#it’s already kind of a dead horse i don’t think we need to beat it any further

[calamitydaze]

Someone wrote a whole essay on the flag? Bruh. How many notes did it get there’s no way people are serious

like 200 i think? people are…. very serious 😬

[wildpeachfarm]

Hi, Moku!

It’s been a while. Life has been a whirlwind of hurricanes and tornadoes mixed with occasional sunshine and rainbows recently, and I’ve been tackling everything I can. (Congrats on making it through another academic year, and for completing finals).

Not to beat a dead horse here, but I just wanted to input my thoughts on the q.smp bs happening.

Obviously, I hope all the workers who were wronged and never fairly compensated for their free labor, win their lawsuit and get more than what they’re owed for dealing with that narcissistic, egotistical, clout-chasing fuck. Now that I’ve said that, moving on to my thoughts.

I’ve seen discussion on how many servers are popping up post-dsmp era, and I have some thoughts on that.

Pre-dsmp, the only other SMP I heard of was Hermit-craft SMP. Then, we went through a deadly, lengthy, life-altering, and generational changing pandemic, which forced the world inside. The dsmp arose out of that, cause with everyone being at home, there wasn’t much to do. The gaming sphere/streaming sphere was dominant in a way I’d never seen it before, and it was incredible to witness. Minecraft especially experienced a resurgence, and Mr. Greenman himself was a huge part of that-through manhunts and the dsmp.

Unlike the nature of the q.smp, and some of these other short-lived smps, the dsmp started authentically. It was originally a server meant for Dteam to play on together and just have fun with each other. Then Dream added some of his friends and those friends knew people who they thought would enjoy the server and it just kept growing. Eventually, when all these people were added, the lore started, and that took the server to new heights and popularity (everyone loves a good story, regardless of the method of storytelling).

Dream himself never streamed his perspective, so as not to take away viewers from the notably smaller streamers on the SMP (which is opposite of a certain duckwhodoesntquack who only streams his perspective). He was also an active member in creating the lore/storylines of not only his character, but others as well (a certain unapologetic abusive cc was a big part, as well but we don’t talk about “Bruno”). Again, this is opposite of the q.smp, as the owner had people write the lore for him, and then was also never satisfied with what was written.

I think one of the biggest differences was the dsmp wasnt meant to be a roleplay server. It happened cause the people occupying the server wanted to do it, and made that decision on their own. It wasn’t marketed as a “passion project” so there wasn’t much build-up and hype for its release/existence (until after the lore started, and then it became more hyped). There was no competing server of its kind, cause the only other one that most people knew about had long since been established-the notoriety, popularity, and clout was already there, and didn’t need to be earned.

And the biggest difference of them all, no one got payed. There were not “workers” meant to move the server along; everything happened via the streamers themselves. So although there were some communication issues, there were no legal issues cause no one was being payed, unless you streamed playing it on a streaming site and made the money through donos.

It breaks my heart watching the q.smp play out like this, cause if it was done in good faith and genuineness, it could’ve been so good-bridging language barrier gaps and creating endless opportunities to learn a language you don’t know, and/or a culture you also don’t know-but it fell victim to a greedy owner and all good qualities were made null. I hate that this is how it transpired, especially for those that were working for free, and everyone who got doxxed/swatted over this.

TLDR; dsmp’s authenticity, genuineness, lack of greed from the owner played into what made it so successful. They’re also the reason it can’t be replicated, because it wasn’t manufactured- it just happened. And that’s why all these other servers have failed before they started, only lasted a bit of time, or ended up buckling under the consequences of the decisions of the owner. Dsmp is THAT girl and she will always be.

I’m sorry this was so long; has a lot of thoughts. Thanks for reading this anyway, and I hope this finds you well.

Have an amazing day, and don’t forget to be kind to yourself!

-L :)

Yeah I 100% agree i think something that a lot of newer servers lack is genuine authenticity that isn't built off of an expectation or hope of fame. the dsmp was never even supposed to be something other than a chill server between the dteam so obviously their intentions when just starting out were nothing but pure. However, there is no denying that anyone who made a server after that had the fame of the dsmp in the back of their mind- it's just impossible with how famous the server got.

And with how sterile the qsmp felt with how much the rp was pushed onto the streamers and the fact that there was essentially a business being run through the server, it killed the authentic feeling of everything (if it was even there to begin with)

[trans-luis-serra-navarro]

TELL ME ABOUT TRANS LUIS!!! I WANT HIM TO BE TRANS SO BAD! (Also he has a giant neon sign over his head that says gay, this man reeks of homosexual)

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE OMG HEYYYYY HIIIIIII HELLOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! I’m SOOOOOO sorry this took so long I had SO MANY THOUGHTS!!!!! I plan on SOMEDAY Doing Like. A properly credited and researched document on why I think Luis is trans so this post is more or less kind of a tl;dr rather than a super proper read?????????? And ofc obligatory ‘this is just my own reading and personal interpretation if you disagree please just keep your opinion to yourself!!!!!’

Also this isn’t proofread like. At ALL so please ignore any sentences that seem wonky or weird HDBEHENDUDJX

ALSO also I do NOT give permission for this post to be screenshotted or reposted ANYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!! No part of this!! Don’t steal!!

Trigger warning for just general mentions of transphobia, religious transphobia and also I talk the death statistics for trans people near the end, so please keep that in mind when reading!!

Ok so, I’m gonna try and put this as chronologically as possible BXBSHDNSHDND but starting at the beginning from when Luis was little there’s already a few things we can pick up on

Luis has a pretty unorthodox family; his mum died when he was little and his dad left so he had to be raised by his Grandfather, and, ask any Trans person around you and they’ll tell you it’s oftentimes the people in their lives who weren’t their direct parents who decided to pick them up and raise them and accept them as they truly are- I feel like you could probably read this with Luis’ grandfather if you really wanted to, too. From what we can TEEEEEEELLL Luis held his grandfather and the memory of him very near and dear to his heart (ie referencing him in conversation, saying ‘not again’ when the medicine burns in seperate ways etc) so you could probably guess that maybe Luis’ grandfather was a surprisingly accepting figure in Luis’ life!!!!!

Which would also line up with the little we know about him- their house was somewhat far away from the rest of the village and from what the notes about him read, his grandfather was a bit of an outcast????? It seemed like the only person who checked in on him regularly was Bitorez- once again, another positive male figure in Luis’ life that he could theoretically look up to and admire.

AND we know that Luis’ grandfather encouraged his love for science and biology- something that prooooobably would’ve been frowned upon in a super conservative catholic glorified cult. So already, Luis and his Grandfather are a bit unorthodox in the setting they live in.

Then we cut to Don Quixote; obviously there’s a LOT to dissect about Luis and his love for that book, and it’s pretty common knowledge how,,,,,,,,, g a y that book is HXNEHENEUDIX like MAAAAAANY-a historians have already pointed that out I don’t need to beat a dead horse but ask literally any trans person around you and they’ll tell you about how they had a fascination with like,, Warrior Cats or Animorphs or Percy Jackson or Peter Pan growing up only to find out they were trans later. Trans kids are pretty drawn to books with unlikely protagonists who don’t fit the usual stereotypes and go on adventures with a whacky misfit family they formed by themselves- and Don Quixote kiiiiiiiiiiiinda falls under that pattern????? It’s a REALLY weird book and I wanna get into why later but it wouldn’t be shocking to assume that Luis probably grasped onto that idea of finding love and acceptance even though he was weird and unusual and he too could go on chivalrous adventures and do good in the world and be loved for who he is (I’ve kinda gone into this before and I plan on going into it again I’ll tag you in that post!!!!)

There’s also something to note about the fact that none of the village notes reference Luis by his first name. Luis is apparently a very “strong and masculine” name so if we ARE going off of the assumption that Luis is trans (which like,,. Duh HDNEHENDHS) then we can probably assume he picked that name for himself

It’s also pretty notable to note (hah) that like,,,,,, just in general, a lot of kids who grow up in a super religious environment just. Turn out gay and trans. I dunno why. I dunno what’s the exact statistic for that but like. Cmon. We’ve all seen it. We all know it right

Then huzzah! Luis’ Grabdfather dies!!! How sweet of him!!!!! /s obviously but Luis takes his death as an opportunity to run from home- again, something that’s sadly quite common amongst younger trans people it seems. When you loose your only support at home, and suddenly that home becomes unsafe, oftentimes the only solution is to run.

Now I’ve talked MUUUUUUCH more in depth about it in this post but considering the fact that Luis was probably a young teenager, an immigrant from the middle of nowhere, and had zero family or support- there’s a less than zero chance that he probably would have stumbled across the queer community one way or another. See, all throughout the 20th century, the queer and poc/immigrant communities were VERY intertwined- now I am WHITE AS ALL HELL so their history isn’t something I’m able to speak on with any amount of grace as actual people of colour could, so I’ll keep this breif and also if I’ve misrepresented anything PLEEEEAAASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME

Basically, like I said- the communities were very intertwined. They’d help each other and were sometimes seen as like the same circle of people when it came to what they were fighting for. All throughout history, this comes up time and time again- which is why I can only assume that Luis, a young person of colour having come from basically the middle of nowhere, would most likely find solace and a place in both communities- and would ABSOLUTELY have explored his gender and sexuality because of it. Even if he WAS cis there’s no way he wouldn’t have at least dabbled in a bit of the ol gender exploration every now and then

((Also, VEEEERY important to note that yes although trans and poc history are very intertwined they are still very seperate histories. It’s VERY IMPORTANT to not erase poc voices from this discussion when talking about this aspect of history- listen to your poc friends first and foremost before all else))

It’s also probably good to note that a few universities around that time were pretty notoriously open about being queer-friendly but we have no clue what exact university in Europe Luis would have gone to but idk we can probably guess he fooled around with some men and women HANSYWNEYENDUCJX

Then we cut to umbrella. I and a few other people have gone into how umbrella would have most likely groomed a young Luis into being excited to work with them and willing via offering him a place to stay, a college degree, a stable life etc etc but there’s also a sense of horror there when you take into account they could’ve offered him the ability to medically transition. Something that was NOT easy or very safe to do at the time. And plus this is resident evil so we can only guess what magical hoodicky they would’ve gotten to do that GDBEYWNDYDJ

From what we can tell, luis honestly enjoyed his time with umbrella!!!! He seemed to be friends with his coworkers and he was proud of the work he was doing (Yknow, before he would have found out it was all a lie and was going to kill millions HXBEHENEH) and honestly isn’t that every trans persons dream????? To have a job where you’re accepted and can feel safe at??????? To have friends who can accept you???????? It just makes what all went down all the more heartbreaking to me if we DO view him in the lens of being a trans character!!!!!!!!!

And then, of course, for the second time in his life; everything comes crumbling down. I’ve done seperate analysis on this and I plan on doing another cuz what I’m about to mention just hits,,,,,,,, S O O O O close to home to me, but when everything in his life gets destroyed AGAIN;

Luis chooses to go back to Valdelobos.

And isn’t that just so devastating?????? Because we as humans ALL do that- when life gets so bad and so intense we have no clue what to do, we all wanna turn to our parents or our childhood homes and get a hug and that feeling of nostalgia and safety from when we were kids that we missed.

But ask any other trans person and they’ll tell you that a lot of the time, that’s not what you’re gonna get; and that’s what happened to Luis. He went home, hoping- BEGGING- for some kind of support from the nightmares he just went through, only to be thrown straight into another one. Los Illuminados had been taken over and reverted his childhood home into something totally unrecognisable and forced him to work for them or else he’d literally be tortured. And isn’t that just,,,,, made all the more depressing when you look at it from a trans angle????

In this case scenario, when a lot of Trans people are forced to return to unsafe homes- they’re forced to push down their identity for their own safety. And reading that in Luis is just all the more devastating

And then there’s the whole thing where Luis literally SELF SURGICALLY REMOVED THE LAS PLAGAS FROM HIMSELF????????? WHY DONT MORE PEOPLE TALK ABT HOW TRAUMATISING THAT MUSTVE BEEN????????????? I know @/katabay made an INCREDIBLE post going into a religious reading on this and how I’m Don Quixote Alonso himself preforms an excorsism on himself and it’s weirdly erotic?????? And how that translates to Luis’ Plagas removal- they also made INCREDIBLE art go check it out- but throughout history there are a LOT of poems made by “”””women who want to be men”””” (aka trans men) who were religious at some point and describe the sensation of binding or getting top surgery to that of having an exorcism (this was mostly done to convince local churches that Hey no it was totally cool actually just let us get gender affirming care pretty pretty please) so, y’know,,,, maybe that meme that Luis showing Leon is scar was actually him coming out as trans wasn’t that far off HEBWYENXUXJXJDNC

And there’s also just the whole fact that he was a scientist that plays into this, too- Catholicism, specifically the hardcore Catholicism that Luis grew up with, absolutely HATES science. And the fact that Valdelobos seemed to be permanantly stuck in this 18th century cult-like state only confirms that they probably would have been anti-medicine, too; not only adding onto Luis’ guilt but also making him a prestigious scientist all the more impressive. Imagery that Luis is shown with (like that lil casket he carried around in seperate ways filled with the suppressants Ada needed) is often used by people in cults similar to Valdelobos to prove that ‘oh science is the devil!!!’ Etc, and y’know what else is related to science????

Medically transitioning babey!!!!!! A lot of the times hardcore religious people, again in similar cults to Valdelobos, use terms like ‘mutulating’ to describe medically transitioning and use already devil-associated imagery like science and modern medicine to hammer home that hatred of trans people (also obligatory not all religious people are like this in fact MOST religious people aren’t like this I’m talking specifically situations like the Gloriavale cult etc etc)

So like,,,,, again, that whole meme that Luis made his own testosterone wouldn’t be too far off BXNSHENDHDNX

But then we get some light at the end of this very depressing tunnel HXNSHENDUJ;

Leon, Ada and Ashley

Now from here on out I’m gonna get into some more like,,, CHARACTER dissection so I figured here would be the best place to put this HDBEYENEUS; Luis fits ALL the stereotypes of a stealth queer person during his time period. Like,, you know the song Gay or European????? Yeah that isn’t a joke that’s a real rhing European queer and trans men did to basically hide the fact that they were queer. It’s like. The oldest trick in the book. Which is why it’s SOOOOOO funny to me when I see Reddit dudebros going “errrrrmm actually Luis isn’t gay it’s just his Spanish charm!!” LIKE DUDE. YOUVE FALLEN FOR T H E TRICK. THIS IS THE EQUIVALENT OF A BIRD USING THEIR TAIL FEATHERS TO DISTRACT A PREDATOR.

And also Spain in general just has a very long and very beautiful Queer and Trans history- obviously it’d be way too much to fit into this one post but I highly reccomend just,,,, looking it up for yourself. Queer people have always been around :))

Ok ok, back to Leon- I plan on someday taking apart and dissecting EEEEEEEEEVERY interaction between them cuz it’s just. It’s all SO GAY. But in general, Luis treats Leon SO much differently than Ashley and Ada but in a good way!!!!!

Luis isn’t afraid to be open around Leon. He isn’t afraid to be flamboyant and jokey and flirt with him- and hell, he probably did enjoy that chain scene HXNEHENEUDJDJ he isn’t afraid to be more vulnerable and just generally what you wouldn’t consider a stereotypical “manly-man;” he doesn’t conform to western societies of stereotypical masculinity, and he isn’t afraid to show that around Leon.

He’s open with Leon- he’s vulnerable and he very openly CARES about Leon. He truly wears his heart on his sleeve and this is for a MULTITUDE of different reasons but I think a big part of it is not just because he’s genuienly attracted to Leon but because leon is a shining example of a chivalrous knight to him

I and many others have gone into this further; but when Luis first met Leon in that body bag, it probably honestly WAS like he was meeting his very own Don Quixote for the first time. He was probably a shining example of everything he wanted to be; brave, kind, never makes mistakes- and again I’ve gone into this further but this truly does play into his character and his very noble quest for redemption and forgiveness a lot and viewing this from a Trans angle just gives that quest SO much more power

Capcom does their best to make Leon out to be a super strong manly-man and @highball66 has gone into some of Leon’s own queer coding, but I think Luis also sees through this. He sees through his macho dudebro masculinity and he sees a genuine and kind human being underneath; just as Leon had done for him. Leon is everything Luis wants to be in a man- just like his grandfather and probably countless male figures in his life before him. So he’s not afraid to open up to Leon; he isn’t held back by that expectation of toxic masculinity because he wasn’t raised that way.

And he’s the EXACT SAME with Ada and Ashley too!!!!!!!! He CARES about Ada! He’s CONSTANTLY looking out for her and giving her the benefit of the doubt and he’s always so polite and kind around her!!!!!!!! Like yeah he puts on the front of being a ladies-man but again like SOOO many others before me have mentioned that’s probably just a safety front!!!!!! He wears his heart on his sleeve around Ada and Ashley, too- he’s always SO polite around her I feel like not enough people point that out????? He offered his hand out for her to take before inspecting the blood, he’s always asking for permission before he touches her etc he’s so nice people don’t give him enough credit for that!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And theeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnn it aaaaaaaaalll comes crashing down when he diiiiiieeeeeeessss,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

It’s pretty important to note that Luis is killed by Krauser; and again, other people have gone into Leon and Krausers queer relationship coding a lot better than I have, but it’s pretty interesting to note that Luis was killed by the guy who pretty much encapsulates all forms of toxic masculinity (again, that meme that everyone jokes about that Krauser killed Luis cuz he was jealous of Leon’s new boyfriend might not be far off HXHWHDUXHSH)

Luis uses his final breath to save Leon- to save the man who has shown him forgiveness and empathy and love for the first time in god knows how long. He opens his heart up to Leon in his final moments; he does one last ‘such a loss to the ladies of the world eh?’ As a last-ditch effort to try and convince Leon that he tooooooootally isn’t queer you guys and to try and hold onto that sense of normality; but he drops that act immedietly after Leon shows him that he’s taking this seriously

He opens up to Leon and admits that he led a pretty shitty life. He spills his heart out to Leon and asks him if people can change. And I’ve said rhis before and I’ll say it again; this is Luis looking for some kind of confirmation. Some kind of forgiveness and some way of saying that Yes his life DID mean something- that people CAN change and CAN be loved like he loved Leon and Leon loved him. And, hell, if we’re REEEEEAALY tryna stretch here (which I mean this whole post is tbh HXBSHSNEHDNSHD) you could even read this as Luis asking for somebody to accept him as he truly is, and see past the facade of a super flamboyant cis straight man. It’s not a stretch to say this moment is him looking and hoping that Leon can see through his past actions and see the beautiful human being underneath- so it wouldn’t be crazy to view it under a queer light either

Then, of course, Leon says that iconic line; you were a fine knight, Don Quixote. Confirming to Luis that he WAS like the chivalrous knight he always looked up to when he was little. Not just for his bravery and confidence; but also for his exploration of gender and non conformity in his sexuality. Leon confirms that for him in his final moments.

