#only two of these people identify as female one of them is easily a full grown adult

[organised-disaster]

I can't be trusted. When I refer to "my babygirl" it could one of four people (and six entities)

A 16 year old boy

A ~15 year old girl

A plant

A grown ass man with a drinking problem

An agender ghost

A fat yellow dinosaur

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Plenilune

Haldir x reader - NSFW!

Fun fact: in Tolkien's legendarium the Moon is male since it is guided by a male Maia, Tilion, while the Sun is guided by a female Maia, Arien, and is therefore female.

*****

The murmuring of the wind through the leaves is almost comforting to your ears, as if the forest wished to hearten you against the danger you have deliberately put yourself in for the thirteenth time, as you spur your mare towards your destination galloping among woods and meadows. The moon and the stars illuminate the path enough to keep you and your mare from falling, and no evil that you ought to fear has ever entered Lothlórien; but yes, you are in peril, and you don't even want to think about the consequences if he found out what you are doing.

It is late, you sadly reflect as you cover your head with your hood in the remote case someone sees you, and obviously you cannot help it, since you couldn't leave until he had gone to bed and it would take the fastest horse almost an hour to reach your destination, but still you feel yourself trembling, your heart beating twice as fast as normal with haste, and fear... and another emotion, much more pleasant, that makes you wish you had wings.

A few minutes later, you and your mare have finally reached your destination: the gates of Caras Galadhon are a stone's throw from you, the high trees surrounded by talan standing out, solemn and majestic, against the hilltops behind them. You tie your mare to the trunk of another tree, leaving her to rest after the ride and graze pacefully, and walk towards the gate, your pace slow and your arms spread to show you carry no weapon and are therefore not a danger to the city and its people: you lived here for many years and most of the guards know you, but you know how seriously they take their duty to protect the borders, and it is better for all of you to avoid an incident.

You are now close enough to discern the shapes of the two Elves on duty, both fitted with one of the great bows of the Galadhrim and a quiver full of arrows; one of them softly calls your name.

"Orophin?" you answer in the same tone, not bothering to hide your relief, even more because next to him you have recognized Rúmil, his braided hair easily identifiable in the soft moonlight; after more than a year you must have met most of the guards, who serve on rotation, and none of them has ever tried to forbid you from entering -you are pretty sure they all sympathize with your predicament and are willing to help, even if it means turning a blind eye on your visits, but still, the fact that every single marchwarden is aware of your tryst is more than a little embarassing- but you are happy to be welcomed by the only two Elves in Caras Galadhon who have been personally informed of your visits... and of the reason behind them.

The moon is full; perfect in his circular shape, he shines above you, surrounded by the stars as a lord by his courtiers. You smile as you look at him, and then step across the high gate in white wood and iron that Rúmil has opened for you. "Hannon le" you thank him softly, and he simply smiles in return, while Orophin looks around you anxiously; the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien know you personally and know you pose no danger to their people, but strictly speaking they are failing in their duties letting you in after sundown, since the gates are closed during the night, and the fewer people know you are there, the better.

There is so much at stake for them, for you, and for the one who you know is anxiously waiting for you at his talan; you don't even want to know what would happen if you were discovered, but you persist, month after month, each time the full moon rises in the sky. And one day, soon you hope, your efforts will bear fruit, and you won't have to hide anymore...

"I thought you had decided not to come." Rúmil jokes as he closes the gate, and you wink in response. "Not even if the Valar themselves attempted to stop me."

"Stop wasting time, both of you!" Orophin hisses "The sun will rise in a few hours, and (name) must have left by then; you should go now, and be careful!"

If someone heard you, they could think you are plotting some heinous crime; at first the thought amused you, since the reason that brings you to the city every plenilune goes against no law, but by now, after a whole fruitless year, bitterness has grown inside you, a vague sadness and a sense of helplessness that make it almost impossible to joke about it. You would never give up on your hopes, and you would never renounce him, but sometimes you feel trapped, powerless against the will of the Powers and that of your own body, as if your dearest dream will never come true...

You would never express those doubts in front of your friends, who promised to help you in any way they can and are deliberately failing in their duty to do so; because of this you thank them both and proceed, quickly leaving the gate behind you.

The high Mallorn trees rise up all around you, the sight of the starry sky blocked by the talan built around their trunks; large oil lamps hang from the branches, most of them dark as it is normal during the night, but another lamp is lit, a lamp whose handle is grasped by someone who is waiting at the base of one of the trees, a tree you have reached without hesitation, moving among the maze.

You see him, you see his deep blue eyes in the noble face, a joyful and relieved smile breaking over his lips as he sees you, and it is as if you are finally able to breathe after a month spent struggling for air.

"Haldir..." you murmur, breathless for much more than just the speed of your pace; he almost lets the lamp fall from his hand, and a moment later you have started running towards each other.

*****

You still remembered the day you met Haldir; he was the guard on duty at the gate, you the new handmaiden lady Galadriel had just admitted in her entourage. As he walked you to the main talan, you were immediately struck with his noble beauty, the solemn face with the hint of a smile on his lips; you spent only a few minutes together since he had to return to the gate, but in the following days, when your path crossed as you were both busy with your duties, he never failed to offer you a smile and a nod, as if you were friends. With time, you learnt to appreciate him beyond his loveliness and a quiet friendship had started developing between the two of you, but you never thought he would be interested in you, until leaving your room one day you found a folded piece of parchment waiting in front of the door, under a niphredil flower: Haldir invited you for a walk, that very night; if you accepted, you were meet him at the gate at the end of his shift.

You felt your heart bursting with happiness when, that night, you walked to the gate wearing your favorite dress, your hair brushed until it shone, and the niphredil flower behind your ear; you couldn't wait to be alone with him, and you smiled at Haldir, busy talking to the guard who had come to take over from him. He smiled back, but you didn't notice how perplexed he looked when he saw you.

"Thanks for your message, I couldn't wait for our walk. Shall we?"

"... Yes. Oh course, let us go."

You spent two lovely hours together, walking along a trail in a beech wood just outside the city and sitting next to a stream; you talked, freely as you had never done before, about your families and your dreams, your pasts and your fears. You enjoyed Haldir's company and he appeared to appreciate yours, and for you it didn't matter what would have happened after that day, if that pleasant evening would be the beginning of something special or would remain a single event to think back to wistfully, and in the end, you didn't care: those few hours under a clear blue sky, when you didn't have to worry about duties and responsibilities and were free to be simply yourself, were a treasure in their own right, and whether Haldir's invitation was extended out of friendship or something else, in the end it didn't matter: simply being with him made you happy.

In the end it was only when Haldir insisted on walking you to your room, that he confessed the truth - simply because he felt he had to, being too fair and honest to take advantage of a scam, even though it hadn't been his fault.

"I must admit... I never invited you on a walk; the message that you received was probably sent by my brothers." he confessed, too ashamed to look you in the eyes, his long hair barely covering the flush that had spread on his fair face. He told you that Rúmil and Orophin, who you knew well and had noticed him staring longingly at you, had tried to convince him to approach you. Haldir had refused, both because he was sure you wouldn't be interested and simply because he would have rather faced Melkor than tell you about his feelings, and in the end his brothers must have decided to take the matter in their own hands.

"You are lucky to have brothers who care so much about your happiness." you said, your back pressed against the trunk of the tree, the talan you shared with two other of the Lady's maidens high above you; the night was falling on Caras Galadhon, a gentle breeze caressing your hair and dress. You would have flushed, and even perhaps run away in embarrassment, but apparently Rúmil and Orophin's intervention was due to their brother's indecision, not to his lack of interest, and because of this you stayed where you were, ready to reassure him that you were happy to have spent the evening with him nonetheless... and that if he wanted to invite you again, you wouldn't have said no.

"You think? At the moment I sincerely wish my parents had stopped after having me. Please don't misinterpret, I am very happy you came and I couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening; but they shouldn't have meddled."

You almost asked him if he would have ever confessed his feelings for you, had his brothers not intervened, but in the end, what difference would it have made? Despite everything, you were grateful to Rúmil and Orophin for what they had done, but now, and from now on, the two of you would have walked at your own pace.

"I am supposed to wait on the lady Galadriel at the banquet tonight." you said in the end "Shall we have dinner together before that? If you have nothing more important to do."

Relief was clear on Haldir's fair face as he answered that no, of course not, nothing on all of Arda would have been more important than spending more time with you. Expressing his feelings didn't come natural to him, at least not before he had spent some, or a long, time with someone, which could have made the other person -namely, you- interpret that reticence as indifference, even disregard, but you didn't; you were still learning to know each other, and as any other couple you would have your misunderstandings and disagreements, but in that moment at least everything was perfect, as if you just needed to share a look to understand what you were feeling. You cared about each other, more that you could express, and that was enough.

It was beautiful, and it made you happy.

"May I take your hand?" he asked, and the question was deeper than it appeared, since friends didn't walk holding hands, but a couple who was courting did; he seemed uncertain, even shy - quite a difference from the steadfast, capable soldier you had learnt to know. That sight filled your heart with affection... and an answer you couldn't have given to him faster.

"Of course. I would love to."

You let him take your hand, you took his, and since then neither of you has ever let go.

*****

Neither of you speaks as you climb the slim rope-ladder to reach the talan Haldir shares with his brothers, identical to the many others where the guards live, in groups of two or three; wooden screens, carved in shapes of trees and animals, separate the communal area from the smaller ones reserved to each of them. As soon as the door of the large chamber, built all around the tree trunk, closes behind you, Haldir takes your hands once more, brings them to his lips, and kisses them devotedly. "You came." he murmurs, his eyes full of affection and relief; he knows your feelings, he knows that you will never give up on him and nothing, not even Melkor himself, could forbid you to go to him on a full moon night, but you know that every time he fears he will never see you again, and you will never have the family you both wish for.

He is so afraid, your Haldir, but so gentle and reverent as he holds you against him, his hand caressing your hair as you rest your cheek on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. He doesn't ask whether someone saw you, after you passed the city's gate, along the way or, worst of all, as you left your village; he knows you are as careful as you can be to slip away unnoticed and to ride along hidden paths, but you both know the risk, and accept it, because being together once more, one more night, even just one more hour, is worth the most dire consequences.

"I am sorry, I am late." you tell him in the end, after you part just enough to look at each other; so many years after you have shared your first kiss he is more handsome than ever, so handsome you feel yourself shivering as his warm hands find your shoulders under your cape and run along your naked arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them. He is wearing a grey tunic with a brown leather belt, his long hair spread on his shoulder and chest; many Silvan Elves have blonde hair, but no one's is as beautiful as his, and sometimes, as you lie next to each other, your passion dormant but not forgotten, you like to play with it, braiding and running your hair through it, or rubbing it against your skin.

Maybe you will do it once more, tonight; before you have will to go.

"I had to stay until he went to bed, and he had some friends visiting, so..."

"It it all right, don't concern yourself." he reassures you, and you love him for it, because every moment you lose during those nights is a wasted opportunity, a loss you could pay dearly if you were discovered, but still he cannot stand to see you upset "I am just glad you came. Eru... you are so beautiful..."

"You have seen me wear this dress at least ten times."

"True, but I wasn't talking about the dress. My darling, my beloved flower... how I have missed you..."

Maybe the distance plays a part in it, as well as the fact that you haven't laid together often, even through you have been courting for years, or maybe not; maybe it is just that you love him desperately, with all your heart and your mind, your fëa and your hröa harmonius in desiring him, the warmth of his body, the soothing sensation of his embrace. No one could ever call you naive, and after a year you know your beloved's skin as well as yours, but, and maybe because of this, your heart is pounding in your chest as you offer Haldir your mouth, that he claims in a kiss as he holds your face in his hands.

You kiss avidly for a while, your hands moving from Haldir's strong shoulders to his back and chest to caress and stimulate and revere; he moans in your mouth, the sound lurid and heavenly at the same time, as he takes off your cape and let it fall on the floor - which betrays the state he is in, since he would never leave something, especially clothes, lying around instead of finding an appropriate place for them, tidy and even fastidious as he is. Evidently you really have an effect on him, you think pleased, so much that you make him forget himself...

"Why are you smiling as we kiss?" he asks, feigning a contrariness he is physically unable to feel; a moment later his kisses move to your neck, and the goosebumps are no longer limited to your arms.

"I am simply -oh yes, right there!- happy we are together, that is all."

"I am happy as well, my flower. And I wish... we didn't have to wait the full moon..."

You would like to jest that the moon is a capricious master, who only allows you to meet once every twenty-eight nights, and you should ask him to assume his most complete form more often, but you can't; you cannot joke about it, not anymore. This night coincides with the most fertile moment of your cycle, and this is why you have chosen it to meet; often enough to give you a realistic opportunity, as well as to alleviate the pain of your separation, but at the same time your visits to Haldir would be sufficently sporadic not to arouse suspicion - you hope. It is not much, but you make do. It seemed a good compromise when you decided on it, since you make the most of your time together, clinging to each other until you are both panting breathless, and you thought you would have achieved your goal by now.

You haven't.

You often feel as if time itself works against you, but nonetheless you take your time, savoring the intimacy and the joy of being together once more before you can taste each other's flesh. Haldir's hand has guided you behind the wooden screen that separates his area of the room from those of his brothers'. Rúmil and Orophin are on duty until dawn, and since they both respect your privacy they would never interrupt you in any case, but your beloved doesn't feel at ease laying with you if you are not as hidden as you can be: he is such a modest, demure person, and you love him for it... as well as for everything else.

"How I have missed you..." you murmur as you once more find your beloved's mouth with yours; he moans into it, his hands moving hungry and greedy on your body as those of a sculptor molding a block of clay, and this is exactly how you feel, as if you are nothing, raw, shapeless, aimless, if you are not close to him, able to touch and be touched.

Neither of you speak as your clothes start falling to the floor. You free Haldir of his tunic, and his skin is like marble in the semi-darkness around you, smooth and cool and made for you to touch and caress; he moans, his head bent backwards, as you hold his hips in your hands and fill the distance between the two of you to kiss his neck, his chest, and his stomach. You feel, as well as hear, the rumble of pleasure escaping his lips as you close yours around his right nipple, licking and sucking as you stimulate the other one with your fingertips. You love Haldir like you have never loved anything and anyone, you love his kindness and his intelligence, his sense of duty and his wit; you love his stubborness and his rigidity and melancholy. And you love his body -strong, agile, so deliciously masculine, a source of warmth and pleasure and life; you cling to it, exploring and stimulating it until he is moaning and whispering your name and his desire is presses against your belly, hard and warm.

"Please." he begs; Eru, how you love hearing him like that "Please, my darling, let me have you..."

You don't answer, but you smile, and you break the kiss to turn and offer him your back; Haldir's agile fingers make quick works of the knots of your dress, and soon the cloth is sliding down your body, and you are naked under it, no shift or undergarments, because you have so little time to spend together and you don't want to waste it taking off your drawers.

That, and he tore your favourite shift six months ago, in his haste to take it off you; mortified, he apologized and promised to replace it, you simply told him he would have to make your loss worth it.

There is awe on his face, as well as desire, as he admires you, his fingertips barely brushing against you but leaving a trail of fire behind them. "Come." he invites you taking your hand once more, and his bed -the only element present in the small area behind the screen, apart from a chest and a chair- is only three steps away, but you like being led, being welcomed to it just like he has opened his heart to you.

You have already started kissing as you lower yourself on the bed, Haldir's arms keeping you close enough that you can feel his heartbeat matching yours, your hands fiddling with his belt; you brush your hand against his hardness, and your beloved has the audacity to snigger.

"Have patience, my love; it is yours, you know it, and you can have it any time you want."

You pout. "I want it now, Haldir..." you tell him, and he kisses you once more, and tells you to "Take it, then."

Getting undressed while one is laying is not easy, but finally your beloved is as naked as you are, his fair skin pressed against yours; you take his hardness in your hands as he moans, fondling and kissing it, and in the end he asks you to stop, because it is not on your hands that he wants to spill. You let him push you on your back, and a moment later Haldir's strong body is above you, his golden hair spilling all around him; you pass your fingers through it, mesmerized, and you brush them against your breasts, and there is something so alluring, so enticing in that sight, that when your eyes met his, you know that his desire has taken over - he cannot think clearly, he has forgotten everything that is not you, and what you share, and what he will feel once he is inside you. He is the most rigorous and even-tempered person you know, devoted to his duties and able to keep his composure in times of danger and hardship, but when he is with you... especially like this... it is as if another Elf takes his place, an Elf who would be ready to forget his responsiblities and his honour for the opportunity to lay between your thighs, once more.

It is beautiful, and terrifying; and it should be a source of pride for you, but instead it humbles you, and fills your heart with awe, because you feel the same. Haldir is your intended, your future husband, your lover, your best friend, and one day he will be the father of your children; you promised him, and you promised yourself, and you will do whatever you need to make that dream come true.

You have opened your legs for him, Haldir's fingers gently caressing them as you cross your ankles on his back, giving him full access; you have surrended yourself, offering your body and your soul and your love to the one you know deserve them and will always cherish them, and that is why you don't feel it as a loss. You moan as he lowers his mouth to suck on the side of your neck, murmuring your name as he would with that of Varda, and you groan when his fingers brush against your mound, eliciting a jolt of pleasure through your body. Please, you tell him, and you don't know whether you are actually articulating the words or just thinking them, your moans and sighs betraying your desires, please take me, I need it now, I need you...

And a moment later you have him, fully and perfectly like so many times before. You are clinging to his shoulders, his name blossoming again and again on your lips as a litany, as a prayer, as the sinuous movement of his hips makes stars explode behind your eyelids. He moans your name, fierce and greedy and so loving, and you could almost cry with emotion, were you not too busy simply feeling, and you love all of it - his love, his passion, his reverence, the promise you have shared years ago and that you renew every time, without the need for words.

The fire is burning inside and all around you; and it is the kind of flames you are happy to be consumed by.

*****

It is all your father's fault.

It is not nice to say, but it is true. Your current predicament, the need for secrecy and to meet on full moon nights, everything is due to the fact that your father didn't approve of Haldir as your intended, and he explicitly stated that he would never give his consent for you to marry. Not because he dislikes Haldir, or because he considers your beloved unable to take care of you and make you happy; the reason is way more personal.

