#she has some of the most impractical armors ever

[english-history-trip]

Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

[grison-in-space]

man I've been listening to Guards! Guards! again, right. I was going to do Feet of Clay again but I wanted so badly to spend some time with Lady Sybil in her element, so I detoured over to the beginning. (Incidentally, Making-Money!Vetinari up against Guards!-Guards!Vetinari is one hell of a contrast. One gets the sincere impression that older Vetinari would wipe the floor with his younger self if they ever met, and then be painfully embarrassed afterward; and yet you can see the potential among the arrogance. I wrote this bit before I wrote a longer piece about that exchange, but I'll get round to linking it in here in a moment.)

But I wanted to discuss Sybil.

The first thing you have to understand about Sybil is that she is an archetype of a certain kind of autistic person, usually a woman (or a queer man). You find them in every kind of domestic animal fancy, although Sybil is of the class and rank that generally focuses on relatively large, expensive, and impractical animals; the dragon fancy is mostly based on the dog fancy, with strong influence from horse fancies and sometimes cat or falconry fancies. It is not a coincidence that Sybil is unmarried and that most of her time is spent with other women, often middle class or upper class women, who share her all consuming interest in dragons; this has been a really common social circle for autistics, especially autistic women with independent money, into a given animal fancy since the cultural concept of animal fancies existed.

The second thing you have to understand about Sybil is that she is not at all a conventionally attractive woman. Here are the things we learn about her as Vimes does, in order: she has inherited wealth and status that she does not particularly care about; she is large--taller than Vimes himself, or at least tall enough to loom over him--and "booms" confidently and incomprehensibly at him; and even after she takes off the heavy protective armor useful for conducting a dragon mating, she's tall and fat and (implied to be) heavily muscled under the fat. Her figure is compared to the Venus of Willendork, or perhaps an operatic Valkyrie, and she wears wigs because she is generally fairly bald, or at least singed. She's loud by nature. She wanders around with a dragon on her shoulder creating awful smells and occasionally dribbling.

God, I love her. Speaking as another erstwhile animal fancy autistic, she's really living the dream there. And this little Watch man shows up in her life, totally fails to understand what she's asking for when she tries to conscript him into the easy job for the breeding she's trying to facilitate, and then sits and asks her a bunch of pointed questions about her beloved dragons. He's weird in his own way and a little drunk, and he really is unfortunate enough not to have any dragons experience at all, but he sits down and he asks her questions and he listens to everything she can infodump at her with, as far as I can tell, rapt fascination.

This is not an experience Sybil Ramkin has frequently had. He doesn't try to escape or change the subject or draw her back to the pieces he cares about even a little bit. He's clearly dazed and confused and probably, knowing Vimes, a little bit drunk, but he's not even visibly discomfited enough to shove poor old Dewdrop Maybelline Talonthrust the First out of his lap. Sybil clearly knows that most people don't appreciate being drooled acid on, and tells Vimes repeatedly that he can shove the old man off, but he makes no effort to do so at any point. Given that dragons are described as having a quite pervasive smell, and given all the other details of their biology, I can't even begin to imagine how awful the old dragon must smell... and Vimes just sort of rolls with it.

(It's a pity Pterry didn't understand show names at all, of course; the ones we get should tell us something about the relationships among dragons and kennels, and the prefixes should be repeated, and whatever Sybil's own kennel name is should be present in many of the dragons she mentions. Probably it's either Talonthrust or Moonmist, but either way Goodboy Bindle Featherstone of Quirm is named entirely wrong. He's clearly of her own breeding, so he should have a kennel prefix or suffix that aligns with hers, not a name that has nothing in common with her other dragons and implies that his dam was bred by the duchess of Quirm rather than by Sybil herself.)

He listens and he listens and he asks questions and he goes down to the kennels to look at her pride and joy and listen to her explaining what makes each of them so nice. And then he brings her an incredibly exciting present. And he expresses interest in the sweet little whittle she's been trying to work out what to do with, who is totally not a breeding specimen but is too weird even for the sort of people who adopt dragons from the Sunshine Sanctuary. He doesn't even try to leave until the big dragon overhead causes a big stir, and then when she has him taken to her house to recover, she finds him reading her book about diseases of the dragons with every evidence of fascination.

Small wonder she takes notice of him, really.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

CHI-CHI (DRAGON BALL)

1.) okay so to start at the beginning, she was introduced as a young kid but they put her in a super revealing bikini styled outfit. pretty sure it was supposed to be armor too, so besides just being a disgusting design choice even in-universe it’s impractical. but besides that she was pretty charming as a kid, she was cute and funny and pretty tough, and had a cool gimmick in her blade/ laser helmet. even when she reappeared in late Dragon Ball, she was a bit abrasive but was overall rational and kind. she was strong enough to make it into the World Martial Arts Tournament, one of only 16 to qualify.

but come Dragon Ball Z and on, she’s reduced to just a shrill, nagging, aggressive wife and mother. all she gets to do is cook, worry, and berate her husband and sons. her physical strength is only used so she can comically hit Goku. sure its played for laughs, but he’s shown to be afraid of her. I only recall her leaving her house once or twice in DBZ. just the worst mother character stereotype, with nothing left to make her likeable. she’s portrayed as irrational but despite her aggressiveness, half the time her wants are completely reasonable. can’t blame a woman for not wanting her husband to die every other day!! her writing us ass but I still love her and she deserves better!!!

2.) So in Dragon Ball she wasn’t the BEST character to start out with. Toriyama hasn’t ever been the best at writing women or not making stupid fucking sex jokes about them. So she had to deal with that. The outfit she wore as a kid was… NOT GREAT. Let’s say that! Then in late Dragon Ball her entire character revolves around Goku and trying to marry him, which she gets by tricking Goku and getting beaten by Goku in a tournament in one hit. Not off to a great start. Then Z started and Toriyama just… gave her an ENTIRELY NEW new personality, and that new personality was just a stereotype of a tiger mom. Regardless of how correct she might’ve been about letting Gohan fight (and she WAS completely correct, he was 5-6 for a HUGE chunk of Z) the narrative frames her as a hysterical and unreasonable woman nagging at the menfolk and not letting them do things. So naturally people hate her without even considering why she’s upset because the story itself frames her as in-the-wrong. The whole franchise also just forgets that she’s a martial artist and never has her DO ANYTHING.

This is only scratching the surface, there’s a LOT more because the franchise is like 40 years old and we’d be here all day.

3.) GODDDD okay so full disclosure i guess shonen is such an easy pick but like. out of every shonen wife she was and is THE most hated by the narrative and creator (maybe tied with sakura omfg). shes always made out to be a beast, got her fighting skills shafted after she got married, was always played like she was hysterical for worrying about her kid dying in battle, and not to mention the creator actively HATES her. like toriyama just straight up hates writing her. its bad. its really bad. shes just “bitch wife” but for no reason :(

BUMBLE (WARRIOR CATS) (CW: Domestic Abuse)

1.) Back with another Warriors submission, I bet you’ll be getting a lot from other people too LMAO. Bumble is a kittypet (housecat) who befriends the male protagonist Gray Wing’s girlfriend, Turtle Tail, and lets her stay in her house. This gets Gray Wing all pissy because he’s controlling of Turtle Tail and shares most of the wild/clan cat’s proclivity for looking down upon kittypets. Turtle Tail gets pregnant by another kittypet, Tom, who tries to control her by hiding the fact that humans take away kittens after they’re born. Eventually Bumble comes clean about it so Turtle Tail returns to the forest. Some time later, Bumble is found in the forest seeking refuge because Tom has been physically abusing her, scratching her where the humans can’t see. So, she’s CANONICALLY ACKNOWLEDGED as a domestic abuse victim (unlike Squirrelflight who meets all the textbook signs but the narrative and authors deny it). How do you think our good guy protagonists, i.e. Gray Wing “The Wise” and Turtle Tail, respond to an abuse victim seeking refuge? They tell Bumble to go home, thinking to themselves that she’s fat and soft and therefore would be useless in their group. Bumble stands up for herself and asks to speak with the leaders of the group. One of them asks if Bumble could just get along with Tom better (bro???) and when Bumble says it’s not within her control, the leader suggests being nicer to the humans instead. Another rival leader butts in and verbally abuses Bumble again by ripping into how fat and lazy and useless she would be. Despite Turtle Tail having been friends with Bumble and Bumble had helped her through her own hard times, to Gray Wing’s approval Turtle Tail chooses not to intervene as Bumble is forcibly escorted back to her abuser. But that’s not all. Later Bumble is found in the forest maimed and dying, and it seems likely that Gray Wing’s brother Clear Sky, a male with a long history of violence, is the culprit. Rather than mourn the dying innocent cat, Gray Wing’s primary concern is how other cats might be mean to Clear Sky if they think he’s a murderer, and reassures himself that refusing to help Bumble in her time of need was still the right decision.

2.) I have no idea how she managed to be written so horrifically from an abuse victim and woman (/she-cat I guess) standpoint but here we are. Okay so my memory is a bit fuzzy but basically Bumble was a character in Dawn of the Clans and a close friend to Turtle Tail, a major character, as well as a character who lived close to Tom, an abusive dickhead of a cat. Bumble was largely depicted as just a really sweet cat. Turtle Tail was very briefly the mate of Turtle Tail, but once she got pregnant, he became super violent towards both her and our gal Bumble. Tom actively hid the fact that, once her kits were old enough, Turtle Tail’s kits would probably be taken from her, and made Bumble keep quiet about this too, but Bumble eventually told Turtle Tail the truth, Turtle Tail left and Tom became extremely violent towards Bumble because of this, and was extremely abusive towards her. Eventually, Bumble ran away from him to where Turtle Tail and co were and begged to stay, since the wilderness as a whole was genuinely more safe than being around Tom was. Naturally, this meant kitty xenophobia from cats who had only arrived in that area recently, because everybody was insistent than, since she was a kittypet/house cat, things wouldn’t work out, and even her friend Turtle Tail denied her on this, insisted she was too soft to live in the wild and only sent her towards a cat Bumble wanted to convince because she was absolutely certain she’d be denied. Also our good old protagonist Gray Wing got to spend this scene being all upset about this soft cat wanting to join them to escape an abuser and was all bitter about the fact that Turtle Tail lived with her for a short period of time, and he also got to have a sweet romantic moment with Turtle Tail after denying an abuse victim an escape from her abuser. Also as much as I like Tall Shadow usually she sucked ass in the following scene because she was essentially telling Bumble to go find a way to make peace with Tom as if she was not the one being abused (Bumble pointed out that Tom was the one who would need to make peace for it to happen, not her) and that she should just make life better by going back to being a housecat and being spoiled despite the fact that she was actively at risk with her owners because of Tom. Then she leaves after being threatened by several cats there and is called soft on the way out. The next time she appears she is literally dying, and her death is just a plot device to create a stupid little mystery which is solved in a very stupid way. Also her abuser does continue to be a shithead and for some reason is fully permitted to kidnap his own children but he also gets a heroic death and the only reason I will not rant more about him is because this is too long already. Long story short Bumble deserves the world and everybody who decided not to let her escape her abuser just because they thought she was soft sucks

3.) Is nice to the group of starving, feral wild cats that left the mountains so their friends and family could have more food to eat and befriends one of them to the point of opening her home to her after she leaves the group because the guy she likes is too dumb to notice she likes him and keeps falling for his brother’s love interests.

Unfortunately, because Bumble is a house cat who lives in a house with people and not a Wild and Free cat, this is a grave and horrible crime (luring a wild cat into the safety and comforts of domesticity) and is villainized for the rest of the arc, including for things wildly out of her control

I.E.

Her owners taking in an aggressive male cat that bullies and abuses the two female cats already living there

When Bumble’s friend leaves and goes back to the wild cats, Bumble leaves her home (as the abuse as has gotten worse) to see if she could either get help or have her friend return so the abuse isn’t as bad again)

Bumble eventually dies in the wild because the feral cats all hate her for ‘stealing’ their friend and tricking her into becoming a kittypet for awhile and refuse to help Bumble adjust to wild life or even teaching her how to hunt.

They are littl e to no hard feelings at her death beyond ‘good riddance’ but the aggressive tomcat that chased her out of her home is later regarded with good feelings and regret at such a ‘good, heroic cat’ passing when he dies despite him literally never doing a good or kind thing in his life and actually causing trouble for the wild cats right before dying

[callsign-rogueone]

Hey honey! Hope you’re feeling better today 💗💗 I’m adoring the directors cuts. We know you put so much thought and planning into your stories, and it’s so fun to get a glimpse of where your head was at when you were writing!

Can you give us some commentary on Dain and Love? She seems to be becoming a fan fave, and we the people need to know more about them!

Love you!

-fw-gt

this is so late but here it is!! I’m gonna kinda do a general overview for this one!! no quotes, just broad thoughts because I’ve been itching to unpack all my thoughts about Dain for months. here’s a few of them for now — there will be much more Dainposting from me in the future, that’s guaranteed.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again — Dain wants a princess* that he can be the knight in shining armor for, and Violet isn’t that, so that’s (one of the reasons) why they didn’t work.

*Not a literal princess, but he wants a girl that’s going to let him protect her, let him play that masculine role and make the decisions, because he’s maybe a little bit insecure in that regard and also maybe a little old-fashioned, being from a military family with traditional values.

Love is kinda that girl, but she’s also very much not that girl. You said this perfectly in the discord the other day: Love is a good balance of what Dain wants, and what Dain needs.

She’s a lot of things that he wants — she’s beautiful and razor-sharp-smart, and kind and caring and so many amazing things (because she’s you all!). She wants to be cared for and doted on, (total daddy’s girl, first of all) and she knows her worth / what she deserves — besides her parents, Brennan and Duchess are her role-model example of how a relationship should be. so she’s got Standards.