Then of course there’s the nature of his death; the fact that he dies below his childhood village is pretty telling to me.

Now this is where I’m gonna get into some depressing statistics, so readers beware, but unfortunately, there is a good chunk of trans people who will die in their childhood homes for many reasons. There’s been a good chunk of trans people all throughout history who have lived long, full lives but still were buried in their childhood homes and towns under their dead name or under the gender they were assigned to at birth. It’s depressing and there really is no making light of it- which is why Luis dying in the village he grew up in and tried so desperately to escape from hits so hard to me.

• Now HOPEFULLY obviously I am N O T comparing Luis’ death to actual real trans people’s deaths. But as somebody who HAS lost trans friends to suicide, the manner of his death absolutely REMINDS me of that and thus hits home harder for me. Go give your trans friends a hug, basically

But on the bright side, at least he didn’t die alone. He had Leon; he had somebody who could, theoretically, show the world who he truly was and remember him by his true name and nature. Luis won’t be totally forgotten underground; he’ll have Leon and Ashley and Ada ro remember the man he truly was just like how many, many trans people who have passed away will have friends and loved ones who will remember them for who they truly are.

Now I don’t wanna end this whole analysis on such a depressing note so I’ll add this at the end; I genuienly think that even if you DONT headcannon Luis as Trans, adding that element to his character not only enriches his already INCREDIBLY well written story but also just generally means the world to trans people in real life, too

Like,,,,, I’ve mentioned this before but I’ll say it again; seeing a character who is so genuinely confident in themselves, so open about their emotions and their identity and who holds themselves in a way that isn’t stereotypically “masculine”- that honestly hits so much closer to home than any other trans headcannon ever has. I’ve gone into detail about how much Luis as a character means to me, but seriously, reading him from this angle lowkey makes me want to cry with how much it means to me HDBEHENEHDJX

Luis is a Beautifully written character who shows the best and worst in all of us humans- who shows that we all just want to love and be loved and be forgiven and given the opportunity to change. All trans people deserve that, too; we all deserve the opportunity to live our lives to the fullest.

Even if you want to comment ‘ErM weLl CapCoM woUlD nEVeR hAvE a TrAns ChaRaCTeR-“ does it really matter???? Does it matter if a character has a canon label slapped onto them, if people can already analyse that character from their own perspective and find deep meaning in that themselves????? Is a character who is canonically queer any more meaningful than a character who isn’t????? I don’t think so, cuz clearly, myself and many, many others find solace and comfort and relatability in the fine knight that is Luis Serra

And finally; André Peña, Luis Serra’s voice actor, has been VERY vocal about his support for trans people and has even said he absolutely 100% believes that Luis would believe in trans rights- so suck it transphobes!!!!!!!!!!!!! Luis is for US!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[popquizhot-shot]

Haven't I- 4

a/n :tHANK you all for the love! i'm so sorry it's been a while! but chapter 5 will also be out this week so have fun<3 tell me how you like this chapter! part-3

Ellie had her gun trained on the group of men, gaze unwavering as she stared  them down, “We don’t need your help.”

The man stepped forward and in a flash, Amy was on her feet, her own gun pointed at them as well.

“We thank you for killing those clickers, now please leave us alone.”

The man’s voice was soft. Smooth like honey when he asked, “What’s your name?”

In a moment of complete stupidity, she contemplated giving him her name, but all she did was snarl, “Leave us, or I’l put a bullet in each of your heads.”

In a split second, his eyes seemed to turn animalistic. Predatory. And they softened again. She took note of his hands clenching and how he looked at Ellie.

“Let’s go boys. It’s a long way home.” he turned, defeated.

Without another word, the three men mounted their horses and rode away. The women watched until they disappeared into the horizon

.Amy watched, even after they had gone. The man’s eyes.He was not a friend, certainly not with the way he looked at Elie. 

As they kept walking, she promised herself one thing. If they crossed paths with him again, he’d be dead. 

—

“Here.” you hand Joel some dried meat as you slowed Laila down, “You haven’t eaten.”

He rides past you, “I’m fine.”

With a grunt, you kick Laila into a slow trot to catch up with him, “Just shut up and take it, Miller.” You chuck it at him and he catched it without missing a beat.

You huff out a laugh when he stuffs the entire thing in his mouth like some kind of mannerless brute, “You’re welcome.” 

It’s a bit messed up, but even though this is a rescue mission, it feels like old times when he had taught you how to ride.

After a few beats of silence, he speaks up, “How’d you meet Tommy and Maria?”

You lick your lips, “Maria rescued me. Years before she met Tommy, I was half dead when she found me.”

“And.. Tommy?”

You snort, “We met Tommy when we were scouting the area. Poor guy was shit-scared. I paired them together ever since.”

He scoffs, “So you’re the person to thank for my darling sister in law?”

“She’s a good person, Joel.” You roll your eyes, “Where’d you live before Jackson?”

“Boston QZ. Tommy and I were smugglers before he joined the fireflies.”

“He did tell me that.” you hum, “Ya’ll had a partner as well right?”

He goes quiet then, and you have to internally cringe.Idiot.

“Yeah, we did.” he answers and you nod.

“We’re going to have to ride downhill about half a mile from here. Robby’s jumpy, so be careful.” you inform him and you can sense his relief as his shoulders relax and he nods.

—-----

“I’m hungry.” Ellie whined and Amy reached into her pack and threw a wad of bread at the girl who accepted it and chewed heartily.

The sun set early in winter. Already the sky was dark and the sun was dipping below the horizon. They needed to start a fire and she was bent over a pile of wood and flint in her hand.

With every scrape the urge to go back grew. But then she’d look at Ellie and realise that she couldn’t. The girl meant so much to her. She couldn’t betray her, not after she’d been left alone all her life.

Her brow was sweaty and her hands were smarting. With one final scrape, there was a spark and it took to the wood and dried leaves.

She leaned back against a tree trunk and tried to think of nothing. But her mind just drifted to Joel and to Jackson. It looked like home. 

Her quiet was interrupted as Ellie shuffled towards her and laid her head onto her shoulder. Her eyes softened as the girl snuggled into her. She snaked her hand around the girl and patted her cheek, “Sleep, bug.”

—--------

The fire crackles and they’re a little closer to catching up with Amy and Ellie.

Joel chugs whiskey from a flask, you had stupidly forgotten to get one packed for yourself so all you do is stare into the fire and hope you don’t look as pathetic as you feel.

Wordlessly, he hands the flask to you and you turn to look at him, “You don’t have to.”

He just rolls his eyes and forces it into your hands, “Just have some. It’s cold.”

The drink burns as it goes down your throat and you grimace, “Did Tommy give you the shit whiskey he keeps in his cupboard?”

Joel smirks, “”Tommy said it was the handiwork of some guy called Kenny?

“Ugh.” you groan, “Kenny’s alcohol is ass-”

“-But it keeps you warm.” you and Joel finish in unison and chuckle.

“Tommy’s an idiot.” you take another swig and resist the urge to shudder.

“I’ll say.” Joel agrees.

“He’s a hero though.” you look into the fire and he turns to face you.

“That's what he always wanted to be. He joined the army because he wanted to serve the country. Didn’t do shit.” Joel scoffs.

“I’m not talking Desert Storm, Miller. Nor am I talking about the Fireflies. He’s helped the people of Jackson. They look up to him.” 

“You must know him an awful lot if he’s told you about Desert Storm.” 

“They’re the only family I have, Miller.” you confess. “He’s my brother. Mari’s my sister.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Where do I come in this equation?I’m his brother.”

You grin and look into the blaze once more, “You’re the annoying uncle who visits once a year with gifts and always curses the weather and ‘them darned teenage kids.”

To your surprise, he laughs. “Tommy would definitely agree with you.”

“That’s because I’m right.”

—-----------------

The night had gone by quickly, and by mid afternoon you and Joel had managed to cover a good distance.

“Would you stop humming?” Joel groaned, “At least sing another song. You’ve been destroying ‘Ring of Fire’ for the last half an hour.”

You bark out a laugh, “Can you blame me, Miller? It’s Johnny Cash, he’s the best.”

He rolled his eyes, “Then sing another, and Hank Williams is the best.”

“Fine.” you relent, “And I choose to ignore the second part of your sentence.”

His weak argument was drowned as you began singing the beginning of ‘Jackson’, much to his chagrin.

“No-” “I’m going to Jackson, I’m gonna mess around!~”

“You’re terrible-” “ Yeah I’m going to Jackson, look out Jackson town~”

You hummed the rest of the song and he grumbled, “I should have just gone alone.

“You would have died.” 

“That’s better than this,” he argues.

You clutch your chest in mock hurt, “You wound me, Miller.”

He just shakes his head, “Keep ridin.”

“That’s what she said.” you snorted.

“You’re worse than a teenage girl.” 

“There’s an open free plane here that is good for galloping.” you say and kick Laila into a canter, “Be careful, it’s on the banks of  a frozen lake!” you raise your voice as Laila’s pace increases and Joel is left behind.

—---------

Insufferable. Careless. Stupid. Joel thinks as he catches up with you, the area is covered with snow and there’s a frozen lake on his left.

“There’s a safehouse about a few minutes from here,” you point forward,” With food and firewood. From there we can take a shortcut and meet them in the middle.” saying so you wink at him, mask up and urge Laila to gallop. Leaving Joel in metaphorical dust.

His mouth twists into a small smirk. It’s been years since he’s actually ridden, He adjusts his reins. Heels down. And then he’s galloping.

What he doesn’t account for is the slush on the bank of the lake and the fact that his horse is jumpy. The animal slips and begins panicking. In a moment of fear, his hands flail about. And he calms himself and gathers the reins. He pulls them to stop Robby from moving any further and mutters gentle words to him.

In his peripheral he can see you riding to him, mask up and hood down. He sees your eyes drift to the lake and he does too.

There’s an army green watch lying on its surface.

In horror, he looks at his hands and his watch is not on his wrist. Not where it’s supposed to be. He dismounds Robby and heads for the lake but he can’t breathe.

The watch. Sarah. His watch.

He looks up and you’re running to him. His breaths are short and quick. He feels warm hands on his face and he sees your eyes look into his own. Your voice is muffled but it guides him back into some semblance of sanity. 

“Hey, Hey, Joel. You’re okay. You’re alright.” your thumbs caress his cheeks and you nod reassuringly, “I’ll get it.”

All he can do is stare, like some pathetic little child, as you slowly make your way to the watch. Each step is cautious.

```````

The watch, The damn watch. The very one you’d gifted to him and the one Sarah had gotten fixed for his birthday. It had broken when the two of you were fighting. He had thrust his arm out to prove a point and it flew off his wrist and cracked against the bedroom wall.

All his fight left him as he rushed to pick it up with frantic murmurs and cradled it like it was a newborn. He was so miserable, you’d cupped his face in your hands and he’d apologised profusely.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, this was not the time to think of the past. Each step you took was followed by a creek. Just a little further. How the hell did it manage to land this far?. 

A few more steps and it was in your hand. You turned back and slid it towards the bank where the ice was thicker. Joel all but fell to his knees and picked it up. Fastening it tight to his wrist immediately.

You were halfway back, your mask had fallen and the air was biting despite it being mid-afternoon. Your steps began to waver.

Then there was a deafening crack and the dark cold.

—-------------------

Bang!

“Wide. Focus on your breathing bug.” Amy instructs Ellie and the girl groans. 

“This gun is shit, it doesn’t aim right.”

The older woman rolls her eyes and takes the gun, and ejects the cartridge. Loading the gun again, she assumes her position and aims at the target, “You have to squeeze the trigger like it owes you money and you’re wringing its neck. Breathing should be slow, and steady. Breathe in and breathe out.” She shoots.

Ellie scoffs, “I’m pretty sure you missed.” She looks into the binoculars and gawks, “You bitch.”

Amy can’t help but let out a laugh and she shrugs sheepishly, “Is the gun still shit?”

“Hell yes!”

It’s moments like this where Amy can see Ellie misses Joel. The girl’s eyes are subdued and she hasn’t spoken a word against him like she did almost every day.

She says nothing, only pats her daughter’s shoulder and hands her the gun, “Again, bug.”

She knows there’s a good chance the gunshot will be heard if people are coming after them. And its hard to admit but some part of her wants him to hear. Though it’s unlikely, some childish part longs for him to ride in like some fated hero of old.

Bang!

“Bug, you hit the target!” 

Ellie tries to look nonchalant but there was no missing  the glee in the little girl’s eyes, “Of course I did.”

All Amy can do is huff out a laugh, “Good job, kid.”

````````````````

Everything is cold. There’s a fire in the fireplace and the sound of boiling water reaches your ears. He found the shelter.

Your teeth chatter uncontrollably. The blanket he’s covered you with does little to help.

“J-Joel!” your voice is weak and comes out as more than a whisper. He doesn’t hear it.

You thrash around and kick a stool over, making as much noise as you can. He seems to have heard that because he strides in with a towel and steaming bowl. He kneels down next to your shivering form.

“The-the watch?” you ask feebly as he dips the towel in the bowl.

He doesn’t answer, working in silence as he dabs your head and then pushes your shirt up so that he can place the towel there. The cold of the shirt, as well as the heat of the towel is contrasting and you cry out at the sudden change.

The both of you know there’s only one way to prevent hypothermia and possible death.

He looks you in the eye and you nod, allowing him to raise his hands above your head. You try not to think about the fact that you haven’t bothered to shave in years. But he doesn’t linger. He removes your shirt and lays it out before the fireplace. 

He then moves to unbutton your jeans and its hard work bringing them down, his fingers snag onto your underwear and he pulls them off as well.

Good, respectful Joel pays no mind to your nakedness. He only unclasps your bra and places all your clothes to dry in front of the fire and covers you with the blanket.

He sheds his jacket and takes off his shirt. Your eyes roam the expanse of his chest, littered with scars. You want to scream. You should have been there for him. If you weren’t such a boneheaded idiot that night, none of this would’ve happened.

You  look up when he steps out of his jeans and gets under the covers. After a beat, his strong arms wrap around you and pull you into him. Your hands meet at his lower back and your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper into the crook of his neck and he shushes you.

“Thank you. For doing that for me.” he murmurs. His rough hands travel the length of your arms to generate heat and you relish in the feeling of his warmth. Without realising, you snuggle closer to him. 

Your eyes want to slip shut but you force yourself to stay awake in this purgatory. In his arms, just like you used to be. A chill moves through you and you shiver, wriggling into his form a bit more and he holds you tighter. 

“Rest, Mitch.” His voice is soft. Like honey. Like everything good in this world.

As your eyes close, you pray he hasn’t seen the tattoo on your back. The very one he had on his own.

taglist :@daddy-din @ephemerensis@charlyrmv@bellaramseysbitch@tripovertiff@im-constantly-fangirling@pussy-f41ry@corvusmorte@mrknifess @corpsebridenightamare@chesirecat000@glshmbl@jbcalway@o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi@glshmbl @starkleila @love-the-abyss

[balletomaneblog]

People might roll their eyes for me saying this - but I truly am impressed by Khoreva’s improvements since her return to the stage. Like, can we take a second to appreciate just how much she has grown? Especially after touring in China and her most recent Don Quixote. I notice that she’s much more interactive with her partners, as well as more expressive in general. She seems much more confident on stage. I think she’s maturing into a wonderful artist who - while not quite there yet - will absolutely be deserving of principal status someday.

I recognize that not everyone has the same taste in dancers, and she is understandably not everyone’s favorite ballerina, but I do wish her detractors would give credit where it is due. While it is true that she has a lot of privilege, it is also true that she works very hard - and it shows. I wish people weren’t so quick to discredit her.

This also might be a controversial opinion, but I really don’t see what’s wrong with her social media presence. She seems like a young person who loves ballet and is sharing that with the world. She’s also contributed to the rising interest in ballet over recent years (almost as an ambassador for her art of sorts), and I see more people loving ballet as a good thing. Social media isn’t going anywhere, so we might as well get over ourselves and embrace it. Maybe my bias is showing, but I find her a lot more tolerable than some of the other influencer-type ballerinas.

Anyway, thanks for listening to my thoughts! I know my opinion is a popular one with her international fans, so maybe I’m beating a dead horse. Still felt compelled to share though. I appreciate that you always seem to take a kind and balanced approach, even when offering critiques.

So so sorry for the late reply! Thanks for sharing, I love chatting on here about this kind of thing.

I've spoken a bit about Khoreva before and I'm definitely not hiding that I'm a Khoreva fan so I'm totally in agreement with you.

I don't always love the "instagram ballerina" thing because there are some dancers on social media who seem to focus more on number of turns, hyperextensions, etc rather than artistry. However, Khoreva is definitely not one of them. I find a lot of her posts to be really interesting and insightful and I love her adagio combination videos. I especially like her youtube account because I'm grateful for any opportunity to watch more videos of Mariinsky performances.

I've also spoken some already about how much I've enjoyed seeing the growth of Khoreva's acting skills in the past couple of years and the new maturity in her after she returned from her injury. You're right, It's totally valid for Khoreva to just not be someone's favorite dancer (everyone has different taste), but I really feel like the excess criticism she gets is a David and Goliath kind of thing. She's just been given so many opportunities and advanced so fast that it's easier for some people to root for dancers like Khiteyeva (whom I also love) who spent years in the Corps de Ballet waiting for their shot.

I was so upset to hear that Khoreva is out on another injury so soon and I'm hoping that she recovers fully soon!

