbbell on the bench behind him.

this, however, did not stop miyeon from teasing the man. she would do squats in front of him doing chest curls, planks near his line of vision as he did donkey kicks, mountain climbs with her ass beside his head when he simply wanted to do weighted pushups.

he simply had enough.

dropping the weighted jump rope, yeosang turned miyeon around from her neck stretching session to confront her. "noona-- miyeon! what are you doing? are you trying to get me upset?"

his brows furrowed as his dark brown eyes bore into hers, but all he could see was... want in her eyes?

in normal circumstances, miyeon would profusely apologize, but she had a plan that was sure to work. looking deep into the man before confessing, "sangi, i want you to make the first move. "

his eyes widened. she wanted-- what? "you want me to-"

"fuck me," she answered seductively nonchalant as her hand rested on his thumping chest.

yeosang immediately pulled away from miyeon, eyes wide. "what?!"

"yeosang, this has been bothering me since we first met," she started. "and every time you look at me, i feel it again. the feeling of passion inside of you that i know you have. ive always liked you, loved you even, but now i want to know how it feels to be fucked by you."

the confused man had to process everything happening all at once. a once-in-a-lifetime woman. asking him. a one-in-a-million man. to please her. all the guys in the world, and she chooses him. he has to take the plunge. "okay ill do it. one thing, though."

miyeon nods.

"i get to dominate you for teasing me throughout our work out. deal?"

the woman's face lit up and yeosang noticed, making him smile as well. "of course, sir."

--

it had to be miyeon's third orgasm and she hasn't even seen yeosang's cock yet. he made her cum from his fingers and his tongue. now he's trying to make her cum by spanking her abused cunt.

"go on," yeosang coaxes before landing another sound-cracking smack to miyeon's cunt, bent over his lap. "apologize for earlier. "

she couldn't take it anymore. miyeon's hands gripped the man from under her's pants. "im sorry for being a slutty tease."

"good girl," he praised her. "now, look at me. i want to see your pretty face as i fuck your mouth."

the girl slowly opened her eyes and did as told. he smiled before taking out his hardening dick from his bottoms and standing up straight as she got off his lap and on her knees.

miyeon gasped at the sight. he was huge, red at the meaty tip, and slightly curved. just like she likes them. she licked her lips before closing her eyes and opening her mouth.

but before she could have him, she felt the tip swat against her cheek. "look in my eyes and have some respect, miyeon," yeosang teased. miyeon was considering the man being mean, but she realized she was getting what she deserved.

looking into the man's sadistic eyes, miyeon asked, "can i suck your cock, sir?"

without any words, the satisfied yeosang gently held the back of the older's head and guided it to his awaiting length.

miyeon took his girth into her wet and warm mouth without any hesitation, swallowing every inch and sucking for all she's worth. a few moments later, she felt the tip begin to hit her throat, causing her to gag.

he was careful not to go too far, giving the older woman the time she needed to adjust herself. when she finally go used to the thickness, he pushed deeper and began pounding her throat. he had a light hold around the back of her hair while miyeon whined and teared at the pace and width of his length.

yeosang pulling himself from her mouth placed her on her back after several minutes. "id love to finish in your slutty mouth," he panted, pushing miyeon's legs to her chest. they both groaned loudly as the younger sunk deep in her cunt. "but i think id rather finish in this slutty pussy."

[unreleasedwrites]

Bike Riding

“Hold onto me tight, that way you’ll be less scared.”

summary: Your boyfriend offers to pick you up from your workplace. Sure, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s done this, yet you cant help but be quite surprised whenever you receive a text or two from his number just a quarter till your shift is over, offering you a ride home or to his place. Knowing both of your busy schedules, the both of you tend to spend a lot of time apart from one another, so upon seeing his text pop up into your phone notifications, you happily accepted. Usually, you’d see him parking his car upfront, just around 5 minutes away from the end of your shift. But today was a little different.

character(s) included: Jonggun Park x fem!reader

cw: SLIGHTLY suggestive, Gun being pretty soft towards reader, a curse word or two, Gun and reader have been dating for a while, use of y/n, pet names, backpacking iykwim, the 1st part is more on first person pov but it switches to second person pov once gun arrives, this whole thing is surprisingly and unintentionally long, there are a few linked words you should click to get a better understanding of whats going on, and this is the first ever fic ive written 👍👍

unwrapped on: Tuesday Evening, July 18 2023

wrapped up on: Thursday Afternoon, July 20 2023

published on: Thursday Afternoon, July 20 2023 (at around 4 PM)

“Alright, would you like some napkins with your order, Sir?”

I kindly asked the customer standing in front of our pickup counter as i carefully secured the two frappuccinos he ordered in a beverage carrier then put it in our signature paper bag along with two straws and his receipt.