However, comma, she’s still very much her own person, and that clashes with his personality quite a bit. She alters her uniforms to look more flattering and wears impractical shoes. She’s not afraid to laugh during formation or other serious situations. She memorizes her textbooks instead of studying them, and half the time she sleeps during optional training sessions. She’s a wild-child, playful and always down for a shenanigan. They’re going to have several more arguments about her putting herself in danger — she agreed to cut out the jumping-off-her-dragon stunt, but she’s not going to roll over for him every time just because he says so.

She’s not a damsel in distress, either. She can defend herself (guess who taught her to fight 👀) and she’s smart in tactical situations, as her dad was one of Fen’s tacticians, but she’s a bit of a wild-child, impulsive and ruled by her emotions, rather than the codex — though she does have the codex memorized. so she gets to play lawyer on behalf of the marked kids and finds ways to keep her shenanigans within the lines. the professors are sick of her shit, but also very impressed.

Dain is included in that category — alternating between awe and irritation. but he needs to be challenged, to be softened a little and learn to relax for once. he doesn’t go with the flow at all. ever. he’ll learn, though. he has to, if he wants this to work — which he does, but he’s still conflicted.

he’s got the pressure and disapproval from dear old dad, and the propoganda he’s been taught about her fam being traitors… and then there’s her absolutely terrifying older brother, who is the son of the “lead traitor” and absolutely despises him… but she’s so pretty and so nice to him, even though she shouldn’t be. and he feels bad for her, knowing what she’s been through. she’s slowly changing his perspective, and that’s uncomfortable at first. there’s gonna be turbulence.

and… SPOILERS FOR THEIR STORY BELOW, but most people know this already, and I’ve already said it multiple times;

they’re having a kid in Onyx Storm.

Dain and Love started as a one-shot request, part of the family, (which will eventually be re-written to change some things!!) but the more I thought about it, the more I was like… hmm. this could work, actually. fuck it, why not?

the idea of Dain, the self-proclaimed “responsible one”, becoming a young dad (22-23) is definitely unexpected — giving him a little reality check, and breaking the “graduation -> marry a nice girl from a good family -> have 2.5 kids -> get promoted as high as you can, in that order” model that he’s undoubtedly been taught to follow.

He has some shit to unpack regarding his upbringing and his relationship with his dad, and his mom not being in his life (headcanon of mine). and while Love is gonna help with that, as well as some of his other issues, it’s really going to be their baby girl that speeds things up and gets all this done and dusted.

but also, him having to unpack all the shit his father did, unlearn it, and then learn how to…

be a parent without his own parents there to help him, nor hers

raise a kid that won’t turn to hate you and help lead a revolution against you

make them feel safe and loved and meet their emotional needs, not just physical needs…

deal with the idea of Love being in danger now that there’s a baby in the mix

and some other things I won’t spoil hehe

so yeah. he’s got some stuff to figure out. I’m forcing him to have the character development he deserves in canon 😌 and these three are gonna love each other so much and be such a cute lil family, happily ever after, so help me god.

thank u for the excuse to ramble about them. ily 💗

[watermelonsloth]

So... Sarada's Timeskip Design

First some positives:

The design works in both Haruno(choker, red) and Uchiha(earrings, black) elements. Even though they are few, I prefer it over the complete absence of both like we got in her last manga design

I like the somewhat unique choice in headband placement

The outfit is pretty fashionable and I can easily picture a teenager wearing it

Her earrings are a nice touch

Her haircut is really cute

Now the negatives(oh god are there negatives). I can't shorten this to simple bullet points so I hope you like the paragraph format. First, the obvious:

It Doesn't Look Practical In The Least

She's wearing big-ass heels, her leg warmers are loose enough to get caught under her feet, her shorts(the bottom half of her romper?) are short enough to give her a wedgie, she has pretty much no leg protection, the shuriken holster attached to her leg without bandages looks uncomfortable, the belt is completely useless, her jacket is baggy and unzipped and begging to fall off, her sleeves look like they'd get in the way during combat, her glasses feel noticeably fragile, and what woman in their right mind would wear a strapless bra into combat? (I can only let the last one slide because it's two men who're working on this manga) If not for the metal plate, shuriken holster, and open-toed shoes, I wouldn't even think she was a ninja(or from the Naruto franchise, for that matter). Lack of practicality doesn't tend to bother me since this is fantasy and every character wearing maximum practicality outfits would get boring, but Sarada looks like they didn't even make an attempt at making her look combat ready. Still, all of this would be fine if not for my next point.

This Doesn't Look Like Something Sarada Would Wear

If impracticality was in character or served a narrative purpose, it would be a point in the designs favor. Except, Sarada isn't the type of character to wear something so impractical. In the manga, she's the character that takes being a ninja the most seriously, she's one of the few with clear goals, and she's the resident team leader and smart one. What part of her design tells us any of that? Yes, manga Sarada is weirdly flirtatious. But that aspect of her personality already contradicts her otherwise disinterest in boys and romance, it doesn't mesh well with her portrayal in the anime(which is also supposed to be canon), it's already an inconsistent part of her personality, and there's already been so many complaints about it(even in Japan from what I can tell) that you'd think that Ikemoto wouldn't continue with it.

Why Does It Invoke So Much Akatsuki?

This might just be me, but I think the design has too many nods to the Akatsuki. The oversized jacket, the fabric around the bottom of her leg, and the black, red, and white/silver color scheme in similar ratios. I'm not saying you'll confuse her for an Akatsuki member by any means and there were certainly more things they could've done to make her resemble the Akatsuki if that was their goal. What I'm saying is that if I were trying to make nods towards the former villain organization in a character's design, I'd use similar design elements.

The worst part is that this was entirely avoidable. Even ignoring that they could've scrapped the more impractical aspects of her design to avoid this, her color palette didn't even have to be this way. Red isn't the only color that can invoke connections to Sakura; shades of pink, light green, and white are also colors of Sakura. Black isn't even the most common color that Uchiha's wear, shades of dark purple and blue are. Purples and blues would've also been a better nod to Sasuke. Maybe they wanted her to wear "Uchiha colors," but, once again, those aren't really Uchiha colors. Black is, but red has only appeared in Madara's armor, the sharingan, and the clan crest and white has also only appeared in the clan crest(I don't even remember an Uchiha that ever wore silver). If you wanna argue that Sarada's color is red, then I ask why wouldn't they just keep red as her primary color instead of making it an accent? Her last manga design had black and white as accents, I don't think keeping her color palette the same would've bothered anyone. I know that Kishimoto added black to Naruto's design to help make him look more mature, but Sarada's design doesn't invoke "mature" anyways and it certainly isn't a more mature version of her last design because, much like the majority of the two blue vortex designs, it looks nothing like her last design. It's even worse than when they started adding too much black to Naruto's design because now it reminds people(or at least me) of an organization that I doubt she's meant to be affiliated with. But who knows? Maybe like the metal plate of her headband being on an easily removeable jacket, this is all foreshadowing to something.

I don't blame anyone for thinking this is a nitpick, but it bothers me and I wanted to express it.

Conclusion

Sarada's design is the worst for the same reasons her last design was the worst plus it looking too much like she took inspiration from the Akatsuki's wardrobe. Forget needing a second draft, this design needs to be scrapped and replaced. Maybe the anime will find a way to fix it, maybe it won't. Only time will tell and it'll hopefully tell us good news.

(Side note: why is she constantly drawn with her feet pointed inwards? it makes her look insecure.)

[soulofamy]

6 and 28 for the Soulcalibur Asks

6. Who is your favorite character design?

generally speaking, most of soulcaliburs roster is really well designed. much thought was put into all the outfits, even the more gratuitous ones. but i dont think any outfit has topped violas 2p oufit from soulcalibur 5 for me

its just such an elegant design. i always loved the sophitia 2ps that featured slit dresses like in sc1, 2, and 3 because they felt like a really good mix of warrior and mature femininity. and i feel like this design takes it a step further with how striking the color pallet is and the intricacies of the details. it fits the character quite well in a way that gives us a lot of contrast from her 1p. and given that viola is amy, i think this outfit also maintains the allusions to her true identity both in the colors used and the reoccuring roses. but at the same time, viola is an adult while amy is a child so you can still see the amount of time that has passed despite the allusions to her identity. lorewise this outfit is well thoughtout because it is a visual representation of the time viola spent traveling with romani nomads, who taught her how to harness her ability to read the stars. it is also as though her wearing this outfit is her paying homage to them, or her showing us the closest thing she has to roots

28. What are your thoughts on Siegfried’s crystal armor?

i like it tbh! if soul edge gets to give its wielder mystical and somewhat impractical armor than i think soul calibur should be allowed to as well. i think the crystaline armor makes quite a bit of sense as well when you consider that soul calibur is the sword that instills order. crystal is clear, so having armor made out of it kind of signifies the purity of the wearer. and crystals also have a rigid structure, which i think calls to mind the order soul calibur strives for. contrast it with all the wispy aura that leaks off of nightmares armor, with his armor coming from a sword that wants to instill chaos. the wisps are more free flowing and untamable, and also have a smoky appearance to them, which contrasts the purity of clear crystal. i know some people think it looks big, heavy, and goofy but like when did soulcalibur EVER prioritize practicality in its designs? i think that it makes sieg look heroic, it really tells you about his connection to the sword soul calibur, and i think it provides are really good contrast from nightmare

thank you for the ask!!

[transbot9art]

This took a lot longer than I anticipated to do...

nsfw version found on @ifmp

[fandom]

2020 Masquerade Costume Competition Winners

This just in from Comic-Con@Home (@comicconathome​): The winners of the 2020 Masquerade Costume Competition, as chosen by the Comic-Con@Home judges! 

Feast your eyes on these cosplayers:

Best in Show

Astra, Queen of the Frostborn

An Original Design crafted by Sarah Kruger (@queenofthefrostborn​) “The Frostborn are a people, beings made of that frost, that fog, that cold and mystery. Their queen is strong as ice, and just as beautiful. Astra. As her story came to me, playing out in my head, I knew that I had to make her real.”

Judges’ Choice

Cinderella With a Twist

An Original Design by Mandy Pursey, with Ryan Pursey (@bethesparkcosplay​) “Growing up as an arm amputee, I dreamed of the day when fairy tales would include characters who looked like me too! I came up with the idea of Cinderella trading out her glass slippers for a glass arm, and set to work making this story come to life.”

Best Re-Creation

Iron Mask 85, Avengers: Endgame

Made by Frank P. (@franklybuilt​) “My late father took me to see the first Iron man in 2008 when I was about 16 years old and ever since then I’ve been hooked on the MCU and specifically Iron Man. I always dreamed of having my own armor. I mean what kid wouldn’t? But it was always this impractical goal and I had no idea how to use EVA foam or Papercraft. Years went by and eventually, I felt it was time to try my hand at a Cosplay after watching Avengers Endgame and being blown away with the MK85 Armor! It was time to make my first Cosplay. Enter 3D Printing.”

Best Original Design

ACK! The Kenku Monk

Designed and made by Breanne Cremean (@thegeekstresscos​) “Ack! is a part of an amnesia Dungeons and Dragons campaign and has no memory of her past. She chose her name because it’s the first sound she can remember anyone making in reference to her.”

Best Workmanship (A tie!)

Mercy (Classic Skin), from the Overwatch game

Made by Birdy Cosplay (@birdy-cosplay​) “Costume is made by me, the only purchased parts are the yellow wing parts (I ordered them already in this shape) and the wig (I styled it myself,  but bought the base from Arda Wigs). It was my biggest project so far and it took around 9 months with some short breaks to complete it.”

Best Workmanship (A tie!)

Arturia Pendragon, from the anime & game Fate/stay night

Crafted by Daniella Lo Presti (@ksfabricartist​) “I created this costume in order to bring to life this character in a realistic way. To replicate the skirt embroidery I deconstructed and pieced back together with different types of lace and I used several layers of cloth so that, when twirling, the gown would open up like a flower. Indeed, in Fate Zero, Arturia is described as being the flower of the battlefields.”

These cosplay costumes were so good, a photo can’t capture them. You need to click through to see the original video in all its glory!

Best Presentation

“Ready to Fight!!”

Consisting of assorted recreations, from Noe Ernesto Cruz Vargas (@lobisonx9​) “In this video, I show most of the cosplay that I have done for several years, in the pure gamer style. It has been a lot of creative work, use of many materials and hours and hours of work. We have an altruistic group in Mexico, we visit children’s hospitals, orphanages, children with cancer, etc.”

Most Humorous

Sally, from The Nightmare Before Christmas

Crafted by Liz Gatouco (@cosbrarian​) “I built the wig and dress from scratch, using second-hand materials to contribute to Sally’s “Ragdoll” persona. I used scraps from tablecloths, pajamas and clothes, upholstery samples, and even the yarn was sourced second hand.”

These cosplay costumes were so good, a photo can’t capture them. You need to click through to see the original video in all its glory!

Best Group

Luke Skywalker, C3P0,  R2D2, from Star Wars

Made by Tim O'Sullivan and JT Stevens (@1flukeskywalker​)

Don’t sleep on these Honorable Mentions…

Adrienne C.  (@waxsealedcostumes​) 1740’s Elizabeth Swan, from Pirates of the Caribbean “My 1740s Elizabeth Swann is almost entirely hand sewn with historical materials and historical construction methods from the outside in, starting from the shift, stays, panniers, under petticoat, matelassé outer petticoat, to the silk pleated-back English gown.”

Jennifer Yi (@kaiweevil​) Keesha's Hungry, from Star Wars “Her eyes are made from dyed round plastic and her mouth, nose, and teeth from painted sculpy. Ears are cut sheets of foam and everything is covered with fur. Cowl is pigskin laced with leather and I used some bones, feathers, and teeth I had lying around for decoration. Hands and feet are modified Yoda hands.”