Thanks again for sharing!

P.S. Why on earth has Khoreva not performed Grand Pas Classique yet? This needs to happen!

[marithlizard]

I liked “Exes and Ohs” much better than “Seeing Stars”, even though I have a few complaints about the plot; it feels like season two is starting to hit its stride. We needed to put Stolas and his relationship with Blitzo on the back burner for a bit and get some time with the imps. 

Live reaction-notes:

- The backgrounds of the IMP office raise so many questions.  Blitzo why did you make a transphobic horse OC?   How did you get a bust of yourself made?

(Immediate theory:  A sinner who was a sculptor in life offered to make it as part of their payment.  It makes sense that IMP would accept barter because sinners don't always have a lot of cash, especially when they're new.  That would explain why we see new art around the office all the time.)  

- Moxxie. My dude.  MOXXIE. Loona does not think you are fat.  She just knows it upsets you.  There is no way you can logically disprove her bullying. Do not let her stress you into an eating disorder or keep you from enjoying food.

- Millie WTF?  Did a human beat you in combat?  That hasn't happened since back in episode 1.  I want to know what has you so mad but I'm also now invested in the relationship drama going on over on that whiteboard.  King Slut is going to get what's coming to him and Blue Cheese needs better taste in side hoes.

- Wouldn't it be funny if Millie's ex was - Nahhhh.

- What are those photos spilling out of the filing cabinet?  Does IMP have a sideline in PI-style snooping?  Is that...normal for furry cosplay sex?    

-Oh, it's just Blitzo's porn stash.  I'm sure Stolas would be into using those costumes and quite possibly they have, but I don't really wanna imagine it. But I do want to imagine M&M  trying to alphabetize the collection.

- As most of us guessed,  IMP was a regular hell-side hitman outfit before they got the book.  It's interesting that Blitzo doesn't seem interested in taking local jobs anymore.  Surely they could use the money.  

- C for Crimson on the driver's cap, but no recognition on Moxxie's face yet.  And we're goin'  back to the Greed ring!    (Moxxie said he was raised in Wrath, though, I thought. So he lies about his past.)

- Blitzo is still obsessing about M&M, but he's gone several episodes now without a single abusive rant at Moxxie. He is seriously trying to do better after "Truth Seekers".  

- Loona really doesn't belong at this company, does she.   Nobody acknowledged her existence except Moxxie this whole episode.  I hope we see her find a place that suits her better soon.

- "Elevator Hangar 03".  So even flights between Rings take the elevators. That suggests helicopters are what gets used, rather than planes that can't hover.

- Fizzarolli's adult clown look was modeled after Mammon, wasn't it?  

- Uhh..is that demonstrative violence, or is it actually pretty hard to permanently kill an imp?  Hmmmmmmm.

- You might wanna ask questions when the guy who was raised here has an immediate panic attack and starts yelling "No no no" as soon as you arrive, guys?  Blitzo, how have you lived this long being this vulnerable to flattery and this unable to recognize danger signals?

- All the trophies on the walls reminding us of the murder family.  (Are those little hearts between the succubus wings the ends of their tails?) Blitzo's "please do not ask me details about my lucrative circus career" expression.

- WHAT? CALLED IT I CALLED IT OMG  wow he's an idiot he's just stepped in the door and I want him dead already.  Did you just say "two big sex reunions"?  Excuse me those claws do not look practical even if most demons are into pain play. If you were really a sex god you’d have a couple of them trimmed all the way down.

- Blitzo erupting in jealousy.  Yes, there's someone who's fucked both of them and it was not you.  At least you haven't also slept with Chaz (although I am putting that down to chance and not any kind of good taste on your part).  

- Huge-eyed baby Moxxie!  Mom in shadow, what is she holding? flowers?  Blitzo how can you possibly be this slow on the uptake?

- I am distracted from the cute grenade moment by the aesthetic atrocity that is Chaz's tail.  What. How do you put on pants.      It does seem to have been an actual relationship, though, or at least a fling.    Moxxie get that nostalgic smile off your face oh my GOD that wasn't nostalgia.

- "Draw me like one of your French imps", huh?  oh. Oh dear.  Millie is 1000% better than this dirtbag in every possible way, why are you regretting him at all?

- HI BLITZO! Huh, they let him keep his boots in jail.  Loona surely does not have a babysitter. Was he that overprotective?  Or was he bullshitting? If so, it worked, you can see Moxxie’s face change at the idea of this guy as a loving dad. (Which he is! It just...works better if people imagine Loona is a young kid.)

- I thought that might be what Moxxie sees in Blitzo.  Someone who gave him a way out of his old life, someone who's proven trustworthy despite his flaws. Not quite sure how to interpret Blitzo's expression on hearing this.   A mixture of touched and regretful?

- Yeah, you fuck him up, MillWHOA that is a level of rage I did not expect.  What did Chaz do to HER?  

- PFFT  Blitzo reverses it because "horseless friendfucker" is what Chaz is as far as he's concerned.  

- Is Blitzo thinking:  I don't talk about my dick like that.  Do I? Please tell me I'm not this fucking obnoxious.   Oh god keep this guy FAR away from Stolas.

- What the FUCK, Crimson.  Homophobia, contempt, abuse, you're clearly the whole package, but you redecorated with neon dicks to insult your son?

- At least someone's happy.

- We're consistently not seeing mom's face and it is weirding me out.  ohno.  Not hard to tell where this is going.  oh NO.  

- Moxxie's tenderheartedness in "Murder Family" isn't so funny anymore is it.  Burn the fucking mansion down, Moxxie.  Millie will help and I doubt Blitzo will be opposed.   I didn't see them confiscate your phones, so text  them.

- Chaz you are making Blitzo look modest and tasteful.

- I completely forgot we hadn't had a musical number yet.  Can we - can we skip it this once?

- BLITZO

- Did he just say "chill the fuck out?" Is he not having fun over there because I really hope he is not.  I hope this is the worst lay of your life, Blitzo.

- Well, he doesn't look like he had fun.  At all.  Was this a ploy?  No, he’s just an opportunistic chaos gremlin.

- Uh. Moxxie I admire your spine here, but not your brains. How are you going to keep him from cutting bits off Millie until you give in?  I certainly hope you did something useful with that phone earlier.  (Spoiler: He did not.)  

- Oh! Blitzo's feet are just shaped like heeled boots.  Wacky.

- Now THAT'S more the musical number I wanted.  

- Millie. 10/10 no notes.  Perfection.   I'm not even gonna ask how they had enough time to repaint the banner and retrieve Blitzo's clothes (you know he'll be back in his own coat next episode).  

[benbamboozled]

I want to ask you every single one of the salty asks, but 13, 15, 36?

13—What's the worst character assassination you've seen happen?

BATTLE FOR THE COWL!

(Okay well actually whatever the fuck was happening with Dick Grayson in The Dark Knight Strikes Back is probably the worst but it’s so bad and weird that I don’t want to talk about it.)

ANYWAY!

BATTLE FOR THE COWL!

My baby. My precious nightmare. My sweet, simple on-fire-trash-can.

I mean…this one probably isn’t even THE worst that I’ve seen, but I’m putting it down because it was specifically intended to be a character assassination. (And it led into Morrison’s Jay which…yeah.)

So okay—The Character Assassination of One Jason Todd I consider “the worst” for two main reasons.

The first is that, you know…boo him shooting Damian and trying to kill Tim. I mean, I think it’s cool as hell, but, you know…it’s clearly being done to NOT be cool as hell and it specifically comes after he’d been shown starting to “pay for his crimes” (whatever) and reconciling with the family. (That’s the whole reason he’s not in jail in the first place—TIM BROKE HIM OUT lol.)

The second kind of plays into the “cool as hell” thing, since…JASON IS LIKE ONE OF THE ONLY COMPETENT PEOPLE IN THE STORY???

Jason and Tim are actually *doing* things (okay Tim is investigating Jay, but still, he does do stuff), meanwhile everyone else is just kind of farting around like “man things are really bad here” and Dick is like “weh I don’t wanna be Batman!!!” and it’s just like…

You can’t have a be loathed AND competent in a Batbook. It’s just like…totally misunderstanding the nature of the appeal there.

Also—

THIS DUDE LOOKS COOL AS HELL.

So like, already on my “is this a successful character assassination” evaluation I’m like “hmmm I’m leaning towards no.

AND THEN—

So…we find out that Jason’s homicidal break stems from DEAD BRUCE WAYNE LEAVING THAT FUCKING THING AS A MESSAGE.

Like not to beat a dead horse but…

DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?!!

How am I supposed to think JASON is the bad guy here??? He KNOWS Jason is frequently in a…complicated headspace, he KNOWS Jason has been making headways into the family again…

AND HE LEAVES HIM THAT FUCKING MESSAGE???

I SEE YOU, VILLAIN!!! I SEE YOU WITH YOUR FUCKING VILLAIN MUSTACHE!!!

So, to summarize—Battle for the Cowl is the worst (to me) because it comes outta frickin NOWHERE and THEN it’s not even a successful character assassination because Jason is too cool/competent/sympathetic!

15—Tell me about a plotline that could have been interesting if anyone else wrote it.

Okay so, I’m cheating before 1) it’s actually on my rec list and I don’t hate ALL of it, and 2) it’s more of “a plotline that I’d like to see redone by someone specific,” buuut—

I would like to see a version of Cheer done by Matthew Rosenberg.

Like, gimme a version of Cheer that includes this sort of respect for Jay’s history—

36—What's the most uninteresting fact you've learned about a character?

Hmmmm…

I stand by that (one of) the most uninteresting facts ever revealed in a comic storyline is that Bruce Wayne Really For Real Damian Wayne’s Bio-Dad.

We did not need that hilariously on the nose confirmation!!!

If your MAIN FUCKING CHARACTER is going to say “it doesn’t matter who he is by blood, he’s still my son” the very LEAST you could do is…not this—

Like, come onnnnn!!!!

(Anyway everyone knows these results are doctored and that really every Batkid is Bruce’s bio-kid except Damian who is Talia&Jason’s bio-kid. I know this because Bat-Mite told me.)

Sources are Battle for the Cowl #2 & 3, Task Force Z #8, and Deathstroke #35

[wholeshebangs]

cloak and dagger

( these are two scenes i wrote... 4-3 years ago? for a harringrove witcher au i was working on with @aggressiveviking during the beginning of covid. i didn’t want these to keep gathering dust in my docs so, i’m turning them into a drabble here.

the one where billy is a witcher and steve is the missing noble he needs to bring back home. )

First, he hears the steady beating of his own heart, then the crackling of a campfire.

When Billy opens his eyes, bright specks fly over his face. Embers floating above the flames, soaring like fireflies in the dark.

His pupils shrink at the sight and – immediately, it makes way for a wave of nausea. It causes his stomach to churn, and his eyeballs to throb. Leaves him feeling a bit sick and pallid. The glowing warmth beside him heating the blood beneath his skin and seeping from it thick beads of sweat.

It doesn’t take him long to realize he’s just woken up from deep slumber. His memories are blurry. He can only wonder when exactly his consciousness went adrift. His bones feel heavy and his limbs are numb. And for a moment, he thinks his body is slowly sinking into the dirt below him.

His eyes grow wide, he draws in a gasp, and suddenly a far more pleasing sight welcomes him.

“You shouldn’t move,” Steven’s face is there, the sound of his voice ever so soothing. He hovers over Billy, hair messy and ungathered. His features are gentle, handsome, save for the new cut on his nose. “M’not sure if your wounds have healed yet.”

“Wounds?” Billy all but croaks like a lake frog. He’s then suddenly more aware, and despite what he’s told, he props himself up on his elbows with a groan, desperate to get a look of their surroundings; just a bunch of fuckin’ trees and a small clearing. “What happened?”

Steven is there again to push him back, canteen in hand. He frowns. “Don’t you remember? Thought we were huntin’ for a foglet on the prowl. Turned out it’d been dead all along. A taller, much ugly bastard knocked you out cold. Didn’t value my life enough to flee.”

Billy stares at him, because Steven looks, well, not any worse than he feels. “What’d ye do?”

Steven shrugs and answers simply. “I killed it.”

“What?”

Billy figures he deserves the cold glare he receives in return. Steven purses his lips, a wrinkle growing in the space between his eyebrows. He’s never been one to enjoy being underestimated. “You had some sort of concoction on you. Threw it at ‘em and the fucker blew right up. Wasn’t pretty.” Steven isn’t very delicate in the way he pushes the canteen against Billy’s lips, but Billy drinks up anyway. His throat feels better already. “Decided to keep the head like you do, hang it up on my steed, and I must say, looks rather… morbid but the satisfaction is still rewarding.”

Right as Steven says this, Billy turns to their horses. They’re both standing together, chewing on the grass. His own carries a griffin’s head, and Steven’s -- “An ekimmara.”

“Hm.”

Steven doesn’t sound at all like he even knows what the creature actually is, a fact Billy almost finds impressive if not amusing. Its head hangs there, still fresh, oozing with blood and staining its white beard a nasty red. They are ugly. And Steven just… cut its head off like that.

What catches his attention the most is that he remains here, by Billy’s side. He’s been watching over him, tending to his wounds, eating the remains of their fuckin’ trail mix, Billy’s guessing.

He does look exhausted though. Hungry. Didn’t value my life enough to flee, Steven had said, acknowledging that he could have ran, but didn’t.

While Billy’s too conflicted to say anything, Steven unfolds the bandages he’d apparently wrapped around his torso. It is then that Billy notices the heavier parts of his armor had been removed. His skin has already scarred. “You’re lucky your kind don’t die easy,” Steven says.

But his kind do. His kind get the flu and die within a week. His kind get lost and never return. And he stayed long enough to blow a monster up. Long enough to boast about it.

Could’da ran and hid where Billy wouldn’t find him again.

Billy’s face drops. “Are ye hurt?”

Steven looks up at him, seemingly taken aback. He shakes his head and nibbles at his bottom lip. “Nearly shit my trousers and lost my bloody hearin’ for you but I’m good.”

Billy feels it, the itch of what could’ve been a laugh at the base of his throat. He likes Steven’s character.

But that slight resemblance of a grin soon falters. Steven’s fingertips brush over his abdomen, gingerly, tracing the scars that reach his navel. Billy figures he must be taking a last look. Surely, with no ulterior motive. It is Billy who draws in a breath and holds it in, not Steven.

There’s a pause that indicates hesitation. Billy’s eyelashes flutter, his skin burns up, and he waits. Stares at the hand that’s giving him a heated thrill. Stares until the red against pale skin leads his thoughts elsewhere.

“Yer bleedin’.”

When he looks up, he notices Steven’s cheeks have gone rosy. It catches him off guard for only a second. “It’s nothing,” Steven grumbles, pulls his hand away almost immediately and stands, hair askew. “I need a wash. There’s a river nearby.”

“Steven –”

“I’ll be back,” Steven gives him that authoritative look that always shuts Billy up, but it is somehow also reassuring. Enough that Billy deflates. “I shouldn't take too long, and you can look after yourself.”

“That’s not why I worry.”

“I know.”

Steven doesn’t give him a chance to answer. He turns on his heels and leaves, back to Billy, clothes so dark he blends in with the trees once the fire’s glow no longer reaches him. Billy focuses on his senses only so he can hear where Steven runs off to, catches the sound of a steady stream and of rippling water and realizes Steven wasn’t lying after all.

He feels foolish, embarrassed even. He doesn’t know whether to blame himself or Steven for having done it before.

One of the horses huff, and when Billy looks, Steven’s steed has a dark stare fixed on him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” It doesn’t look away either. “Stop.”

It troubles him when he wonders who trusts the other more. Most days he doesn’t know what to make of the things Steven does and says. Perhaps he ponders too much on it, too unused to being seen as something other than a mutant freak. He’s not quite sure why he continues to entertain the thought that Steven isn’t them, the people who spit on the ground Billy walks on and that throw their coins at his feet when he finishes the job.

He looks to where Steven took off, takes a deep breath and decides he too longs for a wash.

~

When the sky grows dark and the dim light of the sun fails to pierce the billow of fog just ahead, on the other side of the horizon, the moon rises. Tonight, it will be full, and it will mark another day where his future seems more uncertain. He doubts even an old seer would have anything good to say about his fortune. For the deadline was due a month ago and their path was still long. They’ve just gotten to the Crossroads. Novigrad was perhaps another full moon away as well.

It will also count as another day where Steven still hasn’t made it back home. Billy wonders if Steven would even want that. Or if he'd stay, in the end. Once, that kind of setting fit him like a glove. But now?

"–the poor old sod gots this look in his eyes. He's sweatin' down to his knickers, shakin' in his boots and everything. Over a ladle. Can you imagine? I've won many things over a round of cards. But a ladle? Oh. And not just any ladle," Now Billy wonders how Steven’s parents would react to a story like this. He can imagine a banquet, a feast across one of those big, long tables, with proper rich guests hearing a nobleman’s son boast about how he won a round of gwent to some old bastard in Oreton.

"A golden ladle. Made stews and whatnot taste different, he said. I myself learned to settle for roasted wild dogs, but I couldn't turn down a good challenge. I won the damn thing too, you know. Looked mighty fine held up in the sun. Didn't do shit with it though. Lost it one night I got much too drunk. I wonder what happened to it..."

Billy doesn’t know what to say, so he only offers, “My condolences,” and gets a somewhat amused look from Steven. “Can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose an item so valuable.”

If Steven notices the thick sarcasm in his voice, he doesn’t show it. “And I never got to have a bowl of stew stirred with a golden ladle. Shame.” As an afterthought, he adds, “I’ve eaten gold flakes off a tart once though.”

Billy frowns. “Did it taste any different?”

A breeze blows over Steven’s loose string of hair, before he answers, “Nah, not really.” He fiddles with the reins in his hands some. “Emptyin’ my bowels however--”

“Please shut up.”

Steven grins wide, snickers loudly, before they fall silent once again. They’re both tired, worn down to the bone. Steven no longer sits straight and proud over his steed like usual, but he hunches over him, running a soothing hand over the horse’s neck every now and again. The beast huffs louder now, flares its nostrils like a hunting hound.

