#tumblr is the only one where it has at least some remnants of old fandom etiquette

[tinyfantasminha]

I think Tumblr and other social medias have aged to become more like a community where everybody assumes they are friends with everyone (unless they disagree with them). Like as social media gets introduced to younger and younger kids every year, the sense and need of privacy is no longer there.

Now for people, someone showing their art might be akin to a friend showing their drawing to you, it becomes expected so the less detailed compliments they give.

The solution could be to make your page more professional so people dont get the idea they are your friends, since you do post things that would be considered talk between friends (like simping for jack). But i get the feeling you'd hate that since it would essentially turn your page into more of a statistics rather than a warm environment.

Im not good at wording myself so im sorry if this gives off an offending message, im trying to be objective but im not sure how it comes across.

DW, I get what you're trying to say 😔 It's annoying that more and more people in fandom nowadays seem to know little to none of fandom etiquette... and it's not just the teens, it's a worryingly amount of adults too

Creators want validation, nice comments and asks but they also want respect... one parasocial interaction which is especially common with artists and writers are the ''can you teach me how to draw/write/how to create ocs'' or by seeking validation for their own personal stuff (sending their art or pictures unsolicited so YOU specifically can feedback it, or asking you to opinion on their ocs) like..... I can see these actions may come from a genuine place, but it should be common sense that these are weird ways to start a conversation with a creator you supposedly admire. It feels intrusive and demanding.

And sometimes the intention is not even bad, it's just phrased in a demanding way that makes creators feel pressured. Rephrasing ''can you teach me how to draw/write'' with ''hello! I love your art/writing! if you don't mind me asking, could you share your creative process or maybe tips?'' makes a WHOLE difference! it's more polite and acknowledges the creator’s boundaries, making the request feel more like a compliment than a demand.

Ugh, the thing is... making the blog more ''professional'' takes away the whole point of it. Tumblr is one of the few spaces left where you can scream into the void about your interests, gush over things you love, and just exist as a person, not a content machine. Unlike algorithm-driven platforms like tiktok or twitter, in here it lets you control your space; your blog is yours to curate, to fill with weirdness, passion, and whimsy. Here, creators feel like real people, not just faceless usernames churning out "content" for engagement. I do not feel comfortable being as much personal on twitter for example, where any nosy person can QRT you being unnecessarily mean because the platform's culture prioritizes performative snark and clout over genuine creativity or connection. Tumblr was always a place for the weirdos, the cringe and the freaks, no one is here to make a brand out of themselves, it's about being authentic and having fun.

Creators should absolutely be allowed to be loose, weird, and fun here while still being respected 😔

[liquorisce]

... tell me i’m beautiful?

pairing: royai, roy mustang x riza hawkeye

fandom: Full Metal Alchemist (Brotherhood/Manga)

summary: on some nights Riza is delicate. and Roy is possessive. (warning: unhealthy amounts of pining.) (also havoc is a good friend) 3677 words.

a/n: i saw on my tumblr feed that it’s fma day (3.10) (the day when the greatest angst of our generation was born), and i was hit with major feels for full metal alchemist. it truly is one of the greatest stories of our generation. anyway, here is some old royai from my wip notes that i had to dust the cobwebs off of (that my anxious ass never had the balls to post). my writing style has changed over the years, but my heart is still so full for these two, so it was fun to rewrite.

The buzz around the Eastern Headquarters is that one of the Top ranks is getting hitched and that it’s going to be a fancy affair, traditional with a masquerade ball.

When Roy sees an invite in his post, he’s rather surprised. But the wedding is in Central and it’s an excuse to see his best friend, so it doesn’t seem so bad after all.

“Lieutenant,” he asks, just as she is about to leave for the day, “what’s all this I hear about a ball at the General’s wedding?”

“It seems we must be accompanied with a date, Sir. You received the invitation four weeks ago.” He detects some annoyance in her words, but he lets it pass, because his brain has begun to imagine Hawkeye in a dress, especially one of those grand, frilly ones.

“Then you will accompany me.”

It was acceptable, the way he states it like it’s the obvious course of action, because he is her superior after all. But it also ticks her off, that he expects it, without even bothering to ask. She may be his subordinate but there are times when she wishes he would just see her as a woman.

“That won’t be possible, Sir.”

She is just as shocked with her own coldness as he is, his eyebrows twitching in question.

“I’m afraid I’ve already promised Havoc I would go as his date.”

His eyes narrow and she sees a flicker of emotion awash in the dark of his eyes and she almost feels as if she’s done something wrong.

But she hasn’t, and she will not apologise. She clenches her fist. 

“Ah,” he drawls, not missing a beat, “have you decided what to wear yet?”

That wasn’t the question she was expecting and it throws her off balance.

“I,” she pauses for a moment, to regain her composure, “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

She doesn’t want to engage in his banter anymore, because there are feelings involved - mostly hers, and they are irrational, she thinks - and expectations, expectations that have no basis but are yet difficult to do away with. So she hastens to the door.

He’s quiet for a minute, but because he can’t help himself, he murmurs, “… You should wear green. It suits you." 

… 

She ends up wearing a dress, it’s slinky, tighter than the clothes she’s used to, slipping past her knees. Somehow she finds herself in heels, black strapped ones she’s borrowed from a friend that she clearly cannot walk in. It lacks the comfort of her boots but she deals with it, because apparently this is the price that comes along with looking pretty. 

The dress is borrowed too, but she doesn’t miss the fact that out of all the dresses Rebecca paraded as options, she reached for the dark green one. … Apparently it suited her. 

At least that is what she is assured of when Havoc comes to pick her up, his eyes popping in surprise when he sees her. 

"Wow,” he let’s out a loose whistle, “you clean up real good, don’t you?" 

She blushes and it’s another rare sight. "The Hawkeye blushing?” He teases, “I’ve got to be dreaming." 

They make their way to the wedding and Havoc dives headfirst to the bar. She isn’t surprised. She looks around, her eyes seeking whom she had stubbornly decided not to care about and she sees him with a woman - obviously - hanging onto his every word. 

An officer of sorts, she guesses, but not from their division, because Roy has unleashed his charm, his eyes twinkling flirtatiously. 

She averts her eyes to the bar and to her date, who despite his melancholy has ordered an extra drink for her, a cocktail which he swears is the best he’s ever had. The thought of alcohol seems far more appealing than watching her superior with yet another woman.

… 

"Did you want to dance, Lieutenant?" 

She’s a few drinks down, he’s had even more and his words are beginning to slur. 

"I’m sorry,” he says and he sounds genuinely remorseful. “I just… I can’t get her out of my head." 

She pats his head comfortingly and he slumps a little on the counter. "You loved her that much?" 

He nods gloomily and Riza pretends to ignore the glisten of his eyes. Havoc’s eyes rest on the newly married couple, a little envious of the ingenuity of their smiles. 

"You know, I actually thought we would make it there." 

He doesn’t have to say it but Riza knows he’s talking about the altar, of dreams of marriage that he harboured for his ex-girlfriend. He was painful to watch these past few weeks, ever since Rebecca ended things with him, and when he asked her to the wedding, she couldn’t help but agree. 

Besides, she had made sure Roy had seen the invitation days ago and if he hadn’t asked her by then, it was quite likely he never would. 

"I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” she says comfortingly. “Even we soldiers are allowed to be happy eventually.” She isn’t sure she believes it, but for someone as pure as Havoc, surely fate can be kinder.

He tries his best to put on a smile, nodding with the optimism in her words. “Well hopefully I find happiness before my hair turns grey,” he jokes, making her giggle. 

It feels nice, letting her hair down with a friend, even though she would rather let her hair and a lot of other things down with a certain someone else, but she tries not to think of it. 