Your father and his dearest friend have always planned to have their children marry, so as to unite their families in one. As fate would have it, your father's friend has a son who is exactly the same age as you -was it deliberate, a pact that they made and that also involved their wives? Two years ago you would have considered it absurd, but now you would not put it past him- which, in the two fathers' opinion, made things easier and ensured the continuation of both of their lineages.

You knew the pact with his friend was important for your father; you just hadn't realized the lenghts he would go to see his dream come true. His friend lived too far away to make frequent visits possible, and the few times you had met, his son seemed nice enough, a good company for a walk or to sit next to at dinner; you never talked about your fathers' plans, simply trying not to bore each other. Marriage prospects were the last thing on your mind, at least until you moved to Caras Galadhon to serve lady Galadriel, you met Haldir, and he stole your heart.

You never thought your father would oppose your relationship with Haldir; you only mentioned him in your letters as a friend, since you didn't want him and your mother to come and make sure his intentions were pure and serious -they were, obviously; but you didn't want your beloved to feel he had to prove himself- but you were sure that when they got to meet him, they would love him, just like you did.

They didn't. Well, he didn't; when you, radiant with joy, returned home with Haldir to introduce him to your parents and announce you were engaged, your mother was ready to welcome your beloved in the family within ten minutes after meeting him; your father, unfortunately, was a whole different matter.

"What? Surely you are joking. You cannot pledge to marry him; you are already engaged and you know it. I was going to write you about it next month: my friend and I decided it is time for the two of you to wed. His son was going to move with you in Caras Galadhon, but since I don't want you to be... distracted by your friend here, you better leave the service of the Lady and go live with him in his village. Now, do not argue with me; I am your father and I know what is best for you."

He clearly didn't, but try as you might you couldn't change his mind, or convince him to relent. Your father was determined to get his own way, no matter how much you cried -and it was a lot, so much that it filled you with shame, particularly because it was all in vain- argued, locked yourself up in your room and threatened to hurt yourself; he had decided to have you marry the son of his friend, and that he would do, even if it meant forbidding you to leave home until you relented. Poor Haldir had to return home alone, because your father forbade you to return even just to say goodbye to your friends; he was too honourable to challenge your father's authority under his roof, or to kidnap you from your home, and your mother begged you to obey your father as a good daughter should. You grudgingly did... but still, you were determined to marry your beloved, whatever the price.

Your only real ally in the family was your sister, who sympathized with your and your beloved's plight and promised to help; in front of your father she feigned disinterest in the whole matter, so as not to arouse suspicion, but secretly she was the one who sent your letters to Haldir and received his for you, pretending to be corrisponding with her friends in other villages.

Deciding what to do was painful, and at the same time surprisingly easy. You dearly loved your father, and since you were little you had only wanted to make him proud; likewise, Haldir respected him and only wanted to be accepted in your family. But since all your hopes had been dashed, you were only allowed to leave your home if escorted by one of your parents and he was struck in Caras Galadhon, there was only one thing you could do.

Elven marriages are usually conducted in front of families and friends, and include the exchange of rings and a blessing imposed by each pair of parents on their new child-in-law. On the other hand, your people's oldest tradition has it that the union of the bodies symbolizes the union of the soul, and that the birth of a child is enough to consider a couple married on a factual, and as a consequence formal, prospective, just as the first Elves who awoke at Cuiviénen wed each other. So, you agreed as the letters were sent and received between the city and your village, this is what you would do; you would get pregnant, and then your father would be forced to recognize your relationship, for the sake of his grandchild if not for yours... and because at that point his friend would hardly accept you in his family. And if your father decides to repudiate you, throwing you in the streets and forbidding you from ever returning... you will accept it. It would break your heart, because you love him, and your mother, and you never wished to cause a rift between you, but Haldir is the husband you have chosen, the other and the better part of you, and you are willing to sacrifice it all to be with him. You knew Lady Galadriel would welcome you back among her maidens, not caring about the shame you would have brought to your family, and you and your beloved would then marry and move to a talan of your own.

It would be a nice life; a perfect life, with your husband and the first of the many children you had already planned on having. And it will be, one day, hopefully soon. It was exactly thirteen moon cycles ago that, once more with the help of your sister, you ran away during the full moon to visit Haldir in Caras Galadhon, and even though this is supposed to be your most fertile period and you make at least two attempt per night his seed still hasn't taken root in your womb. You are sure, since it is known that Elf women are able to perceive a pregnancy as soon as it begins, the first tiny sparkle of life inside them making itself known not by voice or movement, but with a peculiar sensation that nothing else in Arda can compare with; a new entity making itself known to the world, too small and young to have a gender and an appearance and a personality, but that exists... and that would be enough to change your life forever.

You and your beloved are waiting for it; dreaming it; praying for it, even, although until now your efforts have been in vain. Laying with Haldir is lovely, passionate and sweet, and you would be more than happy to keep doing it every single night until the end of the world; to share his bed has allowed the two of you to reach a new level of intimacy, to experience each other as you had never done before. It is not that you love Haldir more now that you know the pleasure his body can give yours; you have found a new way to love him, in addition to those you already knew, which is different, and more precious. For him, you know, it is the same; he awaits your visits with trepidation, already happy and excited and looking forward for when you will be unclothed, in his arms, and moaning with his flesh in yours, but you know that he would be equally satisfied if you spent those nights walking in the woods, or sitting in front of the fire talking and exchanging stories.

You would never say that for more than a year you have wasted your time, especially since these are the only moments you are able to spend together, and you miss your beloved so much; but still... why haven't you gotten pregnant already?

*****

You sigh, happy and satisfied, as you turn on your back, sharing a smile with Haldir, panting by your side. "It was... it was absolutely..." you begin, but the words fail you, because even after a whole year, you cannot describe exactly how you feel, how he makes you feel, the joy and the pleasure you experience and that you know no one else could ever give you, because no one is like him, no one is him, and you are blessed to have met him, and earned his love.

"It was." Haldir agrees, as he once more takes you in his arms to hold you close; he kisses your brow "And it always will be, I promise."

You should leave soon, since you need to be at home before your parents awake and notice you are gone -and unfortunately your father is the earliest riser you know!- and you both know it, but you don't move, your cheek resting on Haldir's chest as his fingers gently run through your hair. You don't need to be as close as the two of you are to know the same thought is filling both of your minds, the same thought that has tormented you for a whole year now...

"Do you feel... something?" Haldir hesitantly asks in the end, and you sigh; he doesn't blame you, and the guilt and the disappointment weighting on your heart are probably even worse than what he feels, but still, in that moment, despite all the joy and the pleasure still warming your body, you feel so ashamed you cannot even look him in the eyes. You don't know exactly what you are waiting for since you have never been pregnant before, how it will feel to know that you have conceived, but of one thing you are sure: that right now, satisfied and happy and aching in the most pleasant way as you are, you feel exactly as before, exactly as you did at the end of the previous twelve attempts: empty.

You have failed. Again.

A sob escapes your lips, a sob that Haldir is too close not to hear, but you still try to hide your face against his shoulder. "I am sorry. Haldir, forgive me, I don't know what I am doing wrong..."

"No, no... It is not..."

"I started drinking a tea that is supposed to render a maiden more fertile, it tastes disgusting but I drink it every day, I swear, I don't know what else..."

There is no accusation or resentment in your beloved's bright blue eyes, only understanding and sadness, and that is enough to make you feel the worst Elf on Arda, undeserving of his love, undeserving of the joy of motherhood.

"Maybe the fault is mine." Haldir whispers in the end, his hand on your cheek "I know these things require time, and we have only one night every moon cycle to try, but if I were able to... if I had to rest less... maybe three times is not enough..."

"My darling, you have to rise at dawn to go on patrol; you need rest. What we do cannot hinder your duties as marchwarden."

"I know, I know..."

He looks so dejected, so guilty and disheartened, that you find yourself forgetting your sadness to try and alleviate his.

"Listen to me; we have no reason to feel guilty, since we are doing everything we can; as you said, it takes time to conceive a child, and we cannot let disappointment and bitterness make us forget how lucky we are. We love each other, and we are together, albeit just for a few hours; just for that, I am grateful."

"If we had a child, though, we could be together without having to hide." Haldir points out; but then he smiles "But you are right; we will keep trying for as long as we need to, and in the meantime we will enjoy the time we can spend together. I cannot wait to give you a child, to raise a family together... but I just need to be with you, and to know that you are mine, to be happy."

"I am, Haldir; and I always will be, I promise."

In the end you are forced to leave your beloved's bed and get dressed; Haldir needs all the rest he can get, but as always he rises with you to walk you to the gate. You don't talk as you leave the talan behind you, your hand in his, the quiet murmuring of the night holding you in a gentle embrace. You love moments like this, when words are not needed, a simple moment is a treasure, and every little gesture speaks about you. You would stay here for hours, just enjoying your beloved's company and the beauty of the night, but the full moon has already started his descend towards the horizon: it is time to go.

Rúmil and Orophin look at you expectantly as you reach the gate, but they are quick to pretend to be otherwise occupied when they notice the lack of joy and relief on your faces. You smile, and

"We will try once more." you tell them, as Haldir kisses your temple.

"We will try for as long as we need to."

You and your beloved say your goodbyes with a long hug, and a last kiss. "Be safe." he tells you, and you nod, too busy committing his face, his scent, the feel of his arms around you, to memory, to talk. A minute later you have passed the gate, alone once more but not lonely, disappointed but not sad; you had a night with him, and you will have another on the next full moon, and that is enough.

You wave your hand in farewell, and he responds in kind, before stepping away and letting the darkness of the night surround you.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @elvenenby. Hope you like this!

[ariellewm]

WIP Fantasy Novel - Character Profile: Calista Auralae/Cargalyn "Shadow Ranger"

!! Note: Please do not use my character in any fanfiction or roleplay. This MC (Main Character) is very precious to me and oldest of my creations. If interested in drawing her out, please ask for permission before doing so. !!

Full Name: Calista Cargalyn Auralae

Aliases/Other Titles: Shadow Ranger, The Swift Wolf, Sis (from Luno), more TBA

Gender: Female

Race: Sapien (Human)

Age: 23

Height: 5'5 (165cm)

Eye Color: Cognac

Hair Color: Chestnut, long length usually tied up in a loose ponytail (sometimes in lagertha braids)

Skin: Fair with freckles around face and rest of body (has some scars along arms from creature encounters and one on the side of her neck that is hidden with clothing)

About/Backstory

TBA

Personality

Down-to-earth and loyal to those she is familiar with. Calista despises those that hurt close loved ones or her friends and isn't hesitant on showing her stronger protective side. She'll take the shot or cut any enemy standing in her way.

The Shadow Ranger can be stubborn at times, especially when those point out her lack of sleep as of late. Even if they are concerned for her, she still performs her duties as a ranger. With lack of hours of rest, she's always on the move, always active and aware of her surroundings. She does find meditating helpful at times, finding a quiet spot where no one can bother her.

She's an observer, keeping to herself most of the time. Calista isn't also accustomed to being around nobility or highly respected people. The ranger is still civil and resourceful if needing her assistance. When out of her comfort zone, she can be seen standing still, pacing around the room, or fidget with their hands, depending on the situation.

Abilities\Skills

Archery - A highly popular skill that almost all rangers learn. It is the skill of using a bow to shoot arrows. Sometimes Calista likes to use flaming arrows, arrows coated in poison, or speed shooting in battles or target practice.

Swordsmanship - Skilled in sword fighting in combat. Calista owns two short sword falchions used to help cut through smaller trees, bushes, or attack her enemies. She doesn't always use them.

Melee One-On-One Combat - Fist and brawn, many rangers are taught to learn how to battle without weapons. Punches and kicks can help in any situation and even defense measures. She uses this as a last resort if all her weapons are not at her disposal.

Tracking - Rangers are taught how to track all sorts of things. It could be from carts, animals, or even people that make prints on the surface. Calista is the only ranger young enough to identify any sort of creature through claw markings or footprints made on the forest floor.

Riding - Most if not all rangers learn how to ride upon dragon horse hybrids (name of creature TBA) or other creatures that can help them get to places or into battle. Calista can not only ride these creatures but also upon dragon (Luno), giving her advantage in the air. She rarely rides on Luno, however, as sometimes the dense forests are hard for him to reach to Calista.

Hiding/Spying - Calista can easily hide within the trees and dense forest surroundings blending in. Sometimes her dark clothing gives her that advantage when spying on enemies or hiding in plain sight. She is praised by Edric for her spying tactics when on a mission as well. Hence, given the title Shadow Ranger by her leader and guardian Edric Vahouse. This is also useful while hunting for game.

Wardrobe Appearance

The average-built ranger tends to wear dark earth toned colors, to better blend in with the dense forest. Black tights, dark brown boots, dark green long-sleeved or short-sleeved shirts. Her clothing is light and as a ranger, she needs to be agile and swift. Sometimes Calista wears leather gauntlets with leaf patterns. Anything brightly colored she doesn't take a liking to (so don't try to force her). It's also noted that Calista absolutely hates wearing dresses of any kind.

Hidden under her shirts she keeps a leather stringed necklace with a wooden hollow pendant with intricate leaf designs. She has never taken it off. It's the only piece of jewelry she wears and hides it from view. It's also the only piece left from her mother before she died.

Her hair is either tied up in a ponytail or down. At one point her hair was short but decided to grow it out when many of the young ranger boys picked on her for having short hair. Her childhood friend Dinah would sometimes braid her hair in lagertha braids with beads and gold/silver.

Weapons

Calista's prized weapon would be her leather recurve bow, designed with leaf and forest patterns. She also carried two short sword falchions. Both are light enough to carry during missions or travel. Calista also carries a golden dragon crystal glass dagger given to her as a gift by Edric after her trials. It's small enough to hide behind her and she can switch it out if in danger. No one is aware of the dagger since it is hidden well from sight.

Concept Art Designs of Calista

Concept Art done by Shio

Playlists

Inspired Spotify Playlists: TBA

Inspired YouTube Playlist: TBA

[mariacallous]

April 10 was a very bad day in the life of celebrity gamer and YouTuber Atrioc (Brandon Ewing). Ewing was broadcasting one of his usual Twitch livestreams when his browser window was accidentally exposed to his audience. During those few moments, viewers were suddenly face-to-face with what appeared to be deepfake porn videos featuring female YouTubers and gamers QTCinderella and Pokimane—colleagues and, to my understanding, Ewing’s friends. Moments later, a quick-witted viewer uploaded a screenshot of the scene to Reddit, and thus the scandal was a fact. 

Deepfakes refer broadly to media doctored by AI, commonly to superimpose a person’s face onto that of, say, an actor in a movie or video clip. But sadly, as reported by Vice journalist Samantha Cole, its primary function has been to create porn starring female celebrities, and perhaps more alarmingly, to visualize sexual fantasies of friends or acquaintances. Given its increasing sophistication and availability, anyone with a picture of your face now can basically turn it into a porno. “We are all fucked,” as Cole concisely puts it. 

For most people, I believe, it is obvious that Ewing committed some kind of misconduct in consuming the fictive yet nonconsensual pornography of his friends. Indeed, the comments on Reddit, and the strong (justified) reactions from the women whose faces were used in the clips, testify to a deep sense of disgust. This is understandable, yet specifying exactly where the crime lies is a surprisingly difficult undertaking. In fact, the task of doing so brings to the fore a philosophical problem that forces us to reconsider not only porn, but the very nature of human imagination. I call it the pervert’s dilemma. 

On the one hand, one may argue that by consuming the material, Ewing was incentivizing its production and dissemination, which, in the end, may harm the reputation and well-being of his fellow female gamers. But I doubt that the verdict in the eyes of the public would have been much softer had he produced the videos by his own hand for personal pleasure. And few people see his failure to close the tab as the main problem. The crime, that is, appears to lie in the very consumption of the deepfakes, not the downstream effects of doing so. Consuming deepfakes is wrong, full stop, irrespective of whether the people “starring” in the clips, or anyone else, find out about it. 

At the same time, we are equally certain that sexual fantasies are morally neutral. Indeed, no one (except perhaps some hard-core Catholics) would have blamed Ewing for creating pornographic pictures of QTCinderella in his mind. But what is the difference, really? Both the fantasy and the deepfake are essentially virtual images produced by previous data input, only one exists in one’s head, the other on a screen. True, the latter can more easily be shared, but if the crime lies in the personal consumption, and not the external effects, this should be irrelevant. Hence the pervert’s dilemma: We think sexual fantasies are fine as long as they are only ever generated and contained in a person’s head, and abhorrent the moment they exist in the brain with the aid of somewhat realistic representation—yet we struggle to identify any morally relevant distinction to justify this assessment.

In the long run, it is likely that this will force us to reevaluate our moral attitudes to both deepfakes and sexual fantasies, at least insofar as we want to maintain consistency in our morality. There are two obvious ways in which this could go.

The first is that we simply begin to accept pornographic deepfakes as a normal way of fantasizing about sex, only that we outsource some of the work that used to happen in the brain to a machine. Considering the massive supply of (sometimes stunningly realistic) pornographic deepfakes and the ease with which they can be customized for one’s own preferences (how long before there is a DALL-E for porn?), this may be a plausible outcome. Knowing that people probably use your photos to create fictive porn may assume the same status as knowing that some people probably think of you (or look at your most recent Instagram selfie) when they masturbate—not a huge deal unless they tell it to your face. At the very least, we can imagine the production of deepfakes assuming the same status as drawing a highly realistic picture of one’s sexual fantasy—weird, but not morally abhorrent. 

The second, and arguably more interesting option, is that we begin to question the moral neutrality of sexual fantasies all together. Thinking about sex was, for a long time, considered deeply sinful in Christian Europe, and has continued to be a stigma for some. It was only after the Enlightenment that whatever goes on in a person’s mind became a “private matter” beyond moral evaluation. But this is definitely an exception, historically speaking. And to some extent, we still moralize over people’s fantasies. For instance, several ethicists (and many other people I reckon), hold that sexual fantasies involving children or brutal violence are morally objectionable. 