Congratulations to the winners of the 2020 Masquerade Costume Contest! Your sewing and sculpting and hemming and hawing paid off brilliantly. If you’re curious about their prizes, you can read all about ‘em over here.

To all the participants: Thank you for making @comicconathome​ such an exceptional experience for every Comic-Con fan out there. We see you and we appreciate you.

[menfenced]

Our Flag Means Death is such a funny show, but I also really love the more serious aspects of humanity that they explore. One of the best arcs of season 1 was of course Stede and Ed’s parallel journeys of trying to discover who they are and the way that their costumes do such a good job mirroring that story. 

And of course, there will be spoilers below...

So let’s start with the general theme. Ed and Stede both bring a fair amount of childhood trauma to their current identities. Stede struggled with violence as a child. At home, he was unable to stomach the sight of his dad killing a goose and at school, he was teased and tortured for being soft and for not participating in the bullying his classmates perpetuated. Ed also struggled with the violence his father brought into their home, living in fear until he turned that violence on his dad and killed him. Both children walk away from these experiences thinking that who they are and what they’ve done as children is all they will ever be in life. From there, the show asks us to examine those assumptions. Are there some innate qualities in Stede and Ed that cannot be changed? Will Stede forever be a cowardly, pampered, rich boy? Will Ed forever be the Kraken? 

On to the costumes...

Stede’s initial outfits are bright and over the top. He wears layers of fine fabric, frilly shirts, gold buttons, bows, etc. He’s the very picture of a foppish aristocrat, exactly the type of person his father told him he always would be. And the thing is... Stede likes clothes. He likes fancy things and flowers and good marmalade and lavender soap. But he also hides behind those things a bit. It’s his own personal security blanket that makes him feel powerful and in control of things. Because of this, we see him amp up this fanciness whenever he needs to feel in control (think the dinner party or his first visit to Nassau). It’s interesting that we only really ever see him out of these fancy outfits in the first part of the series when he is feeling particularly vulnerable (think of the simple white shirt and trousers after his therapy session in episode 2 or when he’s lying in bed after getting stabbed.) Interestingly, his first real conversation with Ed also shows him similarly dressed down and it is once again a very emotionally vulnerable moment as he shares his dreams/hopes with Ed, a complete stranger.  

In episode 9, we once again see Stede stripped down to simple clothes in yet another emotionally vulnerable situation. Stede has failed. He only lasted a few months as a pirate and now he’s going to spend the next 10 years in the navy. And then Ed confesses and asks him to run away with him. And it sounds lovely, but there’s also regret in what his choices took from Ed. Finally, we have the confrontation with Badminton and everything is laid bare. Stede thought he could escape the person his father thought he was and, in doing so, he became a monster. He returns home and returns to the same fancy, safe clothing he’s used to. But this isn’t who he is. It’s just what he’s used to. 

After the confession to Mary, we see him in costume for the fuckery, but after that he’s just stripped down to an incredibly plain outfit. Mary’s eulogy plays in the background, explaining that Stede is finally free. And she’s right. He’s free from the expectations he has lived with and ready to be his own person and pursue his own happiness with Ed. It’s the most emotionally vulnerable we’ve seen him at any point now, the most open and honest he has ever been with himself, and once again, we see his armor of fashion removed as he is allowed to just be free. 

Moving on now to Edward...

Ed has the most garish, impractical, and wildly historically inaccurate costume in the entire show and it’s perfect. It’s perfect because the entire point of the outfit is that it is a costume for Ed. It’s him pretending to be the Kraken. He has grown up with this idea that there’s this darkness in him, and he leans into that as an adult. It’s all part of the Art of the Fuckery. Unlike Stede, Ed doesn’t get a ton of outfits and when we do see him in something different, it’s usually a costume as well. It’s Ed pretending to be Stede in episode 4 or pretending to be Jeff in episode 5. Ed likes fancy things, but he never really feels like himself when he’s wearing them. He’s always pretending to be someone else. He literally hears his mother’s voice in his head - “We’re just not those kind of people.” The one exception to this is, of course, the piece of silk. When Stede tucks that into Ed’s pocket, he finally feels like maybe he does deserve nice things. It’s no coincidence that he leans in for a kiss right there before second guessing himself and walking away. 

Now, let’s fast forward to episode 9 and... the loss of the beard. I both hated and love that they shaved Ed’s beard. I hate it because that wig was a beautiful piece of art. But it’s also perfect for where Ed is at emotionally. He has given up everything that he had defined his life with up to that point. He is literally stripped bare both physically and emotionally. And with those pale clothes and cleanly shaven face, he’s now just... a blank slate. Let’s be honest. Sitting there folding his socks, Ed is pretty boring. But he’s boring because he has finally stripped everything away that he isn’t and he’s getting ready to build up the person he wants to be. 

(I honestly really hope that Stede and Ed perform some fuckery at the end of the series and sail off to China together to live happily ever after and I’m excited to see how Ed’s costume will evolve then)

But of course... he doesn’t get the chance to find out who he is. After Stede leaves and Ed returns to the ship, the first thing he does is surround himself with Stede. literally. He takes all of Stede’s fine fabrics and builds himself a blanket fort. then he wraps himself in Stede’s dressing gown and eats his favorite marmalade. He’s still stripped bare to some extent (no beard and no shirt) but also dressing up in a costume again. He’s wearing Stede’s clothes and trying to captain like Stede did. 

Then he’s Blackbeard again and the costume becomes even more... well, costumey. He paints on the persona of Blackbeard (both figuratively and literally with makeup) and returns to this character that he has played for most of his life. The mask is on tighter than ever to cover his heartache and disappointment and to hide any weakness from the world he must now live in. 

[randomstuffaboutwarframe]

An unnecessarily long rant about Inaros

The people who call Inaros bad because he’s boring are the same people who think Vauban is good for playing the game for you

Inaros has plenty of flaws to go around but downright calling him bad because he’s boring is the dumbest shit ever

People only target Inaros for being boring because he can’t clear a room is a tap of his 4 button

If you want good dps, run Equinox or the bramma and stop making it look like Inaros is the only frame that isn’t Saryn

Why not shit on Yareli? She is objectively worse at every possible application compared to Inaros

Another thing, it’s important to note that if you dedicate every mod slot to just having more health, HIS ABILITIES ARE GOING TO BE BAD BECAUSE YOU AREN’T DEDICATING ANY MOD SLOTS TO MAKING THEM GOOD WHY CAN’T YOU WRAP YOUR NEANDERTHAL SKULLS AROUND THIS

The real kicker is that a vast majority of the idiots who call him bad haven’t ever even played him

I have seen Inaros haters on Reddit displaying a comical lack of knowledge about his abilities ranging from not knowing what his 2 does to thinking he has an exalted weapon. Note that all of these people spoke as if they had played hundreds upon hundreds of hours on him

Most of these people are just parroting a specific YouTuber whose name starts with a K and ends with a nightmare frame or another person making an absurdly inaccurate comment under a post about Inaros being good

Let’s clear some things up

His 1 is his best lifesteal ability it costs next to no energy and it opens enemies up to finishers meaning if you run him for range and duration then build your gram or fragor for speed and just a little damage, he can blind hordes of enemies and send them all to horny jail by spamming x. I consider his 1 to be the best subsumable lifesteal in the game because of it’s cheapness and abilities to grant the user 2000 health in two button presses

His 2 makes you invincible while you’re eating the bad guy which is great for things like the exploiter orb because it makes you MOTHERFUCKING INVINCIBLE

His 3 makes good helminth fodder

When fully charged, his 4 grants a practically free 100% armor boost which doubles his EHP and expends health which Inaros has no problem obtaining

If you play him right, he can easily tank up until level 180 and if you want to go farther than that then you can run octavia or limbo because you clearly aren’t going any farther than that for any practical purposes

Also, contrary to popular belief, shield gating is not the only way to tank in this game

People focus WAY too much on his inability to shield gate when, again, making it past level 180, the point where shield gating becomes marginally useful, is impractical

Inaros is an average to sub-average frame but he gets way more shit than he deserves simply because the community chose him of all the bad frames in the game to be the worst of them all

[ganymedesclock]

Thank you for pointing out that it's really implausible for someone not a part of an official Fantasy(tm) government to have access to full plate armor and keep it maintained on their lonesome, I have this character who somehow Wanders The World and yet is also in full plate all the time? At least I can understand how to edit that idea. Shame video games lied to me on how much armor is too much or too little for travel.

Historically speaking, most figures we'd recognize as Knights In Shining Armor were people who could afford to maintain their own armor, sword, horse- usually landed nobles. 'Knight' is a class within a peerage, closer to a lord or lady than a servant. Similar story for historical samurai- they were privileged people who could afford a sword IIRC.

Another thing I try to think about is that armor is... impractical. Uncomfortable. It's not impossible to use or limiting your range of movement massively- they did an experiment where a historical reenactor in full plate ran an obstacle course against a soldier in modern field gear, I don't recall where but I remember seeing the footage, but the knight did favorably- but living in armor is an impractical, though not an impossible, decision.

You can easily lean into that- if your character is a vagrant wanderer in full plate, they had to have either come from or been employed at some point by money, or possibly had a chance to take really good armor off someone else. If they're living in their armor almost all the time, there's still probably parts they shed according to some routine or another, and what isn't regularly taken off and cleaned (or at least, y'know, scrubbed) will probably get stinky. A big oft-overlooked-in-fantasy part of armor is padding- just the metal layer will prevent cuts, but to actually have meaningful impact resistance against stabs, pierces, or bone-shattering impacts, one way or another a would-be knight is usually wearing several layers. While it's not the only option, a gambeson- a thick quilted coat- and over that a harness to attach and support the various armor pieces is very common. Armor is actually very logistics-heavy! Owning, maintaining, and wearing it is a big deal. That's not to say you can't ever depict a character who has armor but can't maintain it- but that could very well be an interesting point.

(I think about this a lot when I draw Prisoner from Dead Cells- he is the last person who can really afford armor, meaningfully, and he's also an emaciated person going through a lot of it- so I tend to draw his armor as dented, scratched up, extremely piecemeal per canon- he really only has one pauldron and maybe a breastplate depending- and literally tied on with strips of spare cloth, because he has no padding both in terms of his deeply unhealthy body weight and the unlikeliness this armor was ever tailored to him)

In the case of rpgverse, few of the core cast has much in the way of armor. Diana literally is an ex-knight; she used to be a marchioness (relatively big cheese; right below a duke), hence why it was a pretty big courtly betrayal when she joined Deimos, who kitted her out accordingly using basically magical artifice.

Diana's armor, when she regains the ability to summon it, is a bit unnaturally fitted to her figure. I designed it off of the articulations of an exoskeleton; you can see this most obviously in where it secures to her neck. Being made of an unnatural, highly flexible quasi-organic material gives it advantages in that regard- these plates can slide over each other to articulate without scratching each other to hell and back. I've also been careful to keep the spikes on her pauldrons short and flared outwards, so she can do things like raise her arms over her head without poking herself.

Even then, she's definitely going to be dispelling it (sometimes, even the left-hand gauntlet that holds her prosthetic shadow-arm in place and forces it to work more like a conventional appendage) when not needed.

Depending on how committed you are to your knight character, anon, there's plenty of fun worldbuilding or lorebuilding options you could use to still capture the image you like. I think that practical concerns and knowledge shouldn't preclude imagination in fantasy writing, but help you hone it down- have a sense of what it means if your character is always wearing armor. Diana's armor symbolizes a lot of things to her- her former status, service she both is and isn't proud of, but also her own ability to face opposition head-on. It means a lot to her, and as the drawing makes pretty clear I think, her mental health drastically improves when she's able to reforge her own connection with darkness and regain its use.

[sithsecrets]

proposal | din djarin x reader

you and din discuss the customs of his people, and then you take a trip to see the armorer.

---

3.4k words

mentions: piv sex, marriage customs, fem!reader, marriage proposals, reader discusses interest in having kids, nervousness/anxiety about being rejected, weddings

this is part 6 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

Only in the dark are you brave enough to ask the question that’s been lingering in your mind for weeks now, speaking the words into the hull’s empty void as Din breathes beside you.

“Do Mandalorians have weddings?”

So maybe that’s not exactly what you meant, but it’s what comes out of your mouth. What you really want to know is if Mandalorians marry in the first place, but something about asking Din this more directly seems entirely too serious. Too heavy. Couple that with the fact that you lie here naked and drunk on sex and wine, and you find yourself glad that you asked him the way you did.

“No,” Din says, palm warm on your back, “at least not the way people most people do.”

You let his words sink in for a moment, pondering what sort of marriage customs Mandalorians could have. Where you’re from, weddings are huge affairs, the celebration of two families joining together made complete with eating and drinking and music. It is a day devoted to dressing impractically and marveling at all the future holds, a day where two people become a unit, their whole lives spread out before them. You know that every culture isn’t like yours, obviously, but you wonder what else could be done for such an occasion. Every wedding you’ve ever been to, regardless of setting or context, has always involved merrymaking and splendor, or as much as could be afforded. Even this evening, all the way out in the Tatooine desert, Cobb Vanth and his husband and all their friends in Mos Pelgo managed to scrape together quite the little party. There was wine and food, and everyone danced until they couldn’t go anymore. If marriage isn’t a celebration to Mandalorians, then what else could it be?

“Do they— Do you just say you’re married? Is there an officiant?”

Din lets out a sigh, but it’s by no means an exasperated one. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was trying to steady himself, his bare arm flexing around your waist.

“No,” he answers, “there’s no officiant. When two Mandalorians get married, they exchange vows in mando’a, and then they look at each other.”