“Oh uh, no thanks, but you have a good night!” He replied as he grabbed the paper bag.

“Alright then, You have a good night too, Sir.” I said with the sweet smile i usually give the customers.

He smiled back at me right before he walked out of the store.

Taking a quick look at my watch, I realized its 8:27 pm. Theres about an hour till closing time. I give one of the baristas a heads-up before i leave my station to do some cleaning.

Before I got to cleaning, i turned the “We Are Open!” sign to its other side in order to signify that we’re closing up for the day. Normally, I would wait until there are only around fifteen to twenty minutes left, but the store was filled to the brim, and it’d be hard to accommodate any more customers. For as long as I can remember, its always been this way whenever its Friday, considering its the second busiest day of the week for us.

I’m tidying up some of the empty tables, while the remaining three employees of today are shuffling from working the register to making drinks, and serving orders.

*bzz bzz* Despite my phone being in my pocket, I felt its sudden vibration, which was strange, considering i have “Do Not Disturb” turned on most of the time. However I can recall a certain someone, which is Gun, who found out about how i always have that feature on as well as how my notifications are always turned off. Which is why, push notifications have been turned on for all of his messages, and all possible digital connections he might have with me ever since.

I took my phone out of my pocket, and i saw that it was 8:42 pm.

“Dang, time really does feel like its at it’s slowest when you’re having no fun..” I thought to myself.

I quickly unlocked my phone so that i could view the notification.

Notifications —

🔫 sent you a message. 8:41 pm

🔫 sent you a message. 8:42 pm

🔫 sent you an attachment. 8:42 pm

🔫 sent you a message. now

🔫 is currently typing… now

I looked at my phone with slight confusion, which was very visible from the look on my face. Gun isn’t usually the type to keep sending messages, he’d normally wait till i answer the first two or three then we’d keep the conversation going. But to my surprise, he still hasn’t stopped sending text messages, and he has even sent a few more pictures. I thought there’d have to be some sort of emergency or there might be something he needs, but upon reading his text messages, that wasn’t it.

🔫

8:41 pm you done working yet?? :(

8:42 pm Can I pick you up from work so we can spend the night at my place? ;)

8:42 pm *picture of a slightly beat up and angry goo sitting on what looks to be the couch at his and goo’s place, holding an ice pack to his nose, because him and gun don’t always manage to make the dreamwork in their teamwork*

8:42 pm u there??

8:42 pm i beat up goo to make sure he wont bother us again like last time

8:42 pm so u better not be upset abt that anymore

8:42 pm if u still are, i can and will make it up to you

8:43 pm if yk what i mean

8:43 pm *picture of your shared bedroom at their place*

8:44 pm *picture of a bunch of your favorite snacks on top of their kitchen counter, with goo visibly sneaking up to the said counter*

8:44 pm *picture of goo taking one of the said snacks*

8:44 pm *picture of goo making a run for it*

8:44 pm *picture of what looks to be gun’s point of view as hes chasing goo*

8:48 pm dw abt him

8:49 pm [now] its 8:49 in the evening, can you get off of your so called shift at 9:10 instead of 9:30 ??

“Y/N, are you alright? You’ve just been staring at your phone for the past few minutes, with an occasional smile while you’re scrolling through your screen..” One of the workers who is my friend said.

“Yeah, sorry, my boyfriend was just texting me.. I appreciate your concern though, f/n.” I quickly looked up from my phone as i spoke to her with a nervous yet sweet smile.

I was a bit startled when she approached me, holding a broomstick. But, she’s right, I’ve been staring at my phone for the past 7 minutes now, just waiting to see what hes typing and what chaotic pictures he’ll be sending. To make it worse, I wasn’t even responding to his messages, just staring. Although upon seeing the four minute gap between the last picture he sent and the message he sent at 8:48 pm made me wonder what might’ve went down between him and goo in those few minutes.

The employee who approached me is one of my close friends, she’s very sympathetic and trustworthy towards most people, especially her friends. Normally, I wouldn’t mention whether it was my boyfriend who i was speaking to or not, as it isn’t any of their business nor is it their concern. But since I’m close to the person who approached me, I did.

However, I don’t want to be the kind of person who makes their entire life about their relationship, and i wouldn’t want to be the one rubbing it in peoples face that i’m in one. But this specific friend of mine has been in a healthy relationship since we were both fifteen, meanwhile we are both turning nineteen soon. Therefore, I’m very comfortable talking to her about Gun, she seems to give pretty good advice anyway. So i don’t see any harm in doing so.

She approached me while I was cleaning the table in the corner, so we walked back to the counter together, while we chatted about our boyfriends.