But deepfakes may give us reason to go even further, to question dirty thoughts as a general category. Since the advent of the internet, we’ve been forming a new attitude to the moral status of our personal data. Indeed, most Westerners today take it for granted that one should be in full control over information pertaining to one’s person. But wouldn’t this, strictly interpreted, also include data stored in other people’s heads? Wouldn’t it grant me a level of control over other people’s imagination?  The idea is not as wild as it first appears. Consider the Friends episode “The one with a chick and a duck,” in which Ross teases Rachel by picturing her naked against her will, claiming that it is one of the “uh, rights of the ex-boyfriend, huh?” Rachel repeatedly begs him to stop, but Ross merely responds by closing his eyes saying, “Wait, wait, now there’s 100 of you, and I’m the king.” The joke is portrayed as completely uncontroversial, with added audience laughter and all. But now, some two decades later, doesn’t it leave you with a rather bitter taste in your mouth? Indeed, in the age of information, the moral neutrality of the mind seems to be increasingly under siege. Perhaps, in another 20 years, the thought that I can do whatever I want to whomever I want in my head may strike people as morally disgusting too.

We are probably going to see some of both scenarios. There will be calls to moralize over people’s imagination. And people will probably react with less and less shock when learning about the deepfake phenomenon, even when it happens to themselves. Just compare the media coverage of deepfake porn today with that of two years ago. The (legitimate) moral panic that characterized the initial reports has almost completely vanished, despite the galloping technological development that has taken place in the meanwhile. Yet, we will probably not arrive at any moral consensus regarding deepfakes anytime soon. Indeed, it has taken us thousands of years to learn to live with human imagination, and the arrival of deepfakes puts most of those cultural protocols on their heads.

So, which of the options are preferable from the viewpoint of moral philosophy? There is no simple answer. This is in part because both options make sense, or at least have the potential to make sense (otherwise there wouldn’t be any dilemma to begin with). But it is also due to the very nature of moral judgements. Moral truths cannot be stated once and for all. On the contrary, we need to begin every day by asking them anew.

Think of it like this: We know how many electrons are in a hydrogen atom, and so we never need to ask that question again. Questions like “Who should we be?”, “What is a good human life?”, or “Can we blame people for their fantasies?”, on the other hand, are questions that need to be asked again and again by every generation. This is because moral philosophy is an activity that dies the moment we stop doing it. For our moral lifeworlds to make sense, we must consciously reevaluate them, because this activity is always dependent on the social, technological, and cultural contexts in which it takes place. So, the moment we arrive at a definitive answer to the question of which option is preferable from the standpoint of moral philosophy, moral philosophy ceases to be.

Where does all this put us in relation to Ewing, Pokimane, and QTCinderella? There is no doubt that the feelings of shame and humiliation expressed by the targets of the videos are real. And I personally do not find any reason to question the authenticity of the shame and regret expressed by Ewing. But our moral sensemaking of the situation is a different matter. And we should be open to the fact that, in 20 years, we may think very differently about these things. It all depends on how we continue to build and reevaluate our moral lifeworlds. A good first step is taking a step back and reconsidering what exactly it is we find objectionable about deepfakes. 

I think the best place to start is to assess the social context in which deepfakes are used, and compare this to the context around sexual fantasies. Today, it is clear that deepfakes, unlike sexual fantasies, are part of a systemic technological degrading of women that is highly gendered (almost all pornographic deepfakes involve women). And the moral implications of this system are larger than the sum of its parts (the individual acts of consumption). Fantasies, on the other hand, are not gendered—at least we have no reliable evidence of men engaging more with sexual imagination than women do—and while the content of individual fantasies may be misogynist, the category is not so in and of itself. The immoral aspect of Ewing’s actions therefore lies not primarily in the damage it caused to the individuals portrayed, but in the partaking of a technically-supported systemic degrading of women, a system that amounts to something more than the sum of its parts.

While this is the beginning of an answer, it is not the answer. How the technology is used and fitted into our social and cultural protocols will continue to change. What Ewing did wrong cannot be answered once and for all. For tomorrow, we will need to ask again. 

[squapejuice]

Thinking a little bit.

Xavier honestly hates being nobility; they never got a chance to actively choose it for themself, they were born into it. The weight of expectation was always heavy on them growing up, from their mother insisting that she drop the tomboy behaviours and just be a "proper lady" (context; Xavier was born intersex and as a child decided to ID as a girl, because that's closest to how they felt, but Ishgard being a theocracy with a very strict gender binary meant they never got to truly understand themself as intersex or nonbinary until later - they still do not consider themself strictly female or male biologically nor do they identify with any real descriptor other than 'non-binary') to being expected to have an arranged marriage. It was only after running away and their mother's death that she was able to find the freedom to embrace it for themself. Taking over their father's governing job so that he could retire was their choice, and one that they consider to be a heavy burden. But she's determined to do the best job of it that she can, and take care of the people under her charge.

One thing that their mother's abuse gave them was a genuine hatred of resource hoarders and exploitation, and a role model on how NOT to be as a noble.

Vanille, on the other hand, married into nobility from common birth and made that choice every time, with full knowledge of the weight it would have. But she loves Xavier, and even though she's uncomfortable with the idea of holding power I think she's actually taken much more easily to it than Xavier has. Although she slips back into Lowborn Syntax when she's flustered, she's a bit of a social chimera. She went into it knowing what she was getting into and has people around her (specifically her spouse and her father in law, who adores her and is glad to see his offspring Not Depressed For Once) to help her adjust and learn the ropes. Her genuine enjoyment of spreadsheets and organizing probably also helps and takes a load off of Xavier.

I think the worst any of the people they govern could really say about them is that they're kind of capricious and the center of a lot of gossip, being pretty notoriously swingers (from an outside view they come across as swingers; in reality the two are just polyamorous and have an open relationship where they can each have individual relationships or flings outside of each other; bringing anyone into the polycule proper requires discussion). One thing is for sure is that life in the town they manage is never boring with the Haywards around, and in the rough year since taking the title Xavier's put in an aetheryte, funded magitek greenhouses for the farmers, and repaved the roads and re-roofed the orphanage. This set them back financially quite a bit, but they consider it worth the effort.

[lunaprincipessa]

ENTRY 184

I found this pic and wanted to explore what it says.

Of course, I don't believe healers are limited to being only female, but I do believe as healers, they all need protectors regardless of gender.

I wanted to do a little reading and share what I was able to gather from multiple sources about the healer/protector dynamic because it truly is a marvelous one.

First off, how do we identify healers and protectors whether in ourselves or someone else? Here are some of the most common traits reported.

HEALERS

1.) Feels the pain of other people; extreme empathy present.

2.) Strangers may open up to them rather easily.

3.) Vivid dreams, daydreams, or visions.

4.) Innate or natural need to help others.

5.) Can be overwhelmed by (large) crowds.

6.) Emotional due to high sensitivity.

7.) Most likely spiritual.

8.) Struggles with anxiety.

9.) Faces depression.

10.) Excellent discernment of the energy of people around them.

11.) They are the ones to turn to for comfort.

12.) They love any object with healing properties.

13.) Often seen as the mediator.

14.) Feels exhausted after social events.

15.) Most have experienced trauma that changed their lives.

16.) Wise.

17.) Compassionate and nurturing.

PROTECTORS

1.) Maintains order.

2.) Strong sense of duty and responsibility.

3.) Meets commitments reliably.

4.) Honest.

5.) Firm and forthright.

6.) Always seeks justice.

7.) Possesses good judgment.

8.) Often seen as the advisor.

9.) Provides support to loved ones.

10.) Assures safety from perceived and actual threats.

11.) Dependable.

12.) Thorough.

13.) Loyal.

14.) Observant.

15.) Mature.

16.) Intelligent.

17.) Sharp.

Now, do I think these lists hit every single point? Nope. Do I think there's some stuff missing? Yup. But, it's still a good starting point in my view.

~A Few Things that Healers and Protectors Have in Common~

*Healers and protectors have different roles but the same goals: finding ways to make the world a better place.

*A healer is one of your tribe, one of your people that helps you survive, as is a protector.

*Healers and protectors are strategic.

Another side note that captured my attention is that it can potentially be dangerous for a healer to bring in anyone else but a protector into their personal space or place of refuge on a deeper level.

People often assume that healers fit better with broken people because that's what they often attract. While they certainly have the heart to take the challenge on, a protector would be better because while broken people take (not always maliciously), protectors shield and rejuvenate.

The healer/protector journey of companionship, with their unique energies intertwined, offers a full spectrum of a wholesome experience between two human beings. They can both learn and grow from one another. Healers remain ever present and awake to energy and the spiritual aspects of being. Protectors are hyper-aware of the physical world. Together, they're a dream team going against the tide.

Healers have been compared to the Divine Feminine and protectors to the Divine Masculine and it really is a beautiful thing to see how they can work together. What they create and build is multifaceted, displaying both strength and softness.

There is also a spiritual and physical balance in the healer/protector dynamic. Within this incredible balance, they can introduce one another to the other aspects of life they often miss or overlook. They help each other reach certain places and they even educate one another as well.

It's pure alchemy, especially when the communication between them is open, honest, and true.

While healers provide a protective force, protectors are the fighters. Both are important, both are necessary, both can thrive in each other's company. Healers are the water and protectors are the rocks. Water is powerful enough on its own but can be held and filtered by rocks, making the quality of the water that much more refreshing.

It's been mentioned a few times how they help or assist each other. I feel that's vital for the world we live in today where the majority may not understand what these two go through. Protectors and healers can continue to help each other with awareness, simply know where they're at in life.

Healers are consistently vulnerable and underserved. But they are not an object serving as an endless source of comfort. Protectors are pushed, tested, and dehumanized. But they aren't objects with no emotion, just meant to endlessly guard. They each have their own needs and need to be safe and reassured when getting those needs met. They can help each other accomplish this with ease.

More thoughts later.

[ayamturd]

bisexual│mcyt hc

warnings: small mentions of hate, fluff

prompt: (requested 1 & 2) “Hello uh I saw one of your posts about the dream smp reacting to you coming out so I was wondering if you haven't already done it can you do dream smp reacting to you coming out as bisexual?” 

“Hello yamturd so I was wondering if maybe you could do tubbo, Tommy and Ranboo reacting to reader coming out as bisexual or lesbian if you haven't already done it :)” 

pairings: irl platonic! dream, ranboo, tommy and tubbo ; c!technoblade

a/n: if i offend or misinterpret anything in this hc, please feel free to message and correct me otherwise. i will always try to correct or delete this post if asked so <33

sending my love to all those who identify as bisexual <33

wc: (1.5k) - m.list

dream - 

considering his prideful personality sometimes, you probably wanted to play with his ego and drop subtle hints

not anything too obvious, but enough to make him kick himself when he realizes

though it was admittedly difficult since he plays into the dnf ship so much that he thinks you’re also joking more than half the time 

imagine you two were in a voice call one evening and randomly discussing the recent fanon and what would be funny to turn into canon (to mess with the fandom)

you’ve been recently shipped with two other content creators, both of opposing female and male gender, separately and together

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind hitting that.” “Which one?” “Both.”

He’d laugh, but you didn’t.

“Wait, you’re serious? You actually identify as…?” “Bisexual. Yeah, I’m pretty sure anyway.” “Y/n, that’s amazing.”

takes pride in the fact that you trust him, but would feign being upset that you messed with him for as long as you did

be jokingly offended if he found out someone knew before him

“Wait…” “Yes?” “You told Bad??” “Yeah, he was one of the first.” “W— Why??”

It was your turn to laugh while he gawked in disbelief.

“It’s Bad! Of course I told him.” “… Fair enough.”

hate is a given, and he’ll always be there to support and defend you

he’ll always ask your permission before taking any action, however, because he respects you too much and knows you can fight your own battles

dream is someone will show relentless support, whether that be through words or moral support, he’ll always be there for you 

c!technoblade - 

i honestly feel like you never officially came out to techno

as you began to recognize yourself as bisexual, you slowly expressed yourself around him more openly to the point where he unconsciously knew

it’d probably would have hit him in the most random moment after months of assuming he knew

imagine you’re in the midst of battle when techno paused entirely with wide eyes 

“Y/n!” “What!?” “Are you gay??”

you would tease him when discussing your love life in one-sided conversations with him; him basically choosing to ignore you when you talk to him

“Honestly, Techno, how could you not want to hit that?” “Please, just stop.”

(i’ve written this before but will stand by this that) he truly doesn’t care for your sexuality

you’re a friend, someone he trusts and relies on, he doesn’t need to consider who you’re attracted to since he sees you for your skills and friendship

the only, and only time he is mindful of your sexuality depends on others unnecessary comments about it

the smp is a known judgement free land, but there will always be someone with ignorant opinions that he is always quick to shut down (or kill)

nothing much can be said besides the fact that you’ll always be y/n to him: a loyal friend and someone he would fight the world for

ranboo - 

oh sweet ranboo, dear ranboo

considering how openly supportive and kind he naturally is, you didn’t question the idea of telling him

i’d like to imagine that unlike most where you planned or waited to tell, the moment you knew, he would know soon after

imagine you called him before he began his lore stream to hype him up

you both were talking about more mundane things to calm his nerves as people joined when you brought it up

“Oh actually, before you start, I wanted to tell you something.” “Sure, what is it?” “Well, I�� I’m Bisexual.” “…You’re tELLING ME THIS WHEN I’M ABOUT TO START MY STREAM??” “Y/n! I’m so happy for you, that’s amazing!”

he’s incredibly patient concerning how you wanted others to know or when you were ready to be completely out

similar to c!techno with the same beliefs you’re still y/n, and nothing has changed besides you coming out as yourself

he’s your go to when days are rough, because he knows how to help you understand you’re still loved as the same y/n and nothing less

“Hey, hey, listen to me. I love you, y/n. We all do, and you’ll never be alone when things get rough, alright?” (love /p)

knows how to silently deal with hate in his chat unless it becomes evident enough to address it (doesn’t want to bring attention to meaningless words until it becomes serious)

ranboo’s your rock and makes show that he’ll never believe anything other than that you deserve love

tommyinnit - 

as someone who took pride in defending the LGBTQ+ community, you had no hesitation when coming out to tommy

if any, your reluctance would come from accepting yourself to the point to be open with other people

it’s not as if he didn’t accept you, he could never imagine doing so in the slightest, but he probably wouldn’t know what to say initially

imagine you both were in the midst of playing bedwars together in a recording for a video

he had been busy gathering emeralds while you remained at the base, and the comforting silence gave you the confidence to blindly address it

“Hey Tommy?” “What, y/n? I’m in the middle of something right now.” “Oh, um, I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.” “…” “…Tommy?” “…” “T— Tommy?”

it’d be dead quiet for a few seconds before you heard the noise of him rustling in realization

“Wait wait wait, you’re serious? You’re bisexual?” “Haha yeah, yeah, I am.” “WHA—!”

he was happy for you, to say the least

tommy loves to joke, and one he loved to make would be your attraction to both genders

you like women? pog!

you like men? a shame, honestly

if you were publicly out, his favorite bit would be to include you in his obnoxious swooning

imagine he was streaming while talking about his love for women

“Boys, honestly, the ladies just can’t resist me.”

The ding of discord notified you entering the call, the sound of your laughter immediately coming through.

“I agree, Tommy, I definitely agree.” “Y/n! You are attracted to women, and I am also attracted to women. You can agree women are amazing, yes?” “I can, Tommy. Women are indeed amazing.” “Good lad!” “Tommy, you do realize I’m not only attracted to w—” “Shush, we don’t speak of that.”

he showed his support by normalizing your sexuality, his acceptance quick and easily integrated into your lives

(this is getting long but—) tommy was well aware he lacked some knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community, but openly voiced his ignorance as a sign of awareness itself

he was always quick to correct either himself or others, he refused to accept slander of any type in his streams

would probably try to keep it light heartedly, but scold nonetheless

tommy was your figurative cheerleader, always there to include and uplift you, whether that be through the smallest gestures or loudest cheers

tubbo - 

poor tubbo

since he wasn’t the most careful with secrets, you probably withheld telling him till you were ready for most to know

this isn’t to deter anything of not trusting him, he’s still supportive and loving tubbo that wouldn’t dare do anything purposeful against you

if anything, you might have forgotten that he didn’t know when you were casually taking about it within a group

imagine you and Ranboo were trying to get him to sleep one early morning but gave up

you started talking about personal stuff and the topic of your love life came up, specifically the attraction to someone of the same gender

“I don’t know, Ranboo, I mean, I think I like them but at the same time I’m not sure.” “That’s fai—” “Wait, y/n. You’re gay??” “Bisexual, actually.” “WaAA—”

his very sleep deprived state was extremely happy and emotional for you

he’s like the little duckling with a knife, like he loves you completely but will try to hurt anyone that offends you

like tommy, he has no personal knowledge when being in the LGBTQ+ community but will solely learn for your sake

whether you’re younger or not, tubbo never fails to remind you that he looks up to you

he gives his all and won’t hesitate to provide in any way he can if needed

“You matter,” he’ll always say, “you’re important and no one else’s opinion matter.”

is proud to be your friend and expresses his platonic love in full, for you’re you and are so brave to be yourself despite all

choosing not to tag my usual taglist just cause its a headcanon with a specific request <33 (huge ty to @basilly​ and @inniterhq​ though for the advice/motivation to finish this)

[yostresswritinggirl]

Researching...

ZETA

You need to see this first then this

The alchemist had been trying all remedies to shake off the stress and fatigue in his system and they all seemed to fail, no amount of sketching or discoveries can pull him away from it. So when you offered a solution he hasn’t heard, he’d jump at it immediately. “You know, some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever.” “Intercourse? If it’s true, then please, I wish to have intercourse with you.” “Wha- wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!” “Convenient, I love you, anything else?”

Pairing -> Albedo x Female Reader

Word Count -> 2944

Themes -> Smut, PwP, PwF, Woohoo, the "thing", the "do"

Series -> #Bonafide Specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> NSFW CONTENT, DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDERAGED! (this is awkward because you two have no experience, jsyk)

(Z,E)-9,12-tetradecadienyl acetate (TDA, also known as ZETA) are usually emitted by females to attract males for mating. Sex pheromones are defined as odors, produced by either males or females that stimulate one or more behavioral reactions in the opposite sex, bringing the males and females together for the purpose of mating.