“They take off—”

“Their helmets,” Din finishes for you, “yes. They say their vows, and then they see each other’s faces for the first time. That’s why it’s done in private— no guests, no one to oversee things.”

“And then after you see each other, you’re married?”

Din nods, affirmative, and the weight of all he’s said presses down on your mind. Two Mandalorians, that was his exact wording, but is that really what he meant? Is there no other option? There has to be another option…

“Can Mandalorians marry other people? Or is that not allowed?”

It takes everything you have to ask this question, anxiety churning in your stomach until… until you realize that Din’s already sleeping, the rise and fall of his chest even and measured against your cheek. The feeling that comes over you is equal parts relief and horror, an odd reaction to the fact that he didn’t hear you, but you decide agonizing over all of this isn’t important right now, not tonight. You’re half-drunk, exhausted, and emotional aroused— hardly the right state to be in when you’re talking about something so serious as this. And so you simply pull the blankets up around you and Din, trying in vain to fall asleep like he did.

---

Thirty-six hours later, the Crest is back in hyperspace, you, Din, and the baby off to chase down a quarry on some distance planet. It’s going to be a long ride, a fact that you’re dreading. Since you watched the Marshal and his husband say their vows and exchange a kiss as husbands, your head’s been filled with images of marriage and weddings and wifehood. The conversation you had with Din the other night plays in your mind on loop, the one unanswered question bothering you to the point of distraction.

Can Mandalorians marry other people?

(Can you marry me?)

You try to keep busy, cleaning and doing laundry, cooking an elaborate dinner, but nothing helps. Even as you play with the baby and tuck him in the for the night, you’re bombarded by anxiety and feelings of unresolved tension. The most frustrating part of it all is that it’s completely one-sided— Din wouldn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, even if you told him, because he wasn’t fucking awake. Din Djarin, a man who never rests, fell asleep in the middle of talking to you about his people and their customs. You truly never thought you’d see the day, and now that you have, you pray it never happens again. You’re not sure you can take this, this limbo. You have to know.

With the Child asleep, you’re officially out of things to occupy your time. You’ve scrubbed every floor and every surface of the Crest, cleaned out the pantry and changed the beds, washed and folded all the clothes. And so you decide it’s time to fuck up your life, climbing up to the cockpit to talk to Din like you have a hundred times before with a rock in your stomach. Never in your life have you professed to be brave, and you nearly chicken out the minute your eyes land on the glinting beskar, on the curve of his helmet. In that moment, you realize that this is it, this really could be the end of it all…

And yet somehow, you’re not afraid anymore.

“Hey,” Din says softly, reaching out to you. The visor remains fixed on the holograms in front of him even as you come over, but his arm is tight around your waist, grounding. “Kid’s asleep?”

“Yeah.” You pause, enjoying the weight of his embrace. “Din?”

He hums in acknowledgement, still focused whatever he’s studying on the holo display. You’re undeterred.

“Do you— Do you remember what we were talking about the other night? After Cobb’s wedding?”

Din’s still half distracted, fixed on an image of two alien beings in what appears to be a hangar bay. “Yeah, Mandalorian weddings. You wanted to know what it’s like when we marry.”

You study him for a moment, gather up all your courage. “Mmhm. And you said that that was the custom for two Mandalorians— vows and then you look. But— But—”

“But what?” Din cuts, still not looking at you.

“Does it… Does it have to be two Mandalorians, or can it be a Mandalorian and someone else?”

Your question hangs in the air for one long, silent moment, and then it would seem that you finally have Din’s full attention.

He turns to you slowly, letting the holograms flicker into nothingness as the pilot’s chair creaks in your direction. You think you might actually pass out right there, petrified to face him in the wake of this question. The both of you are long past all the uncertainty of the early days, far away from the time when you didn’t know what you meant to one another. But this is no insignificant matter, and Din’s not a stupid man. You aren’t asking, but you certainly aren’t not asking either.

For a second there, you think he’s going to prod for more information, make you say what you mean out loud. Din’s good at that, at making you talk when you don’t want to, but he usually resolves it for more playful situations, times when what he’s making you say outright doesn’t matter as much. But mercifully, he skips the games, reaching for you with one gloved hand.

“Come here, mesh’la,” Din murmurs, maneuvering you into his lap like he has a hundreds of times before. It’s all muscle memory at this point, and you settle on the width of his thighs without even thinking about it. Still, though he’s being gentle, though you’re filled with hope, you wait to hear news that will break you.

… It never comes.

---

If someone asked you to make a list of all the things you thought you’d do in your lifetime, visiting a Mandalorian covert wouldn’t even make the top fifty. But here you are on some distant planet in the Outer Rim, snaking through a tunnel system on your way to meet with someone that Din only refers to as “the Armorer.” Apparently, she used to lead his old covert on Nevarro, and now it would seem that another group of Mandalorians has banded together under her leadership. You don’t know what to think of this person, but Din seems to have great respect for her, and that only makes you more nervous.

When Din asked you to sit on his lap, you were sure that he was about to tell you that you and he could never be more than what you already are. In that moment, you had to ask yourself some hard questions. Were you comfortable with that? Could you live with never seeing Din’s face? Was marriage something you needed, or was it something you wanted? But it turned out that all this introspection was pointless, because Din told you flat out that he can marry whoever he wants… So long as he has the Armorer’s permission.

“It’s just because you’re not a Mandalorian,” he told you, trying to soothe you fears as you became more and more worked up about the whole thing. “It’s purely a formality.”

You were unconvinced. “If it’s just a formality, then why do we have to do it? What if she says no?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we have to, but I doubt she’ll turn us down.”

All of this was said under the cover of darkness, of course, you and Din naked and sprawled out under the blankets. He’d made love to you for hours after you asked him if the two of you could get married, saying over and over again that he loved you and that he couldn’t believe you wanted to be his wife. The attention made you breathless, but in the aftermath of it all, you still asked Din three separate times if he was serious, if he really wanted to have you. You couldn’t bear it if he called the whole thing off at the last minute, and you certainly didn’t want him to agree to something so serious just because you’d expressed interest in the idea. But Din was insistent, promising time and time again that he’d made up his mind. You should have known better than to question the conviction of a Mandalorian, especially one as devout and loyal as Din— they don’t make their choices lightly. All of it felt so fast, but also so right, and you’d fallen asleep that night awash in the glow of your engagement. Now that it’s time to face the Armorer, though, you’re anxious and petrified.

All eyes are on you as you and Din make your way down a cavernous, dimly lit corridor, the blackness of many visors tracking your every movement. Even two children stop to stare at your, their helmeted heads shining dully as you pass.

The sound of metal on metal fills the air as you approach what appears to be a chamber within the tunnel system, the noise growing louder and louder with every step you take. Your first impulse is to turn tail and run, but you force yourself to remain steady, counting your steps and standing tall even as a feeling of all-consuming anxiety overwhelms you.

“Hey,” Din says, reaching for your hand just before the two of you enter the room. “Okay?”

You squeeze his palm, lying through your teeth. “Yeah, I’m good.”

And then you’re walking into the chamber side by side, ready to face the woman that will determine the path of your lives.

The Armor is a tall, broad person, helmeted and sheathed in armor like all the other Mandalorians you’ve seen. She pauses her work the minute you and Din walk into the room, a heavy tool made of beskar held aloft in one hand. To be watched by her is intimidating to say the least, her air of importance only heightened by the fact that she stands three feet off the ground on a dais. Din sits down before her without saying a word, and you follow his lead, unsure of what to do with your hands or face.

“Brother,” she declares, dropping her gaze back to her workspace, “it is good to see you. If you have come for repairs, I am afraid you’ll have to wait some time. We have just combined forces with another covert, and I have had much to do as a result.”

The Armorer glances up.

“Where is the Child?”

It takes you three whole seconds to realize that she’s speaking to you instead of Din, and you rush to answer her. “He’s with friends,” you explain, “people we trust on Nevarro.”

“’We,’” the Armorer intones, picking apart your words. You can’t decide what she means by this.

Two clangs of beskar on beskar, and Din finally speaks.

“I haven’t come for repairs,” he says, voice even and strong, “I’ve come to speak to you about an important matter.”

The Armorer does not so much as look up. “I assume it has something to do with the girl, yes?”

“Yes,” Din affirms. “I want her to be my wife, and I seek your permission for a vow exchange.”

It is a long time before the Armorer speaks again, her demeanor never changing once as she continues to work on the piece before her. She pounds away at the metal, laying it over the jets of flame before her, setting her tools aside carefully.

“You want to marry this Mandalorian?”

Her words are like ice water down your back, but you force yourself to be brave.

“Yes,” you say, feigning confidence. It’s hard to maintain eye contact, though you do it anyway, hellbent on showing respect to this woman who has survived no less than two massacres.

“Come here, child. Let me look at you.”

Standing on shaky legs, you walk closer and closer to the dais, stepping up when prompted by your observer. You refuse to come too close to her workstation, afraid of causing offense. Beskar is a precious thing, and you’d never want to taint her tools and materials with the oil if your unworthy, unindoctrinated hands.

“How long have you known my brother?”

The Armorer begins to pace long, measured circles around you, studying your body, letting her gaze linger on your face.

“Over a year.”

“Do you travel with him much?”

“We live together on the Crest,” you explain. “We’re always together, unless he goes out to look for a quarry.”

The Armorer nods, seemingly pleased.

“And what do you think of the Child? Do you care for him?”

You picture the baby’s face, his little green hands, his big black eyes, and your heart is filled with affection for him. “I don’t know what he is, but I don’t care, either. I love him like he came from my own body. Din’s done me a favor by letting me know the baby at all.”

And for the first since you came to stand before the Armorer do you turn to look at Din. He doesn’t say anything to you in that moment, but you see it, the way his posture softens just the slightest bit. The Armorer must notice it too because she turns her gaze on him as well.

“She is the Child’s mother?”

“Yes,” Din says at once. If the two of you were alone, if you still weren’t so afraid of being rejected, you think you might cry at that.

The Armorer nods once again, statuesque as she comes to a stand in front of you.

“If you were to bear my brother children, would you raise warriors? Or would you have them shy away from such a life?”

This is an important question, you know, one that will make or break the Armorers decision. You take your time to consider you answer, choosing the right words, stringing them together with care.

“My children will be free to do as they please,” you begin, looking the Armorer dead in her visor. “I know that you don’t just become a Mandalorian. It’s something you choose for yourself. You have to swear the Creed and take on the burden of never showing your face— that’s not something I could force on my babies, even if I wanted to. When the time comes, I’ll support whatever path they choose in life, so long as it makes them happy. I love their father as he is now, and I’ll love my children if they choose to follow in his footsteps.”

The room fall silent as you finish your little speech, Din and the Armorer not speaking a word through their modulators as they take in your words. The Armorer herself is especially still, staring you down, testing your will. You think she’s waiting for a “but,” an “if” or an “except” that will ruin everything you’ve just told her. But you don’t flinch, locked in her gaze and firm in your choices.

“You have chosen well, brother. This woman will be an excellent wife. We welcome her openly.”

And though Din told you that she would say yes, hearing the words come out of the Armorer’s own mouth has you awash in all-consuming relief. You think you should say something, perhaps “thank you” or “I welcome you as well,” but you don’t get the chance. The Armorer goes back to her work the minute her pronouncement is made, picking up her tools and going back to her craft like she never stopped in the first place.

“Go now,” she says, but it’s not a harsh command. “I have much to do.”

Her helmet peeks up, trained on Din.

“If she falls pregnant, I want you to return so that we may celebrate the child. It has been too long since we have known the joy of a new life.”

All Din does is nod, offering you his arm when you step off the dais in a daze. The two of you leave together in silence, weaving your way back through the tunnels that brought you here as everyone watches you closely. Somehow, though, their stares feel less judgmental this time, less suspicious. It might be a figment of your imagination, a byproduct of your relief, but it’s like they know. The whole thing is sort of eerie, and you’re glad when you and Din come back out into the daylight.

---

It’s just the two of you alone on the ship, the Child safe on Nevarro with Greef and Cara. You and Din decide to take advantage of this, cutting the lights and crawling in bed the minute the Crest kicks into hyperspace.

You let Din have you on your stomach this time, breathless as he fucks you into the mats and blankets. Even as he pushes into you without mercy, Din is so sweet with you, kissing your back, running his hands down your sides. He murmurs your name like a prayer, moaning brokenly when you tell him that you love him.

After all is said and done, the two of you end up snuggled together as you so often are, safe and warm in a nest of blankets on the floor of this ship you love so much. Panting for breath as you try to calm down, it hits you that this might be one of the last times, might be the last time Din fucks you like this, with everything dark and quiet. Something about that excites you, and yet you feel driven to savor the moment, a strange sense of loss settling in your stomach.

Finally, though, you speak: “When should we do it?”

Din snuggles his face against your chest, letting out a contented breath when you wind your fingers in his hair.

“Soon,” he tells you, “but not here.”

That makes you pause. “If we don’t get married here, then—?”

“I know of a better place, cyar’ika,” Din soothes, rubbing your back, and you can’t help but trust him. “A much better place.”

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon wc: 2.6k summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin? warnings: canon-typical violence an: first go at mandalorian fanfic. we'll see how this goes :D Masterpost | ao3

Chapter One: The Urge

Din Djarin has been alone for a very long time.

Din Djarin has been alone for a very long time.

And somewhere along in being alone, he decided he liked it. He preferred it.

People were pushy. Demanding. Rude.

They took one look at his armor and assumed the man underneath.

At least that’s what he decided was the reason he preferred solitude.

There was an unacknowledged truth, however, that perhaps choosing to prefer loneliness dulled its edge ever so slightly. Just enough to be ignorable most nights.