Once we arrived, I took a few steps closer to the other employees,

“By the way, would you guys be alright with me leaving a bit earlier today, at around 9:10?” I nervously asked. Sure, this wouldn’t be the first time i’ve asked them if it were alright if i left early, yet i still get nervous doing so every time.

Among the three of them, none of them seemed to mind, instead, they were teasing me about my boyfriend, Gun. They even told me how I was starting to blush at even the slightest mentions of him and me together. I was a bit flustered but i just laughed it off and left the counter to finish up cleaning.

More customers were starting to exit the cafe few by few, however there were still plenty of people in the store. I started cleaning up the tables that were recently used by customers, aswell as tidying up the chairs and sweeping crumbs off of the floor.

Once I finished cleaning all the empty tables, I assisted my friend by serving a few more orders to customers in the pickup area, then i put away my cleaning materials into the workers closet, untied my apron, folded it neatly, then placed it inside of the workers closet.

Only now did I realize that i never responded to any of my boyfriends messages. I quickly grabbed my phone out of my pocket and started typing. I wasn’t really sure how i was supposed to respond especially since i only now realized its already 9:06 pm after leaving him on seen for so long, so i decided to just keep it simple.

You

now sure, oh and fyi i’m still upset

Gun only reacted with a “😒” to my message, so i ended up responding with a “😒😒” as well. Just about a few seconds later, he ended up sending me another few messages saying,

“ive been omw since like 12 minutes ago”

“even if you were rude and left me on seen for so long”

“but ill be there in like”

“2 mins”

“bitch”

I think he might be a lil angry about the fact i left him on seen for so long, considering he knows i don’t like being called a bitch.

Because of that, I just left him on seen again!

But he was quick to realize that I’m just gonna ignore him because of it, which is why he immediately sent a few more messages again.

“no wait im sorry”

“I didn’t mean it i swear”

“don’t ignore me”

“hey”

“:(”

I felt kinda bad but i just kept on ignoring his messages cause i’m petty asf.

Just about a minute passed after that, and he sent me another two messages.

“I’m here, come out”

“hurry up unless you want me to leave you”

I informed my co-workers before i left the store and waved them a small goodbye with a smile. They smiled and waved back, and i walked towards the door. I looked around the parking lot while I stood in front of the store, but I couldn’t see any of the cars i knew Gun owned. So I took my phone out to call him, but before I could even unlock it, I heard a familiar voice.

“Y/N? Do you seriously need me to come find you every time?” Gun scoffs as he walks closer to you.

“Hey, that was one time, let it go already, would ya?” you argue while putting your phone back inside your pocket.

“Well then, why is there a second time happening as we speak?” Gun states with that confident smirk on his face again.

“Well-” But before you could even finish whatever it was that you were going to say, Gun grabs your hand and looks at you.

“Never mind your stupid excuses, its late so we should get going.”

You guys walk while holding hands, which isn’t a very common occurrence when you’re in public considering Gun doesn’t want to put you in danger because you’re easily a great target for his enemies because of his “work,” which in this scenario he doesn’t tell you much about. But what really surprised you was that he was wearing gloves. “Why would he need gloves when he’s driving a car?” you thought to yourself.

You noticed that you guys are walking towards the parking area for motorcycles which confuses you, but knowing how unpredictable your boyfriend can be, you choose not to question it. That was until you noticed a familiar motorbike you knew Gun specifically owned. You didn’t think much of it, you simply assumed it could be someone else’s.

That was until Gun let go of your hand when you stopped in front of that same motorbike. He handed you a helmet with your name on it. It was matching with the helmet that he would typically wear when he’d hop on his bike. He quickly put his helmet on then got on the motorbike and looked at you. You were just standing there, holding the helmet with both your hands, nervous. Gun’s eyes moved from your eyes to the helmet you’re holding.

“Do you not like it or something? I can get you a new one if its that bad, but I really thought you’d like the design. I had it custom made to what I knew you liked, or atleast I thought so.”

“That’s thoughtful” You genuinely thought to yourself before hesitantly speaking.“Its not that, its just..”

Your boyfriend’s brow rose in confusion, knowing his very limited patience, he’s obviously waiting for a continuation of your response.

“Well?”

“I’ve never rode on a motorbike before, and its been a good while since i’ve even rode an actual bicycle..” You said. You’re quite afraid of what his response might be, as your boyfriend tends to have drastic mood changes from even the slightest of things that don’t please him.

Yet surprisingly, he got off of the motorbike and went to the other side of it, leaving the motorcycle in between the both of you. He reached his hand out to you. Not knowing a thing about motorcycles or what your boyfriend might do, you grabbed his hand. You weren’t sure how the hell were even supposed to get on the motorcycle, so you just tilted you head at him.