The foldered papers at the mahogany desk met with a soft plop at its weight, and you noticed the Alchemist suddenly straighten his back from his spaced out daze on the noise, whipping his head towards where you stand. Albedo's teal eyes were wide from the sudden intrusion, but his eyelids drooped over them once again upon the realization that it was just you who entered as it loses its light once more. This worried you.

The Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius has been in a dilemma recently. And all of Mond knows of this.

Albedo naturally holds himself in a regal and composed aura that draws people to him in admiration and trance. But this Albedo lacks such gait, with shoulders tense and eyebrows furrowed, steps heavy and head hanging low.

He has hit a wall in his never-ending research. And the effect was obvious on him.

Days he'd be cooped up in his laboratory staring at nothing, glaring at his setup. Days he'd be gone beyond the walls with his easel and sketchbook, only to return with unfinished artworks meant to be forgotten. Sucrose had tried placing experiments that are easy to handle and give him at least a sense of self-confidence for solving, but even that cannot pull his mind away from his obstacle.

"You know," leaning on the table with arms crossed, you watched the Kreideprinz drag his foot to where you were, aiming to check on the folder that you just submitted, "Some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever." Such words smoothly flowed out of your mouth despite the masked embarrassment you expertly hid through a haughty smirk.

That someone was Kaeya, and that Kaeya threw out that same comment next to you when you two saw Albedo walk through the headquarter's halls like a zombie a few days ago.

The sudden pound of fists on the table at either side of you startled you, expertly caging you in as you looked up. Albedo loomed over you with eyes brightly catching the sun, giving it the luminosity that carried the same curious look he had when faced with the unknown. "Intercourse? If it's true, then please," oh no, "I wish to have intercourse with you."

Excuse me? "Wha-" suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how close you are to one another. You slightly hiked yourself up against the table, as to preserve what little distance you have. "Wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!”

And without skipping a beat, he mused, "Convenient, I love you, anything else?" That familiar smirk displayed on his face.

Contrary to his face tho, you greatly contest to Diluc's hair. Really a normal reaction- to this guy suddenly confessing! Your head is already whirling around in confusion and your eyes couldn't set itself straight at him, still mindful of the distance of which reminded you why you were in this predicament in the first place.

Albedo attentively watched your eyes stray to the side as he stands there in silence, seeing it land at the entrance to his laboratory. Ah of course, he thought he'd made a discovery, as he leans away from you to make his way towards the door.

And shut it with a click.

"Wait, wait, why did you lock the door?!" You finally mustered up the courage to speak (breaking away from the shock of his confession) as he finds himself where he stood over you, eyes filled with confusion.

"You were quiet after my confession. I know such moments of romance are intimate and with your eyes, I only wanted to give us privacy," his brows furrowed with confusion before his shoulders dropped, a sharp sigh escaping. "Normally people would express their reciprocation by now," he breathed as he starts pulling back and away, "but voicing your rejection would have been appre-"

Quickly with a yelp, you reached out for his departing form, pulling him back by the grip on his shirt. Albedo's eyes only widened a little as he was quick to grip the table's edge to stabilize himself, one arm wrapped around your waist to ground you. "No! I do- do love you too!" You finally squeezed out the embarrassing confession, "You were just so sudden, it surprised me so much!"

And suddenly he was laughing openly, full of relief and humor, as his shoulders slackened at the validation. The heavy weight on his shoulders eased as if a physical matter left it, the bout of removed tension making him slump on you.

You cradled the tired Albedo in your arms as you let him place his chin on your shoulder. This man is your lover now, you thought as the fact finally dawned on you. The brilliant and most loved in Mond now tied down to you.

Basking in the presence of a person now his, Albedo found himself breathing in. There was a scent to you that always soothes him which now feels emphasized at the closeness. His pupils dilated as his face buries itself closer to the junction where your neck and shoulder meets.

Ah, what was this? Was this the pheromones you once talked about in your research on zoology that attracts those to them? He mused in his mind as those teal eyed fluttered shut, nose brushing at your neck for another whiff.

While Albedo indulged himself with the natural scent of you, you stood there with weak legs, trembling and red from the notions. Oh gods, you whimpered at the feeling of his lips brushing at your skin, you're whipped for this man.

"I'm waiting," you had to hold the shiver when his words vibrated against your neck, "for your answer on my offer, I think it would be good to try." Ah the 'intercourse'. You placed your hands flat on his back as he leans away to stare in attention, and then you finally explained to him what you meant, what you'd do, and what it entails to.

Albedo nods in understanding at your every clause and explanation. And his bright mind understood far too easily how it would help. "We are lovers now," his eyes twinkled at the cute scrunch of your nose upon the embarrassment of the fact, "sooner or later we'd end up doing it anyways. When shouldn't be a matter."

Albedo always make a good point.

With your consent, Albedo slowly lays you on the surface of the table as his other hand makes quick work to swipe away the items that would be in the way, thankfully the carpeted floor prevented anything from breaking. His lips found yours almost naturally as you urged him to take off his coat and you worked on your own, the thoughts spiraling in your head for every clothing that is shed:

Albedo has little to none idea on how sex works between humans, and you had your base knowledge from the things you learned from academics; in short, you're both inexperienced and you are his anchor.

How funny how the master role quickly switched, you thought with an inward laugh before it died in your throat at the sight— he stands there with his undershirt unbuttoned, belt and shorts caught by his knee, and his apparent bulge outlined by his boxers. Your thighs instinctively closed, you don't know what's considered average in size for such things, but you know for a fact there's gonna be some difficulty.

"Is something wrong?" His raw and calloused hands (gloves long gone) softly landed at your squirming thighs, the contact sending a shiver all over. "Am I doing something wrong?"

No, you breathed as you urged him to step closer and settle between your legs at the edge of the table, his form forcing you to spread your limbs apart.

The intoxicating scent that Albedo indulged in earlier was stronger now, drowning him and clouding his thoughts. The waft plunged through his senses so forcefully that he stumbled a bit on you, hips hitting as he grips your sides to keep him steady.

Next came the warmth that touched his sensitive length as it laid between you, the contact had forced out a cute squeak from you and an airy groan from him. His hips buckled to catch the sensation as he finds himself rutting between your folds with ragged breathing.

So good, it felt so good. Albedo finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open from what he now identified to be pleasure, and as he looks up to check on you, you were struggling just the same. Your chest rises and falls in quick successions as you covered your eyes with an arm, whimpers coming out of your slightly parted lips.

Fuck. If only he wasn't so engrossed, he wanted to capture this image through painting. "Am I-," he cleared his throat of the hoarse voice, "Am I hurting you?"

You gasped at the cold and wet feeling swipe from your chin to the corner of your lips, licking the trail of drool you didn't even notice when you opened your eyes to see Albedo's up close. With a shake of your head, you gripped the ponytail of his braid to pull his head for a sudden kiss.

Staggering over your form as your legs hiked up to hook around his waist, you guided the tip of his length to your entrance as he ravaged your mouth without restraint. Lips bruising each other, tongue tracing the underside of yours gingerly before it licks at the roof of your mouth— all the sensations had fogged up your consciousness so badly that you didn't feel an ounce of pain when he finally entered into you, guided by a shy gentleness to his ministrations.

It is only when his tip finally touched the opening of your cervix did you whimper; the way you're being stretched and the fullness of his length in you making you writhe under and around him, the friction only making rousing him more.

Albedo produced a low growl against your lips as he bit down on the bottom one, his trimmed nails digging to your soft-skinned hips as he pins it down. "Stop- nghh- stop moving around so much," a sudden warmth pooled into your stomach as you tightened around him.

Mistake number one: You didn't expect for his gentleness to be gone.

Spurred on by your tightening grip and the pleasure shooting up him everytime his tip came in contact with your edge, Albedo went into a relentless pace, pounding straight into you to hit that spot. Your pants turned into breathless chokes everytime he comes in contact, forcing your raw moans out of you. There's a dull pain by your entrance everytime he grinds against your walls, and he whimpers your name in pure ecstacy every stroke.

Your back arcs as he smacks into you, pulling back halfway through before burying deep into your hole once again. His brutal pace gets sloppy at times, before his strength comes back again to pull you closer. Halfway through Albedo produces a feral growl as he grips one of your legs behind the knee, pushing it closer to your body and slightly angled to the side.

And the moment he thrusts in with the new position, you cried out his name. The tip of his length reached far deeper with this new angle, and had plunged the top right into your cervix— your hips trembled as Albedo's whole body shivers at the new sensation, fingernails digging into your thigh as his other hand intertwines with yours, pinning it down on the table as leverage.

"Ahn," he whispered your name tiredly with tears pricking at the edge of his eyes, for the first time staring at your eyes after he had started, "How are you? Is it okay? Is it..."

Good, you mumbled with a tired smile at his consideration, bumping your hips to emphasize on it- which drew a sharp gasp from the both of you, he was already in so deep, your hips bruised and touching.

He rolled his hips to test out, his thickness rubbing at the walls as he stirs your insides. The sweet moan you produced spurred him on, and he was once again staggering into you, his hips slightly elevated in an angle meant to pierce through you.

The sound of flesh smacking against each other overpowers even your loudest moan as Albedo pleasured himself inside you desperately, the smell of sex filling your sense of smell. He chases the way your hole drips and wafts with the scent, drawing in a huge breathe whenever your mixed cum spills past his tightly locked dick in you.

And soon his pace became more desperate and short, as he makes quick work at hitting you in your most sensitive part to barely give you time to gasp for air. Your walls clenched down on him so tightly as you came, a cry of his name passing your lips as your back arched—

the pressure made him buckle and he thrusts in deep one last time, tip breaking past your cervix, as his climax enters you in thick strings of warmth.

That was mistake number two: you didn't bring protection with you.

But at that moment you couldn't care less (your cycle just ended anyways, you should be fine), watching him whimper your name in full pleasure as his teeth grinds against each other, his forehead and eyebrows knit and furrow as he releases before it relaxes after he is done.

And then he falls face first to your chest, the renowned Alchemist running out of the minimal stamina he had with him. Buried between the valley of your breast, Albedo had the most serene (almost drunk) expression on his face, lips pressed against the skin over your heart where it beats with fervor from your activity.

He tested another experimental thrust, lighter this time, as he felt your mixed fluids moved around the tiny space. You gave a wailing moan at his action, and he breathlessly laughed at your reaction.

Albedo stayed in you and on you for a few more minutes after that. Still trying to regain strength as your tired pants became the white noise that night.

"Albedo..." he hums against your chest as his arms tightened around your waist, enjoying the peace your hands brought to him as you stroke his cheek. "Albedo, I need to clean up." He jests that you should just keep it in you and you responded with rapid pats, whining at the notion. He chuckles.

It took him a lot of willpower to get up and he made it obvious as hell, taking his time to remove himself off your chest, grumbling that his bed was complaining too much. You let out a cute snort before smacking his arm. Albedo grips your hips as he gently pulls out when he stops suddenly, realizing that the liquids would pour out and make an obvious mess if he were to do so.

His head passes around the immediate area as he pinpoints a peculiar object, plucking it from its plastic package, still new from the bubble wrap. A sharp gasp suddenly comes by you at the cold and hard sensation that replaced Albedo inside you, only a few inches deep as the Alchemist walks off to get tissues. Wary, you looked down to see the object, choking out when you saw its end sticking out past your crotch:

A test tube, pristine and clean, was preventing the fluids from dripping out of your hole.

When Albedo came back with the tissues and spare cloth in hand, he muses at how your deep red face was smacked tightly against your palms. He offers to clean up, a gentle hand carefully pulling out the tube, but you refused and got quick work on yourself. That was enough embarrassment for tonight.

Unbeknownst to you with your busied self, Albedo held the glass vial in close inspection and curiosity. The translucent white liquid barely blocks the night light and produced the same strong scent he'd been chasing the whole night— he sticks his tongue out to taste, ah, slightly salty and sticky.

Albedo wonders what kind of experiment he can do with this.

The obvious lift on the shoulders of the Chief Alchemist was greatly acknowledged by everyone in town who were aware of the impasse the young man had troubled himself with for the past few days. The bags under his eyes were gone, and the tealness he has shined with newfound vigor. Besides the mood shift, many of the knights had also noticed the time spent between the two of you. Missions and expeditions were always coinciding with each other and people barely saw you separated, giggling and smiling to yourselves in your pink world.

One day they finally found out about your relationship when a knight barged in to his laboratory for an urgent matter. Blurting out the Chief Alchemist's name before he realized that you were there, lips locked against each other.

The news spreads fast with that little detail and everyone congratulated you on your relationship.

Behind your bashful smiles, you and Albedo sighed in great relief, thankful to the archons that the knight didn't took notice of your hand under his big white coat that time.

This turned out like this cuz alchemy boy very new to things u_u and little stamina, he needs to exercise more ehe-

@creation-magician @dandelion-dreams @zelos-simp @struggljng @youroffical-weirdo @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader (no use of Y/N) Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining, non-graphic description of wounds Summary: With the ghosts of your own mysterious past close on your heels, you can’t afford to get in the middle of someone else’s fight; however, attraction drives you to make a reckless decision, and you end up swept up in the Mandalorian’s story. Notes: (1) Reader is bisexual. It will probably only come up peripherally, but I wanted to make a note of that. (2) I did my best to keep physical descriptions of the reader out of my writing, but please let me know if something slipped in that isn’t as inclusive as it could be!  

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

You felt the weight of the Mandalorian’s gaze before you saw him.

Sitting in the cantina on Nevarro, you were alone in a corner booth—a seat close to the back exit that had a clear view of the front door.

You were halfway through your drink when the hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you had the overwhelming feeling that you were being watched.

You scanned the cantina and, in your periphery, registered the Mandalorian’s head snap back from your direction to face the man sitting across from him. You hadn’t noticed him enter, but it must have been just moments ago because you surveyed your surroundings every few minutes.

The two men were seated a few tables away. You observed the Mandalorian for a moment, noting his stiff-backed posture and the tension in his shoulders under his battle-worn armor. He could tell you’d caught him staring and that you were watching him.

The man sitting across from the Mandalorian was gesticulating as he spoke. You’d been on Nevarro long enough to recognize him as Greef Karga, local leader of the Guild. You could only see his back, but he was boisterous—a stark contrast to the Mandalorian’s silent stillness—and his voice carried.

Karga was saying something about bounties and currency—no surprise there. Mandalorians were the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. You didn’t know much about them besides the legends you’d heard as a child, though it was very unclear what was true and what was myth. You’d only ever seen one in person before, and that Mandalorian had been terrifying, threatening.

This Mandalorian, however, was... intriguing? He was, of course, intimidating—in his head-to-toe armor with a long rifle leaned against the table, he was the very picture of a warrior. Any person with sense would be scared of him, and judging by the sidelong glances he was getting from the other patrons, most were.

The very relatable experience of having someone catch you in the act of watching them—as you’d just done to him—however, humanized this Mandalorian. Noting his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help wondering what he looked like under all that heavy metal. You’d heard rumors that some Mandalorians never took off their armor in front of another person. That would be a real shame.

Though you’d have preferred to continue thinking about the man under the armor (and the things you wanted to do with him), a small voice in your head reminded you of the potentially dangerous reality of your situation.

Why was he watching me? He can’t possibly recognize me.

No one had come after you in years. There was likely still a steep bounty on your head, but many of the people who wanted to find you were dead, imprisoned, or deep in hiding. Some were convinced you’d been taken out in a star cruiser explosion (because you almost had been). And, you no longer looked like the photo that was attached to your bounty puck. Your hair was a radically different shade and length. You wore contacts to obscure the real color of your eyes. You always chose high-necked clothing to conceal the identifying scar that slashed an angry line beneath your clavicle.  

You kept a low profile, moved often, and assumed a fake identity, but you felt safe enough in your anonymity to come to a planet like Nevarro, a place that was swarming with hunters.

Plus, you reasoned that if the Mandalorian was looking for you for a job, this is probably not how it would have happened. It would have been stealthy and quick, potentially bloody and violent.

No, you didn’t think he was looking for you, which meant he had been looking at you. Out of interest. And that was so, so much better.

You turned your body towards him pointedly to make it more obvious that you were watching him. The slight forward lean of his shoulders told you he registered your movement in his periphery. His helmet stayed trained on Karga, but it was impossible to know exactly where he was looking through the black t-shape of his visor. You would have bet he was looking back at you.

The Mandalorian responded to Karga, pushing some credits back across the table. You could hear the low undercurrent of his modulated voice, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. It looked like they were arguing about the currency of the credits on the table.

As Karga dug in his pocket for something, the Mandalorian turned his helmet slowly back towards you. Throwing caution to the wind, you smiled at him and winked, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. You watched him expectantly, figuring this was when he’d walk over to your table.

Instead, he turned his head back to Karga, responded to something he said, and grabbed the credits off the table. They were clearly finishing up their deal. The Mandalorian slid out of the booth and strapped the long rifle to his back. He started toward the front door.

Maybe you’d read the whole situation wrong. Like you, he was trained to be aware of everyone, everything around him. Perhaps, he’d just been surveying the cantina, not necessarily you.

Feeling slightly disappointed, you finished your drink, dropped some credits on the table, and got up to leave. You were pulling on your jacket when a familiar feeling made you flick your head up. The Mandalorian was standing at the front of the cantina, his dark silhouette framed in the light of the open doorway, visor trained on you.

From where he was standing, he looked you up and down, lowering and raising his helmet to survey your body from top to bottom and back up again—a gesture that could have easily been achieved without moving his entire head in such an obvious way. His penetrating gaze and brazen attention made you shiver. 

He waited to see what you would do.

You were tempted to go to him, to see what would happen, but the stubborn part of you wanted him to come to you—and, more importantly, the sensible part of you was worried this was somehow a trap. You made an impulsive choice and decided to prolong the chase...whether that chase would prove to be literal or figurative, you weren’t totally sure.

You smiled slyly at him and turned, slipping out the back door.