"We should stay here the night." At this, Steven only hums, a throaty sound that makes Billy’s mouth water. Steven’s eyelids are heavy, his lips wet from licking, he thinks. The weather is cold, the air dry. His lips must be getting chapped. And perhaps Billy must be thinking about them for too long, because Steven turns to look at him like he’s gone mad. “You must be tired.”

Steven squints a bit, then goes, “What about you? Not gonna’ meditate again, are you? It’s so boring.”

“Ugh, stop complaining.” Billy has yet to understand why this bothers the other so much. “Yer not meant to watch. Nothing fascinating will happen if you stare long enough.”

Steven just shrugs, turns to face ahead, where the village has become clearer to the view. “Can’t sleep knowin’ you’re just sitting here. It’s awkward.”

“Uh-uh.”

The village isn’t boasting with people. The townsfolk must have gotten ready for bed. The cattle chew slowly on the grass, the poultry peck on the dirt. The candles glow from the other side of the windows, yet the village remains quiet. There’s an old man with a dog sitting on a porch, watching. But the old man does not squint, and the old dog does not bark. They seem friendly, but looks can be deceiving, he’s learned.

The mud here is wetter than usual. The wind whistles. The sky is gray as the starry night takes over. It should rain soon enough. The misty weather would do nothing to him. Steven though, he gets sick like any other person.

“We keep to ourselves,” Billy starts, beginning to grow wary now that he’s certain his luck must be turning foul. He should have been back with Steven weeks ago. “No blabbering or nothin’ with anyone. No playing cards with strangers–”

But not to anyone’s surprise, or to his own really, Steven isn’t listening. He isn’t even next to Billy. He stopped his horse to read the frayed notice board.

They shouldn’t be taking contracts anymore. Steve knows this. Billy’s been in a hurry since he first left Novigrad.

However, the closer he inches to Steven, the more cautious he grows. Because he’s staring at something, expression somber. He looks upset, almost. And when Billy takes a look himself –

It’s one of those missing posters he’d seen some time ago before he found Steven, where he’s younger and doesn’t look much like he does now. The sketch is rougher than the one Billy keeps, with thinner lines and little details. It’s still Steven though, even if the paper is weathered and yellow. His eyes look sadder in this one. Shinier even. It’s almost like the artist wanted people to feel pity.

Billy wouldn’t have thought those posters would make it this far into the area. He wonders if the villagers here even know who this boy is, or was.

“They looked for me,” Steven all but whispers. Billy guesses he must be referring to his parents. It’s a bit of an awkward predicament. He doesn’t like the solemn tone in Steven’s voice.

“Of course they did,” As far as comforting words go, he doesn’t seem to do so well. Steven’s face grows a bit more sour. “Yer their son after all. They sent me looking for you for a reason.”

“Would’da expected it from mother,” Steven comments, shoulders falling. “But father���”

Billy doesn’t have many great things to say about Steven’s father. Man’s a bit of a flaccid prick. But mothers always lose their wits when their children go missing. “You disappeared without a trace. ‘Twas to be expected.”

Steven doesn’t answer. He stares at the poster, like the sight of himself as a young lad strikes him wrong.

“Come,” Billy calls, kicking his own horse so that it moves a few steps ahead. “It’s getting dark.”

“Wait.”

Boy’s got eyes almost as good as his own. The notice board is littered with all kinds of papers and contracts, like the people couldn’t be damned to keep them in order anymore. There’s one nailed over another yellowy poster, too. Steven reaches out, rips it away, and pauses.

“Oh,” His big eyes grow wider. Billy feels his face and ears grow hot. “Oh! Uilleim – they got you all sorts of wrong. Take a look at this!”

Billy doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly what the fuck it is. He saw it from the peripheral of his eyes. He’s avoiding having to look at it, but Steven’s shoving it in his face as their horses bump together, suddenly lacking the concept of personal space.

Steven all but guffaws. It’s loud, so loud. That old man he spotted with the dog turns to look at them. “Steven –”

“By the Gods, man, what did they do to you?” It’s very fitting for him to point everyone to the wanted man. Because, it’s a Wanted poster, offering a considerable prize for Billy’s head. The scars look worse than how they actually are, deeper and rougher. His eyes? He looks like a fucking lizard in this. He doesn’t remember his eyebrows ever looking that neglected. And he knows he looks healthier than that. “Ya look like you missed a month’s worth of rations. A skinny fellow, like those bandits on the road! Remember that thin, shit-eating twat from Condyle?”

“Could you–” Billy has little luck swatting the poster away from Steven’s hands. When Billy stiffens and glares, Steven holds the poster up again to compare. He wheezes.

“They did you no justice. You’re far more handsome than this,” Flattering, except the jest doesn’t seem so funny when it means Steven’s father is quite literally out for his blood. Steven’s eyes water like he’s seeing something so hilarious his bladder may burst. “You look like a basilisk.”

“If you don’t hand over that poster right now I will rip yer guts out,” He has no such luck. Steven’s never been afraid of him. Any other day he would’ve found that endearing. Today though? “Steven.”

“Can I keep it?”

“What–” Billy scowls. “No.”

“If I leave it here the others might spot ya,” At this, Steven pauses. “I don’t think they’ll be able to tell it’s you actually. Not with their gawkers.”

Billy can’t tell if he feels embarrassed, angry, or humiliated. He’s tired however. He doesn’t want to spend all night trying to take that horrendous piece of work off Steven’s greedy hands. “If you show it to anyone–”

“What?” Steven gives him a daring look, as if this were even the time. “You’ll fight me?”

Billy glowers at him. “I’ll show them this.”

He feels and thinks he sounds ridiculous. ‘Cause he actually likes the sketch of Steven he kept. The one where he wears his noble clothes, where his hair is style, where his eyes are kind and almost soothing. But to Steven this is embarrassing, shameful, and he turns bright red at the sight of it. His little bully act? It falters. He looks horrified even. “Mother made me sit down for hours so the painter could finish that,” He’s sharing this memory like it’s the most awful experience he’s ever gone through. “My ass hurt after.”

“Yeah, well, it’s going to hurt more if you don’t shut it.” It’s not the choice of words he meant to choose. Steven stammers to say something; Billy tries not to think of the hotness in his own face. He needs to be able to meditate later. “Let’s go.”

Steven follows, though with little enthusiasm. “You’re a bore,” Billy rolls his eyes. “I don’t find your quick wit amusing anymore.”

“Hey,” Billy turns back to the inn. “Feelin’s mutual.”

[pippytmi]

16 + 4 + 2 (werewolf supercorp?)

It is not uncommon for Kara to wake up in a puddle of blood.

At this point she is immune to the shock that comes with it, really. She has adapted; knows all the best tricks to get stains out of her clothes, knows all the best laundromats that don’t ask any questions. Heck, she even has Alex’s ex-girlfriend on speed dial, just in case there is a freak chance the blood Kara wakes up in might be human (it has not happened yet, knock on wood).

But there are other parts that still take some getting used to. Like, for example, the loss of memory that comes with every night of the full moon. Because yeah, she understands why she wakes up in a pool of blood. What she doesn’t understand is why this time around she wakes up in a pool of her own blood, and in so much pain that it hurts to open her eyes.

“Ow,” Kara whispers to herself, twisting onto her side with a groan. Her clothes are gone—no surprise—but even as she is laying down on the cold, rocky forest floor, the only thing she can focus on is how much her head hurts. She’s dealt with branch scratches, sore legs and arms, the occasional plethora of bug bites, but never a headache. Her one comfort is that at least she has made it into the backyard of Sam’s cabin. It takes a considerable amount of strength to push herself up off the ground; walking is going to be much harder than anticipated.

If Alex saw her now, she'd—well first she would hit Kara over the head and yell at her about being dumb, but afterwards she would snicker. And probably hit her over the head again for good measure.

“Oh my God—!”

Okay, it’s official. Kara is now dead. Even if the stranger gawking at her is not the one who kills her, Alex definitely will.

And it’s that thought that makes Kara drop right back down on the floor, knocking the wind right out of her lungs, and she groans into the dirt pitifully.

“Oh, fuck,” the stranger whispers, almost as if to herself, scrambling to come to Kara’s side. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck!” Said stranger belatedly claps a hand over her mouth, green eyes widening in horror. “Holy shit, are you alive?”

Kara pitifully rests her cheek against the ground and tries not to look too offended. “Uh, kind of,” she replies. (So this must not be Sam’s cabin, then.) “Sorry. Am I in your yard? It is a very nice yard. Five stars.”

“No, it’s not my—I’m house-sitting,” the woman explains, though she is giving Kara a look that says really? That’s what you want to focus on right now?

“Well, it’s still a nice place,” Kara says, because she is polite and small talk is always a good thing to fall back on when you’re naked on a pile of dead leaves. “Wait, I don’t suppose you’re house-sitting for Sam, are you? Sam Arias, super tall, has a daughter who is freakishly good at checkers?”

Stranger-who-swears-like-a-sailor frowns. “How do you know Sam?” she asks suspiciously.

“She dated my sister. It was a whole—it’s a thing,” Kara says. “You know?”

“Wait. Are you Kara? Are you Alex’s sister?”

“Yes! So you do know!” Kara would grin if her face were capable of any emotion besides mind-shattering pain. “Then you must be Sam’s friend…uh, bear with me…Lena? Or Jess?”

“Lena,” says the woman, still notably wary, so Kara makes the decision to wiggle until she can prop herself up her elbows and look less, well, like a corpse.

“Hey, got it in one!” Kara says as cheerfully as she can muster. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. And can I just—uh, say—that you don’t have to worry. I won’t die here or anything. I know you would obviously be the number one suspect for murder and it wouldn’t be nice of me to put you through that.”

“…right. Never mind that you would be dead, or anything.” Lena begins to shakily unbutton her coat like a woman possessed, as if her doubt has morphed entirely into concern now that she has confirmation the freak naked in Sam’s backyard is not an entire stranger. “Here, this is long enough to cover you. Do you—do you need help getting up?”

“No, no, I’ve got it, thank you,” Kara insists, and gradually, she manages; she shifts sideways and then tentatively onto her butt, and accepts the coat when it’s all but thrown at her face. There is blood mixed in with the leaves and general guck beneath her, and she winces at the sight. “I’ll come back and clean this later,” she’s quick to add, and Lena frowns in response.

“Are you serious? Forget cleaning, you need—stitches, at the very least. I can take you to the hospital if—”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that!” Kara blurts out, and with the adrenaline from that burst of energy she’s able to scramble to her feet. She is shaky, unsteady, but she manages to stay upright at least and she’ll count that as a win. “Shoot. I’m sorry for yelling. I just—no hospitals. I can’t do hospitals.” She has never had to form an excuse for this, and her mouth can’t quite wrap around the right words.

But Lena—green eyes wide and unsure, skin pale in the early morning light—nods, like she understands. “Okay,” she says. “No hospitals.”

“Thanks,” Kara mumbles, wrapping the coat tightly around herself. There are startling black spots in her vision and her head still feels like it was used as a piñata; she wonders what the heck her next move should be now. If Sam needs someone to house-sit, she must be out of the city. And if Sam is out of the city, Kara can’t exactly waltz into Sam’s house to wash all the blood off her body (and then call up Alex from the couch while stealing whatever ice cream Ruby picked). Sam lets her do that, sure, but that’s Sam. It would be pretty rude to do that when Lena is right here.

“Do you…” And Lena pauses, nose scrunching up as if something has just occurred to her. “I can give you a ride somewhere else, if you’d like. Back to your house?”

“No, that’s okay,” Kara hurries to decline, because how can she really explain that she lives in an apartment, and that if little old Mrs. Jensen saw her coming up covered in blood she’d finally succumb to her third heart attack? “Can I just use Sam’s phone to call my sister? Then I’ll come right back out here, I promise.”

“Why would you come back out here again?” Underneath her coat, Lena is wearing plaid pajama pants that are rolled at the ankle (Sam’s, most likely), and a tank top that is extremely fitted. Very, very well fitted. Like, you-can-tell-it’s-frigidly-cold-outside-kind-of-fitted.

Kara coughs and tries not to let on how her train of thought has twisted. “Because…I’m a stranger?” she tries. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Remember, if you die I’m going to be the first one they question,” Lena says, tilting her head expectantly in the direction of Sam’s cabin. “Come inside, warm up. Call your sister.” All things considered, she is far more concerned than Kara expected her to be—as if, somehow, ridding herself of the weirdo walking around bloody and probably concussed isn’t the very first thing on Lena’s mind.

So Kara doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth; she accepts the offer. It’s a small comfort that if she really does get murdered by a total stranger, it won’t be while cold and naked.

Lena goes right into Sam’s room the instant they go inside, already gathering a million outfits for Kara to pick through. “The shower is fickle, but it does have hot water,” she says, adding a towel to the pile in Kara’s arms when she re-emerges. “You just have to—”

“Hit the wall twice, and give it a few seconds,” Kara finishes. “Yeah, Sam reminds me every time.”

“So you…visit Sam often, do you?”

“Uh.” And suddenly, despite the long, cold night she’s had, the air indoors feels a bit warmer than is comfortable. “Only sometimes.” Once a month, Kara thinks, and Lena crosses her arms and just stares.

Really stares, dragging those sharp green eyes up and down Kara’s whole body. Squints at the scratches on her face, scrunches her nose at the way Kara awkwardly shifts from side to side. Finally Lena speaks, and it’s only to say, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“...come again?”

“It’s you. Sam told me she’s been helping out a friend with a—furry predicament—”

If it were possible to choke on air, Kara would be dead right now. “Did she really call it furry? But she’s also—!” She has to pause, now, because she feels an urge to clarify, “Wait. Are we talking about the same thing right now?”

Lena narrows her eyes slightly. “You mean talking about how you’re a werewolf?”

“Oh!” Head lighter, Kara sucks in a laugh that makes her ribs feel like they are splintering open. “Then yes. That’s good, I didn’t want you to think I was a—anyway. I didn’t think Sam told anyone.”

“Sam and I have been friends for a long time,” Lena says slowly. A beat. “She actually ate my hamster once.”

Kara winces. “Recently?”

“No! Back in the fifth grade,” Lena frowns, like she might’ve added dumbass at the end of the sentence. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t own hamsters.”

“What? Come on, having pets isn’t just a kid thing,” Kara says. “I used to have a cat, but he…”

“Oh my God, you ate him?”

Kara’s jaw drops. “What—no! He turned out to already have an owner, so she took him back. He just liked to wander into my apartment.” She hugs the clothing pile tighter to her chest, and tries her hardest to scowl. “I’m responsible, okay? Most of the time. I’m not dangerous.”

“Except to deer, or rabbits, or whatever else you killed last night?” Lena quirks an eyebrow, but surprisingly not in a manner that’s judge-y. Just…curious.

“Right,” Kara says defeatedly, and her head throbs enough that her grip on Sam’s clothes begins to falter. “Sorry. I wasn't trying to be defensive or anything.”

“That's alright.” And stranger still, Lena reaches out to gently touch the side of Kara’s head. “So does the same thing happen to you?”

“Huh?” The proximity has scrambled Kara’s brain momentarily, and she finds herself unthinkingly holding her breath.

“Do you also black out,” Lena clarifies. “Like Sam does, every time she shifts.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s—a universal wolf thing,” Kara says.

Lena hums, and her hand retracts. “And are you a serial killer in wolf form?”

“Uh, I hope not? I’m pretty sure all this is…” Kara gestures over her body with one hand, still hugging the pile of clothes with the other. “Not human.”

“Okay.” Lena casually walks away, but pauses to throw over her shoulder, “I’ll help you clean up your head once you’re out of the shower. I’ve helped Sam a hundred times.”

“Are you—do you have some kind of healing magic, or—”

“Close. I’m an ER nurse,” Lena says amusedly, and when she smiles a dimple emerges on one cheek. “All the witches I know have fled the city, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“You joke, but Alex dated this witch once, and she hexed my sister to spill her first sip of coffee every time she went to take a drink for three weeks straight after they broke up,” Kara says, and Lena again scrunches her nose in that quizzical way.

“Seriously? Witches are real too?”

“Duh,” Kara says lightly. “What, you thought it stopped at werewolves? Please. I’m pretty sure the neighbor two doors down is a gorgon.”

“Well, it would explain her fondness of statues,” Lena says, strangely nonplussed. “I’ve never asked, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. How do you take your coffee?” As she asks, Lena deposits a few fingers of whiskey into a mug, and at Kara’s questioning look says, “Sorry, we’re all out of painkillers. This is as good as you’re going to get.”

“Maybe I’ll do better if it’s straight,” Kara says, unable to hide her grimace, while Lena shrugs a shoulder as if to say it’s your funeral.

So after Kara showers, she sits on the couch and sips gross whiskey out of a chipped mug that reads World’s Best Mom in bright pink letters. Lena has turned on the TV to the local news station—clearly she has stayed with Sam before—and a man on screen is recounting a tale of how he hit a giant wolf strolling too close to his farm with a baseball bat.

“If I had my shotgun I would’ve killed the fucker,” he swears, red in the face, and above her Lena gives a little scoff.

“What a dick,” Lena says, her hand steadily stitching up the wound on Kara’s scalp, and her voice has a hint of an accent; it’s really cute, actually, and Kara doesn’t even mind that the next poke of the needle is sharper than the others.

It is the strangest morning Kara has ever had. Drinking whiskey before eight in the morning, with a kind stranger who she’s barely met but is suturing her skin together, who smells faintly of lavender soap and strong black coffee.

“—National City is not safe when wolves are wandering close to homes—”

The scent of rich hot chocolate bubbling on the stove is beginning to fill the room, the ancient pipes are rumbling throughout the walls, and Lena’s fingers are soft against her head. Kara closes her eyes and decides that she will wait a little longer before she calls Alex to pick her up.

[toasterwords]

Irena was chosen by lot to be the lindwurm's wife, after it devoured the third and last of the princesses. Prince Viktoras came himself to inform her.

Convenient, she thought, that the lottery had drawn Irena, from the lower city, poor and almost kinless. An only child, her mother dead, her father old and feeble.

And the bride-price that the crown prince brought with him was enough to support her father in comfort for the rest of his days. Irena could take it and be free of this house, of the burden of his care, of watching him slip away as he forgot her face more and more often. Or she could be carried away by the guards the prince had brought, and leave nothing behind to help him.