“Get on, I’ll hold you so you won’t fall.” “Hell, I’ll even guide you if you’re that clueless.” He added.

His words seem like they have genuine sympathy in them and even some patience left, but his tone? ehh, not so much..

You carefully but quickly examined the bike, its big. Seems hard to even get on. You saw the stick looking thing near the bottom on the side, you have no idea what its called. But what you do know is that it’s what someone usually steps on to get on a motorbike. You were too afraid to do anything so you just look back at your boyfriend. You’re genuinely surprised he managed to keep his cool up until now.

“Hey” Gun spoke outta nowhere which kind of startled you.

“Hm?” You hummed.

“Ever heard of backpacking on a motorbike?” Gun asked and you could see his usual smirk growing on his face.

You just shook your head in denial.

Gun let go of your hand and walked over to your side, he took the helmet from your hands and carefully put it on you, “That good?” he asked. “Yes, thank you” you replied. Then outta nowhere he got on his knees beside you.

You moved from facing the motorcycle to facing him who was by your side, and just stared at him. “What the fuck?” You blurted out. “Why the hell is a man with an ego higher than the steepest mountains on his knees?” You thought.

“Get on my back.” “Just crouch behind me and hold onto my shoulders, then when i stand up, I’ll lift your legs along with me.”

( note: kinda like the one in the video EXCEPT gun is on his knees and you don’t jump on his back, you just crouch behind him and hold his shoulders, then he’s holding you like how the guy is holding the girl in the video then yall get on the bike, i really hope yall can imagine and understand what im talking about 😭😭 )

People walking by were starting to give you guys weird looks, maybe they thought this guy was desperate for you or something. You just decided to go with his request anyway. Reluctantly, you walked behind him, crouched and grabbed onto his shoulders. Then he stood up, and you were basically piggy-back-riding him. Which you found quite strange, but you’re tired from work, so you don’t bother asking him anymore questions.

Next thing you know, you were on the motorbike, still holding your boyfriend’s shoulders, practically falling asleep. That was until he started the engine which startled you and you moved you hands to his waist, but you didn’t want to hugging onto him like a bug, so you thought it’d be fine for you to just barely hold his waist and keep your back and his chest apart from each other by a pretty big distance.

“You ready?” Your boyfriend asked as he looked back at you.

“Yeah, thank youuu” You reassured him despite your slightly shaking figure and gave him a smile.

“Alright then, but i’d hold on tighter than that if i were you.” He chuckled. You weren’t sure why he did but you decided to ignore it.

You noticed he kicked the side stand up which kind of distracted you, making your grip even more loose than it already was. Right then and there, he started the motorcycle but not even half of a second later, he immediately hit the brakes, hard. Which causes you to flinch like hell as it fell like you were about to fall and you’re pretty sure you almost did. You immediately hugged him tighter than you ever have before, wrapping your hands around his waist and holding onto his back like there’s no tomorrow.

“GUN!!” You screamed through your helmet.

He looked back at you, “What? I warned you~” He had a smirk spread across his face and you could tell he did on purpose, he then looked back at the road and chuckled.

You got flustered and held onto him tighter as he kept on laughing while you guys were still in the parking lot.

“Sorryy babyyyy” He looked back at you. “I’ll make it up to you later.” He was still smirking and he had a flirtatious tone on that last line. Which got you even more flustered and had you blushing like hell. Yet you were also terrified of what just happened and were shaking like crazy.

“Geez, was it that much of a scare? Your body is shaking like a speaker turned up to the highest volume.”

“If you weren’t such a dork, I wouldn’t be shaking!” You highlighted.

“Hold onto me tight, that way you’ll be less scared.”

And you did, you held on like a pet with separation anxiety towards their owner.

Then off you both went, riding through the city, making your guys’ way to his place.

notes: I don’t know if anyone is going to be reading this section or this fic even, but hello to whoever might be doing so!! 😭😭

I really hope all of my spelling and grammar isn’t f’d up but if you notice any mistakes in them, mb but I’ve read the whole fic already but i might’ve missed some mistakes 😔

This is also my first ever story/fic that i’ve written for any character, which is why i’m sorry if you didn’t like how i made Gun to be, and how i created this overall fic, but I tried my best 😔😔

Btw I made this on my phone so i hope it looks normal for any other device user out there, I might open up my laptop sooner or later to see if it does

It took me a while and as i’ve mentioned in the content warnings, i know nothing about motorcycles so if you’re a biker/rider i’m sorry if this might offend you in any way, but i ran to google back and fourth for about a million times, so i truly hope that the way i wrote about motorcycles in this fic wont bother you too much. Also, I’m sorry if yall are bothered about the fact that 35% of the fic was just reader at work 💀💀 Oh and sorry for the amount of linked pins and tiktok videos, I just wanted ppl to be sure of what was going on LMAOO

- With or without proper credits, please don’t try to steal or claim any of my works as your own

I genuinely appreciate opinions, feedback, likes, and reblogs, as this is my first ever post on this blog.