When she turns, the smile is wiped clean off her face, because her gaze catches the eyes of that same someone else, eyes dark as night, hair even darker, swept back to show off the handsome angles of his face. He is with someone else, a pretty brunette with her back bare and his hand splayed on it, and they are moving to the music but his eyes are on her, intense, questioning… reprimanding her almost. 

For what? She thinks heatedly, he has no right to look at her like that, like he’s displeased with her, when she cannot even express just how unhappy she is with him. 

“But seriously, Lieutenant,” Havoc says, hesitating for a moment, but choosing honesty, “you look amazing tonight. I must be the envy of every man in here." 

She lets herself bask in his appreciative gaze and her cheeks heat up. "You really think so?" 

He nods, smiling at her. "You sound surprised. A woman like you must be used to such compliments, isn’t it?”

She laughs ruefully. Compliments? She couldn’t remember the last time a man had ever called her pretty. At least not since she entered the military. “You’re the first, Havoc." 

His mouth almost gaped open in surprise. 

She went on, her frustration further driven by the alcohol in her blood. "No one’s ever even asked me out,” she says, helplessly. “Sure, there had been a few men who seemed interested, but even they never tried to take things further." 

The Lieutenant didn’t date, everyone knew that. But listening to her open up about it, doubting herself, he felt for her. 

Because he was one of those men too, a long, long time ago. 

He remembers when he first joined the unit, newly assigned to Eastern, full of smiles. 

The place really was swarming with beautiful women, just as he had heard. He figured he would get on here just fine. 

And when he first entered the office of the Major Roy Mustang whom he was assigned to, he thought his heart was going to stop. 

He had never seen anyone like her, young, strong, leaning over the table and giving the Major a piece of her mind. She scolded him like she had the authority to, and he listened, even though there was a formal apology attached to her rant in the end. 

He was stunned, unable to do anything but watch when she turned around and stalked out of the room, because the view from the front was even better than behind, a round heart-shaped face framed in short blonde hair, deep brown eyes and a body that would make anyone’s thoughts stain the darkest shade of impurity. 

Life, of course, had very different plans for them, even though they got closer, just like he wished. One afternoon, Rebecca walked into the office and threw her arms around Riza, and Havoc soon learnt that love was far more nuanced than admiration at first sight.

"At first I thought it was the uniform,” she confesses, “I thought maybe I was just scaring the men away." 

You have no idea, he thinks, sighing. Riza Hawkeye was made of fire, and it turned men on even if they were afraid of being burnt by it.

"But my friend Jessica had absolutely no problem when it came to this sort of thing." 

She casts her eyes lower, twirling the remnants of her whiskey. "Maybe there’s just something wrong with me." 

Her lips lift up in a sardonic grin. "I’m a pretty pathetic Lieutenant, huh?” She rests her forehead against the counter. “I can’t believe I’m here at a wedding, crying over men.” Sighing, she murmurs, “I suppose these feelings are par for course when you have couples dancing all around you." 

He rests his hand over the back of her head, ruffling the softness of her locks. "It isn’t pathetic,” he murmurs comfortingly, “You’re only human, after all. We’re all just idiots who want nothing more than to be loved." 

He leaves out the part where he willingly offers himself up for the job, spurred a little by his already broken heart and embers of a decade-old attraction that never went away. He could make her feel special, take her out on all the dates she feels she missed out on, tell her she’s beautiful till she never doubts it ever again. It would be a selfish distraction, but Havoc is a romantic, and maybe, just maybe, it would lead them down a different path to happiness.

But he remembers what made him give up that mission in the first place, all those years ago, cold, blazing eyes that delivered a threat far worse than his words. 

"There will be no fraternisation within this unit,” he had stated calmly before even Havoc had gotten a chance to admit to it himself. “If I find out you’ve laid a hand on her, I will have you transferred out of Eastern before you know it." 

Back then he didn’t know if Major Roy Mustang even had that sort of power. But something else told him that if he didn’t listen it would be his burnt corpse they would be carrying out of Eastern. 

Even now Havoc knows it’s useless, that he cannot even comfort her the way he really wants to, because he knows his eyes are here, they don’t leave her, always watching from the corner, staking claim. 

"Thanks Havoc,” she says, trying for warm but still sounding miserable, lacing her fingers with his for a brief second in appreciation of his effort to make her feel better.

He sighs. “Would you mind if I went outside for a smoke?” They didn’t allow smoking in the ballroom, and his cravings had kicked in three drinks ago. 

“Sure,” she says, “I’ll come with you." 

He looks surprised because the Lieutenant has never approved of his smoking, but he thinks maybe she would prefer it to her own company tonight. 

But when she tries to stand it’s like the blood has drained from her head, and she falters. Gingerly, she rubs a hand to her forehead.

"On second thought, I think I’ll stay here.” She gets back onto her seat, “I’ve had too much to drink." 

"Will you be alright?” He asks, and it is more out of courtesy than anything else because he knows that if she isn’t, he will be by her side in seconds to take care of her. 

She assures him she’s fine, that a drink of water will make everything better, even though fine is far from what she feels. Having let out her feelings, she doesn’t feel the light headedness that most claim, just empty and dejected because it is more than just never being told she’s pretty or going out on dates. If only her sorrows were as commonplace as wishing for love. If only she didn’t desire a very specific love. A love she will never have. 

“Excuse me,” she mumbles to the waiter,“ could I have a glass of water please?" 

He hurries away to get it and she rests her head against the counter. As she closes her eyes, she wonders how they do it, all those women he talks to, all the willing females he engages with. Is it all the giggling? 

Does Roy like it if his women show a lot of skin? She remembers the woman from earlier, pale pink fabric shimmering off her dainty frame. Or maybe he likes the petite ones. 

She sighs dejectedly. At 5'5”, she had curves that filled out every inch of her uniform and a full chest that had been a major cause of discomfort during military school. She was anything but petite. 

In the end what bothers her most is that it probably doesn’t matter if she isn’t skinny or she doesn’t wear clothes that dip to the small of her back. Military rules state they couldn’t be together and it seems Roy wasn’t the least bit tempted to break them. 

.. 

“I’m afraid all the dancing has made my head spin,” he tells her. “It was really lovely to have the pleasure of your company…” He pauses at the end, awkward because he just spent the last 40 minutes dancing her in circles but he can’t, for the love of God, remember her name. 

“It’s Elizabeth,” she purrs, laughing, “You’re just like the rumours say, Colonel! So terrible with names." 

She comes closer, her breath damp on the shell of his ear, "And so incredibly handsome." 

"I’m flattered,” he says, untangling himself from her, smiling the way he knows is probably misleading, but in this situation it’s polite. 

He can’t quite explain it but he is struck by this inexplicable urge to see his own Elizabeth, a sharp contrast to this one’s dark hair and light eyes, her beauty stemming from self-respect that is sorely lacking in most of the women that threw themselves at him.

He can’t pretend that he’s a saint and that there haven’t been a few that have followed him into bed, but there is nothing more than frustration at play here, a compromise of sorts where he can make believe that the girl in front of him is one with pale hair that shimmers and eyes that would always show him the light. 

Where he can dream that the lips he kisses are the same bow shaped ones that admonish him at work.  

Looking over at the bar counter, he sees that she’s still there, this time with Havoc nowhere to be seen. There’s a small, selfish part of him that rejoices in this fact, because their intimacy and hand-holding had him seeing red a little while ago. 

It isn’t fair that he wants her like this, so irrationally and so selfishly, he knows it, but he can’t stop himself from this desire and he knows it often scares men away from her.

He knows there have been times when he has deliberately scared men off of her. He wonders how she would react if she learns of it. Would she have preferred their affections?