But some nights, deep in the slip of hyperspace, when it was just him in his tiny bunk on The Razor Crest, it wasn’t ignorable. It sat high in his chest, occupying the space between his lungs, filling it with an emptiness so big it threatened to squeeze the breath out to make room.

On nights like that, the helmet usually went back on.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one.

People, house, clan.

And when all else failed, your Match.

“Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense.

So many lamentable things were lost in the Great Purge.

The beskar, their homeworld…

Lose enough people, break enough pairs, does it even matter if the Matches still exist?

Or don’t, as the case might be.

So much of what the Mandalorians once had is lost. What’s one more thing?

What’s a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

He knew his stars. The constellation that outlined the path of his life.

Every Mandalorian had one.

The elders had been very keen to identify his when he first was found. They did eventually.

Tal’onidir. Blood struggle.

Or ‘blood, sweat, and tears’ as the Alderaanians would have said.

Though in the time before the Purge, both halves of a Match’s stars would have been consulted for a clearer picture.

But all he had was his half. All most everyone had was their half.

Very few of the old myths still applied in a galaxy barely free of an Imperial yoke. But even Din had to admit that his stars felt more right than he wanted them to be.

Life was a constant struggle.

Struggle to survive, struggle to continue, struggle to carve out some semblance of contentment with his lot.

He felt he was doing as well as any could.

And then, out of the clear night sky, everything changed.

He was in his ship when he first noticed something off.

Four fresh pucks from Karga, plotting the most fuel-efficient map between his quarries and Nevarro. When he found himself putting in coordinates for Tatooine.

None of the quarries were on Tatooine this time. He stopped, shook his head, and punched in for Jakku.

Desert planets were bound to blur together.

He brushed it off, deciding to get as much sleep as he could in hyperspace.

It was a helmet-on kind of sleep, though.

It came up again as he was leaving Corellia.

He’d actually locked in the coordinates that time and was halfway through atmo before he noticed.

And then it was when he set foot back on Nevarro, four carbonite platters ready for delivery later, that he felt it again.

He didn’t want to be here.

But it was in the middle of Karga offering up new pucks when Din really damned himself.

“Do you have any on Tatooine?” slipped out before he could stop it.

Karga did. Just the one, and a risky venture at that. A Captain in one of the Hutts palaces.

Din took it. He wasn’t even sure why he took it, but it was too late. He was half-way to the ship when he realized he hadn’t taken any other bounties.

Still some part of him unclenched as he finally made the jump to hyperspace.

He’d thought that this odd urge would evaporate as he landed.

It didn’t.

That way it said, gesturing metaphorically for the Dune Sea.

Even if his quarry was technically that direction, this whole journey seemed foolish. And he might have given up if not for that old saying his Armorer was so fond of,

‘Instincts can be misled, but they never lie.’

Peli was her usual self--some combination of persnickety and jovial that landed right in charming. But she did lend a speeder bike.

Finally Din was off, racing through the searing sands.

It was less than a day’s journey, however, when he felt the urge again.

Stop.

He did, scoping all around him, trying to figure out how this gulley between dunes was different from all the others.

Pulling out his pocket scope, gave him a clue. The Hutt palace warbled in the far distance. Now just to figure out how to get inside, kill and/or remove one of the better trained guards without alerting the whole palace.

He watched the palace for the rest of the evening, noting guard rotations, possible alternate entrances.

After the suns set, things began to get a little tense

Dark was the obvious option for trying a covert entrance to the compound. But the urge was rather adamant.

Wait.

“Wait for what?” he asked an empty desert before immediately feeling foolish

His answer came a few hours before sunrise.

A small barge left the palace, floating just a hundred yards north of him. There weren’t many people on board. A few guards, perhaps a slave--

And his quarry.

Well. Rarely did events turn out so damn convenient.

Follow.

Even better.

Back on the speeder bike, he kept pace with the barge, keeping a few dunes between them. Trying to log as much information as he could before striking.

Four guards. One slave. One quarry. No one appeared to be below deck. This wouldn’t be too difficult.

Then the slave kicked one of the guards off the barge.

Another immediately fired a shot at the slave, only to be gruffly stopped by the quarry with the flat of an axe blade.

Din watched on thermal as the quarry pulled something out of his jacket, and then the slave dropped.

An armor piercing scream echoed through the desert, settling high in his chest and constricting.

Now.

Speeder bike surged forward, and one shot with his grappling cable, he managed to land feet first on the side of the barge.

It dipped under his added weight. One guard leaning over to inspect and getting a blaster shot between the eyes for his trouble.

Two more leaned over, but Din ran along the side to get momentum and swing himself up on deck.

The quarry bum-rushed him, axe out. Beskar took most of the brunt, and Din knocked him back, nearly off the side but he gripped the railing, sending a small device skittering to the deck floor.

The slave stopped screaming and that tightness in his chest immediately relaxed, though it didn't evaporate.

Danger.

Yes, obviously.

Din shot one guard as the slave, a human woman in some sort of flowy very impractical clothing, got to her feet and knocked another one off into the sand.

“Duck,” he yelled to her, before shooting the last guard behind her, as she dropped to the deck.

The quarry got back on deck and instead of going after Din, or the woman, he ran for the device near the front of the ship.

“NOOO–” the woman yelled as Din ran after the quarry. But the quarry arrived first, smashing the butt of his axe into the device and destroying it.

Her cry cut off abruptly, but Din focused on getting a single shot to the back of the quarry’s head first. He succeeded.

The post-battle quiet rushed in, cut only by the sound of the barge motor still going and his own breathing.

Save.

He turned back to examine The Woman, who was prone on the deck, not moving. The tightness returned.

Civilian casualties were… an unfortunate reality. He did his very best to avoid them whenever possible. But there had been instances before.

Though those times didn’t make his hands shake as he turned on thermal again.

The shake ebbed as he confirmed she was still alive. Just unconscious. A breath cut out of him.

Save, the urge repeated.

Well, he couldn’t fly a stolen Hutt barge as the way back to Mos Eisley. Hopefully the speeder bike was where he left it.

It was. Though it wasn’t meant to hold three people. The quarry was strapped to the back like so much cargo, and since The Woman didn’t seem to be waking anytime soon, he had no choice but to hold her.

It was more awkward than anything else, her head flopped on his pauldron and her perfume filling his nose

He didn’t know the scent, but it was rich and sweet, and lingered in the back of his throat

They arrived at Mos Eisley as the suns broke free of the horizon.

Peli gave him a strange look when he asked for bolt cutters, but even if the woman was unconscious, Din wasn’t going to leave that collar on her.

Though now came the most important question: what was he going to do with her?

She seemed stable, no wounds that he’d noticed at all. Though she still hadn’t regained consciousness.

It was probably a fairly safe bet that an escaped slave wouldn’t want to stay planetside.

And if she did, he’d bring her right back after getting paid.

He tucked her into the only bed on The Razor Crest –though bed was a generous definition– and found every blanket to drape on top of her. Space was cold and the fabric of her dress was nearly translucent.

Save.

“I’m trying,” he muttered, heading to the cockpit for take off.

The Woman didn’t wake up before Nevarro.

Two and a half full days unconscious was not a good sign. Even for someone like him.

Thermal said she wasn’t running a temperature. At the end of the second day, he gave her a bacta shot for good measure.

Nothing changed.

Fix.

For all the time he spent on Nevarro, Din realized very quickly that he actually knew precious little outside of the covert. Which left him with Karga as his only source of guidance.

“Is there a hospital here? Or a doctor?” he asked, as soon as money had changed hands.

“Are you hurt, Mando?” Karga gave him a once over, as if checking for missing limbs.

“Not for me.”

“Well, we do have a clinic. But it’s run by a healing droid.”

“No droids,” Din responded with a fervency usually reserved for his ship.

Karga held up his hands in surrender. “Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Fix.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Din asked, “Where’s the clinic?”

A Mandalorian carrying a blanketed bundle the size of a grown woman though the marketplace was bound to get a few strange looks.

Luckily, there wasn’t a line at the clinic.

Unluckily, the droid was still there.

The Woman looked concerningly pale on the table as the droid ran scan after scan. Her hair, dark and curly, didn’t shine like it had under the Tatooine double sun rise. It was limp and lifeless.

Like her.

Fix!

“How many more scans are you going to run??” Din snapped.

The droid was unfazed, finished its test before turning to face him.

“I have found the problem.” A projection appeared of The Woman’s head in profile. A small white square at the base of her skull. “She appears to have a chip implanted between her third and fourth cervical vertebrae.”

“Removing that will fix her?”

“All signs point to this being the root of the problem.”

“Can you remove it here?”

“Yes, but you cannot be present for the procedure.”

Though the idea of trusting her care into the hands of a droid made his palms itch, Din nodded.

He was allowed a moment to say good-bye, which felt both strange as he didn’t even know her name and yet not long enough all at the same time.

He touched a gloved hand to her shoulder, promising that this would fix it.

Though he wasn’t sure who he was promising that too.

A full hour crawled by as Din waited in the dingy clinic waiting room. The urge very insistent

Fix. Return. Fix. Return.

He was about ready to go ask what was taking so long again when the droid returned.

“The procedure was a success. She may be confused for a few days. But her mind will heal with time. Your wife is sleeping now, but can leave by the end of the day. ”

Side-stepping the presumption, he asked, “Do you have the chip?”

“Yes. Would you like to keep it?”

“Yes.” Mainly to find out where it came from in the first place. Implanted chips were rare and few, if any, were legal. Especially not ones capable of this sort of… control.

Given that The Woman was still sleeping, Din decided to take the chip to get some answers.

The urge was not happy.

Return. Return. Return.

But really, when she woke, the droid's face would be more expressive than his own.

From this side of the city, he took the southern entrance to the covert.

There was a tension shift as soon as he stepped down into the subterranean tunnels. The oddity of a Mandalorian was stripped away, thankfully.

At the heart of the covert was the armory and more importantly the Armorer. He sat before her forge and waited to be addressed.

“I see no defects in your armor,” she said, not stopping her smelting.

“I seek answers, not repairs.”

“Answers to what?”

He placed the chip down. She picked it up to examine it silently before setting it back down and returning to her work.

“Where did you find this?”

“Tatooine. Inside a slave from a Hutt palace.”

“Is the slave alive?”

“Yes.”

“They may provide more answers than I can.”

“She’s not conscious,” he explained, taking the chip back. “And–”

The Armorer waited for him to continue.

“I was… led to her.”

“How?”

He paused for a long moment, trying to find a way to explain. “Instinct.”

Danger, the urge suddenly said.

A slight commotion out in the hall behind him interrupted their conversation. Raised voices echoed down stone walls.

The Armorer’s comm link came to life. “Outsider at the southern entrance.”

Danger! Go.

Din was up on his feet before he made the choice to do so. And he was halfway down the hall by the time he’d realized he’d left.

A few other Mandalorians were also moving to the southern entrance, back up if there was an invading force.

Danger! Danger!

The urge pulled him into a sprint for the last corner.

Coming around it, something high in his chest resounded in fear.

The Woman was standing at the end of the hall, dressed in his dark shirt he’d pulled over her dress before taking her to the clinic, with at least six Mandalorian blasters pointed at her.

Save!

“STOP. WAIT.” Din ran down towards the stand off. “DON’T SHOOT.”

A few blasters turned his direction before their owners saw who he was. He could hear quite a few more Mandalorians also approaching from behind.

The Woman, however, did not seem bothered by the guns or the platoon of armored warriors surrounding her. She calmly walked forward, gaze focused somewhere ahead of her.

On him.

Return.

Her eyes were a soft grey, yet distant. Foggy.

Din drifted towards her. The urge now palpable under his skin.

Return.

However, it was only when she reached out and took one gloved hand in hers that it finally relaxed, disappeared.

“Outsiders are not permitted inside the covert,” one of the guards snapped.

“She’s not an outsider,” the Armorer replied.

Her voice seemed very far away to Din who felt it was more important to study this woman’s face than listen.

“She’s a Match.”

That cut through the gentle reverie of grey eyes.

A what?

Chapter Two: The Question

taglist: @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @loversandantiheroes

[lesbianlotties]

hey, dani! for your february prompt list for andy x quynh... in an AU where quynh did not go under, what would be the fashion periods that each of them thought the other had their best look?

Sure, maybe Andy and Quynh are the two oldest people on Earth who have seen the rise and fall of entire Empires, have fought countless wars, and come back to death pretty regularly. But there are some things about being human and living in a society that not even the most extraordinary people can avoid. So, they had to go shopping for new clothes.

“Do you like this?” Andy asked, holding up a black t-shirt that was unlucky or privileged enough, depending on the t-shirt’s sensibility, to face the judgement of Quynh’s unimpressed stare. “It’s not boring, it’s practical,” Andy defended her choice, knowing exactly what that look from her wife meant, “and it has this little… design… here…”

Quynh stepped forward and swatted Andy’s hand away from trying to defend the barely noticeable design on the front of the sad t-shirt. “My heart,” Quynh started saying in a tone that instantly made the other woman smile, “We deserve better than this. I’ve seen you dressed like an actual Queen.”

“Well, I remember that being impractical,” Andy smirked. This time Quynh rolled her eyes and continued looking over the unimpressive articles of clothing that the twenty-first century offered to them. “And I’ve seen you wearing full body shining armor like a knight,” Andy added, “but I don’t hear you complain about missing that.”

“Because it was so much work,” Quynh sighed as she studied a jacket, “A good look, but was it worth it?”

“I’d say it was,” Andy murmured. She tried to lean in for a kiss, but instead she received a jacket shoved to her chest, “I have one like this already.”

“Yeah, but who knows in which continent you’ve left it now,” Quynh smiled, picking up another jacket and moving on, with their shopping and their conversation, “You know what I liked? When people started being okay with us wearing pants.”