***

The second time you crossed paths with the Mandalorian, you saw him before he saw you.

You were walking down Nevarro’s main thoroughfare, a busy street lined with vendors, pushing through the crowd, when you spotted the back of his reflective helmet. A couple weeks had passed since you had seen him in the cantina, and you’d been hoping to see him again, always keeping an eye out for his distinctive profile.

These past two weeks, you’d found your thoughts straying to his image—strong, mysterious, intimidating. He was sexy. There was no getting around it. You’d spent enough time around people in masks and full-body armor to know that it wasn’t just the mystery of the helmet that attracted you to him. There was something about him you couldn’t shake.

It didn’t help that you were bored and lonely here on Nevarro. It was not your favorite planet. It was dry and hot, the surface a mosaic of cracked flows of hardened lava and loose tephra—unwelcoming terrain. It was volcanically active, too, steam pouring from fractures in the hard, black ground. A river of molten lava ran under the city itself. Who would choose to live here?

For you, Nevarro was no more than a stopover—a place to stay for a few months before moving on to the next planet. You could leave any time, easily book passage to a bigger city on a prettier planet, but that shameless part of you that imagined the Mandalorian fucking you in his full armor was bold enough to convince yourself to stick around for a little longer and see if you could run into him again. Why not?

You’d been running for years, denying yourself comfort, companionship, consistency. Couldn’t you indulge just this once?

You had no reason to think the Mandalorian had thought of you for one second after seeing you in the cantina, but you let yourself hope. He didn’t hide the way he looked at you, and he hadn’t pursued you as a quarry when you left the cantina (and what a relief that was), so that meant...he’d flirted with you...right? That was probably how a Mandalorian flirted? Maybe you were stuck in his head the way he was stuck in yours? A girl could dream.

You watched his helmet disappear and reappear as you both weaved through the throngs of people. The Mandalorian had a purposeful gait and an immediate effect on everyone around him: the crowd parted for him as people avoided his path and his gaze. No one wanted to be noticed by a Mandalorian. 

Well, almost no one.

The Mandalorian clearly relied on his menacing appearance and the notorious lore associated with his armor to ensure that he was left alone. You, on the other hand, depended on stealth and the ability to disappear in a swarm of people to stay hidden. This meant that while the crowd parted easily for him, you struggled to wend your way through it.

He turned down a side street. 

The fact that he’d hounded your thoughts since you first saw him spurred you into recklessness, and you followed. As you turned down the same side street, you saw the edge of his cape disappear into an alley. The further away you moved from the main street, the more you began to question yourself.

This is potentially a bad idea.

This is definitely a bad idea.

Your existence hinged on your ability to stay lost, to be anonymous, to change your appearance, to never be sought out. And here you were, seeking out a bounty hunter.

You’d been slipping into a dangerous false sense of security these past few months—spending more time in each place, neglecting to change your chaincode as often as you should. Just because no one had come for you in a couple years, didn’t mean you were safe. You needed to snap yourself out of this delusional thinking. 

But maybe... not yet?

You picked up your pace.

It was just the two of you in a long alleyway, and you were sure he could sense you behind him by the slight turn of his head, but he didn’t stop or turn around. You weren’t being stealthy, only a few long strides behind him. He had to know you were there.

He walked surprisingly quietly, considering his heavy armor and determined stride. The loudest sound he made was his cape whipping around his calves. His long rifle was strapped to his back, and he was carrying a camtono in his left hand.

He quickly slipped down another shadowy passageway that you hadn’t noticed. You turned to follow, about to say something, but the passage was deserted. You walked to the end and back, checking to see if he’d turned again, but there was no trace of him. No doorways led off the passage. The only things in the alley were a stack of abandoned wooden pallets and a grate that emitted hot steam. He must have given you the slip on purpose, taken some secret route to evade the stranger on his tail.

Understandable. It’s what you would have done too. I probably should have come up with a better plan than just pursuing him.

Well, fuck.

You were more disappointed than you cared to admit, but you turned and headed back to the apartment you were renting a few blocks away. You were slightly embarrassed by how impulsive you’d just been. You wouldn’t have felt so abashed if it had paid off, but it hadn’t. 

You’d overstayed your time on Nevarro. Your self-imposed limit was two months per location, and you’d been here two and a half. You couldn’t push it any more, especially for such a ridiculous reason. It was time to go.

***

The third time you encountered the Mandalorian, neither of you saw the other coming.

You packed up your things, fitting everything you needed in one backpack. You purchased more food and let the hours of the afternoon drag on, waiting for the sun to sink low in the sky before heading out. 

When it was evening, you slipped your blaster into the holster at the small of your back. You slid a vibroblade into the sheath at your hip and strapped a much smaller one to your calf where it was concealed under your pants. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and scanned your small space to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything, noise erupted outside—an explosion, not far away.

There were enough ex-Imperials and bounty hunters on Nevarro that street fights and loud commotions were commonplace. You slipped out your front door, figuring you could avoid the action by slinking through the alleyways. You knew the layout of the city fairly well by now.

You crept through the dim streets. You guessed that the fighting was a couple blocks to your left based on the muffled sounds of intermittent blaster fire. You made your way toward the cantina where you knew a few regulars who would have transpo connections, but you only made it a couple blocks from your apartment before you ran into trouble.

Suddenly, shouts echoed down the street behind you. You made a hasty left turn, looking back to see if anyone was following as you broke into a run. With your head turned, you didn’t see the Mandalorian backing his way down the street toward you. You collided painfully with his back and crumpled to the ground next to him. He, mostly unfazed, made a grunting sound and snapped his head to the side to see who’d hit him. He kept his body and his blaster trained forward at two shadowy figures that were stalking towards him, but he pointed his left vambrace down at you, prepared to neutralize you if needed.

He cocked his head at you as if trying to assess whether or not you were a threat. Before you could think of anything to say, blaster fire screamed down the alley toward both of you. You grabbed your own blaster and sprang to your feet.

Noting the way you trained your blaster away from him, the Mandalorian redirected his attention back to the oncoming assailants. As more blaster fire streaked toward you, he jumped in front of you to shield your body with his and fired back down the alley.

I guess he decided I’m not a threat.

The figures drew nearer—one, a hulking man, and the other, a wiry woman with blue hair... both bounty hunters. They slunk around stray crates and garbage bins, making it difficult for either of you to land a direct hit.

The Mandalorian’s beskar armor lived up to the crazy stories you’d heard. Blaster fire pinged off of it without leaving a mark. Standing so close behind him, you noticed that his armor was different than what he’d worn just earlier that day. His old armor, painted a rusty reddish-brown, had been mismatched and battered. This was new, pristine, unpainted—a stunning reflective silver.

It was the same Mandalorian though. That you were sure of.

You kept most of your body behind his protective stance, just peaking your head and arm out periodically to take a shot. You leaned around him again to fire, and you hit the woman in the thigh while she was momentarily exposed. She grunted in pain and paused her advance.

You ducked back behind the Mandalorian. You were surprised and confused by the way the he was treating you like a partner, protecting you instinctually. You hadn’t exchanged so much as a word yet.

Weren’t Mandalorians supposed to be merciless, violent bounty hunters? Why was he trusting you? For that matter, why were you trusting him? It sounded absurd to think that he just felt trustworthy.

The next time you poked your head out, you noticed that the man had stopped shooting and was watching you intently from where he was hiding behind a stack of boxes. He made eye contact with you and held it, and you saw recognition dawn on his face. He pointed at you, turning to the woman to yell something in a language you didn’t recognize, and then charged forward, blaster drawn. His mouth formed your name, your real name, as he thundered towards you. You froze where you stood, partially exposed.

Fuck. He recognized me so easily. How?

Hot blaster fire zinged past your ear. The Mandalorian lurched forward and fell to one knee in a controlled movement as fire erupted from his vambrace. His quick thinking snapped you out of your panic, but your heart thundered as you processed how close you’d come to getting shot.

As the man’s clothes caught fire and he began to flail in panic, you came back to your senses and shot him in the chest.

The female bounty hunter, who was still several paces behind the man, disappeared down an alley behind her, just as you resumed shooting in her direction.

It won’t be long before word spreads that I’m alive on Nevarro. FUCK.

The footfalls of the woman faded quickly, and you knew she was too far ahead to catch.

You and the Mandalorian were left alone in the alley. Things were quiet for a moment. 

You turned to look at each other. It was then that you noticed the bundle tucked tightly in the crook of his right arm, the same arm that held his blaster. He shuffled the bundle to his left arm carefully... tenderly?

He tilted his helmet slightly, starting to say something just as you did the same. Before either of you could form a sentence, several more figures rounded the corner behind you.

“Come on,” you yelled, grabbing his arm to drag him forward. For the moment, the two of you were in this together. It was better than being caught in this fray alone. You figured you’d be able to slip away from the action soon enough.

As you ran through the streets, you both noted the echoing footsteps picking up behind you at each juncture. More and more people—bounty hunters—were joining the pursuit. It seemed like every bounty hunter in Nevarro was being drawn to the Mandalorian.

What did he do to bring this much heat down on himself? I need to lose him.

You considered turning down every street or alley you passed, but at least one hunter blocked each one. Every doorway was shut tight. The hunters were right on your heels. You kept running, the Mandalorian pounding along behind you, until you reached the main street, emerging near the archway that marked the entrance to town. Beyond the archway, the flat expanse of Nevarro stretched out before you; a silver ship, not far ahead, was the only thing that broke up the uniform landscape.

You both stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, as at least twenty bounty hunters closed in around you, each with a blinking fob in their hand. You were trapped. The pinging chorus of the fobs was enough to rip you back to a not-so-distant time when that sound was a constant refrain in your nightmares. But even at the height of the Empire’s search for you, you’d never had this many people on your tail.

Up until this moment, you hadn’t been too worried about making a getaway. You knew you would get out of this. You’d been in worse situations. But now? Blood rushed in your ears, and your adrenaline spiked. You were cornered, outnumbered, and somehow in the middle of a fight that had nothing to do with you. You were surrounded by bounty hunters, and one had already recognized you. You’d spent years disappearing and here you were, back in the thick of it because you turned down the wrong alley at the wrong time.

You glanced at the Mandalorian and tried to formulate an escape plan—or at least a way put some distance between you and him.

He surveyed the scene, seemingly calm in his blank mask of beskar, and began to walk towards the archway, as even more bounty hunters appeared. Not having come up with any better alternatives yet, you followed him.

The Mandalorian stopped short when Greef Karga sauntered out from the shadows to block your path forward through the archway.

“Welcome back, Mando!” Karga’s voice, the voice that had seemed jovial in the cantina weeks ago, sounded threatening as it rang through the street. “Now, put the package down.” He rested a hand on his hip, pushing back his cape to expose his blaster.

The bundle must be valuable. You wondered briefly what the Mandalorian had wrapped so carefully under his arm. A rare material like kyber? Something unstable like rhydonium? A set of holodisks with important intel?

The Mandalorian mirrored Karga’s movement, hovering his hand over his own blaster. “Step aside. I’m going to my ship,” he replied calmly. He sounded awfully certain considering the circumstances. Your eyes flicked back to the silver ship, an old Razor Crest, that sat just beyond the archway.

Karga chuckled. “You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass.”

“The kid’s coming with me.”

KID?

“If you truly care about the kid, then you’ll put it on the speeder,” Karga said, pointing to a speeder parked in front of the building on your right, where a droid sat in the pilot’s seat. The droid let out a series of cheerful beeps, indicating its readiness.

“How do I know I can trust you?” asked the Mandalorian.

How did he know he could trust me? This guy seems to play fast and loose with trust.

Karga scoffed, “Because I’m your only hope.”

Shit.

Any second, this fight was going to turn into an every-person-for-themself situation. You and the Mandalorian had helped each other thus far because it had been convenient, but now that you were trapped, you knew this precarious alliance you’d formed out of necessity was about to fracture. You hadn’t missed the way he said I and me, not we and us. You weren’t part of his equation, and you couldn’t blame him—of course, you were also going to prioritize your own safety over that of a literal stranger.

You surveyed the street, looking for the least obstructed escape route. You hoped you could run fast enough once this tense moment passed and the fight started in earnest.

The Mandalorian stepped back into you suddenly, taking the opportunity to whisper urgently, “Jump in when I say go.”

You were stunned—so stunned that you followed him without thinking as he walked over to the speeder.

For the first time, the Mandalorian looked down at the bundle in his arms. You gasped when you saw that it was in fact a sleeping child—a tiny green infant. He took a moment to watch the baby before glancing at you briefly. He looked back down at the child and without any warning, he breathed, “NOW.”

You dove head first onto the speeder as he raised his blaster and shot a hunter who was right behind where you had just been standing. From the outside, you imagined that it looked like the two of you were partners—the way you moved together, coordinated and seamless.

You scrambled back and pushed crates out of the way, staying down on your stomach, as the Mandalorian flung himself over the side of the speeder and landed next to you. Blaster fire screeched all around you as the hunters reacted in unison.

You both stayed prone on the floor of the speeder, reaching only your blasters up to return the fire that was raining down on you. The Mandalorian rolled over to carefully place the kid down before yelling at the droid at the front of the speeder.

“DRIVE!”

When the droid shook its head in refusal, the Mandalorian demanded again, holding up his blaster threateningly. The droid acquiesced, and the speeder lurched forward. You grabbed the child and hugged them to your chest as the crates shifted around you.

You made it almost all the way to the archway—you and the Mandalorian taking out several of the bounty hunters as you went—before someone had the sense to shoot the pilot droid. The speeder crashed to a halt in a rain of sparks. Fire ceased and a tense quiet fell.

The Mandalorian edged toward you on his elbows. You could hear the bounty hunters closing in around you, the crunch of their boots ominous. You curled your body protectively over the child.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “What now?” You looked into the black t of his visor, wishing you could see his eyes.

He nodded as if that was a sufficient answer to your question and worked his way toward the edge of the speeder. Slowly, silently, he pulled his long rifle from his side and eased it between two crates, pointing it at a hunter on the roof of the closest building. You heard the sound of the rifle powering up and its screeching discharge as it vaporized the hunter. And then another. And another. The Mandalorian’s reload was lightening fast. You took the chance during the ensuing chaos to scoot to the edge of the speeder and take aim at a hunter with your blaster. The remaining hunters scurried away, taking shelter behind walls, doorways, whatever they could find.

The Mandalorian paused, and for a tense moment, nothing happened. The threat of the Amban Rifle was enough to create another temporary ceasefire.

“That’s one impressive weapon,” bellowed Karga. You couldn’t see him from where you lay.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna walk to my ship with the kid, and you’re gonna let that happen,” the Mandalorian stated authoritatively.

We.

“No, how about this? We take the kid, and if you try and stop us, we kill you both and then strip your body for parts,” Karga spat back.

You could feel the hunters starting to come out of hiding all around you. The subtle rasp of tephra under foot gave them away again. You looked behind you and saw that one hooded hunter was edging closer to the speeder. The Mandalorian had his back to the hunter, as he faced Karga. You trained your blaster on the approaching hunter, ready to fire. Before you could pull the trigger, the Mandalorian kicked the canister at his feet, knocking the hunter over, and sat up to stun him with the rifle.

Apparently, he had been aware of the man the whole time. His peripheral vision must be largely obstructed in his helmet. How is he so acutely aware of everything around him?

Everyone opened fire once again.

Over the sound of blaster fire, you heard Karga yell, “Don’t hit the target!”

The Mandalorian rose to his knees, leaned over some crates, and activated his vambrace so a sudden burst of flames cleared out the hunters that were closest to the speeder. You took out two more with your blaster while they were distracted by the flames.

The Mandalorian grunted in frustration as the fire streaming from his wrist sputtered out. Then, he grunted and doubled over in pain when blaster fire hit him in the side, where he wasn’t protected by his armor.

He clutched his side and ducked back down to crawl his way over to you, gently pulling on your arm until you released the child, so he could look at their face. The child cooed and opened two huge, watery eyes.

You looked away, feeling like you were encroaching on a private moment.

Is this his kid? Who is after a child? What is the story here?

You leaned away and fired several more shots, injuring another hunter.

Then you heard it. A streaming projectile took out one of the hunters on a nearby roof. As the hunter screamed and fell to the ground, several figures in Mandalorian armor, powered by jetpacks with blasters in hand, rose up from behind the row of buildings lining the street. There had to be at least a dozen of them—maybe more. It was hard to tell in the chaos. They seemed to be everywhere. They took out hunter after hunter as they slowly lowered themselves to the ground and sparks rained down around you.

You both sat up to watch.

A particularly huge Mandalorian in blue armor with a large repeating blaster touched down next to the speeder and bellowed, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!”

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert,” responded the Mandalorian, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

“This is the way,” replied the huge blue Mandalorian, as he continued to fire at the bounty hunters.

“This is the way,” agreed the Mandalorian next to you. 

In one fluid movement, he strapped his rifle to his back. You sheathed your blaster as he thrust the kid back into your arms, and he grabbed your free hand, hauling you to your feet as he stood. You jumped from the speeder together. He pulled you along behind him, continuing to shield your body with his as much as possible. The juxtaposition of the way he held your hand and how he was brutally taking out hunter after hunter with his blaster was jarring.

A blaster shot grazed your thigh as you ran, and you swore at the stinging pain, doubling over slightly without loosening your grip on the child. The Mandalorian turned his head but didn’t stop pulling you forward. You faltered for a moment but gritted your teeth and sped up to sprint behind him, leaving the chaos in your wake as you crossed under the archway. You made it the short distance to his ship, where the ramp was already lowered.

You followed him up the ramp. He shoved his blaster into the holster on his belt and started forward into the ship.

The idea of being trapped with this strange Mandalorian was absurd, but you didn’t have much of a choice. If you stayed on Nevarro, the remaining bounty hunters would tear the city apart to find you. This was the fastest way to get off world: a calculated risk.

You sensed movement behind you before you heard Karga’s voice.

“Hold it, Mando.”

You both spun around to face him. Karga had a blaster trained on you and the kid in your arms.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the code,” he spat.

The Mandalorian was silent as he assessed his options. Silent was clearly his default state. He was used to hiding behind the intimidating mask of his armor.