Once again, I hope this isn’t too bad for my first fic, and i’ll probably be doing more characters in lookism 🫶🫶

[hp-soulmates-secret-santa]

HP Soulmates Secret Santa FAQ: 2024 Q: Where is the Discord server? A: You can always join us here: https://discord.com/invite/eGmJQ9KMNC

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Q: What if I don't like my match? A: The reality of a large scale exchange where all pairs and characters are welcome is that not everyone will get the perfect match. However, everyone will match with their giftee regarding ratings, types of pairings (i.e. M/M, F/F, F/M etc) and at least some characters. The AO3 algorithm gives priority to matching people who have more in common rather than less where it is possible to do so, so there is a good chance you'll match with your giftee on specific couples and tags too. However, if you join the exchange, we ask you to be open to working with pairs or tags you might not think of as your very first choice.

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[vaspider]

Just throwing it out there, but I'm a Quaker (aka Society of Friends) (a lot of people consider us to be Christian but I don't - we're not expected to believe in Jesus or even a god, nor read the Bible, go to church, celebrate Christian holidays, any of that, though we're allowed to if we want to. Quakers are actually allowed to belong to any other religion, or lack thereof, which is rather un-christian. Like, you could be a Muslim Quaker or a Hindu Quaker or whatever, it's all good (I'm an atheist Quaker). We did start off as an offshoot of Christianity but there's plenty of offshoot religions that become their own thing, like Christianity itself). Context aside, it's literally, explicitly against my religion to try to convert people. We're not even allowed to suggest it to people, although it's not a closed religion. Like, if you ask me about becoming a Quaker, I'm welcome to talk about it, but I can't just tell people that they should do it.

So yeah, just adding to the anti "proselytizing is just a required part of religion" pile.

On a side note, the main tenets of Quakerism are Simplicity, Peace, Integrity, Community, Equality, and Stewardship, and in my experience, a frightening number of Christians (my parents included) balk at the "equality" bit. Like, people have legit gotten angry with me about it. Despite the "we're all God's children"/"all sins are equal in the eyes of God" thing that a lot of them talk about, because when *we* say equality, we actually do mean equal.

Also, fun fact since it's Coronation Day or whatever, Quakerism is inherently anti-monarchy as part of the "equality" tenet 😉

I attended multiple Quaker meetings (Lehigh Valley Friends Meeting, Lancaster Friends Monthly Meeting, Gwynedd Friends Meeting) for like... a total of about eight years of my life, and I was planning to marry a Quaker. My HS boyfriend was super active in Young Friends; we used to do a lot of the setup and teardown for the Peace Walk in December and before First Day Meeting. Emet and I used a self-attesting/Friends wedding license. I spent most of my life before 2019 living in the eastern half of Pennsylvania or in Maryland. I know what Quakers are, but I appreciate your thorough explanation for folx who might not know.

I ... have a lot of respect for the Society of Friends, and I applaud the Society's attempts to keep everyone under the same big tent, but to say that the Friends are not Christian is quite a stretch. 89% of Friends worldwide belong to Evangelical or Programmed Meetings, with a pastor and Bible readings.

It's probably more true to say that American Quakers of Friends General Conference do not have a Creed, that some Quakers are not Christian and that many Meetings, especially Unprogrammed Meetings in Friends General Conference in the United States, welcome diverse faiths as well as non-theist members.

I think it's important, however, not to look away from how deeply-rooted many Xian ideals and concepts are in Friends philosophy. Saying "Friends aren't Xian" kind of allows for a sort of magical thinking that all of those ideas - some of which are harmful or have been used for great harm - are just gone. That's not the case.

There's a lot of classism issues in many Friends Meetings, too, especially some of the older ones, because many of those Meetings are populated by people who have an awful lot of old money, and that can give people outsized voices when it comes to seeking consensus.

At least, that's what caused me to come away from the Friends, though I went through multiple times of returning to Meeting because I was deeply Convinced at multiple points. I was drawn to Meeting very strongly by the ideal, and the reality pushed me away.

None of this is to say that Friends don't do wonderful things or that FGC's work isn't often lovely and commendable. I just ... object to the idea that Quakers aren't Christian. Well, no, many are, and the deeply Xian roots of the Society are still very visible to me. I love the Friends deeply (the design for a Publick Universal Friend pin is waiting for me to set up our next Kickstarter), and I'm very glad you find such joy and fulfillment there. I have confidence that if anyone can continue working on the issues within the conference itself and on the greater issues of the world with patience, consideration, and genuine consensus-seeking, it's FGC.