Andy immediately hummed in agreement, frowning a little as she searched for the memories, smiling when the right images came up in her mind. “Yes, but it’s not like people’s disapproval ever stopped us,” she grinned, which earned her a sweet kiss on the cheek. They stayed silent for a moment, while Quynh considered the not very different options of pants available. “You know, if this gets too boring,” Andy said, her tone already warning Quynh of some mischief, “I’m sure we could bring back something from our 90s closets.”

Instantly, Quynh smiled, thinking about it, and when she managed to remember the details of the punk and goth fashion they were unavoidably attracted to a few years ago, she couldn’t help but start laughing. “Oh my God, that much hair was impractical, seriously,” she continued to laugh along with Andy, and then she lovingly ran her hands through her lovers’ hair, “though the buzzcut looked good on you, Andromache.”

This time when Andy leaned in for a kiss she was victorious. She enjoyed the kiss that lasted the entire time it took Quynh’s hands to go from Andy’s hair down to the belt loops of her pants, which she tugged as she pulled away enough to say, “I have to admit, I do like these,” she looked at the tight jeans Andy wore and after stealing one more quick kiss she pulled away entirely and continued to guide them through the necessary shopping, with Andy always standing close with an easy smile and a good memory to share, just to make her laugh.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Phantoms

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Two

A JSE Fanfic

Oh wow, second chapter already? :O Yeah I was really excited to keep writing this. Fantasy is my element; I’ve returned home. After wandering out into the woods for so long, Chase wakes up in an unfamiliar location. Where is he? Who are these strange masked people who have found him? And what happened back in his village? Answers will follow, as we meet new people...including a couple boys that us readers will know :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Chase woke up slowly, over the course of what had to be a few minutes. First, he was aware of weight, something pressing down on him. It was warm. And that felt really, really good. Because there was a coldness in his core that he couldn’t quite shake, sending chills across his skin. After the weight, sound came trickling in. There wasn’t much of it. Just some strange scratching sounds, and occasionally footsteps, which echoed. It was only after registering the echo that thoughts started to form. Where...where was he? How’d he get here? Last he remembered, he was...in the forest? It was dark. Was it nighttime? Chase found it hard to recall.

He finally opened his eyes. It was difficult; they felt weighed down. But he did it. And once his eyes were open, he saw...stone. Rough, natural stone, not stone bricks. The light was strong, but flickering. And completely unfamiliar.

Turning his head to the side was an effort, but he managed. He was on a bed, he recognized that much. With a few layers of blankets, including one made of fur on top. Again, completely unfamiliar. As was the rough stone room he found himself in. Some sort of cave...? But then why was there a bed in a cave? No, scratch that. There was a whole row of beds, he could see them extending to the side, along with a couple rickety wooden chairs. And, currently sitting down in one of those chairs, was a woman with a bird face.

“Wh...?” Chase tried to sit up, but the blankets were too heavy, and his body felt weak, so he gave up easily.

The bird-faced woman looked up, and—oh, no. It was a mask. Of course. With a long, curved beak that couldn’t be practical. The woman gasped, and put down the items she was holding—a stack of parchment and a long white feather—a quill—down on the nearest bed. “You’re awake. How do you feel?” She asked, standing up again and hurrying over. Her voice was...it sounded different. In a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

How did he feel? How did he...how...The simple question took Chase a full thirty seconds to answer. “...tired.”

“That’s to be expected,” the woman said, “when you catch the shivering like you did.”

The shivering? Chase groaned as he suddenly remembered the events of last night. Running through the forest, tripping and falling in the water, then continuing to walk until he couldn’t. How stupid. He knew about the shivering, how it could kill a man who stayed out in the cold for too long. Why had he kept going? Actually, why...why had he been out in the forest that late? It felt...important. But those memories still eluded him.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be alright,” the woman reassured him. “We found you just in time. You, ha...wandered pretty close to camp.” She gave a small smile. Though the mask only covered the upper half of her face, the beak still hid most of the smile. “What’s your name?”

“...Ch’se.” Chase mumbled. His eyelids were really, really heavy. Maybe if he just closed them for a moment...

“Chess? Odd na—no wait, don’t fall asleep!”

Too late. The moment his eyes closed, he drifted off.

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

He kept drifting for some time, bobbing on the sea of sleep, occasionally cresting a wave and catching a brief glimpse of that strange cave room again, before falling back asleep. He didn’t regain true awareness until he heard voices. And then, he opened his eyes and turned his head towards them.

This time, he’d rolled over to the other side of the bed. He could see the row of beds continuing, then ending at a large, dangling sheet of canvas. Like for a ship sail? Was he on a boat? No, silly him. A cave wouldn’t be on a boat. Maybe it was just blocking off the entrance. He also saw lanterns this time around, dangling from the distant rock ceiling on chains. There were a lot of them, actually, providing a bright light. Bright enough to see the two people talking to each other nearby. Chase concentrated, and soon the words started to make sense.

“It’s dangerous!” This voice was coming from a man with a fox face. No, wait. Again, it was a mask. The man was also wearing leather armor on his chest and arms. His hands were on his hips and he was staring down at the other figure he was talking to.

“Oh, really? He was already deep into the shivering by the time they found him,” the other voice said. Also a man, if Chase had to guess. He couldn’t quite tell, because this figure had its back to him. All he could see was a red cloak, down to the figure’s waist, with the hood pulled up. 

“That could’ve been...a mistake,” the fox-masked man said slowly. “After all, he was wet. If he tripped and fell, and out in the middle of the Dragon’s Greatwoods, there wouldn’t have been time to retreat to shelter. So he continued on his mission.”

“Mission?” The cloaked figure laughed. “Yea, the King sent a man without any jacket or cloak, only armed with a shortbow and five arrows, to find his current greatest threat’s lair. That makes perfect sense.”

The man folded his arms. “He could be a scout. There could be a greater force coming.”

“Look, Lukas, I admire your vigilance,” the figure said. “But there’s just too many holes. If he’s a scout, why doesn’t he have an insignia anywhere? And I know you’re going to say he had to have nothing in case he was caught, or that he could’ve been sent to infiltrate, but in that case? He should have had better gear. A dagger or knife, at least.” The man started to talk again, but the figure kept going. “And also, even if he is part of the King’s forces, shouldn’t we keep him around to ask questions? Instead of just throwing him out into the cold with the shivering like you’re suggesting.”

“Not with the shivering—”

“That doesn’t make your idea much better.” The figure snaps, and surprisingly, despite being at least a head taller, the man in the fox mask shrinks back. “Like I said, I appreciate your vigilance,” the figure continued in a softer tone. “But right now? Does this man look dangerous?” The figure turned around and gestured to Chase, then stopped. “Wait a moment. I think he’s awake.”

The fox-masked man gasped, and backed up. Chase tried to say something, or nod, or do anything, but...the depths of dreamland were already calling him back. He closed his eyes once more.

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

The third time Chase woke up, it was for good. He opened his eyes, and found he didn’t have the urge to close them again. When he turned his head, it was easier. And his mind was clear, able to take in the strange cave in more detail. Like the fact that it was large enough to put three cottages inside, and still have room to walk in between. Or that the end opposite the canvas was actually a pile of rocks, like there was a cave-in, but with a few stone bricks in the gaps, as if people came along and tried to reinforce the rocks into a solid wall.

He was really, really warm. Not hot, but just warm enough to be noticeable. So he tried to sit up. It was harder than expected, both because of the weakness that lingered in his limbs, and because the layered blankets were surprisingly heavy. But he managed to get upright.

“You’re awake again!”

Chase let out a startled cry, then turned to see the woman with the bird mask from before. She was standing near the rock-brick wall, a wooden chest open at her feet, which she quickly closed. Now, Chase took in more about her. The long, curved beak was still impractical, and Chase couldn’t recognize the type of bird the mask was modeled after. She wore a white apron over a tunic and a pair of trousers. Her black hair was pulled back in tight braids, and she had darker skin than anyone Chase had ever known. She hurried over. “Lay down, lay down. And keep the blankets on.”

“It’s a little hot, actually,” Chase mumbled an explanation.

The woman hummed, then leaned over and pressed her hand against Chase’s forehead. The touch was cool. “Well...I suppose your temperature is closer to normal,” she said, leaning back. “But don’t get up yet. How do you feel, Chess?”

“Um...well, my name is Chase, actually,” he corrected. “But anyway, I feel...still a little tired, but I’m not...not sleepy. Just kind of...weak, I guess.”

“Well. That’s good,” the woman said cheerfully. “One moment, do you mind holding this?” She reached into a pocket in her apron and took out a smooth, round stone the size of a fist.

“...sure?” Chase took the stone. For a moment, his hand dropped with the weight, but he kept it aloft.

The woman hummed again, watching his arm as his muscles trembled slightly. “I suppose that’s not enough to worry.” She took the stone back.

“Thank you, I guess,” Chase said. He glanced once more around the large cave—or, actually, a cavern. “Now, uh...if you don’t mind. Where am I? And who are you? And how did I get here?”

“You’re...well, that’s hard to say,” the woman said. It was then that Chase realized why her voice sounded different: she had an accent, one he couldn’t identify. “I’m not sure if I should tell you that yet, but you are safe. You are in a...place...full of good people, and you are currently in our infirmary.”

“In a cave?” Chase blurted out.

The woman laughed. “Oh believe me, they argued about where to put it for so long. They still do, actually. But we keep it clean. As for how you got here, you wandered right up to the edge of our...place. There was a whole group out nearby, talking to each other and spending time, and they saw you in the distance. So they picked you up and took you here. And for your question in the middle, you can call me Ibis.”

“Ibis,” Chase repeated. “Is that a type of bird?”

“Yes, it is!” Ibis beamed, and adjusted her white bird mask. “They live near rivers, in warm climates.”

“Oh. Interesting. I...hadn’t seen them before,” Chase said slowly.

“You are not the only one,” Ibis assured him. “It is cold in these mountains. But I have to ask you something. I hope you don’t mind. It is...What were you doing so far out in the woods, so late at night?”

“I, uh...I go out into the forest to hunt,” Chase said. “Every day, usually, except in the winter, unless it’s really necessary.”

“Really? Interesting,” Ibis said. She brushed some dirt off her apron. “Well, Chase, you are recovering from the shivering nicely. But I hope you don’t mind if I have someone else take a look at you. Not today, tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Oh. Um...alright,” Chase said, still a bit confused. “And...when are you going to tell me where I am? And who this group is? And why all of you are wearing masks?”

“Chase, I would really like to answer your questions, but I don’t know what we’ve decided,” Ibis said honestly.

“So keeping it a secret is important, huh?”

“I suppose you could say so. Now if you don’t mind.” Ibis walked around the bed. “I am going to get you some water. You must be very thirsty.”

He hadn’t actually noticed it, given the more pressing concerns of his situation, but the minute she mentioned it, Chase realized how dry his mouth was. “I am. Thank you.”

“I will be right back,” Ibis assured him, then headed towards the canvas. She pushed through a flap in the middle, not unlike that of a tent, and disappeared.

Chase stared after her for a few moments, then slumped back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, wondering. Who were these people? What did they want? And what was going to happen to him?

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

True to her word, Ibis reappeared the next day with someone else in tow. Chase heard the sound of the canvas flap open from the bed where he was laying, and rolled over to see her and another man walking in. They took a slight detour to the side, where they both put on a white apron, then headed over. “Hello again, Chase,” Ibis said cheerfully. “This is Owl.”

The other man nodded. “Hello.” As the name would have indicated, his white mask was shaped like an owl, though...Chase noticed that his mask was more...decorated. Ibis’s mask had a symbol in the center of the forehead drawn in black, a vertical line with two others twisting around it. The man’s owl mask had that, too, but it also had colorful details along the feathers, and a pattern of pale blue diamonds along the cheeks. Underneath the apron, the man wore a blue scarf and a white tunic with buckles in the front. He also had a belt with several pouches hanging off it. Brown hair framed the owl mask, cut short, and blue eyes looked at Chase through the wide eyeholes.

“Hello,” Chase said politely. “How’re you doing?”

“Oh, ah, I am well.” Owl sounded a bit surprised by the question, which confused Chase. People always said that when greeting each other. “But more importantly, how are you?” He continued, sitting down in a chair next to the bed.

“I’m tired.” Yes, tired of saying that.

“The fatigue is expected. How are your thoughts? Is your head clear, or is it more foggy?” Wait a moment...Owl also had an accent. But it was different from Ibis’s. While hers was smooth, mellowing out the vowels, his was sharp, especially on the S’s and TH’s. And it...sounded strangely familiar...which really stood out in contrast to all the strange new things Chase had been going through.

“No, it’s pretty clear,” Chase said slowly, silently wracking his memories. Where had he heard that accent? “And before you ask, I’m not cold, but I’m also not that warm, either. At least, not on my own. The blankets, though, they are making me warm.”

“That is what they were made for, yes,” Owl nodded. “Ibis says your temperature is not too bad, so if you would like, we can take away some of them.”

“That would be good, thank you. And, um...slightly related question. Where are my clothes?” Chase gestured to the shirt he was wearing. It wasn’t his; this one was thick and woven. It hadn’t seemed important yesterday, but might as well ask now. “And all the rest of my things, too?”

“Ah, sorry about that. They were all wet, so we had to change you out of them. They would just make you colder. We have your things nearby, you can go get them later,” Owl explained. “Once we are sure you are not with the shivering anymore.”

That way of talking was just so familiar, it was distracting. Where would he have heard it before? Chase fell silent for a moment as he thought about it. Maybe in another similar environment? When he was sick? Well, he didn’t really get sick that often, but maybe when someone else was sick...like...

Owl paused, waiting for Chase to say something else. “...are you okay?”

The memory hit Chase in a flash, making him gasp out loud. “Henrik?!”