You were trying to guess how good Karga’s reflexes were and if you could grab your blaster from where you’d resheathed it at your back fast enough. As you thought it out, the Mandalorian tipped his head subtly to his left at what looked like a carbonite chamber. Before you or Karga could register his plan, he shot a metal cord from his vambrace, hitting the button to activate the chamber and filling the hull with freezing mist.

In the gloom, the Mandalorian grabbed you roughly and pushed you out of the way. Karga shot blindly. You whipped out your blaster and fired back, knowing exactly where he had been standing. You heard him grunt and fall backwards off the ship with a thud.

The Mandalorian made quick work of shutting the ramp, deactivating the hissing carbonite chamber, and initiating the takeoff protocol from a control panel on the wall.

You slumped onto a nearby crate, exhausted, as the ship lifted off the ground. You let your backpack slide off your shoulders onto the floor next to you. Still holding the baby to your chest protectively, you loosened your arms to study their sweet sleeping face.

His face? Her face? Who is this child?

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian stomped forward and snatched the kid from your arms. You looked up in surprise as he disappeared up the ladder next to you. He was gone for a few moments before the ship jolted as it left Nevarro’s atmosphere and jumped into hyperspace.

You rested your head on the cool wall behind you, trying to catch your breath. You let your eyelids slip shut for a minute—until you opened your eyes at the loud thud of the Mandalorian jumping back down into the hull, ignoring the ladder all together. He walked purposefully towards what looked like a storage bay, set the sleeping child down inside, and closed the door with a snap. He turned slowly to face you.

***

Chapter 2

[thatrandomwriter]

Returning the favor

Merle x female reader, reader saves Merle’s life after he cuts off his hand

Warnings: sexual language, slight gore, cursing

A banging at the door made me jump awake - I never slept deeply anymore, and I spent most of my nights in and out of what could barely be described as sleep, easily woken and constantly exhausted.

My first thought was a particularly persistent walker. But then I heard a voice, raspy and southern “I saw you through the window. Open up. Or I swear, I’ll kick this damn door down.” It was most likely a looter. Opening the door to him seemed immediately like the stupid option, but if he was serious about knocking my door down then I would have to find a new place to hide out, an extra risk I could not afford to take. My best bet was to overpower him at the door. He’d seen me through the window and probably assumed that I’d be easily threatened, but what he hadn’t seen was the pistol I kept hidden by the door, or the knives I had stashed under my mattress and around the small room.

The banging on the door got more persistent. I grabbed a knife, and ensured my gun was easily in reach. It wouldn’t hurt to have extra weapons he didn’t know about.

I swung open the door. A tall, broad man stood in my doorway. One arm was pointing a gun vaguely in my direction, the other dripping so much blood it almost looked black. His hand had been cut off.

“Get out. All your shit is mine now, don’t think I won’t shoot you just cuz yer a girl,” He sneered at me, feigning confidence, but his skin was tinged grey and sweat was beading on his brow. He was weak and there was no way he could physically overpower me in this state, despite his muscular frame.

I raised a sceptical eyebrow at his threat. Then, in one swift motion, I knocked the gun from his hand and pushed my knife to his throat, firmly enough for a small bead of blood to gather on the edge of the blade. He opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid, before the full weight of his body collapsed into me and he lost consciousness.

*

Somehow, with strength I hadn’t even known I had, I half lifted, half dragged the man’s body over to my mattress on the floor. It was clear he had lost far too much blood. I knew it was stupid, but some part of me wanted to help him, even though I knew he had come here to rob me blind, and possibly to kill me after he had taken all of my possessions. I told myself it was because leaving him outside would attract walkers. But really some part of me was still weak and soft, and somehow I had sympathy for a man who could not give less of a shit about me.

Minor medical training from books I had scavenged and stolen told me that he was in desperate need of stitches, and likely had a severe infection from his wound, and that it needed to be treated fast or there was no way he could survive without a hospital, which, for obvious reasons, was not an option. The building I had set up camp in was a small convenience store in the city which I used to run, and decided to stay in when the dead started walking. Unfortunately, the store had tempted many thieves in the early days, but as time went on, less and less people braved the city. The man must have seen that my store was the least damaged for several blocks, and identified it as his best bet at survival. He was right - behind the counter were antibiotics and just enough first aid equipment for me to have a chance at saving him. Even if he had stolen my supplies, it was unlikely that he would have managed treating his own wound.

The stitches were the worst part. I had never liked needles, and as far as facing my fears went, this was seriously hands on. It was messily done, probably a laughable job compared to professional standards. And I was sure that the amount of blood on the floor, my hands and staining my clothes was biologically impossible. But somehow he was still alive, something I still hadn’t decided was a good or bad thing. At least he was unconscious for now.

*

Two days passed. I was getting used to sleeping with him around, trying not to think about what he might do if he awoke while I was asleep- waking up to a gun in my face was a real possibility, but one that I had to risk. I slept on the floor next to the mattress he was occupying, uncomfortable enough to be exhausted but easily woken if he or the walkers became an immediate threat.

I sat next to him on the mattress, cleaning his arm, checking that the infection was fading and that the stitches were holding like they should be. It was strange looking after someone who had barely spoken two sentences to me, those sentences being delirious threats after severe blood loss. I often found myself wondering what he would have been like if we had met before the world had ended, at a bar maybe, where he could have bought me a drink or two. I like to think that he would have been the type to hit on me shamelessly and I would have been cynical but secretly loved his advances. I cut myself off in my head. It was ridiculous to think like this. With some effort, I focused back on his arm and began to change his bandage, but my eyelids were growing heavy and I had forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. Every time I closed my eyes, sleep tried to pull me down. I just had to keep them open, just had to focus-

I jolted awake. It almost pitch dark, if I had to guess a time I would have said an hour or two before dawn. There was a hand around my mouth and an arm was around my waist, holding me still against the warm, hard body behind me. He had woken up. Immediately I struggled against him, biting his hand and elbowing him in the stomach. He swore under his breath, but his grip only tightened around me.

“Stop wrigglin’. There’s walkers in here, I’m tryna figure out how many, so for fuck’s sake stay still.”

I nodded. He removed the hand from my mouth, but the arm around my waist stayed. Probably a precaution in case I tried anything again.

“Sorry,” I whispered back. “How did they get in - and when did you wake up? What’s your name? Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Now wasn’t the time for questions, but I was desperate for answers. For all I knew, the only reason he hadn’t killed me yet was to keep me as bait for the walkers.

He shushed me. Then, he finally let go of me and stood up. “Wait here.”

He walked off in the direction of a shuffling noise, and seconds later I heard the thunk of a knife through a skull, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The sound, quiet as it was, caused another walker’s movements to become frenzied. I heard snarling and then the sound of a second body hitting the floor. There were no more walker sounds, just the sound of the man walking back towards me.

I jumped to my feet and reached for the knife normally hooked through my belt. It was gone, as was the knife under my mattress. I had no defence against the stranger that I had so stupidly taken care of.

“Window’s broken, s’what woke me up. You were out cold. Hope ya had a nice nap.”

I stood up, trying to read his face in the growing bit still dim light.

“Name’s Merle. And you, sugar tits, are exceptionally lucky that I believe in returning favours.”

So he didn’t plan on killing me after all. I shook off the lingering fear caused by both him and the walkers getting so close.

“Thanks. And you’re welcome, I stitched you up good. And don’t call me that, or I’ll chop of your other hand,” He smirked at me, knowing my threat was entirely empty.

“Oh yeah? I’m not so sure you wanna do that, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of what I can do with this hand,” His smile was suggestive and I could feel my face getting hot.

“I’m gonna board up the broken window,” I attempted to ignore his last sentence, but it was clear he could tell I was flustered as he stepped forward, closing in on me.

“Don’t ya think we should get to know each other a little first?”

[iloveitwhen]

jasonette but like siblings but like angst- like that whole trope where they are blood related and got separated, or they didnt get separated idk thats cool too i just want some sibling jasonette😅

Wow. ok. uhmmmm. this is a lot i think?? I got a little jk a lot carried away and this past week was super busy so i’ll finish the second part later??

Again... a lot...

Jason is walking home after another night at the bar when he sees a small woman, teenager? Slip into a dark alleyway and two men follow in after her a few moments later. 

Jason curses and bolts across the street, what was this girl thinking? How stupid do you have to be to go into a dark alley where no one will hear you or care to help?

He jumps into the alley to find one man already slumped on himself on the floor and the other getting kicked in the teeth by army boots then falling limply. 

Jason curses again, impressed this time. He scans over the men noting that they probably had pretty good concussions judging from the dent in the garbage can the first man was laying next to and the way the second guy’s head smacked onto the concrete when he fell. He lands his eyes back on the woman, no, definitely a teenager, with a smile on his face that instantly falters. The girl is in a fighting stance and waiting for him to attack so he quickly raises his hands to placate her.

“I’m not here to fight you, I saw you get followed and I was coming to help.” 

“Nobody helps in Gotham,” she states, a dangerous edge to her voice that held a carefully hidden accent. 

“Not from around here, are you?” 

The girl narrows her eyes, “I was born and raised here, take a step further and you won’t be waking up tomorrow.” 

Jason pockets his hands and smirks. He likes her, she’s a fighter, she reminds him of himself when he was younger. 

“Ok. Just make sure you make it home safe. A girl’s going to get some unwanted attention at a time and place like this.” He turns around and crosses the street but as soon as he’s out of her sight he turns back and hides in the shadows to track her and make sure no one else tries to catch her alone. Just because she could handle herself the first time doesn’t mean she’s necessarily safe from the next attempt. 

The girl exits the alley and starts toward the direction of Jason’s apartment calmly as if she didn’t just get attacked. At least that means less walking for him. After a few minutes she slips into another dark alley, of course she does, and Jason crosses the street again going into his own empty alley before pulling his helmet on and scaling the building. As he peers over the side of the building his helmet scans the area giving him feedback he would normally miss due to the horrible lighting and telling him that the alley was empty. He figured she had somehow gotten into one of the buildings and decided to go home by rooftops since he was already up there. 

However, as he landed on the opposite rooftop his feet slipped from underneath him. Jason managed to roll out of it but before he could get his footing his hip was kicked into and he stumbled, tripped over a seemingly perfectly placed rock and smashed his head on the side of the stair house. Then, just as quickly as this all transpired, there was a body behind him, they hooked their fingers under his helmet and lifted it to expose his neck and press a knife with jagged points onto his neck. How did he know the knife had jagged points? Good question, it was, as previously mentioned, against his neck and piercing into his skin, drawing blood. 

“Why are you following me?” a girl’s voice filters through his mask and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His mask let him know through the constant visuals that the voice belonged to a female in their late teens, not that he didn’t already know that. 

“Making sure you got home safe,” he says carefully, weighing his options and trying to decide if he should let her feel like she got him or escape with a slight nick on his neck. 

Eh. Jason preferred to not have a bleeding neck no matter how small the cut. 

“Lies,” she hisses, digging the knife a bit deeper as a warning, maybe getting out sooner was a better idea. “What do you want?” 

“Knife off my throat first,” he manages without pushing his neck further onto the blade. 

A second later the girl releases him and jumps back with enough space between them to react if he ended up deciding to attack her. 

Jason gives her a quick glance as he stands up, a hand to his throat to check for blood. 

“I wasn’t lying-”

“You’re not fooling anyone you Red Hood wannabe,” she snaps. Jason just laughs in surprise, no one has ever accused him of being a Red Hood wannabe. He's the one who made the mantle into something to respect, something to fear. He stops laughing and levels a glare at the girl, his helmet telling him unhelpfully there was no match of facial recognition in any database. 

“I am Red Hood-” he started to growl out but she cut him off again. The audacity. 

“Red Hood wouldn’t have been caught by the person he was trailing, Red Hood wouldn’t have been caught off guard, Red Hood doesn’t have a stupid streak of white hair on his head. He may have been a theatre nerd but he wouldn’t do that.” 

Wait what. 

“What are you talking about?” But it was more of a demand than a question. 

“You’re not…” she trailed off waving her hand in the air trying to find a word, “slick. Same jacket, same shoes, same build, yeah. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

“Ok. Whatever, I’m going home.” He turns and starts jogging across the rooftop towards home. So much for helping out. 

“Where is he?” she calls out after him.

“Right here, princess,” he spat before jumping to the other rooftop. 

But as soon as his feet leave the building a big dark blue warbly hole appears and swallows him before he can react. Unfortunately for him the other side of that weird black hole was a face full of concrete. 

“Prove you’re him.” 

Oh this girl was something else. Jason shakes his disorientation away, he didn’t know how she did that, nor did he care but he was pissed. He swings his foot around and connects with her ankle, she falls as expected but easily bounces right back up and hops out of his range. 

“Do that again and I’ll have to break my no killing kids rule,” he growls out, staring her down for a moment. Her face was finally lit by the dim yellow street lamps and he could see the entirety of her face and all the raw emotions she was trying to hide. For a split second familiarity passed through him, like when you see someone at the library then at the store a few weeks later or you see an old school friend ten years later and can’t quite place them. Jason dismisses the feeling and turns to go. 

“Wait.” She says it so vulnerably that Jason gives her a chance, when he turns she pulls up her sleeve and shows off her forearm. 

In the center of her arm is a faded black tattoo that was a writing symbol, but because of its name and one of its uses it was used to brand child soldiers in Gotham from a particular gang that Red Hood obliterated as soon as his first order of business in Gotham. 

‡

It was the double dagger, or better known in Gotham as the death dagger. The children were expendable although highly trained and dangerous, they could give Damian a run for his money in the child assassin department. The tattoo was a reminder to the children and to the people they came across that they were soulless, emotionless, their lives and actions were not their own and they would give their lives willingly for the mission

Meaning who they were before was dead. No family, no connections, no one would notice if they went missing and no one would be able to identify their bodies if and when the time came. Sometimes poor families would sell one of their children and promise to forget them and to never contact them. 

Jason was led to assume that this was another child soldier looking to thank him, or kill him. It was 50/50 these days, some of those kids just never recovered. 

“So what is it that you want? You want my autograph across your head?” Jason asks dryly. 

The girl just huffs and pulls her sleeve back down. 

“I want to know if my brother is underneath that mask.”

I want to know if my brother is underneath that mask.

The words struck Jason deep in his chest but it only fueled his anger. He didn’t know why that hit so deep but he was not in the mood for this nor would he be at any time. 

“Just because I ended that gang doesn’t mean we’re family. Go find your other assassin siblings to play house with.” 

“Annette,” she calls after as he turns his back again. A strike of familiarity pulses through him and when he hesitates she continues, “that was my name before I was initiated. I was one of the first. Daddy’s little girl,” she was still talking louder than necessary since he hadn’t turned back around. “I’m the only one left from The 13.” 

Right. The 13. That’s what everyone called the first batch even as they were killed off, they were the most ruthless being the oldest and were also the most aggressive in proving their worth. It was common to find a number from 1-13 placed strategically behind at the crime scene, whoever had the most successful missions would be highly rewarded, or so he was told. 

“Do you remember?” 

“I remember destroying that gang and their stupid leader and having to kill some of your little friends and I also remember The 13 died within the first year and a half and were easily replaced by their younger friends.” 

“Do you remember me?”

“Look, kid,” he finally turns to look at her, “I don’t care, ok? Yay whoopdeedoo I saved you, get in line. It’s what I do, kill bad people and let the rest walk away. You’re not special.” 

“Annette Marie Todd,” she says hurriedly, like it’s a last resort. “Jason Peter Todd,” she continues, “just you. Me. And a blitzed out Mom.” 

Jason did not like this, he knew the Dagger Children were ruthless and expert manipulators but this was pushing it. He spun around to face her, ripping off his helmet, she already knew what he looked like and it was in the way of his death glare. 

“You don’t know who you are messing with. If you really were a Dagger you’d know that I am not one to be fucked with.” He slides his helmet back on and without a backward glance he runs off to the next roof and continues home. Thankfully not another portal thing opens up in front of him. 

———————————

Jason didn’t have a sister. He did not have a sister. He would remember having a sister. He would remember having a Dagger for a sister. But Annette was such a familiar name. And she had said her name was Annette Marie Todd. Todd. 

No that’s stupid. Impossible. She was just messing with him, for all he knew she could have been subtly showing her face in random places for him to react to the familiarity of her face and she could have said the name sometime in the last few months for him to vaguely recognize the sound of her name but not place it. 

But the Lazarus pit did alter his memories from childhood, it was like looking through a fog of red anger, or maybe it was always like that even before the pit, and it also completely wiped out other parts of his memory. But a sister? No. No way. 

Hours of this, circling around the possibilities and shifting around on his bed trying to get comfortable until he finally drifted off in a very restless sleep. 

Jason found himself in a familiar apartment, the one he lived in before his “mother” died. He looked around and it was more of the feeling of familiarity that convinced him where he was than anything else. He steps aside for a younger version of himself to run by him and turns to the window that led out to the fire escape and watches him climb out of it and close the window. Jason turns back around to see what Young Jason was hiding from. A man hands a thick envelope to his mother, Catherine Todd who had wrapped herself in a thin silk robe, her bony frame visible as well as her happy focus on the money inside that envelope. Jason couldn’t make out the man’s face but he turned around and grabbed the small hand of a little girl in pigtails. She turned her head and faced the window sending a smile but he couldn’t quite make out her face so he instead turned to himself sitting outside.

As he turned his surroundings changed but in his dreamstate he paid no mind to it. This time he was standing in an aisle of a store as a child. He looked around and found his mother dressed embarrassingly in a thin tank top and ragged jeans and flip flops. He feels a squeeze of his hand and looks down, his little sister is looking up at him and pointing to a rack of stuffed animals of Clifford the Big Red Dog that were suddenly there. He sends her a smile and looks up, intent on catching up with his mother and asking her to buy one but as he chases her his intent slips from his mind and instead he wants to taste the cupcakes he just saw. He opens a case and takes a bite but yelling makes him turn around and there is Batman towering over him. Instead of a tasty cupcake he is holding something thick and metal, a crowbar. He throws it at the man and turns to run away and jumps out of the parking garage and jumps into the air flying up. But he’s too slow, he tries kicking and swimming in the air to propel himself further away from Batman but a hand wraps around his foot. 