[p5x-theories]

Its me again =w=

Can you refresh my memory and tell me if Kamoshida's palace event was splitted in two parts? Because they could do that with Maruki's and so give us both Crow and Violet.

And like. If they dont give us black mask Akechi in a *gacha* it means they hate money.

Also more delulu take but I think the Maruki's palace event will be relased on march, thus finishing the crossover events with P5 a little before the game turns 1 year old. And kickstarting either crossover with Reload or Golden. Thus giving us at least 2 more years of crossover content. And maybe if p6 is really relased in 2025, they might even do a crossover with that once they finish the modern trilogy (im not sure if they will touch p1 and p2 till those get a remake)

The Castle Chapter was not split into two parts; so far every Palace has gotten one single event that covered that chapter completely. Even when two chapters are connected by the story, they've still been (at least mostly) separate events! The Museum and Bank chapters shared some features, but the chapters themselves were still separate. I thought this was relatively clear with how I've organized the summary posts, but let me know if there's a way I can make that more obvious!

If we do the math, it's possible that the Royal collab could take much longer than you're suggesting, unfortunately. Assuming they continue the same schedule, the updates in the future should look like this:

Nov. 7 (Gameplay update)

-> Nov. 21 (Story update) -> Dec. 5th (Event update 1) -> Dec. 19th (Event update 2) -> Jan. 2nd (Event update 3) -> Jan. 16 (Gameplay update)

-> Jan. 30th (Story update) -> Feb. 13th (Event update 1) -> Feb. 27th (Event update 2) -> Mar. 13th (Event update 3) -> Mar. 27th (Gameplay update)

-> Apr. 10th (Story update) -> Apr. 24th (Event update 1) -> May 8th (Event update 2) -> May 22nd (Event update 3) -> June 5th (Gameplay update)

-> June 19th (Story update) -> July 10th (Event update 1) -> July 24th (Event update 2) -> Aug. 7th (Event update 3) -> Aug. 21st (Gameplay update)

The summer event was also a set of event updates, if you recall, and we're set to get our next three event updates right around December and the start of next year! That seems like prime time to have another event, to me. And the next event update falls right around Valentine's Day, which we know we're getting some kind of event for! I'm not sure if both of these updates will be for holidays instead of the collab, or if they might celebrate the holidays in some other way (the 6-month anniversary just gave rewards), but I think it's worth considering both the best and worst-case scenarios here.

Best-case scenario, like you implied, we get the last part of the original collab in the event updates from December 5th to January 2nd, adding Crow and wrapping up that collab. Then, the Royal collab only lasts one event update, from February 13th to March 13th, adding both Violet and Black Mask.

Two other possible scenarios I can imagine, however:

1) The December 5th to January 2nd update is a holiday event, and then the February 13th to March 13th update is the Valentine's Day event, meaning the original collab doesn't end until the April 24th to May 22nd event update, and then they add Royal in the July 10th to August 7th update after.

2) They stick to an alternating schedule for collab events vs. other events, so the December 5th to January 2nd update is a holiday event, then the February 13th to March 13th update is a collab event update. The April 24th to My 22nd update is another holiday/other event, and we get Royal in the July 10th to August 7th update.

It also feels possible they could push the Royal event out even further, for any number of reasons, but I don't think we'll know for sure until they announce some future update plans, heh. But these all feel reasonably possible to me.

Definitely, though, I agree there's plenty of things left for them to cross over with, heh! If the first three Persona games ever get remakes, I'd absolutely love to have collabs with them as well, but given the book with the SMT: If... reference, I do have this small (probably unrealistic) glimmer of hope that they might consider collabs with them even if remakes aren't announced any time soon, especially if they've finished collabs with the other modern Persona games by that point. So I guess we'll just have to wait and see!

[callipraxia]

Hii! I’m curious about your opinion re: one of the most controversial questions in this fandom, the Reverse Portal AU. What would have Ford, as we know him in canon, done if Stan went through the portal instead? Saved him or prioritized what he then considered a “greater good”? From the fanfics I’ve encountered, people definitely disagree on this, but they can be pretty biased. I’m personally of the opinion he would have saved Stan despite all his chiding about responsibility -- considering his decision to succumb to Bill’s blackmail and give him the universe in Weirdmaggedon, he’s a tiiiny bit hypocritical/contradictory in this regard (as well as in many others), hahah. I’d say it was pretty clear that he valued family above everything then, at least, but researcher!Ford... I am not 100% sure. To me there’s a difference between what Ford considers Danger with a Capital D™ (Bill Cipher) and what he didn’t even stop to consider was dangerous (Stan’s life in the streets). Stan going through the Portal That Made Fiddleford Crazy would fall into the former. Still, I don’t want to be seeing all of this through rose colored brotherhood glasses and it’s hard to get fully rid of my own bias. What do you, who wrote a huge wonderful canon analysis about him, think?