When he comes closer he sees that her head is resting on the counter, eyes closed. “Lieutenant,” he calls, but she doesn’t stir. Roy is known to be a little paranoid when it comes to his aide and the tension creeps onto his face, furrowing it’s way between his eyebrows. 

He tries calling her again, this time placing his hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. Her head turns to the side and he can see that her mouth is parted slightly and her breaths are even. 

Has she… Passed out?! Laughing to himself, he occupies the seat beside her, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. He could happily stay like this forever, wrapped up in the softness of her hair and skin, watching her without interruption as she sleeps. There’s a mole just under her ear, a tiny black little thing and he wonders if he could reach down and kiss it. It would be quick, no one would ever know it. 

He could press his lips to her skin, touch his tongue to her earlobe, take it between his teeth maybe, the way he’s always wanted to when they are alone in his office and he is tempted to misuse his rank. 

He gives in to this sweet compulsion and bends down, lips pressing ever so lightly against the mark. 

She smells sweet, of the lavender she’s been partial to ever since she was a teenager, wrapped in this very same fragrance when she would finish her shower. 

Roy knows this because every time she would be anywhere nearby his attention as an apprentice would falter, often earning him rebukes from her father. 

He had promised himself just one, but it’s a promise ill-kept because his lips inch further along her jawline, featherlight brushes of temptation going against everything he has worked for. 

But what good is his ambition when all it brings him is turmoil, and this cruel deprivation of her? When all he feels every day when he looks at her is longing, immense and painful, to the point of desperation. 

Reason loses it’s shine further when he can feel her pulse flutter, and the softest murmur of his name brushes his ear. 

“Roy,” she mumbles and it’s so maddening, the effect his name on her lips has, he considers giving her orders to never address him Colonel ever again, “I wore green. Just like you told me to.”

His eyes widen, remembering the day he’d asked her to accompany him. She had this look in her eyes, disappointment, frustration - or was it disgust - and he dared to hope she’d go with it anyway, but she didn’t. And the feeling of rejection, of being rejected by Riza, isn’t one he can shake so easily. 

“What?” She had asked confused, when the statement he hadn’t intended to say out loud - he liked her in green, and that was something he kept secret, it brought out her eyes - had clearly been heard. “It suits you,” he’d said simply, and her temper had flared. Narrowing her eyes, she had said, “What I choose to wear is none of your business, Sir." 

She’d emphasized the last word with as much sarcasm as one could possibly fit into one syllable. 

He had laughed that day… a frustrated laugh, but now seeing that she actually listened to him, he thinks maybe what he thought mattered much more than what she let on. 

"I even wore heels,” she whispers, still drunk, slurring the s’s. 

“You did,” he says slowly, because he noticed, just like he notices everything, the way it made her legs look endless, the way it made her hips sway when she walked in with Havoc. He runs an idle finger across her cheek. 

“Do I look pretty, Colonel?" 

When she speaks these words, he hears the uncertainty behind the pink lips that she licks, barely inches from his. 

He could tell her that yes, she’s pretty, but he’d rather show her. With kisses sweeping all over her body, and caresses earning soft sighs from her full mouth. 

He could. 

And he almost does. 

He almost kisses her, full on the mouth, tongue flicking across hers, telling her that pretty is an understatement and that the first time he saw her, he was already mesmerised. 

But he is mindful of their surroundings, not wanting to cause her any further disrespect by acting out the increasingly lewd fantasies churning in his mind. Because he doubts a kiss would stay just that, a kiss and nothing more, not when it is Riza underneath him, lips pliant and sweet, testing his restraint. 

"Havoc,” he says harshly when he comes to realise the looming figure behind him, keeping his distance but well within hearing radius. “Take her home." 

He’s surprised at first, because he was sure he had witnessed something deeper, more intimate between those two tonight. Havoc had seen the Colonel flush, and stroke her skin tenderly, the Lieutenant’s eyes dazed and gazing at him with blatant desire. 

"Sir, sh-shouldn’t you?” He stutters, clearly asking something inappropriate and out of turn but he can’t help it. There is no one in the entire hall who could have missed the palpable chemistry between the two of them. 

But he doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head, his eyes dark and stormy, and tells him to make sure she has a glass of water before she’s put to bed. 

When Havoc walks her out, one hand around her waist and the other firmly holding her arm around his shoulder he realises that he’s a bit irritated with this years-old game of hide-and-seek. His broken heart was urging him to slap some sense into the Colonel and yell, because people who’ve found love - the real kind - have no business denying it. 

“I think it should be fairly clear by now why you so rarely get propositioned by men,” he says dryly. 

She makes a noise, questioning, barely able to take in his sarcasm or even his words for that matter, as her eyes droop shut. 

He takes in the rare sight of a defenseless Hawkeye clinging to his arm and his mouth turns up with the hint of a smile. 

“… It isn’t that no one’s interested,” he whispers, “just that everybody knows they wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against him.” 

- fin - 

[busywhizz2077]

Here is my one chapter story with V and Goro - Goro and V are safe and, more importantly, together. V isn’t dying, Johnny is still with her, and they are working towards the dream of getting back to Japan.

I’m new to tumblr so need to go and read around the fandom a bit to see how stuff is posted!

—-—

Goro wearily swiped his hand over the panel at the door and, once it swished open to him, trudged inside. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, but most terrible of all, disgustingly dirty. The job had been an easy one, sure, but at what cost? He dismally looked down at his favourite shirt, now ruined. At what cost!?

Eyes finally adjusting to the dark he looked up and saw her. Well, he saw part of her, a single leg sticking out from underneath the cosy duvet, a shock of red curls tumbling onto a pillow.

Valarie. His V. She was the one light he had left now, but the brightest he’d ever known. He sighed, all at once feeling better but the need to find her warm arms and get much needed rest growing.

The journey together had been long to say the least. But right now, she was no longer dying, she was overjoyed to still have her Johnny firmly along with her, and he had left Arasaka behind to stay with her. He had seen them for what they truly were - dishonourable. They weren’t sure where their future would take them, but it would be together that was for certain. First step; earn enough Eddie’s to get to Japan.

Wearily he headed into the shower, peeling off the remnants of a once favoured outfit - no amount of washing could save this so it was bagged up for the trash. He stepped under the hot water and stood, eyes closed, until he felt the grime and god-knows-what had washed away. A proper scrubbing following as he ensured he felt cleansed and renewed, finally wrapping himself in a towel and heading back to the main living area.

He’d picked up noodles on the way home - he was too hungry to care about taste and didn’t want to wake the sleeping V by clattering around making something decent. The noodles were demolished in seconds, a water from the fridge downed in record time, and he sat back.

V had fidgeted a little in her sleep, the duvet over her had raised, and so had the oversize T-shirt she was wearing, showing more of the leg and the delightfully erotic area where her thigh and ass met and began a delicious curve. He felt a stirring, and pushed back his long wet black hair, tinged with grey. If he was told a year ago that he’d defect from Arasaka, give his heart to some thief, he’d have laughed himself sick. Now he could think of no where he’d rather be.

He finally stood, fetching clean boxers from his drawer and dragging them on, before clambering into bed by V’s side. She instinctively put her arm around him and nuzzled her face into his arm. He moved it to put around her shoulders, and immediately fell in a deep happy sleep.

—-

He woke up the next morning to an empty bed beside him. He immediately panicked - he always did no matter how many times he woke long after her - but was soon relaxed but the sound of her chattering. V had been only recently become comfortable enough to talk to Johnny out loud in his presence, and there was something about it that he found incredibly endearing, even if it did mean there were technically three of them in the relationship. He laid his head down and listened.