Owl looked shocked for a moment, but then he glanced at Ibis, who had an identical expression under her mask, and quickly turned the shock into confusion. “I am sorry?”

“That’s you, isn’t it? Henrik...I don’t remember your surname, but you had one. I thought that was strange. You’re a traveling doctor, you were in town last summer!”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Owl said slowly. “You might be mistaking me for someone else—”

“No no no, I couldn’t be mistaking you,” Chase insisted. “It’s embarrassing that I didn’t remember you until now, really. Maybe I am still foggy from the shivering. My son, Quentin, he caught a fever, we—we were really worried about him making it. But Michael told me there was a traveling doctor staying at his house—maybe you remember him, he’s a woodcutter? But I ran over and I explained everything to you, and you came back with me straight away to see to Quentin. You gave him some medicine, and...and you probably saved his life.” Chase went quiet. “I’d never forget that.”

Owl looked like he wanted to deny it at first, but the longer Chase talked, the more recognition sparked in his eyes. “Actually, you look...In a mountain village last summer? A little boy with a fever...Did he have dark curly hair? And a quiet sister?”

“Yes! That’s Quentin! And my daughter, Amabel, too.” Chase nodded fast enough to make his head dizzy. “That was you, right?”

A slight pause. “Well I suppose if you already guessed, there is no point in saying no.” The man reached up and took off his owl mask, revealing his full face for the first time. And now, there was no mistaking it.

“It is you!” Chase smiled wide. “Oh, elders. I never thanked you enough. We would have—Quentin’s only eight, you know, but he’s had trouble all his life—and that you agreed on such short notice—”

“You think I would say no to something so urgent?” Henrik scoffed, though it didn’t come across as harsh, more like a habit. His voice was actually quite soft as he continued, “And for a child, as well.”

“A lot of traveling doctors charge a lot—”

“They are selfish. Who would charge for a child?” Henrik shook his head. “But you recognized me. I am surprised. I have not done any traveling in nearly a year.”

“It was the accent,” Chase explained. “I think I remember you explaining why you have it? You’re from Al...Altir...Altherd...”

“Alterde,” Henrik finished. “It is across the sea, to the east of here.”

“Right.” Chase glanced over at Ibis, who was standing to the side while they talked, bouncing on her feet and waiting for them to finish. “Are...you two aren’t from the same place, are you?”

“Oh, no no, not at all,” Ibis said. “Though, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to get specific.”

“Oh. That has to do with the masks and the secrecy, doesn’t it? Well, that’s okay.”

Ibis smiled, then walked away a bit. “Henrik, if you do not mind, I am going to continue inventory.”

“No, no, go ahead,” Henrik said, nodding. Ibis nodded back, then walked towards the back of the cavern and bent over to open up a chest. She took out some parchment and a quill with ink, then proceeded to open another chest. “Ah, anyway.” Henrik turned back to Chase. “Where was your village? Is it nearby?”

“On the edge of the forest,” Chase confirmed. “They call it Hilltown.”

“Right, because of the slopes and steeps,” Henrik said. “And how is your son now? He has not had any more scares since I tended him?”

“No, nothing major. Though the other day, he fell into the trough for Rainer’s sheep.” Chase laughed. “He was fine, but we should keep an eye—” He suddenly stopped.

No. No, they couldn’t do that. Because the day after that incident, Chase had gone hunting and returned to find the village burning. His family—Stacia, Amabel, Quentin—they’d all disappeared. And now, as the memories came flooding back, he remembered why he’d gone into the forest so late at night, why he’d kept walking despite being so cold and tired. Because his family was missing. Because he’d run in to see his cottage alight, the orange flame searing his eyes, the scent of woodsmoke and ash all around, smoke filling his throat...then run into the forest, hoping maybe, maybe he would see them. Frantically searching, not caring about what happened, just as long as they were safe, please let them be safe. Please let them be safe, somehow, somewhere—

“Chase?” Henrik said slowly, eyes filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”

And with that simple question, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears filled his eyes and overflowed. Chase bent over and started sobbing, burying his face in his hands as his body shook. Henrik’s concern grew into worry, and he leaned in closer, putting a hand on Chase’s back. “What is wrong?” he asked quietly. “Is there—could I help?”

“I don’t—know what happened—to them,” Chase said in between gasps for air. “Town was—I went out hunting a-and town was—it was on fire—when I came back. A-a-and the cottage was on fire, a-and they were—my wife, my kids, they—I-I couldn’t find them. I thought I’d look for them, i-in the forest, but—but I couldn’t find them, and I—I—kept shouting, but I—I—”

“Oh.” Henrik’s expression slowly shifted to horrified realization. “Oh, no. Chase, I am so sorry.”

“They—they can’t be...gone,” Chase continued, a desperate edge to his voice. “I-I-I couldn’t see their—they could’ve gotten out and headed downhill, or to another village. But I do-don’t know. That—that chance that they could be—it’s j-j-just—” He gave up on forming words and just cried.

Henrik didn’t say anything. He sat with him, a comforting presence, letting Chase sob his eyes out. Which was appreciated. Chase didn’t want any words, any promises of false hope. He wanted to let the tears consume him. How could he have forgotten that was what happened to his family? That they were the reason he was even here in the first place? How could something like that have slipped his mind?

It was some time before Chase’s crying died down. Slowly, the wracking sobs petered out into quiet whimpers. Henrik reached into one of his belt pouches and took out a square of cloth, which he handed to Chase. “Thank you,” Chase mumbled as he took it, and wiped his eyes.

“It is no problem,” Henrik said. “Chase, that is...I am sorry.” He paused. Chase just nodded. So he continued. “How...how was the village on fire? If I remember, most of it was stone, except for the houses on the sloping parts.”

“It was...the oddest thing,” Chase said, recalling the sight. “The stone buildings were on fire, too.”

Henrik’s eyes seemed to sharpen. “Really?”

“Yes. I-I don’t know how, but I know what I saw.”

“No, no, I believe you. Ah...” Henrik cleared his throat. “You do not have to answer if you are uncomfortable, but...was anyone there who...was not supposed to be?”

“Oh. Oh. Yea, there were these strangers on horses,” Chase remembered. “Or at least, some of them were on horses. They were all dressed the same, or similarly. Dark tunics.”

“Did they have any sort of—of marking, or insignia?”

“I was too far away to see...no, wait.” Chase closed his eyes to remember. “Yes, some of them had the crest on the back of their tunics.”

“Crest?”

“The kingdom’s crest, Glasúil’s crest. The green field on the striped shield. Heh. That’s how my mom taught me to remember it in lessons.” Chase smiled for a moment, but it soon faded. “You know, I was...obviously more concerned at the time, but...why were strangers wearing the crest even there? They had to be working directly for the royal family. Maybe they were there to help?”

Henrik didn’t answer, though when Chase looked over at him, his face was dark and stony. “Chase. Ah, I think we could send someone to...look at the village...ruins. To see what happened. If you’d like, we could tell you...if we find...”

“That would be good,” Chase said softly. “Henrik, is...is something wrong?”

After a moment, Henrik put his owl mask back on. “Yes, something is wrong. And I will explain to you what it is, after you are completely better from the shivering. That should only take a few more days. Is that okay?”

“Yea, I guess that’s alright,” Chase agreed. Maybe it was just the fogginess from the shivering, but he felt really overwhelmed and more than a little confused. But he got the feeling he wouldn’t be getting any answers right away, so he had to wait. That was okay. He was patient, even if the distress for his family was eating a hole in his chest.

“Thank you.” Henrik stood up. “I can come see you later, if you wish, but I have to take care of something right now. Feel free to ask Ibis for anything.”

“Alright.” Ibis looked really busy with the chests at the back of the cavern, totally absorbed in her writing on her parchment. Chase doubted she’d heard any of their conversation. But okay. He’d ask her if he had to.

Henrik gave him a small smile. “I will be back.”

“Goodbye.” Chase waved as Henrik turned and left through the canvas flap at the front of the cavern, disappearing from sight. Then he sighed, and looked up at the rocky ceiling. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was sure he’d stumbled into something far bigger than he’d ever expected.

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

It took three more days for Chase to fully get over the effects of the shivering. During that time, Henrik and Ibis were frequent visitors, talking and helping him regain his strength. Occasionally, he’d see some other person in a mask enter the infirmary cavern. Usually someone wearing a bird-themed mask, but he saw other animals as well—he recognized a hedgehog, a badger, a couple mice, and a snake. And he noticed that the ones in bird masks would always put on an apron before entering. Given how Henrik and Ibis had bird masks and would do the same, he assumed that the birds were the doctors for...whoever these masked people were.

None of the masked people talked to him, so he didn’t talk to them. But more than once, he caught someone staring at him. No doubt he was an unusual sight. And probably some sort of security risk. He could still remember that conversation he’d overheard between the man in the fox mask and the figure in the red cloak. Talking about how he shouldn’t be there, how he could be...some sort of enemy, he guessed. So he didn’t blame them, though it did make him a bit uncomfortable at times.

Eventually, the fatigue disappeared, and Chase could walk around and pick up and hold things without his muscles trembling. Henrik had brought him his set of clothes back, and Chase had quickly changed into the familiar garb, which wasn’t nearly as warm as the clothes they’d given him. Though he couldn’t help but notice his bow and arrows were missing. More security risk, probably.

On the third day, at a time when Ibis had left the cavern and Chase was on his own, idly sitting on his bed, Henrik walked through the canvas flap and right up to him. “Chase?” He said. 

“Hello, Henrik,” Chase said. “How’re you doing?”

“I am well, thank you. And you?”

“Doing fine.” Chase stood up and stretched. “Except I’m completely bored.”

Henrik laughed a bit. “Well, it is not the most exciting thing to be stuck in here.”

Chase smiled. Honestly, he preferred being bored to being constantly worried about his family.

Henrik’s expression became serious. As if reading Chase’s thoughts, he said, “Well...do you remember what I said a few days ago? That we would go to check Hilltown and see if...there was anything left?”

Silently, Chase nodded.

“I have some good news, and some bad news, Chase. And the good news is that we could not find any signs of your family being dead.”

The wave of immense relief Chase felt was enough to make him physically stagger. “Really?” he whispered.

“Really,” Henrik confirmed.

“Oh, thank the elders.” Chase sighed. But then a wave of nervousness shot through his body. “What’s the bad news, then?”

Henrik sighed, reaching up and taking off his mask so he could rub his eyes. “Hilltown is...gone. There are the remains of buildings, but...no people in sight. Or at least, none alive.” He paused. “The bodies the group found, they...looked them over. And none of them are children, women, or elderly. All of them were adult men. Not killed by fire, but by...wounds that would be inflicted by people. Arrows, and blades.” And he paused again. “That is not all, though. The reason the group took so long to return was because they checked out the nearby mountain villages as well. And...things are exactly the same in the three they found. Burned, with bodies of men, but no one else.”

What color there was in Chase’s face completely drained, leaving him white as a sheet. “The...same thing happened in three other villages?” That was...it was too terrible for him to even put into words. He’d been to one nearby village a couple times before, called Pinetown, but the other two...though he might have known of them, their names escaped his mind. But they all had to be roughly the same size as Hilltown, with about three hundred to four hundred people living there. Altogether that was...as many as sixteen hundred people dead or missing.

“At least. They only checked nearby,” Henrik said tentatively. “We are going to go out farther, see if there are more...tragedies like this.”

“...oh.” Chase wasn’t sure what to say at first. But after a moment, he landed on a question. “Wh-who would do this? And why?”

“We are not so sure about the why. As for who...” Henrik hesitated. “This may be difficult to hear, but do you remember how you saw strangers wearing the Glasúil crest that night? They had to be working for the King.”

“I’ve figured that out by now, yes.” It was really the only logical explanation.

Henrik was clearly waiting for Chase to say more, but when he stayed quiet, he asked, “And...did you wonder what they were doing up in the mountains? Very far away from Suilthair, where they would most likely be?”

“I...yes, but...maybe they were some sort of group on patrol,” Chase suggested. “That happens sometimes. And they saw the fire, and came to help. Why are you shaking your head?”

“Chase,” Henrik sighed. “You do not want to hear this, I understand. But those soldiers had to be the ones to start the fire.”

“That’s absurd,” Chase said weakly. Really, it made sense. Because even though it was true that soldiers sometimes patrolled the kingdom, it was rare that they would go up into the mountains. The terrain was difficult if you weren’t familiar with it. In all his life, he’d only heard of nearby patrols only a few times, and it was too much of a coincidence that they’d be there when the fire happened. But...

“The bodies they found had injuries from blades and arrows,” Henrik reminded him. “The fire was not an accident, it was a cover for soldiers shooting down innocents. They probably took away all the townspeople they didn’t kill, so that they could not tell anyone what happened. And do you remember what you said, about how even the stone buildings were burning? That could only be caused by wizardry, and the King has many wizards working for him.”

“Whoa, wait, how do you know it was a wizard?” Chase asked. “There are other magic users. And how do you know that, even if a wizard did cause the fire, that they were working for the King?”

“You do not know that much about the branches of magic, do you?” Henrik asked, raising an eyebrow. “Only wizards and sorcerers would be able to conjure fire, and even then, only a very powerful sorcerer would be able to burn stone. And as for why the wizard was most likely allied with the King...well, that is a longer conversation, but suffice to say, they have good reason to be.”

“I can’t believe the Alterden knows more about politics in this kingdom than I do,” Chase muttered.

Henrik laughed. “Well, the Dragon’s Teeth Mountains are very far away, not many things affect you up here. Or at least...they didn’t used to.” His expression became serious once more. “Chase...the King is not a good man. I have lived here for fifteen years, I have seen things change. He was good once, but...he is different. He desires power, and control, and he will go to any lengths to have it. The villages burning it is the sort of thing he would do, even if we do not know why just yet.”