Hm, you know, I had never really thought about this! It is a tricky question, considering that the post-Portal version of Ford we know best can be considered a very different person from the pre-Portal Ford...except for all the ways in which they're exactly the same, of course. Thinking on it, though, there are some bits and bops I can use to speculate...Short answer, I think you're right that "there's a difference between what Ford considers Danger with a Capital D and what he didn't even stop to consider was dangerous" (a much more succinct summary than I could have made, lol) and that, despite their estrangement, Ford would have...at least wanted to rescue Stan. I also think that he would have at least been delayed by the need to get Fiddleford back on board, though. Considering Ford's tendency to assume the worst, it also seems quite plausible that Ford could quickly come to believe that rescuing Stan would be impossible, either due to Fiddleford's lack of cooperation with anything that involved opening the Portal back up to the Nightmare Realm or due to assuming/being convinced that Stan was dead. From either of those solutions, I reckon there's a number of ways things could go.

(notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit....)

Ahem. To expand on that:

I’ll begin by addressing the counterargument. It's fair to point out that even when he wasn't in a distinctly grandiose frame of mind ("save the world or lose my life in the attempt"), Ford does have a tendency to lash out at Stan in a way that could be interpreted as suggesting that he values [whatever he's mad about] as more valuable than his brother. On the night of the science fair, Ford came into the living room looking like he was spoiling for a fight before Filbrick interrupted; on-screen, Ford and Stan come to blows three times, and on two of those occasions, Ford is the one who swings first. However, I think it's equally important to note that on both of those occasions, Ford's also the one who first realizes oh my God what am I doing? and tries to deescalate it again. In the 1981 flashbacks, he immediately backs off once he realizes Stan had gotten injured on the machinery, and when it looks like Stan might still want to fight, he keeps backing off for the rest of the scene despite the great big gaping, gravity-altering doorway to another reality being both turned on and right behind him. In 2012, he punches Stan on autopilot after going straight from a grenade-tossing and death ray-wielding and up-against-impossible-odds space battle to the ruins of the basement, but when Stan tries to escalate the conflict into an outright brawl like the one they had before, Ford is cross but relatively calm, and merely restrains him instead of indulging in further violence (I suppose his entry into the multiverse was a mistake he actually learned from and didn't care to risk any chance that he might repeat). So, to conclude the argument on this point - I don’t feel it’s really reasonable to assume that “Ford wanted to beat the tar out of Stan” in any way implies “Ford would have callously written off Portal Stan as a necessary sacrifice and then gone on his merry way.” One of Ford’s major flaws is a failure to accurately assess and deal with his own emotions and how they affect his relationships, and he’s pretty consistently shown to be far more sentimental about his attachments than he thinks he is. And even if he weren’t, well, good grief – even if he had genuinely hated Stan or considered him a totally worthless person, there would still be a long, long way between “I would like to beat this guy up” and “I am sufficiently jaded that I won’t feel a bit bad about it if my actions accidentally lead to Something Truly Horrible happening to this guy.” When we look at Stan and Ford specifically, we also have to factor in both that Ford had apparently (if the scattered references in the Journal are anything to go by) been thinking of Stan semi-fondly/at least ambivalently again for a while before he contacted him in the winter of ‘81, and what Ford’s mental state was at the time. He had very little life experience involving other people/outside of a laboratory and he seemed to be on the brink of an anxiety-and-sleep-deprivation-fueled psychotic break. He may have very well enjoyed lashing out at Stan in the moment, directing his bottomless pit of unpleasant emotions outward toward this Other who conveniently looked just like him instead of inward at himself, but I really do think he would have freaked out and felt incredibly guilty and upset had Stan actually gone through the Portal.***

Now, as for how he might have reacted instead of going on his merry way…in the possibly unlikely event anyone is still reading, then that’s where things get really interesting.