“No......Johnny I said no for fucks sake.....because i don’t want pancakes for breakfast all we ever eat is fucking pancakes!”

Goro giggled, and Vs head snapped round, smiling, before turning back to the empty sofa.

“....yes i know he’s awake.....NO HE DOESNT WANT PANCAKES EITHER!”

“Actually pancakes would be very acceptable.”

V frowned playfully, pointing a finger at him as she made her way over “Dont you take his side!”

As soon as she was within reach Goro wrapped V in his arms and pulled her onto his lap, “Never my love. But maybe if Johnny had his pancakes we may be permitted some time alone?”

V tilted her head, considering her options before glancing to the sofa again. “He says you’ve got a deal.” she sighed, heading back to the kitchen to make the same damn pancakes she’d had 6 times this week.

They ate lazily in bed together, Vs legs swung over his lap and he stroked her shins softly.

“Where on earth did Wakako send you last night, Goro? That trash bag smelt like you’d brought in a rotting cadaver. Don’t worry it’s out of the apartment now, thank fuck.”

Goro groaned, “I sincerely apologise, I had meant to dispose of it before going to bed....”

“Don’t worry babe, it’s far from here now!”

“I ended up not only in a sewer, but it emerged at a landfill.”

V screwed up her nose, no only at the sewer but the memories of landfills weren’t pleasant ones for V and Johnny alike.

“Hopefully the Eddie’s made up for it then?”

“One or two more contracts like that and we shall be out of this stinking city. Ah, I can almost smell the cherry blossoms.” He smiled, closing his eyes.

V grinned and drank in the smile of Goro. She saw it so often now and it never got old. To see him so relaxed, so free, it made her heart burst. He was still rigid and stoic in so many ways, but not with her. Together they were always free to be just Goro and Valerie.

V finished her plate and leaned over to place it on the floor, “There you go now fuck off for a few hours!” She smirked at the sofa, her eyes obviously tracing what must’ve been Johnnys movements as he walked. “Yeah to you too, asshole!” She laughed, bringing her attention back to Goro. She straddled his lap, tucking his loose hair behind his ear.

“I think we’re alone now...” she sang, then laughed with a shrug, “Some antique song Johnny sings a lot.”

“He certainly has a ... varied taste.” He smiled, placing his hand behind her head to bring her in for a deep kiss. She put up no resistance, weight fully on him, hands at his chest. It didn’t take long for her to feel is hardness against her.

“You still get hungry for me?” She whispered

“I am never satiated...” he growled back, pulling the shirt up over her head and hungrily pawing at her breast.

They were too ravenous for satisfaction for foreplay, just locking eyes sent them into a frenzy. With deft and practiced movements V had pulled aside her panties, freed Goro from his underwear, and had slid him into her. The fullness he gave her always took a moment or two to get used to, but their kisses never stopped.

Goros hands found her ass and moved her slowly, tantalisingly, up his shaft. She wriggled a little, drawing out a low groan from him before she slowly enveloped him once more. He couldn’t wait any long, he’d been wanting, needing, her since the night before and had no intention of taking it slow.

With the movement of an experienced martial artist, she was placed on her back and he was above her, kissing her neck.

“I need you, i want it hard and fast Goro.” She panted, nibbling at his earlobe, and he was going to oblige. His hips took control and thrust into her with ever increasing ferocity. Sweat gathered in his brow as his teeth clenched. He thumb found her clit and demanded an orgasm from her before finding his own release with deep guttural moans.

Panting, he stroked her breasts loving, teasing her now highly sensitive nipples, before easing himself out and collapsing beside her. His fingers traced along her stomach and chest as she watched his face, both basking in the glow.

“Earlier, were you and Johnny fighting?” Goro finally broke the silence. He seemed a little trouble.

“Well, no. Not really. We bicker but that’s how we show affection i suppose. Why?”

“I do not wish you to be unhappy.”

V laughed and kissed his head, “I am not unhappy Goro. He just finds having a lack of agency hard going sometimes. He wants to do his own thing and acts out when he doesn’t get it. It’s like having a toddler around. An 80 year old terrorist rockerboy toddler.” She laughed

Goro looked into her eyes, “A toddler? A child?”

“Yep that about sums up the fucker.”

“And how...would you feel about a real child?”

V’s face drew serious, “...What are you asking Goro.”

“When we are back home, away from here...I would like us to have a child. Would you.”

V looked up at the ceiling, thinking.

“I wouldn’t be able to call them a cunt will I?”

“Indeed not.”

“Hmmmm... well i suppose ...yes i would!” She finally smiled, and Goro kissed her deeply.

“Looks like I’m going to be an Uncle!” Chimed in the reappearing Johnny.

“Fuck off cunt.”

“Valerie!!!!!!”

[crossdressingdeath]

1/6 You know I really don’t feel like people give JC enough flack for leading the siege of the burial mounds (and planning it? Not sure the exact details). They alway talk about how he felt like WWX betrayed him, how he had very little choice after the nightless city, how JYL’s death broke him - and I have arguments against all of that but I’d be writing a whole essay if I went over all of that, so let’s just focus on the people who no one can argue weren’t 100% innocent: the Wen remnants

2/6 The thing is, JC wasn’t just leading a siege to kill his brother, he was leading a siege to kill them. And he obviously would’ve happily killed them at any point before that moment. These are innocent people who had nothing to do with the war. The cultivators who showed up at the burial mounds would have seen who they were, there was no misunderstanding or mistake here, and they brutally slaughtered all of them. Someone like GRANNY for Christ’s sake - they knew exactly who they were

3/6 Killing. And JC? He at least had some idea that things weren’t like what the Jins were saying. He’d seen A-Yuan there. And despite this, he just didn’t care. He would’ve happily seen all of them did, not just because he ‘couldn’t do anything about it’ but because he genuinely blames them for lotus pier. You CANNOT just go and blame a whole group of people for the actions of a few - and I understand that a lot of people do have that mentality, but it’s frustrating when people don’t hold them

4/6 accountable. Why do some people always act like WWX protecting the Wen remnants is some big betrayal of his family, when he is just trying to look out for people who had no one else at the cost of his own reputation and safety? This is behaviour we should be commending, not looking down upon. WWX has no power, whereas JC is a SECT LEADER. If he really wanted to, he’d have some sway over the other sects. But again, it all comes down to the fact that JC doesn’t want to help. He’s always

5/6 Looking for someone to scapegoat the second he no longer has the main culprit to take his anger out on. It doesn’t matter if the wens were innocent, in his eyes they were guilty because of their last names. But Christ, how would JC feel if after everything that happened with JGY, the other sects decided that all Jins were bad and tried to blame, or even kill, JL? Would he be okay with that? But yeah, JC actively wanted these people dead, bad a better idea than most of what was happening in

Haha okay I’m going to try and rephrase part 6 (dammit tumblr 😂): basically I was just saying that HC is fine slaughtering the Wen rems for ‘revenge’ but...if you follow his logic, then technically WN was totally in the right for killing JZX after the Jins murdered him and his family members. I just find JC to be a really big hypocrite, and I think people tend to use his trauma as an excuse, when other characters (WWX, WN, ect.) have dealt with trauma too and don’t act like that

No one discusses JC’s part in the first siege because it’s entirely inexcusable and they don’t want to admit that.

Yeah, JC spends ages telling WWX to let these innocent civilians die. And he knows they’re innocent civilians! He’s been to the Burial Mounds (hell, that’s where he starts telling WWX to let them die, immediately after a four year old comes running up to them), he knows they’re just scared and desperate and want to be safe! And yet, the first chance he gets he goes running up to the Burial Mounds to kill them all. I think it all comes down to the fall of Lotus Pier: the Jiangs all died, so JC wants to kill all the Wens in exchange. He thinks genocide should be answered with genocide, and never mind that afaik there’s nothing to suggest even WC went out of his way to hunt down and slaughter all the civilians in Lotus Pier. Meanwhile WWX looks at the fall of Lotus Pier and thinks “I don’t want anything like this to happen again”, because at his core WWX just doesn’t want anyone to suffer the way he has.