Jason jerks awake, breathing heavy and feeling uncomfortably hot. This was much more mild than his usual nightmares, if it could even be called a nightmare, but it was bad in a different way. It wasn’t unusual for Jason to be getting chased in his dreams by one thing or another and it always ended before whatever or whoever was chasing him got him but it was getting a little old honestly. 

His head was pounding so he slipped out of bed and poured himself a glass of water from the kitchen. As he takes a sip he recalls his dream and how he had looked down at his sister. But that couldn’t be right. 

A searing pain in his head forces him to tighten his grip on his cup before it goes away again. Stupid head. Stupid dream. Stupid girl trying to get in his head. 

As he lays back down a memory of clear grey eyes flashes across his mind’s eye. 

---

Throughout the next few days Jason tries to ignore the headaches and his dreams of the young black haired girl with grey eyes and of getting chased which was more frequent and more urgent than he remembered them being. It was just all a big waste of time. At least the Dagger girl wasn’t trying to find him anymore, he didn’t know how he would react if she showed up again. 

After another dream of getting chased, this time he was just so tired of it he got a few good punches in on the Bane/Joker demon that was chasing him when his phone buzzes, startling him awake. He ignores it in favor of a cup of coffee and checks the time on the oven that he never uses, it’s almost two o’clock. 

His phone buzzes again several more times in quick succession. He finally heads over and clicks his phone on to see five messages from Stephanie. 

Replacement’s replacement🤰

so u have a little sister and u never told me???

anyways shes at the big house and getting interrogated by bruce and i think hes ready to adopt her

hello

so rude

i mean it looks to me shes tellin the truth but like seems sus for obvious reasons and ur the only one that'll actually know so… hurry up??

Jason curses and rushes to grab his things before running outside and zooming to the Wayne Manor on his motorcycle. 

welp i’ll add with another part soon that i havent finished yet but anywho let me know if jason is too ooc or something😁😁

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

(Image description: three illustrations of drow in pairs to show their eusocial hierarchy. First is the leadership, consisting of Matriarchs and Chamberlains. The Matriarch here is shown to be pregnant, wearing a long dress and a spiderweb veil. The Chamberlain is wearing a spiderweb-themed top made of leather straps, as well as tight pants and a decorative loincloth. Second are the advisors, Avaune and Governesses. The Avaune here is an older drow using a cane and wearing a simple shirt and pants outfit, with a golden spiderweb hairpiece. The Governess is a young adult female drow wearing a silver spiderweb hairpiece, a long skirt, and a sort of poncho with clasps at the front and a spiderweb cape at the back. Third and final, the commoners, which consists of workers and wanderers. the worker drow is wearing a basic sweater and pants, the wanderer has a more colorful outfit with flamboyant sleeves and a long draped cloth at the waist. All the drow have purple skin, white hair, and a monkey-like tail. End description.)

My drow have a eusocial hierarchy, much like another mammal that lives underground: naked mole rats. The average drow is infertile, with the fertile males and females being the Matriarchs and Chamberlains, and most of the colony being their children, aside from the Avaune. The previous post was about drow evolution, and I also have a drow masterpost.

Under the cut I've written lengthy descriptions of each role listed above. If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon!

The leadership of a drow colony are the parents of the colony. The Matriarchs are the literal mothers of the colony, giving birth to all the babies. A Matriarch holds the highest rank in the social hierarchy, and is regarded as a spiritual guiding figure. She connects the colony to the mother goddess, usually depicted as a spider. Matriarchs must earn their place by going through a series of trials before they are allowed to go through the medical process of hormone alteration that will allow them to bear children. These trials are based on old drow legends, such as the stores about how their people migrated underground, lead by their mothers to safety, where a giant ethereal spider taught them to spin light into thread. Most Matriarchs are cisgender women, though there have been some exceptions. In order to become a Matriarch, a drow must meet a series of requirements, undergo the trials, and then receive medical treatment to alter their hormones. Like naked mole rats, afab drow all have suppressed hormones, which can change naturally to make them fertile. The medical treatment is just more reliable than waiting for the natural shift. As the Matriarch is expected to birth many children, and many of them are born as twins, they just tend to be cisgender women. There are medical operations for trans folks of any species to completely swap their reproductive systems, but the complicated nature of drow hormones make it difficult for a trans drow woman to actually become pregnant without other health issues. A Matriarch might give birth once a year, at most. It takes a very long time for a new Matriarch to establish a full colony.

The Chamberlains are the fathers of the colony. They are fertile males from outside colonies, trained from puberty in the ways of social politics and management. While all drow females are capable of going through a hormone shift to become fertile, male drow are almost all infertile and cannot change this. Only a few random males will become fertile during puberty. They are carefully identified and go through special education so they can become effective leaders. A fertile male drow is recognizable first by his behavior, as his instincts drive him to want to leave his home colony. Physically, the genitals of a male drow are also distinctly more developed than the average infertile drow. It is much more common for Chamberlains to be trans or nonbinary, as compared to Matriarchs, since they seem to be fertile completely at random and no one has yet discovered a way to intentionally cause fertility in amab drow. After they finish their training, these drow are sent to the Matriarchs of other colonies as a way to establish allegiances. A Chamberlain must prove his worth to his new matriarch and her colony by earning their trust. If he does a bad enough job, he will be kicked out by the colony. Colonies typically have 3-5 Chamberlains per Matriarch, and it is considered poor manners to try and figure out which Chamberlain is one's father, since they don't want to cause disruption through favoritism.

Some fertile male drow refuse this role entirely and become wanderers instead.

The Avaune, which is a gender neutral title for "aunt" and "uncle", are older drow who assist a new Matriarch in building her colony. They come over with her from her home colony, as they are her siblings. Usually they are older than a new Matriarch and volunteer to help her. With their advice and assistance, Matriarchs and Chamberlains are more effective leaders and new colonies are more easily established. Young drow often go to them for advice as well.

The Governesses are training to be Matriarchs. They are partway through their hormonal shift, having already met the requirements and gone through the trials. Their breasts develop first, allowing them to assist the Matriarch with newborns who need nursing. Although they are the Matriarch's daughters and study under her to gain the experience they will need to start their own colonies, they are also expected to help the Matriarch solve problems and advise her on certain issues. This helps them gain the necessary critical thinking skills they will need to be leaders of their future colonies.

The average infertile drow is called a worker. They fill a number of positions according to their own skills and desires, though of course there are many required jobs as well. Scouts, tunnelers, and cartographers explore the caves and make sure they are safe to travel, locating and recording natural resources and dangers. Weavers make cloth and textiles from the special moonlight threads the spinners craft. Food, shelter, and heat are all provided by various workers within the colony. They are all siblings, and they must work together to maintain the general health and safety of their entire colony. The population of a single colony with just one Matriarch is usually quite small, perhaps 50-80 workers old enough to be helpful. It is common for two or three colonies of varying ages to share a cavern, keeping themselves organized by wearing a specific woven pattern or crest to denote their personal colony.

Wanderers, the nomadic fertile male drow who choose not to become Chamberlains, are at the bottom of the hierarchy. They will often rename themselves when they leave their home colony, perhaps naming themselves after things they find after leaving the caves, like a bird or flower. Wanderers travel all over the place, interacting with the world. Anyone who has partial drow ancestry can most likely trace their origins to the wanderers. Occasionally, a wanderer will find another drow colony and pop in for a visit to the Matriarch there. If she is not currently pregnant, a Matriarch may decide to mate with the wanderer, which will provide her colony with a little more genetic variation. When she is done with him, the Chamberlains chase him out. It has become a bit of a ritual, over time. There are much theatrics around the arrival and ousting of a wanderer. They take the role of outcasts and scoundrels, though everyone knows they're actually quite important in preventing the general population from hitting genetic bottlenecks.

[jadelotusflower]

It’s Cold in that Fridge: The Case of Nakari Kelen

Since The Case of Mara Jade has been doing the rounds again, I’ve finally gone back to this post that has been sitting in my drafts for literally years. So let’s honour this absolute badass who deserved better:

Once upon a time, the Star Wars universe was but six films (and a tv series) in the story of the Skywalker family. But beyond George Lucas’ story was an absolute boatload of books, comics, games, and other materials that made up the Expanded Universe. When Disney purchased Lucasfilm and the rights to the Star Wars saga, everything in this universe was decanonised and deemed “Legends” - some aspects of this universe were retained or re-purposed, others sit in Disney’s figurative vault and will likely never see the light of day (and seeing how the ST turned out, maybe that’s for the best).

But this transition between Legends canon and Disney canon was not so simple, because the nature of publishing meant that there were novels approved during the time of Legends canon that would be released in the time of Disney canon. In particular, there had been the planned trilogy “Empire and Rebellion”, set between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, with each novel from the perspective of one of The Big Three.  

Razor’s Edge (Leia) and Honor Among Thieves (Han) were released prior to the Great Canon Split of 2014.  But while the Luke-centric novel had been planned, it was not due to be released until well after the Split. So Heir to the Jedi (so called as an homage to the Legends progenitor Heir to the Empire) became one of the first books of the Disney canon.

What does this background have to do with Nakari Kelen?  Perhaps nothing, but I do wonder how the writing process was affected by the shift from Legends to Disney - was the novel a relic of the old EU with any reference the LFL storygroup didn’t like excised during editing, or was it a trendsetter for the new EU, a Sign of Things to Come?  

The most salient point being, of course, that Nakari Kelen - like so many love interests before her - was not allowed to go along her merry way at the conclusion of the novel, but was shoved into the fridge.

If there was one constant of the Legends EU, it was that Luke Skywalker’s love interests couldn’t catch a break. Mara Jade naturally lasted the longest relationship-wise, with almost twenty years of marriage to Luke before some bright spark decided she had to go (as per the aforementioned case study). But before Mara there was Jem, Shira Brie, and Gaeriel Captison (who came close to escaping the curse), and in the Legacy of the Force series they brought back sole survivors Akanah and Callista, only to kill them off for good too (and rather brutally, if I may add).

So perhaps when Kevin Hearne began writing HttJ within the confines of the Legends continuity, he was merely sticking to the status quo, or perhaps once subsumed by Disney they needed to make sure Luke's slate was clean (so to speak).  And I can’t put all the blame on Hearne since I don’t know whether it was his idea, or LFL mandated - but regardless it was a poor decision.

The root cause of fridging, imo, is limited imagination.  How best to cause your male protagonist pain if not kill off someone they love, or at least have strong feelings for? The answer is of course, easily. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Luke Skywalker of HttJ is fresh from his victory in ANH, a lieutenant in the Rebellion: young, not dumb, and full of...

Nakari Kalen is an absolute Queen a civilian volunteer and crack-shot sniper who loans her ship Desert Jewel to the Alliance. Luke is immediately attracted to her, they bond over a mutual love of fast ships and leaving behind desert home planets, and engage in the inexpert flirting of two nineteen year olds while also risking their lives several times over.

I want to make it clear: I actually really like this book. It's a breezy read, almost serialised as The Early Adventures of Luke Skywalker, and is ofttimes genuinely funny. And credit where it’s due to Hearne, many of of the supporting roles in the novel are female. Other than Nakari, there's Soonta, the Rodian who gives Luke her uncle’s lightsaber, Sakhet the Kupohan spy, and the Givin cryptographer/math genius Drusil Bephorin. In a genre where male characters are often the default for these kind of roles, it was nice to see, but makes the regressive fridging of Nakari even more egregious.

Luke and Nakari make a good team fighting brain-sucking monsters and Imperials, but more importantly they have fun together - she encourages him to work on his Force skills, and he successfully moves objects with his mind for the first time (leading to Nakari adorably dub him "a little noddle scooter"). It's a very sweet, if brief, relationship, and a respite from the danger of the mission. They spend the night together (leaving the reader to decide exactly what happened behind closed doors), and share a kiss before splitting up to try and escape bounty hunters. No prizes for guessing what happens to Nakari immediately after she received the Skywalker Kiss of Death.

I assume there were two motivating factors for why Hearne and/or LFL couldn't let Nakari live:

1. If she survived, fans would wonder why she doesn't appear in ESB/subsequent material.

I recall this bandied about on forums back at the time of the book's release, and to that I say - so what? Fans are always going to wonder, and try to paper over the gaps in canon, to make up their own headcanons to explain any any perceived inconsistencies. It's certainly no reason to kill someone off.

It is in fact possible for two young people to have a romance that just fizzles, or doesn’t work out for whatever reason - it should not require great maneuvering or explanation. If Nakari doesn’t show up in the next book in the timeline, what about it? The reader is smart enough to assume she and Luke broke up, decided to just remain friends, whatever. But it seems that the only way for a female character to exit stage left is for her to die, which is bullshit.

And actually, there's no reason why she couldn't have shown up again. ESB and RoTJ cover a month and a few days, respectively, of Luke's life - just because there was no mention of Nakari doesn't mean she didn't exist at that time, whether or not she and Luke were an item. She could have made an appearance in a subsequent novel, or Rebels, or the comics - she could have become a recurring character, showing up when the Rebellion needed her, or - heaven forbid - even have her own comic/book/show! Her existence in Star Wars canon didn't need to begin and end with Luke Skywalker, merely to service his plotline and backstory and abandoning the richness of her own.

No, the only reason Nakari had to die was to facilitate this:

It was a blow to the gut, realizing what that sudden absence meant. I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but I had felt Nakari's life snuffed out through the Force, and into that void where she had shone anger rushed in - anger, and a cold sense of raw power and invincibility...I took a step to join in the hunt but stopped, breathing heavily, unaccountably sweating even though I felt so cold inside and the power of the Force roiled within me... I shook with emotion and power, and none of it felt the way the Force had before...I saw what kind of space it was , a black hole that would always be hungry no matter how much I fed it. I might never feel warm again if I didn't get myself under control.

Luke feels the dark side and is tempted by the boost of power it offers him, but immediately identifies it as dangerous and unnatural. I can understand why Hearne wanted to include this - it is a book of firsts after all: Luke's first solo mission, his first time using telekenisis, and ending with story with his first experience of the dark side makes sense. But it wasn't necessary, which leads to:

2. How to push Luke to touch the dark side without killing someone he has romantic feelings for?

Also, obviously, shite of the bull (or nerf, if you prefer). Even if this brush with the dark side was absolutely necessary for the novel's climax, there's any number of ways it could be achieved. At this point, Luke is fresh from losing important people in his life - Owen and Beru, Ben, and Biggs - lumping another death on top of that a narrative trick for Luke to react not only to losing Nakari, but the others as well. But it's cheap, the first card in the deck, and why not show a bit of imagination? Luke is young and inexperienced enough at this point that any number of things could be the catalyst - the whole book he's struggling with his growing powers, why not try and reach too far in the firefight with the bounty hunters, his anger and frustration with himself in not doing enough trigger the dark side temptation? It would work thematically and doesn't involve a fridging that ultimately has very little payoff.

Because Nakari is killed less than ten pages from the end of the book - afterwards Luke grieves, but ultimately chooses to honour her memory and be grateful for what he learned with her, recommitting to becoming a Jedi. It's all very surface level, and once again a female character's death facilitates a male character's development. Was it so imperative that Luke lost someone he cared about as part of this story? Sure, this was a time of galactic civil war, and it's far from unrealistic that these stories have a high body count, but who to make collateral damage remains an authorial choice, and in this case Nakari Kelen was (a) a female character of color, (b) a love interest of the protagonist - not just of this book, but the entire Original Trilogy.

I don't know to what extent (if any) race had to play in the decision. I'm sure there was a segment of the fandom absolutely livid that Luke Skywalker kissed (and maybe had sex with) a black woman. Was her death LFL hedging its bets, or demonstrative of the general lack of attention/respect they show their characters of colour?

In any case this was a chance to stand out from the old EU and it's fridge full of Luke's dead girlfriends, but instead they chose to introduce and kill off Nakari for the sole purpose of Luke's manpain and character development, and that's gross.

And then there's this:

A grisly yet reliable fact about custom bounty hunter ships is that you can always count on them to have body bags stashed somewhere for the easy transport of their kills. They often have built-in refrigerated storage, too.

NAKARI IS KILLED AND LITERALLY STORED IN THE FUCKING FRIDGE I COULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT I WAS READING.

I really hope this was unintentional on Hearne's part, because yikes. He was halfway there, this book was full of interesting female characters who had agency - Drusil in particular was a delight with her super math and inability to understand human interaction. Nakari was full of life and fun - capable but relatable, showing a different side of the Rebellion and those that suffered under the Empire's rule. Fridging her in her first appearance is considerably more vile, because it reduces her to a footnote of Luke's story, a plot device to Help Him Grow, rather than a springboard to tell more of her own story.

Because Nakari was a compelling character ripe for spinoff potential. I would absolutely have read or watched her continued adventures, juggling missions for her father's Biolabs company and trying to aid the Rebellion, shooting her slug rifle and cracking wise, maybe even finding a way to amplify her mother's song Vader's Many Prosthetic Parts to really stick it to the Empire, or try and free the political prisoners on Kessel.

The old EU was made great by allies and enemies of Our Heroes showing up again to help or hinder them, and/or branching out into their own material. We fell in love with them, and followed their stories even as they diverged from the main saga, eager to read more about their lives.

Nakari Kelen never got that chance. In many ways, she exemplified what Disney Star Wars was to become: an exercise in wasted potential.

[wahbegan]

You see, trans rights are often conflated with feminism or the lesbian, gay, and bisexual community, but in truth, being trans resembles neither. Being transgender is neither sex, nor sexuality, nor indeed race, creed, financial status, or physical or mental disability. It is, in a word, wholly novel.

It is a rights movement for which there is no historical precedent. One can assume this is why the trans community searches to fit itself into other boxes, for fear of remaining completely unheard, gaining no traction. Yet, this has caused issues for it, as inter-community friction has built up, with a growing number of women and gay people becoming increasingly uncomfortable with, if not the trans community’s fusion with their own, at the very least with some of the things they campaign for.

Yes, one might look at the problem and think the trans community standing wholly apart, on its own merit, campaigning for its rights alone would be the solution, but I’d like to examine it from another perspective.