She had no power here, and she was wise enough to know it.

Her father, sitting at the kitchen table, stared mutely as the prince set the money on the table in front of him. Irena had to pick the box of coin up herself.

"I need time to make arrangements for my father," she said to the prince.

"Of course," he said. "You have half an hour to prepare yourself before we depart for the palace. Be sure you do not go more than a house or two away."

"I won't make trouble for you," Irena said. "It would only upset him more."

She looked Prince Viktoras in the eye until he looked away, and it satisfied her, just a little, to know that he was ashamed. Then she took the fine enameled box that held her bride-price, her blood-price, and walked next door with it. Widow Simoniene made the evil eye in the guards' direction, but took the money and the key to the little house and agreed to look after Irena's father.

Irena went back home with a heavy step to say goodbye.

"She thinks she'll move in, and rent out the big house," Irena told her father. "She doesn't need all that space, now that her sons have moved away. You won't be alone without me."

Her father wasn't speaking today, and Irena wasn't sure how much he understood. But he held Irena's hand tightly, looking over Irena's shoulder at the guards in the doorway. Irena clutched it back for a moment, then pried her father's fingers off and turned away.

She didn't look back as she left him. Her father had taught her pride, and she hoped that he still recognized it.

***

The walls of the castle loomed around her like the bars of a cage. She was received in state, like she was yet another princess. The king and queen and courtiers seemed embarrassed by her dress, work-worn, and her braid, falling down her back for lack of pins. But if they had wanted her to be more presentable, she thought, they should have given her more than half an hour to put her affairs in order.

After a hasty formal greeting, she was ushered away from the royal family and put into the hands of a half-dozen maidservants. They spread out the three dresses and two petticoats that she'd brought from home, and began discussing how to refine them by the morrow. Irena was deposited into a steaming bath, with one junior maidservant to help her.

A knock came on the door while Irena was still bathing. The maidservant rose to answer it, and returned with a bundle of fabric in her arms.

"The Lady Astrauskaite has sent you some of her dresses," she said. "And says that you may have them altered if they suit you, or do what you like with them if they don't."

Irena knew the name. Duke Astrauskis' daughter. Betrothed to the prince who had come to collect Irena. The betrothal that had sparked all of the princess-eating in the first place.

Was it sympathy, that had prompted the gift, or pity, or condescension? No doubt she had been at the blighted reception. But without knowing who in the crowd the lady had been, Irena did not know if the fuss had led her to flinch or to sneer.

She did not know, either, if Lady Astrauskaite had wanted to be betrothed to Prince Viktoras. If it pained her to see other women eaten because the king wanted his heir wedded to her, and the lindwurm demanded to be given its bride first.

"Is there a way for me to speak to the lady?" she asked the maidservant. "To thank her?"

The maidservant hesitated. "A note would be most appropriate."

"I cannot write," Irena said. "Is there no way to speak to her in person?"

She wanted to know if this was meant as a kindness. It might be easier to have someone write a note for her, and go to her death pretending that it was. But she would wonder, and it would niggle at her, and she did not want to go to her wedding and her funeral wearing a dress given to her out of condescension. She might be poor, and she might be trapped, but she had too much pride for that.

"Not that is proper, just to give thanks. But-" The maidservant's eyes were sad. "You are not scheduled to dine with the royal family tonight, and Lady Astrauskaite is not either. There would be nothing wrong with one woman extending an invitation to another, especially if they were soon to be sisters-in-law."

"Then I would like to do so," Irena said.

***

Lady Astrauskaite was taller than Irena, and much plumper, which meant that the borrowed dress Irena chose to dine in had to be discreetly brought in with pins. The lady's hair was bleached yellow, and her complexion hidden with white powder. She looked as uncomfortable as Irena felt.

"Thank you for joining me, my lady," Irena said, with a very cautious curtsey. The pins in the dress pricked her if she did not move rigidly and with care.

"Please, don't," Lady Astrauskaite said, which made the face of the steward following behind her pinch unpleasantly. "We are future sisters. After tomorrow. And after my wedding, of course. So you can call me Rugile, as a sister would."

"Yes, my lady," Irena said, unable not to look at the steward's sour face. "Thank you. You may call me Irena."

The table was small, for intimate conversation, which only made the dinner more awkward. The food was splendid, soft white bread and creamy cheese and rich meat-packed soup. It sank to the bottom of Irena's stomach like stones.

Within two courses, Irena felt sure the dresses had been a kindness, because everything that Lady Astrauskaite said was kind, and without sneer. She asked after Irena's health, and after that of her family, and she seemed genuinely distressed to hear about Irena's father. She diverted them after that to light anecdotes, tales of tutors and horses and amusing court mishaps, and winced anew with guilt whenever Irena lacked the grounding to laugh at a tale.

After two whole courses, Irena cleared her throat. "My lady, what can you tell me of the lindwurm?"

Lady Astrauskaite went still, then set her spoon down, looking Irena in the eye. "What do you already know?"

"That the queen was barren for ten years, and she went to a witch to open her womb. And that because the conceiving was unnatural, so was the birth, and while one child came out healthy and whole, the other came out as a lindwurm. And that it is confined to the palace, and horrible to look upon. That's all that we in the lower city know."

"It's not so terrible, once you get to know it."

"Except for the eating its brides."

"Yes." Lady Astrauskaite picked up her napkin, and began to twist it in her fingers. "It wasn't the witch's fault, you know. She told the queen to eat one of two flowers, and only one. Red for a boy, or white for a girl. And she ate the white first, but then she thought of her husband, and how he needed a son, and ate the red as well."

"And the queen told you this, my lady?"

"Yes. In confidence. The king would be furious if he knew."

There was a silent question in her gaze, asking if Irena would keep that confidence, and Irena nodded back. She knew of angry husbands and angry fathers, though her father had blessedly never been one. You never told them what you knew.

"She went back to the witch, she told me. After the lindwurm was born, and again, in desperation, after the second princess was wed and eaten."

"And what did the witch tell her?"

"The first time, that the lindwurm could only be made human if someone was found to trade their one skin for the ten it wore. And that of course was impossible, because who wished to be a lindwurm? The second time, she gave up another way, but it would require great courage from the bride."

She looked Irena in the eye. Another silent question, and again, Irena nodded.

"Tell it to me."

"As the queen told me that the witch told her, when you retire for the wedding night, you must have ready a tub of lye, and a tub of milk, and a stack of ten birch rods. And you must be dressed in ten layers of dresses. Then, when the time comes to undress, you must take off one layer at a time, and tell the lindwurm to shed a skin in exchange for each one. By the time you are both finished, the innermost part of the lindwurm will be exposed. Then dip the birch rods in lye, to beat it into the right shape, and bath it in milk, to give it a new skin. And last and most importantly, you must lie and embrace it the whole night through, as a woman embraces a lover."

"But there was the third princess before me," Irena said. "Did she not try this?"

"No," Lady Astrauskaite said, her gaze downcast. "I told her what the queen told me, and I had the tubs and the birch rods ready. But she had told me twice that she was not sure that she could embrace the lindwurm, that the last piece seemed the hardest. And at the wedding she tried to flee. The lindwurm gave chase, and she- she was caught and devoured."

Where had she thought to run, in this crumbling old castle? Maybe it had seemed less of a cage to a princess. But she'd been caught in it nonetheless.

"I will not run," Irena said. Clearly she could not. "And if the other choice is to be eaten, of course I will try the witch's spell."

Lady Astrauskaite smiled, worn and relieved. "The dresses I sent to your rooms should be enough to bring you to ten layers. I will bid the servants have the tubs ready in the marriage chamber, and the birch rods with them. They gave me no argument before, and will not now, though they might have looked askance at you."

Of course they would obey her. They hovered nearby even now; surely they'd heard everything. And surely they would snatch just as eagerly at a chance to be rid of the lindwurm.

***

Despite the hope that Lady Astrauskaite had offered, Irena could not sleep the whole night through. It was difficult to think about herself being eaten. But it was easy to think about her father waking without her, confused and distressed by her absence. Any explanation the Widow Simoniene made would confuse him more, or upset him if he could understand it.

Irena dressed herself in her ten layers, her own well-fitting dresses on the bottom, Lady Astraukaite's larger, more splendid dresses on the top. By the time she had put the tenth and last one on, the ones below padded it thoroughly, so that she seemed to fill it out the same way that a rich woman would.

The wedding was a thoroughly dismal affair. First there was a feast, tediously long, interrupted by faltering speeches between every course. Every speaker proposed a toast to the happy couple, and Irena, who had never had more than a single glass of watered wine in a night, had to struggle to keep her head from spinning.

She wasn't even seated close to her intended spouse, for the lindwurm had a table of its own, away from the grand one where Irena sat amid the royal cousins. Food enough for ten men went down the great creature's gullet. It was scaled like a snake in mold-colored grey, with stiff ridges along its spine. There were legs near the front end, powerful and clawed, and above that the head of a dragon.

Though the servants kept its table laden with steaming roasts and sweetmeats, it kept its eye on her, staring with unabashed hunger. Only when Irena met its gaze directly did it look away. No one else at the table seemed to acknowledge its presence. Nor hers, for that matter. Only Lady Astrauskaite tried to speak to her, and quickly was diverted.

If the feast was dismal, the wedding ceremony was more so. Prince Viktoras escorted Irena to the dais from one side of the hall, and the queen, pale-faced and stiff-backed, walked with the lindwurm from the other. The priest's hands trembled as he turned the pages of the holy book.

"Irena Kazlauskaite, do you take this-" He had to pause there, take a deep breath, and then continue. "-This lindwurm, to be your wedded spouse, your protector, to love and to obey?"

"I do," she said, and was proud that her voice sounded clearer and stronger than his.

"Lindwurm, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife, your helpmeet, to love and to protect?"

"I do," said the lindwurm. Its voice grated like stones rubbing across each other, and it still stared at Irena with nakedly hungry eyes.

She stared back, watching the restless twitching of its mighty coils, which could each trap a man within them, and the flex of its forelimbs, which had dragged its length effortlessly down the narrow aisle. It could tear the castle walls to pieces if it wanted to.

And why hadn't it? Trapped within these hallways, confined in rooms that must be entirely too small for it? For a creature so strong, the castle was no cage at all. Irena would have torn her way free and fled to the countryside long ago. She looked at the hunger in its eyes and felt an echo of it in her own heart, imagining how easily it, unlike her, could break loose from its prison.

Yet it stayed, pretending to princedom, dragging her into its farce of a royal wedding. She wished she could know why.

The priest finished giving his blessing. The young prince and the queen retreated, along with the trembling priest, from the dais. A forced, ragged cheer rang out from the assembled witnesses. She tore her eyes away from the lindworm's body, and saw it tear its eyes away from hers.

There was no glad chivaree for the newly-wedded couple, only a solemn procession to the top of an elegantly-appointed tower. It was well-furnished, Irena saw as they wound their way upwards, but the furnishings were all damaged, fabrics torn by claw and tooth, wood cracked and splintered by the lindwurm's terrible tail. The enormous bed was new-made, with fresh sheets, but she could see where it, too, had scuffs and scars on the bedposts.

By the fire, two tubs sat waiting. One was filled with yellowish lye, the other with fresh white milk. Ten birch rods lay in a neat stack between them. Irena glanced back at her grim escort, and caught sight of Lady Astrauskaite, who nodded to her from the rear.

Then they all left, and the door slammed shut, and Irena was alone with her new spouse.

"My wife," the lindwurm said, in its stone-on-stone voice, coiling up very near to her.

"My name is Irena," she said, looking up to meet the lindwurm's eyes. "As we are married, you may call me by it. And what am I to call you by?"

The lindwurm reeled back from her. "I have been given no name. I should have the mirror to my twin's, but they will not grant it to me, for the priests say a monster cannot be baptized."

Irena was trying too hard not to show her trembling to spare time for pity. But at that phrasing, she looked at the lindwurm anew.

"The white flower was to be for a girl," she said, remembering the tale Lady Astrauskaite had shared with her. "And the queen ate that one before the other. Your name should be Viktorija."

"Yes," the lindwurm said, drawing closer. "You know the tale. The misborn child of greed and folly, trapped in a shape that no soul desires."

Irena looked up to meet those hungry eyes, now closer to starving. "If you feel so trapped inside that skin, why do you not exercise what freedom you do have? If you do not want to seem so monstrous, you should not eat the women you marry."

The lindwurm turned her head away. "It is this form. In it, there are urges that I cannot resist. When I desire something badly enough, I am driven to devour it. I desired flowers, as a child, and I devoured the garden my mother planted for me. I desired books, when I learned they held knowledge, and I devoured the library when Viktoras took me to it. And I desire humanity, and the love that humans feel for each other, and so-"

"And so," Irena echoed. "I will tell you now, I may know a way to free you from that skin. But you must do as I ask, and it may hurt, very badly."

The way Lady Astrauskaite had spoken of it, Irena had thought that the key would be trickery. But she had not thought then of speaking civilly with the lindwurm. It was one thing to lie to a monstrous creature, one who would be a man and a prince at the end of it. It was a very different thing to deceive another woman.

"You do?" The lindwurm turned towards her with amazing speed, eyes wide, claws gripping the floor so hard they left grooves in the wood. "No matter how it may hurt, I will do everything that you ask."

"Then first, you must shed a skin."

The lindwurm sagged a gainst the floor, the joy going out of her. "It is not time for me to shed, and I cannot force it to begin. Even my own claws cannot tear this terrible hide."

Irena thought back to Lady Astrauskaite's phrasing. She would have to act as closely to the witch's words as possible, if she was not going to fall into the same trap as the queen.

"I will show you," she said, turning her back to the lindwurm and reaching for the buttons of the topmost dress. "I will remove this dress, and you will remove a skin in exchange for it."

The air prickled around her like there were invisible eyes in every corner. As she stepped out of the dress and turned back around, she saw the lindwurm shaking herself out of her skin. Only the uppermost of its layers, for it must have grown many to be so impenetrable; but the skin beneath it was less scuffed, and the ridges softer-looking.

"This changes nothing," the lindwurm said, and then she fixed her hungry eyes on Irena again. "But you wear another dress beneath it."

"And I will take that one off, too."

She watched, this time, as the lindwurm reached behind her head and fumbled with the ridge down the back of her neck, the same way Irena's fingers fumbled on her buttons. The skin fell away in one layer, head and forelegs and tail peeling off together. Irena could feel the magic, watching and listening all around.

And so it went, dress and skin, over and over another eight times, until at last Irena was standing naked in the center of the room. The lindwurm's skins, softer and more tender with each layer, were piled behind her. And she stood in front of that pile, a raw, skinless thing, pitiful and helpless. She was only vaguely human in shape, yet, with her face as long as a horse's and her lower limbs bound together by ropes of muscle and sinew.

She trembled and whimpered with pain at the wood of the floor and the heat of the fire, agony against bare and oozing flesh. But her eyes were still hungry, fixed fast to Irena. Hungry and full of hope.

Irena swallowed her disgust and picked up the birch rods, to dip in the lye. It seemed cruel, when just the air and the floor pained the lindwurm so terribly, but there was no other choice, unless-

Unless one was found to trade their one skin for the ten it carried.

She had not dwelled upon the witch's first answer, any more than the Lady Astrauskaite had, or the queen. For those who had power in their own right, only one of the ways the witch had offered seemed worth the dwelling. The way that let the lindwurm's shape, even now, be chosen and defined by another.

She could feel the magic even more strongly now. It prickled against her skin, nearly burning between her shoulderblades. If was as if there were buttons there, too, waiting to be opened.

Irena's own obligations were discharged. Her father was in safe hands, his dotage well-funded. All that held her in place now was the threat of force, the cage of the castle looming over her.

Behind the lindwurm, her skins lay on the floor in a thick and fetid pile. If Irena could step out of her own skin, and don those, no bond or obligation would ever tie her down again. For what walls, what force of arms, could hold the lindwurm?

Her heart full of hunger, Irena dropped the rods pressed her fingers against the back of her neck, to the place where the magic burned. But no seam or button came clear. The magic seemed to lean in closer, listening intently. It had waited, she remembered, for them to voice the exchange, each of the ten times before.

"Viktorija," she said, "will you make a trade with me? My one skin, for the ten of yours?"

"Yes," Viktorija answered, and her voice was small, and cracking, but full of joy. "I will make that trade with you."

Irena reached to the back of her neck again. Her skin came apart cleanly at her touch, without pain. She stepped out of it, as she had stepped out of the dresses, and cried out immediately at the feel of splintered wood on her skinless feet, and the draft from the fire against her skinless flesh. Viktorija was much stronger than she was, to endure them with only whimpers.

Walking towards her, Irena held her skin out, open all down the back. Viktorija reached out and took it, and it wrapped itself around her, splitting her lower limbs into two legs, remolding her face and her arms, imposing a woman's shape upon her formless flesh.

She stood, still trembling, and lifted up the first of her own scaled skins for Irena to step into. Irena felt her legs fuse together as they entered the tail, her flesh painlessly elongating to fill the space as the much-larger skin closed over her. Then the next skin, and the next, each layer of scales less tender, until the last one went on, and she was so encased in the lindwurm's armor that nothing in the king's whole armory could have broken through.

The skin closed, but the magic was still there, hanging in the air like a persistent damp. Irena felt her forelegs shaking, and her head was heavy; she looked at Viktorija, who was shaking too.

Stretching out her heavy coils, she fought exhaustion to wrap them around Viktorija. Then she crawled up onto the bed, pulling Viktorija up with her. Curled around her, on the soft, claw-shredded mattress, Irena fell swiftly and soundly asleep, embracing Viktorija like a lover.

***

They were roused in the morning by the creak of the door. The king and queen entered, fearful, and Prince Viktoras and Lady Astrauskaite walked in after, both downcast with concern. But they all looked in amazement at the bed, and who was in it.

Irena looked down at herself and Viktorija. Her own scales gleamed black, sleek and shining, instead of the mold-colored mottling that Viktorija had sported. And while Irena's own hair had been straight and dusty-colored, her skin weathered and her face thin, Viktorija was plump and noble-pale between Irena's coils, with a snub nose and a round face and chestnut hair falling in long curls.