That’s a huge part of JC’s issue with WWX, I think. WWX was happy to fight the Wens alongside him... but then they ran out of combatants, and WWX set Chenqing down and said he was done. JC wanted to kill them all, and the sects were helping, but WWX refused to be a part of it any longer. In fact he fought against the sects and took brutal, bloody revenge against them when they hurt him and his, and JC... Well. JC only likes revenge when it’s taken against people he hates. The Wens are his enemy, so if he wants to slaughter them all down to the youngest child, it’s justified. But the sects are his allies, so if WWX responds to a plan to kill him immediately after his adopted siblings sacrificed themselves to prevent that by killing everyone who pledged themselves to fight, it’s evil and monstrous. It’s the same with WN killing JZX (accidentally! He didn’t even mean to kill him, he just wasn’t thinking in clearer terms than “Jin near WWX = threat”!); never mind that the Jins killed WN and most of his family and as sect heir it’s not unreasonable to assume that JZX at least knew about it, the Jins are important to JC, so killing even one of them clearly means slaughtering all the remaining Wens is justified! And he’d be outraged if anyone tried to blame JL for JGY’s actions, but killing a four year old for the crimes of people he’d probably never even met is completely fine!

JC wanted to kill all the Wens for the crime of being related to WRH. They hadn’t done anything to him, he just wanted to kill them for daring to be part of the sect that killed the Jiangs. You know who else thinks like that? Who thinks wiping out an entire clan because part of that clan hurt them is justified? XY. XY wiped out an entire clan because the head of it ran over his finger with a cart, and this is the same thing on a larger scale. When XY wiped out the Chang clan, the fandom was rightfully horrified! They recognized that attacking the entire clan for the actions of one part of it, killing innocent people who had nothing to do with the incident and just happened to be part of the culprit’s family, was wrong! But when JC does it everyone bends over backwards coming up with reasons why it isn’t actually morally bankrupt to attack uninvolved people for being related to the perpetrator of a crime. I don’t get it, I really don’t.

JC really is always looking for a scapegoat. He killed the people who attacked Lotus Pier (or rather WWX killed them, but whatever), so he targeted the Wen remnants for being related to those people. After WWX, his usual scapegoat of choice, died, he tortured any demonic cultivator he found to death for reminding him of WWX. As long as he can connect a person to someone he hates, he’ll happily punish them for that person’s crimes. Honestly, I just want to see the day someone uses that practice on him and targets JL or Lotus Pier for JC’s habit of torturing people to death.

[reciprocityfic]

a slight return home, chapter nine

Title: A Slight Return Home Fandom: The Walking Dead Pairing: Rick x Michonne Rating: M Summary: Rick’s death shakes Michonne’s world to its core. With her daughter and her remaining family, she tries to navigate her changed life, and all the struggles and surprises that come with it.

Author’s Note: It's been ages since I've updated this. I'm so sorry. The motivation just wasn't there for the longest time, but good news - it seems to be back! Plus, I just finished my classes for the semester, and I'm not working right now because of the pandemic, so I should have lots of time to write!

I listened to "Mystery of Love" by Sufjan Stevens while I wrote this, and it's obviously where the title comes from. I also listened to "Wasteland, Baby!" from Hozier's album of the same name.

Read the Author's Note at the end after you're done with this chapter. There's some important stuff in there!

Here's chapter nine of A Slight Return Home!

read chapter one on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter two on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter three on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter four on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter five on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter six on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter seven on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter eight on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter nine on archive of our own or ff.net

the mystery of love

It all changes one day, suddenly.

Spring is at its most robust in Virginia, and the day outside is nothing short of beautiful. The afternoon sun shines brilliantly upon them, the trees are in full bloom, and she can hear birds singing as they fly about.

She's in a good mood, for the first time in what seems like forever. Things have been quiet for a few months now - no new threats, no dangerous communities to fight. And she has the day "off", as they tend to call it; she's not on watch, isn't going on any runs, doesn't have any duties around Alexandria to tend to.

So she's home, and it's so warm outside that she pulled shorts and a t-shirt out of her dresser this morning. The kids just finished up lunch, and quickly scurried outside to continue playing. She can hear their voices along with the chirping of the birds, and it puts her in an even better mood. She smiles as she wipes down the counter where she made sandwiches. Her bare foot taps against the cool hardwood floor of the kitchen as she sings an old Billie Holiday song her mother used to play for her under her breath.

"Michonne?"

She jumps at the sound of her name, drops the rag she's wiping with on the floor and turns towards the noise frantically, one hand gripping the edge of the counter with all her might while the other goes to her back to grab the katana that isn't there.

But when she does turn, she finds it's Rick.

"Shit, Rick!" she breathes, bending over and placing her hands on her knees as her muscles relax. She takes a moment before she stands up again, trying to steel herself for whatever kind of conversation will come next. She tries to disguise her hesitation by reaching down and picking up the rag from the floor, and as she straightens herself, she tosses the wet thing on the counter.

Then, she looks at him.

Things with Rick have still been...difficult. More than difficult. She feels like they're swimming together in a river full of molasses, and not even in the same direction, at times. Any progress is slow and heavy on their limbs. They're sad and sticky and stuck, and making little progress. Maybe not making any progress. And there's always that underlying fear in the pit of her stomach that they'll never make any progress at all.

But she tries not to think that way, keeps telling herself that this will get better if she only gives it time. That she'll find a way to bring him back. Even if it takes twenty years, she'll find a way to bring him back.

He's here in front of her, at least. That's more than she can say on most days. And she's keenly aware that this is the first time she's heard him say her name in over two weeks.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, taking a step back and turning his head to look over his shoulder.

"It's fine," she says quickly, remembering all at once how careful she has to be. He's a skittish, abused animal, constantly hovering along the edges of her world, and if she makes one or two wrong moves, he might run from her.

"It's fine," she tells him again, but she realizes that he's still looking away from her.

"Rick," she calls, but he doesn't move.

"Rick."

She says it more forcefully this time, and he turns back around.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," she assures him again, and he nods slowly, like he's hearing her words for the first time.

Silence falls over them. She waits for him to talk, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares at her, eyes slightly squinted. He used to look at her like that all the time. Before they were together, she never quite knew what it meant, and it made her stomach churn in a way she didn't understand. Afterwards, she knew exactly what it meant, and it still made her stomach churn, but in the best possible way. Because when he looked at her like that, it meant he was thinking of him and her and a bed - or a wall, a couch, a table. Anywhere private. Where they wouldn't be seen, and hopefully not heard.

It's different this time, slightly softer and less penetrating. It's like he's trying to decide something. She wants to stay quiet, to give him the time he needs, but after a minute she starts to fidget, and she can't help but say something.

"What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, and glances away momentarily before his eyes return to her. His hands fall to his hips, and she almost smiles, because he always used to stand like that. It's a remnant of the past, of a better time. And it's nice to know that at least something about him hasn't changed.

"Can we talk?"

Her eyes widen in surprise. She hadn't been expecting that to be his answer, and resists the urge to jump for joy because maybe this is the start of it, maybe they'll finally get somewhere, instead of just fumbling around in the dark. Maybe they'll turn to face each other in that brown river.

"Yeah," she answers, trying to temper the excitement in her voice. She could still scare him away. "Yeah, of course."