If we look at the root of why gender dysphoria and transition exists, sifting through countless accounts of trans individuals and those with dysphoria, clear patterns begin to emerge. Increasingly, trans people aren’t concerned with being in “the wrong body” or getting surgery, or if they do, only getting it to help be treated more completely as their identified gender.

It’s all about gender roles. About being more, about being uniquely human in a way that being called a man or a woman can’t convey with the implications those words carry. Put simply, I believe human psychological evolution is rapidly outstripping the antiquated gender roles still in place in societies around the world. Here the trans movement and radical feminism CAN find common ground, were it not that the proposed solutions were so radically different.

The trans solution is of course transition. Individuals essentially opting out of gender constraints placed upon them by society through certain behaviors, methods of dress, surgeries, hormones, etc. While certainly being the more instantly cathartic and beneficial for the mental health of the person in question, some of us believe it to be a band-aid fix. Short-term, individualistic, capitalistic in nature. Easily taken advantage of and misused.

The gender critical and radical feminism movements simply propose an alternate solution. Abolish the gender role entirely. Destroy all preconceived notions on inherent psychological and emotional differences between men and women, globally, as well as views on the differing worth to the community of the two. Raise boys and girls the exact same way, do not market any specific color, product, fashion, career, or mode of behavior to one sex over another. Turn the difference between man and woman into nothing more than a simple acknowledgement of divergent physical characteristics between the two sexes of the human species. No baggage. 

The belief is that long-term, overall, the world would not be so full of dysphoria, that men and women could dress and act exactly as the trans people of today do, but would simply feel no need to say they are the other sex. In this way, psychological stress about gender could, in theory, not just be alleviated but basically entirely destroyed, while keeping intact the main things the trans community comes into conflict with other communities about: namely, female biology and the language surrounding it, and the effects gender identity has on sexual orientation. 

Such work would be exhausting, difficult, many years away, fought every step of the way, and sounds like a pipe dream but it could be so much better for everyone

[samwisethewitch]

Pagan Paths: Feri

Feri (sometimes spelled Faery) is an American neopagan tradition. Like Traditional Wicca, Feri is an initiatory tradition but does not place any limitations on who can be initiated. Although the requirement for initiation makes this religion less easily accessible, Feri has had a huge influence on modern neopaganism, including influencing other (non-initiatory) traditions like Reclaiming. For that reason, I think it’s important that we discuss Feri as part of our ongoing exploration of modern paganism.

This post is not meant to be a complete introduction to Feri. Instead, my goal here is to give you a taste of what Feri practitioners believe and do, so you can decide for yourself if further research would be worth your time. In that spirit, I provide book recommendations at the end of this post.

History and Background

Feri was founded by Victor Anderson and his wife, Cora, in the United States in the 1960s. Like Gerald Gardner, Victor Anderson claimed not to have created his tradition, but to have been initiated into it and then later added to it. In Anderson’s case, he claimed to have been initiated into witchcraft by a faery when he was nine years old.

The Andersons called Feri “the Pictish Tradition” and claimed that it was originally the Craft of the “Little People” in Ireland and Scotland. Victor Anderson was also influenced by Vodou and Hawaiian indigenous spirituality, although his connections to these traditions (both of which are closed) is unclear. Some modern Feri practitioners have made efforts to distance their practice from these elements appropriated from closed cultures, but Feri remains a very eclectic tradition that encourages initiates to “use what works.” Because of this, no two Feri practices are exactly alike.

There is another, more mythologized account of the birth of Feri, shared by author and Feri warlock Storm Faerywolf in his book Betwixt & Between. (In this book, Faerywolf uses the spelling “Faery,” but he is a member of the tradition founded by the Andersons.) In this myth, a group of powerful spiritual beings known as the Watchers rebelled against a false god millennia ago and taught magic to mankind. These Watchers are the fae, and they intermarried with humans and are the origin of all magic traditions. As the story goes, it was one of these Watchers who initiated Victor Anderson into what would later become known as Feri.

Because Feri traces its origin back to these spiritual ancestors, initiation is an important part of the tradition. When someone is initiated, they are said to be made a part of this Feri lineage, similar to how newly baptized Christians are said to be made a part of Christ’s family. This means that, in order to truly practice Feri, you must find a Feri teacher to train and initiate you.

Over the decades since the Andersons founded their tradition, many different lineages of Feri have formed, each with their own unique approach. Some are more visible and more involved with the public, while others practice under strict secrecy. Many of the practices and beliefs that are common in modern Feri come from the Bloodrose lineage.

Core Beliefs and Values

In the words of Cora Anderson, “the Craft is about doing right by one another and loving everyone you see.” However, Feri does not have a universal moral code — there is no Feri equivalent to the Wiccan Rede. While love and kindness are highly valued, the Andersons did not differentiate between light and dark magic and encouraged their followers to use magic to defend themselves when necessary. (You may have noticed that, like in Wicca, magic is an integral part of Feri.)

The Feri Tradition teaches that every person has three souls, each with its own characteristics, strengths, and weaknesses. These souls have different names in different lineages, but Faerywolf identifies them as the talker (the “mental soul” associated with the ego/personality), the fetch (the “animal soul” associated with the subconscious and the primal mind), and the holy daemon or god soul (the part of the self that comes directly from God Herself and is able to commune with gods and spirits as equals). Much of the work of Feri revolves around aligning these three souls into a fully realized whole.

Another important part of Feri philosophy is embodied by the symbols of the Iron and Pearl Pentacles.

Iron is a grounding metal, and contemplating the Iron Pentacle keeps practitioners grounded in their astral travel. Feri initiates not only invoke the Iron Pentacle, but seek to embody it by moving through each point on the pentacle and addressing any blocks or hangups in the associated area of their lives. The five points are sex, pride, self, power, and passion. When all five of these points are in balance, we are able to confidently and effectively work our magic in the world. For example, we should not be afraid of sex, but we shouldn’t be obsessed with it either; we should take pride in our accomplishments, but shouldn’t be too full of ourselves; you get the idea. An initiate who fully embodies the Iron Pentacle is fully centered in their own divine power, as well as their physical body.

The Pearl Pentacle is the compliment to the Iron Pentacle. While the Iron Pentacle is personal, the Pearl Pentacle is transpersonal — it represents the qualities needed to form healthy relationships with others. Some Feri practitioners believe that each point on the Pearl Pentacle represents the “higher form” of one of the points of the Iron Pentacle. In the words of Victor Anderson, “when taken together, the Iron and the Pearl embody the divine union that is necessary to fully awaken the awareness of our divine natures.”

The points of the Pearl Pentacle are: love (defined as a genuine desire for union; can be said to be the higher form of sex), law (as in, the natural laws that govern our universe and our actions; can be said to be the higher form of pride), knowledge (learning from lived experience; can be said to be the higher form of self), power (also a point on the Iron Pentacle — here, it refers to our ability to share power with others), and wisdom (the balance between logic and emotion, head and heart; can be said to be the higher form of passion). The way these points are taught, and their relationship to the Iron Pentacle, may be different in different Feri lineages.

Feri practitioners believe that, by embodying the Iron and Pearl Pentacles, they can achieve a state known as the Black Heart of Innocence, which is defined as “sexual innocence.” It can also be thought of as the innocent, untainted state of small children and animals. This is the natural state of human beings, before we are conditioned to be ashamed or afraid of our sexual impulses.

This brings us to a final point of Feri philosophy: in Feri sex is sacred, as it was through a sexual act that God Herself created the universe. As Faerywolf puts it, “sex is a sacrament in our tradition.” That doesn’t mean that all Feri rituals have a sexual component, but some of them might. Mostly, the sacredness of sex requires Feri practitioners to live in a healthy relationship with their nature as sexual beings.

Important Deities and Spirits

The central deity in Feri is called Star Goddess or simply God Herself. She is the androgynous source of all life, “having within Her all principles, powers, and potencies of Nature.” (Quote from The Heart of the Initiate by Victor and Cora Andersons.) Star Goddess is not only the source of the others Gods, but the source of all life, including humans.

According to the Feri creation myth, in the beginning, Star Goddess was alone in the cosmic void, until she came upon a reflection of her own light. She was so enamored that she made love to her own reflection, and from this act of self-pleasure gave birth to all things.

Star Goddess often appears as a black-skinned woman whose skin is dotted with stars. In ritual, she is often represented with a large black candle.

Nimüe is an aspect of Star Goddess, a maiden who represents the Black Heart of Innocence. She rules over new life, growth, and potential.

Nimüe may appear as a child or a young woman. She can be represented in ritual with flowers (especially pink or white flowers) or with a waxing crescent moon.

Mari is the Great Mother, Star Goddess as the embodiment of pure manifestation. She is associated with the earth, moon, sea, and sky — it is she who gives life and form to all things. The earth is said to be her body, and she is said to be “the spirit of every woman.”

Mari may appear a a pregnant woman. She can be represented in ritual with images of the earth, the moon, or of mothers.

The Hag, also known as the Crone, is the primal Dark Goddess and Queen of the Dead. She is the archetypal witch, but also a grandmother and wise woman. Some believe that it is to her we return when we die.

The Hag often appears as a wizened old woman. She can be represented in ritual with images of ravens and/or vultures, or with a silver sickle.

Star Goddess has two children and consorts, the Divine Twins. They are the personification of duality — light and dark, good and evil, spirit and matter, united in a balanced pair. They may appear as brother and sister, as two lovers of any combination of genders, or as mortal enemies.

The Twins may appear as the Scarlet Serpent and the Azure Dove, who represent the duality of fire/water and earth/air. In ritual, they are often represented with a matching set of candles, one red and one blue.

The Blue God, sometimes called the Peacock God, is born from the union of the Divine Twins — he contains within himself all duality and appears with a combination of male and female features. He is associated with the divine spark within all living things, including one of the three human souls, which Faerywolf calls the holy daemon. He is the god of opposites, and exists in a permanent liminal state. He contains within him both good and evil, beauty and darkness.

The Blue God may appear as a young, androgynous or hermaphroditic person with blue skin. In ritual, he is often represented with peacock feathers.

Krom, also known as the Horned God, is the god of fertility, light, and heat. He is sometimes described as the consort of the Goddess as Mari. He is God as father and lover and is overtly sexual in nature. He has solar associations, but is also the lord of the harvest.

Krom may appear as a man with the head of a stag, glowing with the sun’s warmth. He can be represented in ritual with images of stags, bulls, phalluses, or the sun.

The Arddu (pronounced “ar-THEE”) or the Dark God is described as the “crone aspect of the God.” He is the god of witches, the king of the dead, and the spirit of winter. It is said that when we die, we must confront the Arddu before we can return to the Hag.

The Arddu often appears as an old, androgynous man, with the head and legs of a goat and the wings of a bat. He can be represented in ritual with images of skulls and bones.

Deity in Feri is complex and fluid. All of the goddesses can be said to be different aspects of one Goddess, and all of the gods can be said to be different aspects of one God. Furthermore, all of the deities, both gods and goddesses, can be said to be extensions of Star Goddess. Victor Anderson believed that everything is connected and that the Gods exist within the Universe and the individual. As he said, “God is self, and self is God, and God is a person like myself.”

In addition to the deities, there are also spirits called Watchers and Guardians who play an important role in Feri. The Watchers are mysterious celestial entities, said to be the fathers of magic. Guardians are spirits associated with the elements, who are called on to guard the circle during ritual. Some Feri practitioners believe that the Guardians are Watchers, while others see them as two distinct groups of spirits.

Feri Practice

As stated earlier, much of the work of Feri involves embodying the Iron and Pearl Pentacle in order to return to the Black Heart of Innocence. This is done through ritual, meditation, ecstatic trance, art, energy work, and/or magic.

Feri is an ecstatic tradition, which means many of its rituals and practices revolve around achieving an ecstatic state. Ecstasy is sometimes defined as the state of being completely absorbed in the focus of your attention, and other times as the removal of the consciousness from normal functioning. In Feri, ecstasy is used as a tool for spiritual growth.

Astral travel also plays a role in Feri practice. A Feri practitioner may use trance states to leave their body and enter the spirit realm, where they can encounter the gods, Watchers, faeries, and other spirits firsthand. In some traditions, this travel forms the backbone of the practice.

Art and creative expression are other tools used for spiritual growth in Feri. Visual art and poetry in particular are often used to express spiritual concepts or to help the initiate process what they have learned. Victor Anderson was a known poet and published a collection of devotional poetry called Thorns of the Blood Rose — many later Feri practitioners have followed in his footsteps.

Feri is considered a magic tradition as well as a religion, and many Feri practitioners consider themselves witches or warlocks. Magic is seen as a way of directing the universal life energy that makes up all things, and is a natural extension of our divine power as each of us is a part of Star Goddess.

Like Wiccan rituals, Feri rituals sometimes begin with casting a circle and calling the quarters. However, Feri uses different language and gestures for the circle casting, with a greater focus on the earth and the circle as an extension of the Goddess’s body. While in Wicca, the circle is used for every ritual, in Feri it may only be used for some rites.

Further Reading

If you are interested in Feri, I recommend reading the book Betwixt & Between by Storm Faerywolf. This is an excellent introduction to the tradition, written by the founder of the BlueRose lineage. You may also be interested in reading the works of Victor and Cora Anderson — though Feri has changed a lot since it was founded, the Andersons’ teachings still lie at the core of the tradition.

Because Feri is an initiatory tradition, you can only go so far on study alone. Eventually, you will have to find a teacher to train and initiate you. Without this initiation, what you are doing is not, and cannot be, Feri. Thankfully, it is becoming ever easier to find online training, so you can walk the Feri path no matter where you live. The BlueRose lineage, which was founded by Storm Faerywolf, offers online training and initiation through The Mystic Dream Academy. Some other Feri teachers also have online offerings — look around on social media to see who is currently accepting students.

If you choose not to pursue initiation, you can still incorporate elements of Feri lore and philosophy into your practice, as long as you acknowledge that what you are doing is no longer Feri. In fact, many elements of Feri survive in other, related traditions such as Reclaiming, which we’ll discuss in the next installment of this series.

Resources:

The Heart of the Initiate by Victor and Cora Anderson

The Spiral Dance by Starhawk

Betwixt & Between by Storm Faerywolf

The official Feri Tradition website (feritradition.com)

[lightleckrereins]

Alright I've seen a lot of people go off on how six needs to make the Vaudeville theatre more accessible, but I've seen nothing on what could and should be done.

Disclaimer first; I have zero clue on how accessibility laws, construction permits, construction timelines, etc. work on the UK and I am not disabled or a wheelchair user. But I do have a design degree with a heavy emphasis on identifying problems and finding real solutions, and six months work experience on accessibility projects and I am going at this from a technical point of view.

Constellations closes on the vaudeville on September 12 and six opens on September 29 that gives them 16 full days and the morning of the 29th to: load out constellations, load in six, tech six, do accessibility upgrades to the theater. The load out/load in of the theater can take over a week for each show so with the time they have I think the possible timeline is September 13-19 Constellations load out, September 20-26 Six load in, September 27-29 six tech.

But what is needed to make the Vaudeville more accessible? From what I’ve seen people criticize and my own quick research:

It has no wheelchair accessible stalls on the bathrooms.

There is no ramp access to the theater.

There is a limit on size and weight for wheelchairs meaning no power chairs can use it.

There are no handrails on the aisles beside the seats.

Accessibility to the upper floors of the theatre (dress circle and upper circle) are only accessible via stairs.

So, with that on mind lets discuss under the cut realistic changes that could be made from easiest to hardest.

The ramp access can be easily solved, it doesn’t interfere with the loading process and doesn’t block access to the box office either. With either a removable ramp (not the most desirable solution), or a permanent one. What I think would be ideal is to change the step on the leftmost door for a ramp. I am choosing the left one as the box office is closer to the right one and lines could get in the way of wheelchairs on that side. The height is 5 cm (2”) so the resulting angle for the ramp wouldn’t be a too steep to cause trouble. On photos the steps appear to be made of marble. This could present some issues; marble is slippery by nature and even more when wet. This could be prevented by making the surface of the ramp textured. But in my opinion the best option would be to make it from either concrete or stone which can be made to have a similar texture to the marble and doesn’t become slippery.

Handrails between the seats are a simple enough installation that can be arranged to happen with the loading process. The theater has the advantage that all the aisles are on the sides so handrails can be easily incorporated to the existing design aesthetic. If it is correctly planned this doesn’t need to clash with either production moving in/out light and sound equipment.

The wheelchair climber can and should be changed. I couldn’t find any photos of the current setup but there are many ways to upgrade it (100% depends on how much money they want to put into it). The theater has two wheelchair spaces located in the stalls and as long as they don’t charge for those more than the lower-mid prize range of other tickets those can work. I am not suggesting new wheelchair spaces on the upper levels of the theater because the stairs to get up there are too narrow and the climb down from the entrance to those levels too steep to even be safe to consider.

The bathroom problem which I think is the biggest concern of most people is much trickier. From my architect friend: changing bathrooms fully depends on the current plumbing system. With the current timeline there is little chance that a big chance can be made to the plumbing. What can be made is a common solution to this problem; merging two stalls into one and removing a toilet to create a wheelchair accessible stall. This one can be done in the available time and doesn’t interfere with either production. It totally depends on the amount of stalls already available, but since I don’t know the exact layout of the theater right now, I say it is possible. The problem here is the only bathroom that can be accessed with a wheelchair is the stalls one (ground floor) and this one is for females only. Male restrooms are on the top floors (lets not get into gendered restrooms right now that is a whole different issue). The only answer I see is to find a way to either create a new stall with an independent entrance or to merge two stalls, separate those from the main bathroom and create a new entrance. Same for the dress circle as not only people with wheelchairs need larger stalls and handrails.

The access to the upper floors is the thing I don’t think can happen. It would need an elevator and aside from that being a months long remodeling project from what I’ve seen there is no space inside the theater to install one. This is for people with limited mobility, not wheelchairs (I’ve already mentioned why it isn’t possible to take wheelchairs to the upper levels), This means seniors, people with canes and crutches, pregnant women, or basically anyone with limited mobility that has problems going up and down four flights of stairs.