To begin on a gloomy note, I don’t think Ford could have launched an immediate rescue attempt for Portal Stan, no matter how much he wanted to. It’s made clear that he doesn’t understand everything about the Portal, and hinted that he actually understands even less than he thinks he does. When Ford writes in the Journal about the early stages of building the Portal, he makes it clear that, for whatever reason, he could not finish without Fiddleford, who understands the plans so well that he is able to suggest improvements and see the danger in them; when Ford writes in the Journal about the “Better World” dimension, he makes it clear that Parallel Ford was unable to achieve anything until he persuaded Parallel Fiddleford to come back. If AU Ford tried to retrieve Portal Stan, then he’d first have to persuade AU Fiddleford to help him, and it is extremely unlikely that AU Fiddleford would have allowed even a brief connection to the Nightmare Realm before he stabilized the Portal for good, even if Ford begged him on his knees to do so – not least because Fiddleford, having seen what was on the other side for himself, probably would assume that nobody who went through without a rope could possibly survive long. I suppose it’s possible that AU Fiddleford could at least outwardly convince AU Ford that he has to give up any hope of retrieving his brother in the service of the Greater Good – perhaps even that this is the universe’s punishment for being presumptuous and toying with Things Man Was Not Meant To Know – but I find it hard to imagine that Ford wouldn’t be severely haunted by this even in the best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario, that would have been the straw that broke the somewhat mentally unstable camel's back, with who knows what results.

(notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit, notgonnawriteit.…)

However, there’s a number of other solutions besides "gave up, regardless of the reason or how he felt about it." One might be Ford going out into the multiverse at a later date, after Fiddleford somehow figured out how to make the Portal work without going through Bill’s domain, in search of his brother, in the slight hopes that Stan might have survived long enough to dimension-hop. Another might involve him staying in his home dimension, but secretly experimenting behind Fiddleford’s back in an attempt to figure out if Stan’s still alive – I say ‘experimenting’ because the original Portal was a doorway, essentially, but it seems to have exceeded that mandate when it found Ford for Stan over the course of Season 2A. It's possible that some of the “components held together with duct tape” that Ford mentions might represent Stan-made modifications of the design intended to make it do what Stan wanted it to do. If it was modified, that could also explain why its final activation was so much more violent and unstable than the other two times it was turned on. Gravity behaved anomalously when both Fiddleford and Ford went through the Portal, sure, but it seems to have only done so in extremely close proximity to the device. When Ford came back the other way, half the buildings in town seem to have been lifted clean off their foundations. Something about that third time was...different. Though, of course, it's always also possible that Stan just hoped Ford would have stayed in place for thirty years and thus did simply open the Portal back up - as for why it took so long, it's implied at one point that Stan had trouble getting his hands on enough toxic waste to adequately fuel the thing - and that Ford happening to be in the Nightmare Realm right then was either because of Fate or sheer dumb Pines luck.

I could go on further (about how Ford might half-convince himself he doesn't care at all, with this having zero impact on how he actually does, or how the 'tinkering behind Fiddleford's back' thing could lead into a script flip of "Not What He Seems," or...etc.) but it gets increasingly speculative/like I'm drawing up plans for a specific plot. Hopefully something in all this managed to answer the question to your satisfaction, Anon, and hopefully it was at least mildly entertaining even if it failed in its primary mission? Glad you enjoyed the canon analysis!

***Another important factor to consider in all this may well be that Ford and Stan both trained as boxers for a long time - possibly for as long seven or eight years, probably for five at a minimum. They both knew all about punching, both how to dish it and how to take it with minimal damage, and the photo in Stan’s car indicates they at least practiced together. I suspect (despite having never punched anyone, either in or out of a boxing ring) that punching someone in boxing gloves when everyone involved has consented to getting punched at some point is a lot different than punching someone in anger and with your bare hands, but "try to punch Stan in the head" is still something Ford probably did many times when they were younger, all without a hint of ill will existing on either side. Ford might therefore not necessarily think of ‘hit Stan’ as an action that would or even could seriously harm him, even if done in anger instead of as part of a recreational sport. Plus, while he was almost certainly using violence as an ineffective form of communication before the end of the 1981 fight, he started it when he was alarmed, not enraged, and he was shocked/horrified out of being angry the instant a factor other than just the two of them trying to pummel the stupid out of each other directly got involved. It's certainly worth noting that Stan, at least, didn't seem to take "Ford punched me in the face before I could say hello properly" or "I then tried to hit back because I was annoyed about that punching/lack of gratitude business" as indicators that the situation was beyond salvaging; he only seems to have given up on any hope of reconciliation at the very end of ATOTS, after Ford first talked civilly with him, then made a joke with him, and then calmly announced that he was basically going to take his toys and go play alone in the basement until Stan went away. Years earlier, after the science fair, Stan also seemed to initially shrug off how Ford had blown up at him and to have assumed that he could smooth things over at first; it's Ford's silent, seemingly more miserable and conflicted than fisticuffs-inducingly angry, refusal to intercede with Filbrick on his behalf, after the initial outburst of temper has ended, that finally gets to him and prompts him to loudly and unconvincingly declare that he doesn't care anyway before he storms off. They...both really need to work on improving those verbal communication skills.