He nods once, and then turns around and walks away. Confusion floods her before she realizes he's headed for the dining room. She looks out the window briefly, to take one more look at her kiddos, and then follows after him.

She finds him standing by the table, and he motions for her to take a seat before he does. Always the gentleman. She half-smiles at him, and then sits at the head of the table.

He walks to the complete opposite side of the table, and takes his seat.

Or maybe he just wanted to make sure he didn't have to sit too close to you, chimes a voice inside her head, but she pushes that thought away. Even if that is true, this is going to be a good thing. They're going to make progress.

She watches him get settled and then waits for him to say something. But again, he hesitates. She waits awhile, and then goes to speak. Prompting worked in the kitchen, after all.

"So what do you want - "

"Is there someone else?"

She doesn't react right away, blinking hard twice. She decides she must've heard him wrong.

"What?" she questions, and the word comes out whispered and half-strangled, but he hears it still, and asks her again.

"Is there someone else? Was there? Is there? I don't know. Does it matter?"

She gapes at him, mouth hanging open. He shifts nervously in his seat.

"It's just, you've been distant since we came home from the infirmary. I know I was gone for...a long time. I mean, I'd understand. Seven years is seven years. It's a long time."

She can't process what's happening, even though her thoughts are racing a mile a minute. It's as if all the gears in her brain stopped working and started up again in strange patterns.

"It's okay. If there is. It's okay. We'd have to think of something with the kids, but other than that, it would probably be pretty easy. I'm sure there are empty houses. Or if not, I could always move in with Daryl, or - "

"I still have all of your clothes?"

She doesn't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but it does. And she knows it's kind of stupid, but she can't think of something else to say.

"You do," he concedes. "You do. But...I don't know. Things have been...not good. And I know it's my fault, but like I said, you've been distant, too. And I just want you to be happy."

"I'm trying to give you space. To give you time," she murmurs, dazed. "You need time."

"I know. But I just want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. All I'll ever want. For you to be happy."

He shrugs.

"Seven years is a long time. And I just want you to be happy."

"Seven years is a long time," she breathes, repeating his words mechanically.

"And I just want to know. I need to know," he amends. "Is there someone else?"

"Is there someone else?" she echos again.

He stops talking, staring at her cautiously. He might be a scared animal, but she's a bomb waiting to explode, ready to go off with the slightest touch. But she's still floundering at the moment, flopping around like a fish on a hook, gasping for breath that won't come.

She looks down at her hands. They're trembling, she realizes. Her heart is beating in double time.

"Michonne," he sighs. The sorrow in his voice is palpable.

And it decides her.

Fuck it. Fuck the waiting, the hesitation, all the caginess. Fuck that constant feeling of teetering on the very edge of a cliff, desperately wondering if someone is going to grab your hand and pull you away, or shove you in the back and push you off.

She knows that there's no going back, she knows that she might scare him off, but she can't do this anymore. She can't. She's tired, so tired, more tired than she's ever been. And she can't do it anymore. She won't.

Fuck it all. She explodes.

She stands abruptly, her chair falling back and crashing to the floor. She pays it no mind. He jumps, but he doesn't get up. He doesn't run.

"Seven years is a long time. Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I didn't feel every day of those seven years?"

She's shouting. She knows she is. But she can't stop herself. She's expelling everything that's been pent up inside her, and she can't stop.

But he's not running.

"I woke up every single one of those days and missed you. Most days I didn't want to. Most days it felt like it would be easier to die than to get out of that bed, but I did it anyway. For Judith, and then for RJ. And for you. For seven years, I did everything for you. Because I knew you would want me to. That you would want me to live."

She's crying. She can feel tears running down her cheeks. And she's right in front of him now.

But he isn't running.

"And so I got up. I lived. And I kept your clothes, and your toothbrush, and every single, little fucking thing because I couldn't do it without you. Without reminding myself that it was what you wanted."

She pulls his chair out from the table, turns it so it faces her. He's still light enough that she can manage it without much effort.

And he doesn't run.

"I talked to you, I went to visit you. I raised our babies. And I loved you. More than anything else, I loved you."

She stops suddenly, her chest heaving. There's tears in his eyes now, too. And she's tired. Tired from yelling, but tired mostly from carrying the weight of everything these past few months have brought. From thinking that at any moment, her world would collapse in on her.

She's so tired. She collapses onto his lap, her head falling into his chest, over his heart.

And he doesn't run. He doesn't even tense.

"And now," she murmurs, "now you want to know if there was someone else? There wasn't anyone else. There isn't, there wasn't, there never will be."

"Michonne."

She feels his voice rumble in his chest. Her name isn't a whisper this time. He doesn't murmur it, or mutter it. He says it, with his whole voice.

She lifts her head.

"Baby," he says, tucking a loc of her hair behind her ear.

She grabs his face with both of her hands, sitting up straight. She hovers over him slightly, close enough now that she can see the light freckles on the bridge of his nose, the flecks of cerulean in his light blue eyes that shine with tears.

And he doesn't run.

"I missed you every day," she tells him. "I loved you every day. I loved - "

He leans up and kisses her.

She doesn't respond at first, because she doesn't expect it. She stills in shock as her brain sputters to make sense of what's happening and her lips don't move back against his. And by the time it registers - that he's not running, that he's kissing her - he pulls away. And the loss of him, of their contact, is so profound that she almost begins to cry harder.

Don't stop, she's about to say, but the words die in her throat as she looks at him.

He's staring up at her again, but his eyes are different. They're not squinted, and the tears in them have dried. And he isn't trying to decide anything. Instead, he looks decided.

He's looking at her like he loves her. Like he's hungry, and the only thing he wants is her.

It's how he used to look at her, almost always. Even when they weren't in the bedroom - when they went on runs, when they were out in the community doing various jobs - there would always be a hint of it, deep in his irises.

She remembers the first time he looked at her like that. That night on the couch, their hearts pounding as they kissed furiously, both of their shirts half untucked, the button of her jeans undone, hands anywhere they could find the other's bare skin. His lips left hers only to kiss across her jaw, down her neck, and settle on her collarbone, where his lips moved and his tongue danced against her skin.

His teeth nipped at her lightly, and she groaned at the pleasurable pain.

He pulled away and hovered over her. She could feel him, cooped up in his jeans, pressing incessantly against her inner thigh. She almost pouted at the sudden stop, and was about to tell him to get back down here, but then she looked into his eyes.

The first time he had pulled away, a few minutes earlier, he had smiled down at her, softly and happily. She held his face, ran her fingers over his cheekbones, and smiled back.

This time, he didn't smile. He stared at her, chest heaving, wild curls framing his face like a halo of dark light, mouth hanging open.

He looked like he wanted to devour her. And he had, that night and so many others after it, thoroughly and absolutely.

It's how he's looking at her now.

She feels a buzzing throughout her body, and a bolt of desire makes her shiver as it settles between her thighs. She wants him. She wants him.

She's never wanted him more.

She doesn't know which one of them leans in again first, but she supposes it doesn't matter, because when their lips crash together, everything flies out of her mind except for him. Him, and his lips and his body and his heart. She places one of her hands on his chest, so she can feel it beat wildly underneath her palm.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive and he's not running. he's with her. he's finally with her.)

He's already hard beneath her, and she feels herself clench around nothing, longing for him. Longing to feel him inside her, to welcome him home. She reaches for his pants while he stands with her and lays her back on the empty table. She undoes his belt and then yanks it from the loops on his pants, dropping it to the ground. The metal buckle thumps as it hits the hardwood floor, and she jumps at the noise before laughing softly at the sudden sound. He joins her, and it makes her laugh harder.