"But," Lady Astrauskaite said, her eyes filling with tears. "The birch rods, and the lye, and the milk-"

"The witch's words were true. Here is your sister, my lady, Your Highness, and here is your daughter, your majesties. Last night she traded me her ten skins for my one, and we are both more comfortable in our new attire."

The king's hands worked at his sides, tightening into fists, then loosening when he looked again at Irena's coiling black bulk. "I would rather a daughter and her wife than a daughter and another lindwurm. I had been told you meant to save my child, but you have only traded for her troubles."

Viktorija was stirring now in Irena's coils, her eyes blinking open. She smiled at her family, and three of the four smiled back. Even the king's hard face softened.

"My father-to-be, be glad," Lady Astrauskaite said, sweet and coaxing. "You have a daughter, to please your wife with, and your son has a sister for the two of you to spoil. Irena has done this for us, as a loyal servant of the crown."

"Yes," the king said, drawing back his ire. He raised his gaze to meet Irena's eyes. "What do you want from me for this service?"

Irena unwound herself, gently, from Viktorija, then slithered off the bed. She dug her claws into the much-abused wood of the floor and gloried at her strength when it splintered and broke.

Her bride-price would keep her father fed for life, and she trusted the Widow Simoniene. There was not a feather's worth of weight upon her. "I want nothing but my freedom, Sire. And for you to treat your daughter well."

"I will make sure she is cared for," said Lady Astrauskaite, looking at Irena fondly, without fear. "For she will be my sister, just as I will still consider you."

Irena looked at her closely, trying to tell if there was any longing in her eyes. But there was only only relief and gladness in her, no appetite for claws and scales. And her hand was so firmly wrapped around the prince's that he was very clearly where her paltry human hunger lay.

"Yes," Irena said, to her and her alone. "Care well for her. She would have endured terrible pain to take this shape, and it would be wrong to let her suffer more now that she has it. As for myself, I will go into the countryside, and I will be free."

The king and queen stepped one way, the prince and his lady another, and Irena surged past them and through the open door. Winding her way down the staircase, she felt her tail bash against the walls, and delighted in the way they cracked with each blow. Half-walking, half-crawling, she emerged into the ruined garden at the foot of the tower and made for a gate in the wall.

It wasn't big enough for her full bulk, but that didn't matter. She pushed her head through, and thrust with her shoulders, and the masonry broke around her without even a strain of effort. Heart pounding more and more joyously, Irena slithered out through the hole she'd made.

The sky was blue above her, bright with morning sunlight, filled with the scents of earth and beasts and flowers. Irena paused for a moment to take it in, raising her head and twisting up and up on her own coils until she could see the rippling fields stretching away from the walls. As she lowered herself again, she saw a flock of birds in flight, winging their way over those fields towards a forest beyond.

Irena started after them. She would see what freedom tasted like, and savor it.

[dameronology]

wait on {din djarin x reader}

summary: boba fett is a good therapist, and din djarin is spectacular at being nosey. the result? a much needed conversation. perhaps there’s a silver lining. {kinda based on this song}

warnings: angst, language, swearing, s2 spoilers

this one hurts a lil bit but i promise the ending is happy. enjoy!!

-jazz

The air between you was thick, not unlike the beskar that the Mandalorian was wearing. 

It was funny, really, because you’d never minded the armour all that much before. Your ability to see straight through it and see Din Djarin for what he really was had been what made him fall in love with you, and you with him. Now, it felt like a barrier between you. Inches of thick metal and fabric, shielding him from the world around him. From you. The one person he usually held closest to his heart; the one person he’d let see his face for the first time in years. The man was hardly a conversationalist at the best of times but he’d opened up to you. Shared his world with you and intertwined it with yours. Built something with you that you'd both protect with your lives. 

Now, he was straying away. Forever attached by an invisible string, but with galaxies and galaxies between you. Even though he was mere inches from you, sat two seats over, there was a chilly air; if your relationship was a warm, welcoming house, the atmosphere he’d plunged you both into was the cold winter’s night on the other side of the glass. You wanted to go back, to drag him inside and slam and bolt the door behind you. Instead, you were forced to watch through the windows, knowing what was there but never quite truly getting close enough to let it envelope you. 

You couldn’t hold it against him. The last few weeks had been rough on you both, and it only come to a head today. Grogu had been taken by the Imps and the Crest had been blown up before your very eyes. It was one of those times that truly and wholly showed the difference between you and Din: you sought him out and he pulled away. You’d learnt a long time ago not to follow him. You wanted to. Fuck, you wanted to, but you’d learnt the hard way that it was a bad idea. 

Despite the icy silence and ache for your kidnapped toad son, you were still grateful for the fact Boba Fett had offered his ship as transport and shelter. You weren’t entirely sure what his deal was, but Din seemed to trust him, and so by extension, you did too. Things were a little cramped in the hull of the ship, but there was a spare sleeping quarters for you and the Mandalorian to squish into, assuming he’d let you. You didn’t want to ask him, because you were scared of the answer. 

Instead, you found yourself sat out on the dusty plains of...wherever the hell you were. Boba had parked the ship up overnight so that you could rest; it seemed to be some kind of desert planet. Not too different to Nevarro or Tatooine, but perhaps a little colder. The sky had long faded to black, casting a darkness over the sandy plains ahead of you. The chilly air was a welcome contrast against the stuffiness of the bedroom - it wasn’t even hot in there, just filled with some kind of inexplicable tension. And not the sexy kind; the regular, all-consuming type. You could feel it slowly etching into your frontal lobe, sinking in its claws and giving you a stress head-ache. Letting out a few deep breaths, you let the gusts of cold wind blow over your bare arms. 

‘A little cold out here, isn’t it?’

The voice was gravelly and unfamiliar, but one that you knew belonged to Boba Fett. 

‘Yeah, maybe.’ You didn’t turn around to look, instead letting your eyes stay focused on the distance. There was nothing ahead. Just darkness and sand. ‘Fresh air is nice, though.’

‘Or maybe the air inside is bad.’ He countered. Boba took a seat on the rock beside you, jokingly whacking his knee against yours. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Just...what happened today, I suppose.’ You replied. ‘We lost the kid, and our ship.’

‘You’re handling it better than your Mandalorian.’ He replied. 

‘I don’t think he’s my Mandalorian.’ You snorted. ‘He’s just...he doesn’t normally deal with so much at once. I think he just needs time to process it all, you know?’

‘Perhaps.’ Boba said. ‘And do you always make excuses for him?’

‘I beg your sweet pardon?’ You turned to look at him. 

‘Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I’ve always been an observant man.’ He began. ‘I saw how you immediately went to him, to check on him, and how you fought beside him,  yet he’s barely even looked at you.’

‘Ouch.’ You muttered. ‘You might be observant you but certainly do not tread lightly.’

‘My apologies.’ He curtly nodded. 

‘It’s not always been like this.’ Your words felt forced. You were making excuses. ‘And it won’t always be.’

‘You know him better than anyone, or so I assume.’ Boba reminded you. ‘But don’t be afraid to remind him what he has, despite what he’s lost.’

He was right. Din could be distant, and he could be fucking ignorant without even trying, but you hadn’t strayed from his side once. Not for a second. It could be frustrating to deal, with but you loved him with your whole being, in a soul-consuming sorta way, and you knew he was capable of coming around. Your mother had always preached songs of love being patient and kind but as you saw it, it was frustrating, and at times the most inconvenient thing in the world. You must have had the patience of a saint to deal with him. He was just lucky he made it worth it (and that underneath all the armour, he wasn’t too bad to look at. It certainly helped his case). 

You let out a sad laugh. ‘I couldn’t. Di - Mando already struggles to express his feelings and I’d only make it worst if I said he wasn’t doing it well enough.’

‘You know your worth.’ Boba said. ‘Only you can decide if he appreciates it enough.’

‘He does.’ You quickly replied. ‘I know he does.’ 

He gave you a doubtful look, one that said I think you’re bullshitting, but I won’t disagree. He was simply sharing his observations, even if they were a little much. But the man hadn’t had any proper social interaction for a long time, so you could hardly blame him - and he had a sort of wise air to him, like he’d been round the block a couple times. He certainly seemed like the sort of person you should listen to.

‘I’ll leave you with this: the life of a Mandalorian is complicated.’ He dusted off his knees, before standing up. ‘You should make sure it’s worth it before you fully commit.’

‘I-’ you tried to speak, but you were cut off by the sound of a twig snapping under someone’s boot. Why the fuck were there twigs in the desert? More to the point, why was that your immediate thought? 

You both sharply turned around, coming face-to-face with a Mandalorian. Not a Mandalorian, but the Mandalorian. The one you’d just been talking about. The one whose heart would have been broken into a million tiny pieces if he’d even a word of what you just said. And, from the way his helmet tilted ever so slightly to the left, you figured he’d heard more than enough. Fuck. 

'Don’t let me stop you.’ His modulated voice wavered ever so slightly. ‘I’ll see you inside.’

He turned on his heel, heavy steps taking him back towards the Slave I. To anyone else, his body language hadn’t changed, but you could read him like a book. A complicated book, and one that was missing more than half its pages and was in a dozen different fucking languages, but one you’d read a thousand times. Understanding Din Djarin was hard, and you’d only just begun -  barely touched the surface in fact - but it was more than anyone else could say. 

‘Wait!’ You leapt up, almost comically falling over as you rushed after him. 

Sensing that his presence was probably not welcome, Boba returned to his seat on the rock, silently hoping that Fennec Shand was either a) asleep, or b) had enough common sense to stay the fuck out of the way of whatever was about to go down. 

‘I swear to maker if you shut that door -’ you were cut off by...the door shutting in your face. Djarin: 1. You: 0.

You let out a small groan, slamming your fist against it. 

‘Okay, maybe I deserved that.’ You quietly muttered. ‘But will you please listen to me?’

Silence. 

‘Fine.’ You splayed your fingers out against the metal. ‘Ice me out, Din Djarin. I’m more than used to it by now.’

There was a gruff hmm from the other side of the door. Had he really just taken offence to that?

‘It’s funny, really.’ You continued. ‘Because the part of that conversation you didn’t hear was me defending you. Like I always fucking do, because I know that despite everything, you’re a human being and you love me.’

There was a small thud, as though Din had placed his hand in a similar position to yours.

‘But Boba has a point.’ Your voice fell to a whisper. ‘I keep giving and I get nothing back. Instead of letting me in, you just shut me out and I know you’re upset at what he said but for the love of everything holy in this shitty world, do not prove him right.’

It was a risky ultimatum, and not one you’d seen coming. Your chest had tightened as soon as the words left your mouth, because you knew that if Din stayed silent, that was it. You’d have to let him go; to accept that you would never get back what you putting in. Before, you were able to convince yourself that you were okay with that but maybe, just maybe you weren’t. Waiting around for something that had no guarantee of happening was like beating a dead horse that had no guarantee of coming back to life. The only thing that was promised was emotional exhaustion and then eventual death. You would have liked to have found something between those two waypoints - whether Din Djarin could be the one to give it to you? You didn’t know. 

After a moment of silence, the door finally opened, and you came face to face with him. Like actually face to face with him; no helmet, no armour. Just a loose tunic and tired brown eyes, matched with lazily-shaven facial hair and knitted brows. That was Din. Your Din. 

‘Can I just...can I just talk for a moment?’ He asked. ‘I have something to say and I want to get it right.’

‘Of course.’ You nodded. 

‘I’m not hurt by what you said.’ He stated. ‘I know I don’t show you enough love and it hurts that I don’t know how, but I am trying. I promise you that much.’

You gave him a tearful smile. ‘Yeah, I know.’

‘I just wish that you could say it to me and not to him.’ He murmured. ‘I don’t want you to hold back on anything, ever. You can always come to me. Even if it’s about me.’

‘I get that.’ Your eyes fell to the floor. ‘It’s just that I know you’re trying your best and I’m scared you’ll think that your best isn’t enough.’ 

‘It’s not.’ Din’s words took you by surprise. ‘It’s not enough, but one day, I hope it will be.’

‘I don’t know what to say, because if I deny it-’

‘- you don’t have to say anything.’ He cut you off. ‘I want to give you the world. And I will, if you’ll be patient with me.’

You took every word as gospel as he said it. The Mandalorian was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. And to his credit, every promise he’d made to you before, he’d delivered on. You didn’t doubt for a second that this one would be the same. It wasn’t even naivety or wishful thinking. 

‘I mean, I’ve come this far.’ You tried to crack a joke. You finally looked up from the floor, his brown eyes meeting yours. 

‘I love you.’ He took your hands in his, words firm. ‘That’s all I can give you right now. I’m sorry.’

‘Din.’ The words barely come out as a whisper. ‘Never apologise. Please never apologise. I just...it’s nice to hear it, you know? A little more often than every time you almost die.’

‘Are the words enough on their own?’

‘Yes.’ You squeezed his hands. ‘Because I know you mean them.’

Din wrapped his arms you, pulling you tightly against his chest. It was warm and soft, miles away from the cold armour that so often greeted you. He held you tightly and with a new kind of might you were previously yet to experience, clinging onto you as though it were the last time. It wasn’t - it was far from the last time. Rather, it was the first time. The first time that he’d spoken of a future with you, or fully promised himself to you. You knew you would get there one day. You’d just needed him to say it himself before you could believe it. 

Din Djarin was giving you tiny little pieces on himself each day, and one day, you would have all of him. 

tags: @meshlababy @bo-kryze @poestardust @aqueencomplexx @princessxkenobi @cosmic-rich @captn-andor @buttercup--bee​ @maharani-radha​ @kat-r-in​

[black-coffee-and-sugar]

Magical thinking indeed:

- im just over here feeling warm cuz lena really referred to kara's apartment as 'home'. lena truly looked like one partner stuck entertaining the friends alone because the other partner is running late and didn't give an excuse for why

- also kara flying in through the window sans the suit cuz everyone knows now. im living for this

- nia just jumping over the backrest of the couch. it's about time these people actually started acting like friends and i would like to point out that we didn't get to this until lena was back and finally a full member of the super friends. i know im beating a dead horse but we could've had this seasons ago

- i actually forgot about the voldemort/harry thing going on with nxyly and kara but that's honestly on me for always watching these episodes after 2 glasses of wine

- brainy wasn't in this episode because??? like what does he have going on outside of the tower? are him and nia even dating? did we really give his screentime to william and fucking mitch? this is the 3rd game night scene he hasn't been in and im not a fan

- andrea is so mean but like...it's william

- also this embedding william with the super friends thing is utter BULLSHIT. have you ever watched a show that literally has to force a character into scenes? nothing about william's involvement is ever organic and the problem is persisting all because of a contrived connection the writers want to forge between him, kara and the super friends

- alex n j'onn, the gatekeepers of kara's secret, the former blacksite clandestine agents actually agreed to this and WHY

- alex not protecting her identity WHY

- lena's identity and magic needs to be a secret and yet there lena is, eye fucking with kara in the middle of tower in front of william, god and my fucking salad

- honestly if william doesn't figure out who they all are, since they're doing a shit job hiding it, he's just plain stupid

- i get the impression that kara is still too terrified of lena getting directly involved. she doesn't want her on nxyly's radar at all

- esme!

- rainbow bracelet. kelly as guardian still wearing that shit like a proud mom hanging their kids art on the fridge. im soft

- the foster parents were suspect from minute one but the way that woman just pushed that small child outside to defend them. like...what kind of psycho does that? and more importantly why were they NOT ARRESTED?!?!

- 'lena broke my brain'. you know that line was 100% nicole and i thank her for her service. that was hilarious

- nxyly is the first supergirl villain ive enjoyed since S2 lillian

- lena is not amused by william. same girl same

- but credit where credit is due, his baking story for once actually had some relevance and gave lena her epiphany about her mom's spell

- kara offering to go get the flower or whatever for lena because it's dangerous and lena's little and she doesn't want her to get hurt. protective kara we love to see it

- william: you protect lena, supergirl

my dude, unneeded instruction.

- kara being all cocky is peak content. lena's little smile at kara's casual display of strength. SAME LENA SAME

- for a minute i thought kara totally killed that guy with the flicked bullet

- nia's spidey senses tingling at the lover's quarrel kara and lena are about to have.

- im surprised they didn't bring up the brain washing because that was definitely the moment where lena believed it was for the greater good and she was being manipulative and ruthless with her vampire shirt

- can we say GROWTH tho. i love that kara and lena can disagree without all this bullshit drama like before. secrets are OUT honesty is IN. they're communicating and expressing their fears and leaning on each other. this. this is what i want

- also have to point out that lena is kara's humanity. WE BEEN KNEW but that shit is canon now. so is kara being hopeful and happy around lena. and kara no longer feeling alone because lena is back. i can't believe im winning

- so so so last week lena says 'i believe in you' and now kara says it. before it was 'good luck' 'you too'. the way the writers avoid the explicit use of 'i love you' just makes it louder

- currently thinking about the 'i believe in a thing called love' episode and im already losing my mind

- lena and nia god i love them together. their scenes totally feel like genuine katie and nicole vibes.

- yo the stunt work was actually decent? dreamer's black widow style flip. the dansen banter while kicking ass. is...is this still supergirl? im not used to being fed like this

- dansen telepathy. they just agreed 'yep esme is the one'

- did veeta not say that there's a 'prescribed order to the totems'? so why are they now picking whichever totem they feel like?

- ngl the super friends have been the cause of literally all the city's major issues this entire season

- lena does the spell she didn't want to do because??? like that's not even me being a little shit i think i might have missed that cuz i don't understand the chain of events that led to her changing her mind when she was so adamantly against it

- these incompetent heroes continue their idoicy by letting william write this article WHY. they are not running on taxpayer dollars. they don't owe the public shit. they're actually breaking many laws as vigilantes and 'borrowing' satellites and god knows what else

- andrea has no journalistic integrity. or common decency. she's still hot tho

- william growing a pair. good for him but did he and apparently Andrea forget about the 'no competing' clause in the contracts?