“I...I need a moment.” Chase sat down hard on the edge of the bed. His whole world had flipped upside down. There was no longer ground beneath his feet, and he was spinning through empty space. But, still, it made sense. The people praised the King and his actions when he took the crown after the previous royal couple, but over time, that praise had dried up. He’d assumed that people were just getting used to it, but hearing no news from the flatlands below regarding their leader? That was just...odd. Maybe deliberately odd. And of course, there was the evidence of his own eyes. Strangers working directly under the King, showing up the same day Hilltown burned...it just made sense. 

“This is a lot, I understand.” Henrik sat down next to him, setting his owl mask in his lap. “But...our group, the ones you have stumbled into, we—”

“You’re some sort of rebels, aren’t you?” Chase interrupted. “The other day—before everything went down—my wife, Stacia, heard rumors that there were masked people in the forest, and that they might be plotting against the King. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Henrik paused. Then hit his forehead with an open palm. “Well I suppose I should have some words with people about being seen! Rumors up here already, damn it all. We are trying to be subtle and invisible. Like spirits.”

“So I’m right,” Chase summarized, a small grin on his face.

“Yes, you are right,” Henrik sighed. “We are trying to fix everything. Protect people. Stop things like the villages burning.”

“Noble cause,” Chase said.

“Thank you. And...it is a cause you could help with.”

Chase blinked, unsure if he’d heard him right. “Sorry?”

“We could always use the numbers,” Henrik continued. “And as a hunter, you already have some skills. Of course, you do not have to. But...we cannot risk anyone hearing we are up here. Even though there are apparently rumors.” He scoffed for a moment. “So, I am giving you two offers, Chase. You can help us, or I will give you a tonic that will make you forget what you saw up here, and we will drop you off somewhere where you could move on with life.”

“A tonic? There’s something that could do that?” Chase asked, leaning away a bit.

“Oh yes, you would be surprised.”

“And...those are my only choices?”

“Unfortunately,” Henrik said apologetically. “I trust you, but many of our people are more paranoid. And we cannot have anyone knowing who we are.” He paused, then stood up. “I can give you some time to decide—”

“No, I’ve already decided.” Chase stood up as well, grabbing Henrik’s arm. “You said that these soldiers who burned down town...they probably took everyone away that they didn’t kill, right? That...that would include my family.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I—I need to find them. A-and it sounds like you could help me with that.” He tried for a weak smile. “Besides, if you made me forget everything that happened up here, I’d go looking for Stacia and the kids on my own. We might even run into each other again. So, really, it wouldn’t do much.”

Henrik smiled, relieved. “I am glad to hear that, Chase.” He put a hand on Chase’s shoulder. “And I give you my word that we will find your family. We will help you get them back.”

Chase nodded, stiffening his resolve. If he’d been there that night, he might have been able to get Stacia, Amabel, and Quentin to safety. But he hadn’t. So, now he’ll have to make up for that. He will find them. Whatever it took.

“Oh elders, finally!”

Chase gasped, and turned to the source of the strange voice. The tent flap had flown open, and in walked...a man in a waist-length red cloak, with the hood pulled up. The same man that Chase had overheard talking with the other man in the fox mask.

Henrik jumped, and spun around as well. “Schwestern, do not scare me like that, Jackie!” The moment the name escaped his voice, he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“Sorry, Hen. And don’t worry about the name, if he’s going to join, he’d find out eventually,” The other man—Jackie—waved off the concern. He had a mask as well, though this one was in the shape of a wolf. There was a different black symbol in the center of its forehead, a circle with two dots inside. But...his mask was also more colorfully decorated, including some red triangular markings along the edge. So far, his mask and Henrik’s were the only ones with color like that. Besides the mask, Jackie wore a blue tunic pulled over a chainmail shirt. The end of a dark ponytail stuck out from under the hood, and bright blue eyes looked at Chase with excitement. “It’s so good to have you on board!”

“On...board? On board what?” Chase asked, confused.

“It’s just a figure of speech, I mean that you’re part of the group now! Welcome to the Phantoms!” Jackie hurried over and stuck out his hand, in a blue glove. Chase took it, and Jackie shook his hand vigorously. “It’s been so hard to recruit people up in the mountains, every other location of ours is bringing in more people than ever, because the King keeps being a prick, he’s increasing his prickishness. But up here there aren’t even that many people to begin with, and everyone’s tight together in the villages, and nobody knows what’s going on down below. So you’re the first! It’s nice to meet you!”

“I—uh—Phantoms?” Chase latched on to the easiest part of that rambling to take in.

“Yea, that’s us, the Masked Phantoms,” Jackie confirmed. “Because we strike invisibly, and before anyone knows we’re there. And the mask part is obvious. You’re gonna get one, too! Well, eventually. Right now we just have a few backups, we’re waiting to get more plaster to make more. But when we get that, you can choose the animal and everything.”

“Jackie, please, you are overwhelming him.” Henrik stepped in and pushed Jackie back a bit. “Give him space, a lot has happened.”

“Sorry, I just get excited sometimes.”

“I know you do, it is okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Chase added. “I was, uh...surprised. Were you listening to our whole conversation?”

“No, just the part near the end where Hen was explaining your options,” Jackie said, tucking a lock of hair behind one of the ears of his wolf mask. “Anyway, if you’re ready, we could finally show you around where you’ve been staying all this time. I mean, the infirmary’s nice and everything, but it’s still a cave. We need more open air in here.”

“No, we do not,” Henrik said firmly. “Open air can bring wind, which can bring insects and other small, unclean things. Not to mention it could blow everything around and mess things up. Nemet works so hard on keeping everything organized.”

Jackie rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, you’re the doctor. Anyway, Chase, we can show you around now if you want.”

“Uh...you know what? Yea, I’d like that.” Chase nodded. “I’ve been here for, what, seven days?”

“Six,” Henrik corrected.

“A long time. I’m tired of it. So, yes, you can show me around now.”

Jackie beamed. “Alright! Come on, follow me. You’re going to love this place.” And he turned and headed towards the canvas at the front of the cave.

Henrik looked at Chase. “It will be a bit shocking,” he said.

“Okay,” Chase said, frowning uncertainly. What could be so shocking? Well, he was about to find out. He hurried after Jackie, with Henrik following him in turn, who was waiting for him, holding the flap partly open.

“Alright.” Jackie smiled at him, then disappeared through the flap, holding it open on the other side.

Chase walked through. At first, he blinked in the sunlight, partially hidden through a cloud but nonetheless bright after being stuck in the infirmary cave for so long. Then, when the afterglow faded, he looked around. The cave entrance was on the side of a steep slope of rock, almost vertical. Before them was a large, almost empty space, the ground cleared of any brush and packed down into dirt. There weren’t any trees nearby, but there was a line of large white...rocks? Curved rocks. They rose in size, and continued into the distance, the line curving gently. The gaps in the rocks were large enough for at least three people to walk through side-to-side, so that’s exactly what the three of them did.

Beyond the line of rocks was more space clear of brush. Though this area was filled with tents. And with people. Some of them wearing masks, many of them bare-faced but with a mask somewhere on their person. They bustled about, carrying weapons, equipment, or stacks of parchment. Or they stood and sat around, talking with each other. The air was cool, so they were all wearing cloaks or jackets, though Chase noticed that he was the only one wearing a hat. The line of rocks continued to curve around the tents, getting larger and larger to one side. Wait a second. What was that in the distance? Chase raised his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, eyes following the curve of the rocks.

No, they weren’t rocks.

They were bones.

Gigantic bones.

That thing he’d seen, a bit off to the side in the distance? That was a ribcage. He turned around, noticing the way the bones they’d walked between were similar, but got smaller and smaller. A tail? Yes, a tail. Probably of a reptile, judging by the shape. The skeleton curved around this massive area of space, big enough to fit half of Hilltown inside. And the area it circled was filled with tents and people.

“What the...?” Chase whispered.

“I told you,” Henrik said. “And you cannot even see the skull from here. Or the legs. Or the wings.”

“I’m sor—wings?!” Chase repeated. What animal was this big?! And had wings?! And was reptilian?! Oh...wait. He knew exactly one animal that fit all those qualifications. His eyes widened, and he looked back at the skeleton, mouth open as he gaped.

Jackie clapped his hands. “Welcome to Wyvernlair, Chase. Come on. There’s so much more to see.”

[insidezeemind]

Lance and Ice. Some self-sacrifice.

This fic is inspired by @blf19's comic. An amazing comic about how Lance sacrifices himself for his team. Please go give the artist some love. The art is wonderful!

Summary: Despite Blue's protest against his idea, Lance decides to perform a final move without his team's knowledge in order to save them.

Tags: Hurt Lance, Hypothermia, Inspired by fanart

Words: 1043

I hope you enjoy!

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Another distress signal.

Another Garla fleet.

Another dangerous battle.

Another set of injuries.

That is how they have been spending the past month; battles in and battles out. Some of them turn out to be successful, and some do not. While it is safe to say that the paladins come out winning from most of these battles, the loss of the others leaves a heavy weight on their shoulders.

That is enough reason for Lance to make him feel impractical, useless, and broken. He is not doing his job the way he should. Hell, it's not even considered a job, just a fucked up mess with an unstable adult, four teenagers, and two aliens thrown into it with no idea of how this whole thing works.

Thinking back to that, Lance realizes how messed up everything about this is. First of all, aliens- that never in his life did he believe in their presence- actually exist, and now he's living with two of them, in a castle spaceship nonetheless.

Next, they have the lions. And yeah, Lance does admit they're cool, but how and why. They were manufactured (or born?) even before the war began, so what was their purpose? How do they have minds of their own?

The more he searches for answers, the more questions he finds.

And the fact that he clicked right away with all those things is actually concerning.

Then there is them. Five humans.

A young adult that was once taken by the aliens, and now has PTSD. A lone, moody drop-out with anger issues, who turned out to be half-alien. A fifteen-year-old girl who made herself look like a boy to save her family- that is still imprisoned. A stressed-out teen with anxiety issues, who -Thank God- knows how to cook. And him, a homesick seventeen-year-old, who has wished all his life to see and touch the stars, but now just wants to kiss Earth’s dirt.

He’s not alone in that factor, because they all want to go back home, back to that tiny planet within a vast universe- that they now know holds more than they ever thought it would- but in order to do that, they should win this war and protect their home, should not let it have the same fate as some other planets. So, until they can set a foot back home, they are going to fight this war and win it.

Which brings us back to now.

Their lunch had been interrupted by the sixth blaring alarm this week. Abandoning the table, each paladin quickly fastens on their armor and heads to their lion.

"Okay, Blue, I trust you to help this time," Lance whispers, petting her. "We need to be better and make sure we come out of this winning, 'kay?" Looking up at the glowing yellow eyes, Lance knows that what he said was understood, and Blue’s deep rumbling purr is enough answer for him as he climbs into the cockpit.

“It’s not a direct attack,” Allura’s voice comes through the comms, “There is only one fleet, so it seems like it was just passing by.”

She sounds relieved, which means that the mission will hopefully go smoothly. Lance really wishes that, because even though Blue assured him, he still has that dreadful feeling brewing in his stomach. And one Garla fleet may sound easy, regarding all the missions they went through, but it is still challenging.

"Alright then, we won't form Voltron now. We'll try to take out as many ships as we can on our own first." Shiro orders, already going out and against the approaching ships.

"Copy!" Lance follows, heading to the ships farthest from the castle, and blasts them out one by one. After getting rid of a good handful of cruisers, Blue shuts down.

"Blue what's wrong? Why won't you move?" Lance asks frantically, pushing every button on the control panel in front of him. "We need your power right now. C'mon girl..."

Just like the battles occurring almost every day, Blue experiences weird unexplainable shutdowns, though her power would always come back almost instantly. This time, however, she is yet to wake up.

"Lance! What are you doing!? Get moving." Keith's shouting pierces through Lance's musings, bringing him back to the middle of battle.

"I'm trying! I don't know why! Blue just stopped moving on her own!" Lance defends back. Chastising himself is enough as it is, he doesn't want someone else reminding him of his incompetence.

Once Blue’s power starts coming back to her, Lance immediately begs her to listen to him. "This is our chance to shine now, Blue, please!"

Before she even begins to protest, Lance cuts her off, "I'll be fine! Promise!!" Blue trusts her paladin, so she does what he requested without further delay. Spinning around, she blasts frost out of her jaw, rendering all Garla ships frozen and floating around them motionlessly.

As Blue slows down to a halt, Lance becomes aware of the cold atmosphere surrounding him. Glancing around he finds ice slowly forming between the cracks and crevices of the cockpit.

The team's shouts of excitement and astonishment echo around him from the helmet as he removes it. This way, Lance can ensure that they won't hear his chattering teeth, and he won't answer their questions, because he's not ready to talk yet. Blue, though, is insistent and begins accusing him immediately.

You lied to me- You said you'd be alright.

“Sorry, Blue, but if I didn’t, they would get hurt,” Lance answers, staring at the white clouds floating out of his mouth. He can feel his chest rising and falling dangerously slow and his limbs turning frozen cold.

The ice cracking around him is audible as it starts climbing up the walls and his seat, proceeding to coat every single inch of the cockpit with a sheet of ice.

What about you? My paladin?

"They'll be fine without me," He's already accepted his fate; there is nothing he can do now. The frost is crawling up his legs and back, enveloping his whole body, keeping him locked in place. "I hope Allura's cool enough to pilot you, Blue." Breathing the last chuckle, Lance succumbs to the ice as it covers his face completely.

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I hope you enjoyed reading this!

I'm still debating whether I'll post another part or not, but until that time, you can go check out my other fics on AO3 here.

(Feb. 12th, 2022: The second part is here!!)