She's happy. She's so happy, and he is, too. She almost can't believe it, but she does believe it because she feels it. She feels the warmth blooming in her core and spreading into every single one of her atoms, she senses the joy rolling off of Rick in waves.

She believes it because it's real. It's radiating out of their every pore, and it's so real.

She continues laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. But he tugs on that hand, and she lets him pull it down, placing it on his shoulder instead. Then, he takes his index finger and gently runs it along her bottom lip, in the shape of her smile.

"I've missed you," he whispers.

She smiles, as tears gather in the corner of her eyes. She doesn't know if they're happy or sad, but it doesn't matter. Because either way, she knows he'll be there to catch them when they fall.

She leans up again to kiss him, wraps her legs around his waist as he trails his fingers up and down her bare thighs. Each touch of his hands on her skin leaves fire in their wake, a pleasant burn that spreads across her skin and sets her aflame, burning away her old self and making way for rebirth. Like the spring outside, she's blooming, the buds and blossoms inside her watered and nurtured by the light in his eyes, by the feel of his body against hers. Flowers grow between her ribs.

His hands creep under her t-shirt, travel up her sides and hover over her chest before moving down again. He grabs the hem of her shirt and she sits up, helping to pull it over her head. It falls to the floor along beside his belt.

He stares at her, licking his lips. She leans back on her hands. Her bra is already out of place, her breasts practically spilling out of the garment. And he keeps staring. She feels herself getting wetter. She forgot how wonderful it felt to be ogled by the man that you love. She raises her eyebrows, challenging him.

What are you waiting for?

His eyes meet hers for a split second. And then he dives in, headfirst.

He buries his face in her cleavage, inhales her. And it gives her his answer.

I'm not waiting for anything. Not anymore.

He kisses and nips and the soft flesh of her breasts, and one of his hands reaches up her back, his fingers starting to fiddle with the clasp of her bra. She closes her eyes, lets out a soft moan, before opening her eyes again.

"Wait," she says.

He shakes his head, lets out some muffled hum of protest, and she laughs.

"Rick, wait," she repeats, grabbing his head and lifting it from her chest. His bottom lip juts out in adorable pout, and her smile is so wide that her cheeks hurt.

"We shouldn't do this here," she tells him softly.

"Why?" he asks, and she can hear the slight nervous lilt in his tone. Like he's afraid she's going to reject him suddenly.

She runs her hand over his hair in an attempt to soothe him. He's been keeping it short, like he did before he was taken. The fuzz feels good under her fingers.

She doesn't want to do it here. She wants to bring him back into their room, back into their bed. Take the place she poured so many tears and so much sorrow into and drain it. Fill it up with love again.

She wants to take those final steps to bring him back to her, wholly. And there are practical reasons, too.

"Because the front door is unlocked. And because the kitchen window is open. Someone could hear us."

"You plannin' on being loud?" he asks, a wicked and aroused glint appearing in his eyes.

He's half-teasing her, she knows. But the other half of him is excited at the prospect. His eyes dart around her face, one corner of his mouth ticking up.

"You planning on making me be loud?" she counters.

He bites down on his bottom lip, and then stands, taking her hand. She laces their fingers together as he bends down to pick up their shirt and belt.

"C'mon," he drawls, the southern twang more pronounced as it always is when his voice is rough with pleasure.

He leads her up the stairs and down the hall, but stops when he comes to their room. She can sense his hesitation, but she waits for him.

Finally, he reaches out, hand shaking. He turns the knob, and the door falls open. She can see the sun shining in through the sheer white curtains, filling the room with light.

He doesn't move to go in, so she steps around him, tugs on his hand and beckoning him forward.

"Come on," she urges. And it takes him a moment, but he follows her.

She lets him walk past her, and then closes the door behind them. She watches him as he stands at the foot of the bed, back towards her, gazing around the room like he's never been there before.

"You were always here."

He turns to her, tilting his head to the side.

"What do you mean?" he questions.

"You were always here," she tells him again. "It wasn't just the clothes. I always felt you in here. Like you had left part of yourself behind the last time you went away. And when I wanted to feel close to you, and it wasn't practical to go to the bridge, I would take the kids to Aaron's, and come up here and crawl into bed. I'd lay my head on your pillow. Sometimes I would cry, other times I would talk, but a lot of times I would just, lay there. And I would feel like you were there with me."

She walks towards him, and wraps her arms around him tightly, resting her head on his chest, above his thumping heart.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive)

"This is yours, Rick. This room, this bed. It's all yours. It always has been, and it always will be."

They're silent for a minute, but then she feels him nod above her.

"Okay," he whispers, before pulling back so he can look into her eyes.

"Okay," he repeats.

"Okay," she says back, nodding her head.

He leans down to kiss her.

They pick back up where they left off in the dining room, wrapping themselves around each other. He sits her down on the bed, takes off her bra, finally. He palms her breasts as he kneels down, places a long kiss on each nipple, and then moves his mouth down her stomach, stopping when he gets to the waistband of her cotton shorts. He tugs them down slowly, and then peels off her soaked underwear.

She's naked before him, for the first time in seven years. But there's no nervousness, no awkwardness, no hesitation. All she feels is anticipation. Eagerness for what she knows will come next.

He stares at her from his place on the floor, mouth hanging open, breaths labored. She wants every inch of him.

She reaches for him, begins to unbutton his shirt. He assists her. As he's shrugging it off his shoulders, she goes to start on his jeans, but she stops when she sees it.

He's gained a lot of weight since he came home, but she can still see his ribs. She can still count each one of them.

She stares. She can't help it. She stares, and it takes her back to when she found him, cowering in the corner of that cold, dark room, scared and abused and halfway to death.

The people who did that to him, they're dead now. They're dead, and they will never hurt him again. But it's not good enough. She wants to go back, to line them up and kill them all over again, one by one, watch them suffer, see their fear, their -

"Michonne," she hears, in some small part of her brain. His hands cradle her cheeks, and he tilts her face up. He's gazing down at her with the slightest frown on his face.

"Stay with me," he whispers.

Her eyes flit back to his ribs for a moment, but she takes a deep breath and looks back at him.

They're dead, she reminds herself. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that he's here, holding her. Loving her. He's alive.

They didn't win. He's alive. She leans into his hand, and feels the beat of his pulse against her skin.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive)

He's here, and he loves her.

Stay with me.

"Always," she promises.

He brings her face to his, presses his lips against hers softly. For a moment, they're quiet, pressed against each other and swaying back and forth slightly.

She begins to pull on him, forcing onto the bed with her. He laughs as she scoots back towards the headboard, and he pushes down his jeans and boxers, throwing them on the floor before turning over and crawling on top of her.

Once he's settled in, she reaches down and holds him. They both groan as she strokes him, him shifting above her as his hips buck. He drips into her hand as she continues to stroke, and she reaches down with her other hand to cup his balls.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice strained. She can tell she's torturing him, but she can't stop. She loves it - loves making him feel like this, loves the weight of him in her hand. He feels so good, and he's not even inside of her yet.

She speeds up her strokes, and he moans again, louder this time than the last. He reaches and grabs her hands, brings them up and holds them in his, lacing their fingers together.

"I want you," he says breathlessly. "I need you."

She lays back, her hair spreading out on the pillows, all around her head.

"Then take me," she tells him, reaching out again and guiding him to her entrance.

He does.

He enters her in one movement, and neither of them can help the loud groans they let out. They don't move right away as they treasure the feeling of being connected once again, finally.

But then, she grows impatient. She swivels her hips, communicating to him without words, and he begins to thrust.

It's almost like their first time, in a way. Things aren't perfectly smooth, and there are bumps and stutters along the way. Their bodies together aren't the well-oiled machine that they used to be. Neither of them are exactly how they used to be. They have to get used to this again. To find out who the other is, now.