- ending with supercorp domestic fluff 2 episodes in a row. bruh don't touch me

- lena: I'm not using my fingers

kara: I'm going to

this is the new 'i don't think about you while im doing it'

it's all so deliberate. they're SO LOUD

[hockeywhhores]

arrangements- q. hughes

Quinn Hughes x f!Reader

warnings~ smut, alcohol, male receiving, vaginal sex twice, swearing 

summary~ You and Quinn had an arrangement, put in one night everything fell apart. 

genre~ smut, friends with benefits to lovers

word count~ 2.7k 

masterlist

This is NSFW please do not read if it makes you uncomfortable. 

Jake Virtian was your best friend growing up, and that is how you ended up best friends with the whole Canucks roster, especially Quinn Hughes. Quinn and you just clicked. Within days of meeting you, he was smitten. You grabbed his attention, and would not let it go.

One night you both got way to drunk, and things ended up with you two together in Quinn’s bedroom. After that incident, you both agreed to be friends with benefits. You enjoyed the sex, and he enjoyed having you around. Even if this wasn’t how he had planned to get you, it would have to work for now. Quinn had even invited you to come back to Orlando with him, during the offseason. You had said no, not wanting to intrude on his family time, but he insisted. You both left it maybe. The offseason is coming in two weeks, so he gave you time to think about it.

Wanting to forget about college, and getting a job, you asked the guys if they wanted to go out. Quinn always said yes, and then most of the other guys agreed to a night out. You picked the bar, and everyone agreed to meet there. Before you had finished getting ready, Quinn had called you.

“Hey!” you said as you put your phone on speaker, so you could finish with your hair.

“Hey y/n! I was wondering if you wanted me to pick you up tonight?” Quinn asked, sounding unsure of himself.

“Sure! that would be great! You don’t even know how many Ubers i’ve called this week!” You exaggerated.

“Perfect pick you up in twenty minutes.” He ended the call quickly after you both said your ‘goodbyes’ and you went back to curling your hair. finishing with minutes to spare you did a little bit of pregaming with some random alcohol you found in your apartment. When you heard a knock on your door, you were surprised to say the least. Quinn usually just texted you when he was here. You shrugged it off, and answered the door. There was Quinn a little early, and standing in your doorway. He was holding a bottle of vodka, and when he saw you he held it up higher for you to see.

“I brought you something to pregame with,” He explained, “I was going to pregame with you, but I realized that I stupidly told you I would drive.” He finished with a little smile, and you couldn’t help a laugh a little at how forgetful he was.

“Oh, I already drink some tequila, but I will be perfectly happy taking that beautiful bottle of vodka off your hands.” You were playing with him, but weren’t surprised when he handed you the bottle. You set it on the kitchen table, and left for his car.

The car ride was perfectly fine, with you and Quinn never missing a beat while you talked. You told him all about how you were needing to start internering, but your school work load was so big, that you didn’t know when you were going to be able to level time in between them. He told you about how he was stressed out with hockey, and just wanted to go home for the offseason, and take a small break from hockey. Quinn’s left hand never left your upper thigh, and your hand never left from its place; resting on top of his. Nothing ever felt awkward between the two of you. You swear if anyone asked you, you would say you had gotten closer to Quinn than you were with Jake, and that was really saying something.

When you pulled up to the club, you jumped out of the car. You couldn’t wait to see all the guys before they left for their last away game stretch. They were going to be all the way in Montreal playing the Candians. You were sad to see them go, but you knew that that was their jobs. Shaking everything off, you entered the club with Quinn by your side. Everyone that was already there greeted you right as you set through the doors. You waved to everyone, but went to the bar before you went to sit down with them. You didn’t know that Quinn had followed you, until after you finished ordering your drink and was planning on opening a tab, but then you felt his arm lightly touch the back of your upper arm and saw him slide his card to the bartender.

“You can put all her drinks on my tab.” Quinn told the guy. the guy nodded and started to get to work with making your drink.

“Quinn! You didn't have to do that!” You protested. Quinn just looked at you as if he was bored, and not wanting to engage in this debate. Quinn bought you a lot of things, he always put up the argument, that he was a hockey player, and he wanted to help you while you go through college. You just wanted to prove that you could pay for yourself, but telling him this was like beating a dead horse. The bartender gave you your drink, and Quinn a beer, you knew he was just going to nurse it all night. you and Quinn walked over to the table of hockey players and their wifes/girlfriends. You were happy just sitting at the table in between Quinn and Brock, but when one of your favorite dance songs came on; you just had to get on the dance floor.

“Oh my god, I love this song! Someone come dance with!” You exclaimed as you jumped out of your seat. You looked back and noticed no one had followed you.

“Ok losers…” you frowned at them, “Quinn please come dance with me!” you gave him your best puppy dog eyes, and lightly tugged on his arm. He huffed but came with you to the dance floor.

“Thank you!” You smiled brightly at him as you started swaying your hips to the beat. Quinn awkwardly dances with you. He did not know where to put his hands, or even how to move his body. You giggled at him, and grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips. Then you gently hand him rock side to side with you. He was still stiff and looked like he was doing something wrong.

You smiled in reassurance, “You are doing great, Romeo” you whispered into his ear.

“I’m sorry, but you know I hate dancing.” Quinn huffed back into your ear. “But did I tell you how good you look tonight.” You did look good in your short black dress, and perfectly styled makeup and hair.

“Oh stop.” You were blushing, “But to answer your question, no you did not.” the blush was still there but you tried to hide it with a confident-ish smirk.

“My bad then. What kind of gentleman am I? Can’t even remember to tell the prettiest girl I have ever seen, how beautiful she looks.” He was messing with you, but that didn’t stop your blush from growing.

“Want to go back to your car?” you asked after a couple songs have ended. You were surprised when Quinn didn’t leave after the song you originally wanted to dance to was over.

“You have your things?” He quested you, looking deep into your eyes.

“Yes, why?” you looked back into his eyes. He knew you saw the hungriness he had for you in his eyes, and he even saw the same in your eyes.

“Because when I’m finished with you, you are not going to be able to come back in here.” he spelt out for you.

“Oh, well do you think if anyone would notice if we just left?” now it's your turn to question him.

“Not if we're careful.” Quinn quiered. Looking back at the table you noticed some have already left, and the ones that were still there were all wrapped up in their own conversations.

“I think we are in the clear.” you testified. Quinn took your hand and you both rushed out of the club and to his black car. He quickly got into the driver's seat, while you got into the passenger’s seat. Without telling you where he was driving to, he started the car and left the parking lot. You ended up in a dark street that was far enough away from everything. Quickly both of you unbuckled your seat belts, and you were strpped your dress off, and took off your shoes. Quinn climbed into the backseat, and you went after him.

“Everything off, baby girl.” he reminded you.

“I just thought you would like to do the honors.” you joked, and before you knew it your bra was in his lap.

“consider me honored,” Quinn joked back. You quickly got to work unbuttoning his pants, and pulled them down to his knees. Before going any further with undressing him you gave his growing erection a soft, little kiss. Quinn let out a strong huff of air.

“Don’t play with me.” he warned. You responded by pulling down his boxers, and grabbing his now fully-erect penis with your small hands. Pumping it up and down, while you sucked on the tip. He was a sighing mess, you knew you weren’t giving him fully what he wanted. Quinn applied some pressure down on the top of your head, in a warning type of way. You pushed him into your mouth as far as you could take him, pumping everything you couldn’t fit. As you looked up into his eyes, you saw that he was already looking at you with hooded eyes. With one hand you messaged his balls, while your other hand was pumping the bit you couldn’t fit into your mouth. He had made a makeshift ponytail with his hand, trying to see as much of you as he could. You continued like this for a couple of minutes, until you felt sticky ropes of cum cover your mouth. You set back up, and whipped your lips, while staring at him in the eyes.

Quinn kissed you deeply, and pasionalty. You knew he could taste himself on your mouth, but he didn’t care. He accidentally ripped your underwear, while trying to get it off of you as fast as he could. No one cared. Both of you know if you asked from him to buy you new ones, you would get several new pairs in return. The car was getting steamy, but you didn;t care. Climbing on top of Quinn, you sat down on top of his already reerected dick. He slid in easily, with how wet you were. His shirt buttons there undid proved the perfect amount of room for you hand to feel his chest up, and down. Quinn helped guide your hips, helping set a pace you were both happy with. Everything was overriding your brain, and you only seemed to know his name; chanting it as if it was a prayer. All that you could hear was his panting, your moans, and skin slapping skin. When you felt his pace slow, and his thrust get sloppy, you knew he was close. you were too. You matched your hips to his, and came with him. You didn’t get off of him, until you stopped feeling aftershocks from your orgasm. Quinn happily let you stay connected with him. Both of your faces were plastered with dumb- looking smiles.

Needing his help you got off of him, and used your ripped pantys to clean yourself up a bit. Sitting back next to him in his backseat, made you feel happy. You don’t know if it was the orgasm or you genuinely liked him, but you felt like you were on cloud nine. Quinn buttoned up his pants, and helped you get your dress on, before he helped you get back into the front seat, so he could take you home.

When you were safely in you apartment you asked him something you never had before, “Do you want to stay?” your eyes looked tired, but your body felt too wired to sleep.

“Sure, If you want me too.” Quinn tried to seem as nonchalant as he could. He did not need you knowing about how he has always wanted you to ask him this.

“There is a pair of your sweat pants in the top drawer. I am going to clean myself up.” you said as you walked to your bathroom. Quinn made his way to your bedroom, and looked into your draw. There was a pair of his gray sweatpants that he had lent to you, after your pants had ripped. He knew he had been in your bedroom before, but  whenever he had there were more pressing matters to deal with. So while you were in the bathroom he took the time to look around your room. Your bed was in the far corner, and there were pictures of you and the team. One picture was of you and Quinn when he had scored, in overtime,  after a tough game. The other pictures were of you and Jake, or your family.

When you came back from the bathroom you found Quinn already changed into his sweatpants, and was laying in your bed. He playfully whistled when you started changing, and you just sent him a playful glare. He held up the blanket as you climbed into your bed, and you noticed he decided to go without a shirt.

“Wow aren’t I one lucky girl.” you teased him as you ran your hand up and down his bare chest.

“You know I like to think of myself as one lucky guy. I mean I have the cutest girl feeling me up right now!” Quinn laughed into your ear and then kissed your cheek. You don’t why but all of this just felt right. Having him here in your bed, felt like it was always supposed to happen. You talked  about everything under the sun as you cuddled. his hand was rubbing, soft, light-feathered circles on your back. You felt so loved. No one has ever made you feel the way Quinn does.

“Quinn?” you whispered into the darkness.

“Yes darling?” he answered back.

“I love you.” you professed. You felt his breathing and hand falter. At that moment you were sure that you stopped breathing as well. The world even felt as if it had stopped spinning.

“I love you too.” Quinn whispered as if you would break if he talked louder than that.  

“I have since I met you.”  He confessed as he looked down at you. You could barely see him in the dark, but you shot yourself up to give him a kiss. The kiss was passionate, not the passionate like when you were just fucking around, but passionate in the way that told you how much he loved you.

You reached down and pulled his sweatpants down, he wasn’t wearing any boxers. Quinn pushed your shorts, along with your panties, to the ground. You managed to get everything off your legs. Before pushing you down onto the bed, you discarded your shirt. When you both were completely nude Quinn took charge. With him holding your arms on top of your head, he ground his hips into yours. Then when he felt you were wet enough he slipped his hard, throbbing dick into you. Quinn took his time, pushing in and out of you. You were a moaning mess. Nothing was fast about this. It was all slow and loving. Hidden emotions were coming out. Hidden emotions of love and pining. Quinn and you come together.

After Quinn got out of bed he came back with a damp rag, and gently cleaned you up. Crawling back into bed with you he never let go of your hands. You both slept with a new sense of purpose. And when you woke up the next morning you told him how much you would love to go back to Orlando and stay with him and his family. You fell in love with Quinn Hughes and wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon.

finished.

[rachetmath]

Favorite (Characters)

Ruby: *barges in* RatchetMath!

Me: What is it Ruby?

Ruby: You’re showing favoritism.

Me: Okay. And?

Ruby: You need to stop. Why not draw us for once?

Me: Hm, maybe because I like Jaune more. Hell I like Penny and Neo more than you or your team.

Ruby: Why?!

Me: Because your team is horrible.

Ruby: So is team JNPR!

Me: Yeah, but only because they have to follow you. They have some individuality but we don’t explore that as much. Plus, your team would be dead without them. But you know what Ruby, I would rather draw Yang, Blake or any other character except Weiss than you right now.

Ruby: What?! But I’m-

Me: The main character that barely does main character things. Woman, Salem was in Atlas! Why was she not your top priority? Why was James your problem?

Ruby: Um well…

Me: Ruby, she knows your mother! She might know what happened to her! I get Yang was some levels your mom but shouldn’t learning what happened to your actual mom be just as important? Especially after that dark memory.

Ruby: That is true.

Me: You have silver eyes but you still don’t know how to use them. There was army of grimm around Mantle and that would have been good practice. And a better solution than Ren.

Ruby: But then I be overpowered.

Me: No. Ruby your silver eyes only work on one person. If someone sneaks up on you or doesn’t care about that light you give off then, you’re dead. Maria is proof on that.

Ruby: Um..

Me: Plus, the question that everyone in the audience could have an answer to is whether your silver eyes can even work on Salem. In all honesty, it proves the writer don’t keep track of the characters and their personalities to where they fit together in story. You know what I have been making skits, trying to be funny but… the jokes died. Look guys I-I’m sorry but… let me explain.

1. Ruby and Blake should have stayed in Mantle. Why?

1. Salem is the main villian. She knows Ruby’s mother. You know the same mother who left for a mission and didn’t come back. The same mother, who Ruby knows nothing about while everyone seems to have different perspectives of her. Or has a better clue on who she is, than Ruby herself. Plus wasn’t Salem after her too? She basically would be killing two birds with one stone by kidnapping Oscar and giving Ruby a reason to see her. That way Ruby isn’t assuming what happened to her mother. Let Salem antagonize Ruby. (Question: Can silver eyes work on Salem?)

2. Perfect training for silver eyes. Let’s face it, Ren proved to us he can mask a bunch of people without Jaune’s help. All he needed was concentration. However, Ruby is more effective because silver eyes seem to be able to destroy multiple grimm on sight. And with lives on the line that gives Ruby plenty of reason to start using them.

3. Ren calling Ruby out on her issues. Look I loved how Ren was willing to tell the truth, but him revealing Jaune cheated Beacon was… weak. Reason being it relates to Jaune’s character and Ren still follows Jaune’s orders. However, Ruby, who is supposed to be a prodigy because she came to Beacon two years ahead of her class, has not proven once that she is worthy of such praise. The only reason-The ONLY reason Ruby was enrolled into Beacon was her silver eyes. Ruby even in volume one has been nothing but liability. Initiations, she almost dies from a Stinger. Stake out, she almost got run over by a truck and it ended in failure. First mission, she gets kidnapped and almost destroyed a city block. Roman, a man with no semblance or aura continues to beat her four times in a row. And it gets worse. Ruby almost got her uncle killed. She was the first to get knocked out by Emerald. Almost dies by a robot and Godzilla. And the moment she arrived in Atlas her first move was to lie to James. She didn’t even try to stop Tyrian when she saw him. She had her gun with her too. Ren is not her sister, he might as well tell her the facts so she can do better.

4.  Blake is Faunus. Mantle hates faunuses. Why not have Blake help them to prove faunuses are people too? Let Blake represent her people. I mean Velvet and Sun represent faunses more than she does her whole existence. Blake also can relate to Ren’s problem. How? Blake was a part of the White Fang, so there were expectations she had to fulfill. Especially when trying to measure up to Adam. However, she explains the longer she was in the White Fang, the more she found out how messed up and extremely bias it was. Including with Adam to the point she decided to leave. She even states she was lucky that Yang even forgave her after all the trouble she caused her. Blake challenged her bias nature, and it made her stronger for it. Blake would be basically telling Ren the more he tries to live up to someone else’s expectations, without seeing their flaws, the more he loses touch with himself and everyone around him.

5.  Oscar shouldn’t have been able break out of Salem on his own: I’m sorry but… Oscar got beat up. Took a magic beam to the chest. Had to switch between him and Ozpin and mind you he had no aura to help him. He should be tired and unable to move. (In my opinion, this kid was given too much screen time. At first I was worried about him but now I’m wondering why was I worrying at all.)

2. Jaune and Yang should have gone to Atlas.

1. Penny is basically Pyrrha in the opposite light. Penny’s special because she’s a robot with a soul, a mind of her own and an attitude to prove it. She is just as human as everyone else, but no one seems to treat her as such. James only sees her as something of a weapon. Pietro treats her like child even though she’s more mature than the rest of the female cast, except Maria. And now with maiden powers, everyone is out casting Penny even more. Jaune is perfect for her because he has experience with this kind of issue. However, he would’ve had to take different route to the situation considering his failure with Pyrrha last time they had discussion on maiden powers or responsibilities (Destiny.).

2. Jaune already has been a part of maiden business since volume three. His reason to be with Penny would be make sure she doesn’t meet the same fate as Pyrrha or Amber. Not just for himself but for others around him. Especially since Cinder was in Atlas and is willing to hunt her down for the maiden powers. And James was willing to turn Penny into a soulless machine to follow his every command. (Actually, Watts is more a fault considering he hates Pietro.). James and Cinder are also opposite to Jaune in some ways.  James earned his position and earned respect from his military. Jaune on the other hand cheated, and unlike James might not have everybody’s respect. Cinder treats her allies like tools. And with power she just consumes and gives nothing return. Jaune however treats his allies like family. And instead of just taking power he gives power to others around him. He’s the reason Cinder has maiden powers. So, him making it his personal mission to make sure Cinder doesn’t get more power only increases his resolve to protect Penny. (Especially since he already had to kill her in the canon finale.)  In other words, James and Cinder purposed a challenge to Jaune. Can he pervert history from repeating itself? Can he really protect the maiden powers? Is he truly worthy of being a huntsman? What is he willing to risk in achieving his goal? (Also let’s be clear. Hazel beat Oscar down for the password to the relic. James shot the kid and was willing to let him fall to his death. Qrow intentionally punched the kid.  I don’t care if it was for Ozpin, he still punched Oscar. Lion before even knowing Oscar was Ozpin reincarnation was already about kill him anyways. All Jaune did was push him to a wall. Yes, Jaune still would have hurt Oscar, but he didn’t. He walked away.)  

3.  A lot of the situations could’ve been avoided or mattered if Jaune was there. Don’t believe me? Well let me explain. Was Ruby the only option when sneaking pass Central Command? No, because they had Weiss, Nora and Penny. Weiss could have done a freezer burn like in her fight with Marrow. Or Nora could have thrown her grenades and Penny just shoots them before the hit the ground or damage anything. Both causing a smoke screen, so no one sees them. Plus, they were already caught by using Pietro credentials. Did Nora need to get knocked out for the team to escape? No. If she had Jaune with her they could’ve one caused an EMP wave being Jaune has gravity and Nora has lightning. Or two, if Nora still went through with it, Jaune would have healed her immediately. Penny lifting and keeping the arena in place. If Jaune and Weiss were with her then once Amity was in position, Weiss with Jaune’s assistances can keep it place so Penny can come back inside and the whole video could be played. Also, Pietro would know what was going on with his daughter and can properly explain how to fix her. (Better than Jaune healing her.)

4. Nora’s whole character is knowing who she is without Ren right? Then why not just have her lead the evacuation once she’s done with Atlas? Why not have her and Yang work together along with the happy huntress to evacuate Mantle? Especially if their friends disappeared to save Oscar. (And before ya’ll tell me they can’t do it….. Yang, blocked a punch from a mech, held off a Manticore, and has a semblance that literally lets her take damage and dish it back five times harder. Nora who literally crushed Weiss and Yang in a food fight. Knocked a giant horse down on its knee. And knocked Hazel away.  Are you seriously saying these girls are not enough to take on a few little tigers? Come on!) If the whole point of Nora’s character development was finding out more about herself then let Nora try something without Ren. Let her call the shots. Let her take charge. Give her a character. (Hell don’t stop there. Have her interact with other characters. Like Jaune. Yang. Weiss. Or anyone other character than Ren. Let them tell her what they think about her. Let Nora be a solution to a character’s struggle. Ya’ll make it sound like Nora has no friends.)

5. All Yang needed was a break from Ruby and Blake. In all honesty Yang should have been the one to see the hounds face and kill it. Why? Well Ruby is Yang’s sister and only reminder of her nonblood related mother. And Blake is her girlfriend. And if we saw the hound’s face, we know it’s not just a silver eyed person. It’s also a faunus. This will give her a reason to protect both her loved ones because by seeing the hound she knows Salem intention with Ruby and want to keep her, and Blake from meeting the same fate of being turned into monsters. Yang should’ve been the 2nd to 4th member of team RWBY to fall. Why? One, a Yang vs Neo fight. Two, Cinder and Neo both wanted Ruby dead. So why not get rid of Ruby first? The fights would have been more thrilling and seeing the character, the show is named after, presumed to be dead would have added stakes and tension to the fight. (Also let me say this. Why is it, that the only great display of the maiden powers I’ve ever seen, was from Amber and not the maidens, as of now, Winter, Raven, and Cinder? The maiden powers are basically magic right? Why isn’t Cinder using any other element than fire?)

6. Weiss was completely useless. Look, as the saying goes, “You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family.” And when it came to Weiss and family, she has little to no clue of what it is nor deserves it. Weiss should have been more of an inspiration for Whitley to do right. How? By simply talking to him. What reason would she have other than Mantle? Simple, he’s her brother and she started off like him. Beacon, she was a brat. She was arrogant. And more importantly a jerk. Blake ran because of her racist attitude. Ruby literally had to impress her to prove she can be leader. Even though Weiss is not leadership martial herself.  Plus, hearing May and how she and her family never resolved their issues should inspire Weiss to not repeat that mistake. And guess what, her mom, Willow, the drinker of the family, wasn’t wrong. Both her and Winter left Whitley alone. Klein wasn’t there for him either. All Whitley had was his father. So Weiss, actually acting like his sister and trying to help him allows him to feel less alone. Instead Weiss was complete Jacque through out the entire volume.  

And that’s all.  Look I know I should have seen this coming but I had to say it.  Volume 8 could’ve been good. The problem was.

1.       Characters are not placed well within the story.

2.       We lost track of who said characters are.

3.       The ships are in the way.

4.       Being dumb for the plot. (Sometimes it’s necessary.)

[mrs-gucci]

Lucky Lady {Sir Clyde Logan x nobility!Reader}

author’s notes: KNIGHT!CLYDE LOGAN HAS ARRIVED!! and damn, I think he’s here to stay <3 <3 ((yes, I’m fully aware that southern drawl likely didn’t exist in medieval times, but it’s just a signature of Clyde’s character and I couldn’t bring myself to take it away lol))

warnings: fluff. some hurt/comfort themes/elements. blossoming romance. r.i.p. historical accuracy.

(possible) tw’s: brief depictions of battle & dead bodies (non-descriptive). injuries/wounds. blood (non-graphic).

word count: 1.9k

clyde’s taglist peeps!  @goddessofsprings​ @icarusinthesea my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp​ @babbushka​ ​@mrs-zimmerman​ @dirtytissuebox​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)

terms to know:

mare is a female horse.

Far off thunder gently rumbles the rain-softened ground and bolts of white streak across the darkened sky as you ride out of the kingdom gates towards the sight of the once raging battle. The vicious storm has passed, now, and despite your father’s warning, you rode out to search for any survivors. Bodies litter the ground and you have to look away, feeling sick to your stomach. 

Your horse begins to snort and whinny in distress, suddenly panicked. You can barely see through the hood of your cloak, but you’re pretty sure you see one of the soldiers moving.

You nudge your horses side and she lunges forward into a slow trot, carefully navigating through the maze of fallen soldiers. The closer you get, the clearer you can hear his groans of pain. 

“P-Please,” He breathes, voice hoarse. “Help m-me.”

Without hesitation, you jump down and rush over to him, trying not to slip in the thick layer of mud. 

“Sir? Where are you wounded?”

You pull out the few bandages you managed to fit in the saddlebag in preparation for his response. 

“Ma arm.”

Your eyes fall onto the limb, and you see that almost his entire lower forearm has been sliced off by a crude blade, leaving in its wake an open wound. You quickly and very, very gently wrap the bandages around it.

His half mud-covered face scrunches with every little bit that you wrap and small grunts of torment leave him, but he remains relatively still and calm. When you finish up, you can see the tears that have fallen and cut through the brown painted over his skin.

“Can you stand? I cannot lift you myself, but if you can mount my horse, I’ll walk you back to the castle.” You say, using your cloak to wipe away the rest of the mud, revealing the other half of the knight’s breathtakingly handsome face. 

He nods. “I t-think I can stand, but I might need a lil h-help at the beginnin’.”

You place your hand on the center of his back as he slowly sits up with a soft grunt. “There we go. Are you feeling alright still?”

The young knight chuckles, and you furrow your eyebrows. When he sees your confused and hurt expression, he shakes his head.

“‘m not laughin’ at ya, milady, I’m just not used t’ this sorta treatment. Them nurses n’ ma fellow brothers-in-arms, they ain’t usually so kind or nice t’ us. I’m used t’ gettin’ picked on n’ bossed ‘round.” He chuckles quietly, then blushes a bit. “And none of ‘em ain’t ever as beautiful as ya are.”

His nickname makes your heart skip a beat, and your cheeks warm as you laugh softly.

“Well, now, I never said I wouldn’t be bossing you around.” You jest, which makes him smile. “Only when you’re being stubborn.”

“That, I think I can handle jus’ fine.”

The handsome man chuckles before he begins to rise up from the ground, legs quaking as his weight is put on them once more. He eventually steadies enough to take his first step to where your horse is standing.

Your mare’s ears perk and her nostrils flare at the physically imposing figure approaching. You go to try and calm her, but the knight promptly stops you.

“I got ‘er. It ain’t you she’s ‘fraid of, an’ if ‘m gonna be gettin’ on ‘er back, she’s gotta know I ain’t a threat.”

He slowly walks up to her, taking one step at a time, holding his good hand out. 

“That’s it, ’m not gon’ hurt ya. Good girl, ‘m not gonna do ya any harm.”

She looks a bit hesitant still, but allows the tall, limping man to come up to her. He lets her inspect him for a moment and briefly sniff his outstretched hand, then she relaxes a bit. 

You’re amazed at his natural ability to work with horses, smiling as you step up and put the excess bandages back into the saddlebag. He rubs her head and strokes her muzzle, laughing softly when she starts nudging him with her head whenever he stops petting her.

“Woah now, don’t get too rough with him, Lucky.” You say, smiling shaking your head. “He’s still on the mend.”

“Lucky, hm? Well, I guess now that I know ‘er name, it’s only fittin’ I know yours.”

Your cheeks warm again. “Y/N.”

“Mm, Y/N.” His hand extends to yours. “A pretty name fit fer a pretty girl such as yerself. ‘m Clyde.”

The two of you shake hands, then Clyde gives Lucky one final scratch before approaching the saddle, climbing up onto her back with a surprisingly swift ease. You go to walk up and hold her head to walk back to the castle, but he stops you.

“An’ where is it ya think yer goin’?”

You look up at him, confused. “I told you I was gonna take you back to the castle.”

“Yer not walkin’ all that way, I ain’t allowin’ it.” He pouts softly, huffing as he thinks up a plan. “C’mon up ‘ere. Ya can lay right ‘ere in front ‘a me an’ hold on.”

Your eyes widen for a moment. Surely he can’t be serious... “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

His good hand drops the reins and extends down to you. He looks at you with a kind expression.

“I’ll make sure ya don’t fall. Do ye trust me?”

For some unknown reason, you really, really did. You nod, allowing him to help you lay across the front of the saddle, legs hanging off one side of the horse. You look up at the handsome knight and he looks down at you, smiling.

“Hold on tight, milady. We can’t have ya fallin’, now can we?”

You bite your lip, nodding as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. Once you’re secure, Clyde nudges Lucky forward and heads off towards the palace at a slow gallop.

This close proximity and angle allows you to truly drink in his natural beauty under the low glow of fading sunlight. His dark hair flutters in the evening’s breeze, brilliant alabaster skin splattered with all sorts of freckles and moles, each one even more perfectly placed than the last.

Lucky’s hooves soon hit the cobblestone and you look out between her pricked ears to the scarcely-populated streets of the villages. Everyone who happened to be out on the street gave bewildered looks as the bloody and muddy scene trotted by them.

You direct Clyde to the castle entrance and jump down, already missing the heat of his body pressing against you, informing one of the guards that you had an injured knight that needed immediate attention. He nods and rushes off to grab the doctor.

Clyde smiles when you walk back up to him, hopping down from the saddle slowly and carefully. He strokes Lucky’s neck as he speaks.

“So, will I be seein’ ya again sometime, m’lady?

Your cheeks burn and you giggle softly, biting your lip. “Only if you’d like to.”

“I’d love nothin’ more than to see ye again.” He says with a smile.

“How about I have the doctor inform me when you’re all stitched up and I’ll come down, if you’re feeling up for a visit?”

He nods, pausing his strokes along Lucky’s neck to scratch the back of his own. “I’ll always be feelin’ up for a visit from a pretty lil lady like ya, Y/N.”

You feel your heart flutter for what must be the thousandth time since you met the handsome young knight. Somehow, his words seem so much more genuine than anyone’s have before, and you find yourself truly believing them.

His head dips down a bit and you look up at him, instinctively leaning up towards his lowering face. You can feel his hot breath spread over your skin, noses touching now, and your eyes begin to flutter shut as his lips reach just over yours--

“Milady!” The guard says from behind you, jolting you and Clyde apart. He turns a soft red color, looking down at the ground while you spin around and try to keep some wits about you as you approach the guard and doctor.

A brief visual inspection of the wounded knight is done and immediately, the doctor insists that Clyde come to the medical ward right away. He hands Lucky’s reins to you with a small nod, then allows himself to be escorted up through the large castle doors.

You take Lucky back down to the royal stables before rushing up to your bedroom, eagerly awaiting the doctor’s arrival. The night draws on and, before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

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

Birds chirp as the sun begins to rise over the land once more. You’re roused from night’s slumber by the light peeking through the luxurious curtains and you instantly arise from bed, acutely panicked by the fact that the doctor never came to retrieve you last night. 

You quickly re-pull your hair up before scrambling to find something suitable to wear down to the medical ward, settling on a simple blue villagers dress. As soon as you open the door, you’re startled to find the doctor standing just outside, his hand raised in preparation to knock.

“Milady.” He greets you. “Sir Clyde has been unwavering from his desire to see you all throughout the night. I assured him that I’d come to get you first thing.”

Thanking the doctor and pushing past him without another word, you quickly rush to where Clyde’s laid on a cot in one of the closed-off areas. You smile at the sight of him before knocking gently on the wall outside his room.

“I believe my presence was requested.”

Clyde’s entire being lightens when his eyes land on you, content pout pulling up into a soft smile. 

“It was indeed, m’lady.”

You walk up and sit at his bedside, trying to ignore the way your body warms at the sight of his bare chest. Your hand slowly slides over to meet his, resting atop it.

“How are you doing? Are you in much pain?”

He nods. “The pain ‘s pretty bad, but ‘m doin’ alright. But, ‘m doin’ much better now that I get t’ see ya.”

“Always happy to help.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m glad to hear that you’re okay, Sir Clyde.”

His cheeks turn pink and he shyly threads his fingers through yours. 

“So, now that yer here, I was hopin’ that we could...” He trails off and you smile, moving up a bit closer to him, leaning in slightly so that your faces are close together. The breath catches in his throat. “F-Finish where we left off, ‘fore I had t-t’ go.”

You laugh softly and, as soon as you nod, Clyde closes the space between you, lips pressing on yours gently. Both of you let out a soft sigh of relief at the feeling of finally being joined in this way, and his good hand comes up to cup your cheek. His lips tug up into a big, face-splitting grin as he pulls away slowly, still cradling your cheek.

“Thank ye fer savin’ me, Y/N. I dunno what I can do t’ repay ya.”

You smile and chuckle. “I think saying ‘thank you’ a few more times is a good place to start.”

Clyde laughs softly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Whatever yer heart desires, m’lady.”

[aseriesofunfortunatejan]

Here's another AA4+ rant, because I clearly haven't posted enough of those. Note that I'm not like, upset and crying and sobbing and screaming over this, it's just a part of the games I never liked.

Why is so much of AA4, 5 and 6 spent being ridiculously mean to Apollo?

I'm aware or the tone of the series. Witnesses are often poked fun at one way or another - but they're most often a caricature, made to be funny, and the mockery goes right over their head, when it's stated out loud.

Then there's also Edgeworth, especially in AA1, who gets violently dunked on every now and then, and don't get me wrong, it's hilarious. But he is the main antagonist and sometimes an arrogant prick, and some of the funniest jokes against him are accidental: Ema would have never said that stuff to his face, and she wouldn't even have said it if she knew it was about him. Gumshoe tells on his Wright brainrot because he doesn't realise what it implies. No one knew it was HIS car! And most importantly, this is all in the midst of most characters being completely enamoured with him. Wright, Ema and Gumshoe stan him a little too hard. (Bitch me too.)

Back to Apollo, though. I feel like everyone is just constantly making fun of him, and to his face, no less. (I feel the need to mention that Apollo isn't at all my favourite character, so this is not coming from a place of feeling hurt that my fave looks like an idiot.) Besides, the jokes are always the same. Yeah, we get it, he's loud... But I thought you were his friend? (Or secret sister? Or third dad? Or other lawyer who depends entirely on him because the writers forgot about you?)

I guess it doesn't help that whatever compliments Phoenix tells to Apollo feel disingenuous to me, though that is most definitely due to AA6's specifically awkward writing. Trucy using him for her magic tricks would be a lot more refreshing to see if he weren't already being ridiculed and insulted all the time.

It gets worse in my opinion when some of the mockery is based on things he can't help. Like, look at that poor guy... He's afraid to step on a ladder and he can't even swim. AND you're making fun of him on top of that? (To be fair, I don't remember him being made fun of for not being able to swim. What I want to put across is that he's obviously struggling.) I feel like making fun of Edgeworth for having a surprisingly gaudy sports car is not on the same level.

But in actuality, I don't believe the content of the jokes to be the main issue here. I'm just pointing out that Apollo struggling to do most things is not a funny part of his characterization to me personally. What I think matters the most, is how the jokes bounce on their recipient.

Apollo kind of just... gets a little hurt. Mainly, his reactions read to me as someone who is used to being made fun of and has accepted that it won't change. Honestly, that sounds fucking awful. Talk about a toxic workplace... (inb4 AA7 comes out and reveals that Apollo's decision to move was motivated by a wish to feel actually appreciated.)

By a certain point, it's just beating a dead horse. The text and scenario make it feel like he's simply being bullied, and usually with no real reason. People are just meaner to him than they are to each other. It's funny when Edgeworth has to suck up his ego and reveal that it's his office, his car. It's funny when he gets dunked on for something he said during the trial and goes "NGOOOOH!" with that specific face. It's not that funny to me when Apollo goes "yeah okay I guess I'm as loud today as I was yesterday... I mean I like being the way that I am but you know..........". It's not that funny when Sad Monk goes "you're so putrid omg you're so stupid and bad and ugly and you'll go to hell" before he can even say anything, or, to cite something else because Sad Monk is his own issue, when Klavier points out that he has a forehead. (Yes I know, it's a beloved nickname in the fandom, sorry... I genuinely just don't get what's funny about it. Especially the repetition of it.)

To a certain extent, this applies to Athena as well. Though I'd say her being completely cast aside in AA6 gives a different context to this side of her characterization. But yeah... Her outfit sure is yellow and Apollo's sure is red!

This clearly doesn't speak to a personal vendetta the writers of these three games have against Apollo, but rather to the weakness of their writing. The jokes want to be as lighthearted as they always were, but their repetition and multiple layers of bad writing make them feel a lot less fair, and a lot more like boring filler. To me, each mean joke towards Apollo is a failure to imitate a fair and well-timed call-out from the previous games.