She couldn't be more eager to learn.

They find a steady rhythm after a few minutes, and his thrusts get faster as she moves her hips in time with his. He pauses for a moment, readjusts them so he can reach her more freely, and then trails his hand down and begins to move his fingers against her.

She feels it, that tightening in the pit of her stomach, the beginning of the tide that will take her over. He begins to move his fingers more intently, syncs them with the movement of their hips, and the feeling grows. She's standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, and she's about to jump.

She lets go of everything. Everything that's been plaguing her for so long - for seven years - and lets it fade away. All of the worry, the pain, the exhaustion, the sorrow and loneliness. All of her doubts and insecurities and responsibilities and fear. She lets them go, until there's nothing left except her and this bed and him. Him, moving above and inside her, panting in her ear, setting her nerves ablaze.

She clings to him as he continues to thrust, crying out as he kindles the fire inside of her.

And she falls.

Her muscles spasm around him as she hits the water below the cliff. The waves overtake her, and her head goes under. She's drowning, but it's okay. He's here, and she never wants to breathe again.

She relaxes all at once with a contented moan, sated and happy. He continues to move above her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, his moans still echoing throughout the room even though they're muffled by her skin. Her hands roam up and down his back, wander down to his ass and squeeze.

"Come on, baby," she murmurs in his ear.

She feels his muscles stiffen suddenly, and then the warm rush as he comes inside of her. She closes her eyes, relishing it. Relishing him.

He collapses on top of her, his face still buried in her neck. They both heave as they try to catch their breath. Their chests are pressed together, and she can feel his heart pounding.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive)

And she's home. Finally, she's home.

***

It's warm again today.

She'd opened all the windows and doors when she'd come downstairs, so the fresh air could drift in and freshen up the house. She can feel the pleasant breeze blowing against her skin now, as she folds towels in the living room.

It's quiet at home. The kids are out with Daryl and Dog. She isn't sure where Rick is right now, but she knows he's nearby.

She hears small footsteps dash up the front porch steps.

"Momma!"

She smiles. It's RJ.

She sets the laundry basket she had on her lap aside, and gets up to greet him at the door. Her bare feet pad against the hardwood floor and echo softly throughout the entryway.

"Mom-"

Her eyebrows furrow as she wonders what made him stop his second call for her. She approaches the screen door and is about to open it, when she spots her son, standing on the porch and staring cautiously at something in the corner. She frowns, but then she realizes.

Rick must be sitting on the porch.

She almost runs out to them reflexively, to insert herself into the situation and try and ease the awkwardness between them. Things with RJ and Rick still aren't quite where she'd hoped they'd be. Rick is trying, and she knows RJ is too.

They'll get there. They just need time.

She steps back a bit, decides to let them work it out on their own. She angles herself in the doorway so she won't be seen by either of them.

"Hey, RJ," Rick says carefully. She knows he's trying not to scare off their son.

It takes him a minute, but RJ finally responds.

"Hi br...Daddy."

She smiles softly. RJ forgets to call him Daddy a lot, having referred to him as the brave man for so long. But he's getting better.

"What are you up to? I thought you and your sister were with Uncle Daryl."

"We are, but I gotta pee."

She puts a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"Hmm. Well, you better get in there."

"Yeah," RJ answers. He looks for a moment longer, then turns towards the house. He takes a step towards the door, but stops again.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Judy said...Judy said you used to sing to her when she was a little baby."

"I did," Rick answers.

"A song about dreams," RJ continues.

"Yeah. It's called Dream a Little Dream of Me."

"Yeah. That one."

A silence falls over them. She's about to go outside, when RJ speaks again.

"Will you sing it for me?"

"Yeah," Rick says, and she can hear a sort of strong emotion in his voice. "I'd love to. Come over here."

RJ walks over without hesitating, and her heart leaps. She hears the rocking chair Rick must be sitting in shift.

"Now, I'm not that good of a singer…"

"Momma and Judy say your voice is good."

"They're just being nice. You'll have to tell me what you think, okay?"

"Okay."

There's silence for a moment. Then, Rick starts.

Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you" Birds singing in the sycamore tree Dream a little dream of me

Rick starts to move on to the next verse, but RJ interrupts.

"You have a good voice!"

"Aw, thanks, buddy."

"Keep going, please," RJ insists. Rick laughs.

"Whatever you say."

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear Still craving your kiss I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear Just saying this

She can't see them from the angle she's at, but she still doesn't want to make herself seen. She quietly rushes to the living room, so she can look out the window.

Rick is sitting in the rocking chair, and RJ is sitting on his lap, facing his father. She can't see Rick's face, but she can see RJ. The boy's eyes are wide and bright as he watches Rick, a grin on his face.

She feels tears gather in her eyes, as she watches the two boys she loves most in the entire world.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you But in your dreams, whatever they be Dream a little dream of me

She smiles.

But in your dreams, whatever they be Dream a little dream

"RJ! What's taking you so long?"

Judith runs up the path to their house, Dog and Daryl trailing behind her. RJ wiggles off of Rick's lap as his sister jogs up the stairs.

"Daddy sang to me. The dreams song! Just like you said."

"I thought you had to pee," Judith questions.

"Oh yeah!" RJ exclaims, like he'd just remembered his reason for coming home in the first place. "Momma!"

He runs towards the door, and she wipes at her eyes and walks to the door, arriving just as RJ flings it open.

"Momma, I have to pee!"

"Then go to the bathroom, silly!" she tells her son, placing her hand on his back and gently pushing him in the direction of the bathroom as he scurries past her. She waits until she hears the door slam shut, and then she ventures outside.

Judith is at the rocking chair talking to Rick, in voices too low for her to hear them. Instead, she waves at Daryl, who's still in the yard, throwing a tennis ball around for Dog.

"Hi, Mom," she hears suddenly, and looks down to see Judith walking past her and into the house.

"Hey, Judy."

Daryl walks up the steps to the porch. He throws the tennis ball once more, and then turns towards Rick and Michonne.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Nothing," she answers. " Just hanging around. Did some laundry."

"That's not what I mean. You're all smiley."

"Smiley?" she questions.

"Yeah. Judith was telling me how y'all had this nice breakfast this morning, and the two of you were all happy. And I can tell now. You look...lighter or some shit."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, trying to play dumb. But there's a slight thrill that runs through her, at the fact that the past twenty-four hours have changed her so much that other people can tell.

Daryl doesn't answer her. Instead, he looks between her and Rick. Rick, who's sitting outside, whistling some made-up song.

Daryl grins. And she feels like it's the first time her and Rick slept together all over again, when their whole family barged in on them when they were half-dressed.

"Nevermind," Daryl mutters, and moves towards the house. Before he opens the door, he turns towards Rick.

"Hey, me and Aaron are going out tomorrow, s'long as it don't rain. You coming?"

"Uh...sure. Yeah."

It's not the first time Daryl's asked him to go on a run since he's been back, but it's the first time Rick's agreed. He always had excuses - something about being too weak, or fearing he'd be a liability instead of an asset.

She smiles at his answer. Daryl grins again, too, and then starts into the house. He calls out, just loud enough for them to hear it.

"Yeah, y'all are smiley for sure."

She looks at Rick, and he looks back at her. They burst into laughter.

She walks over to him, leans against the porch railing as she stands in front of the rocking chair.

"Why do I feel like a kid who just got caught having sex at summer camp?"

He laughs again, and then pats his lap, signaling for her to sit down.

"I'm not as little as RJ," she warns.

"I'll manage."

She smiles, and then sits down, leaning back into him. He wraps his arms around her, resting his hands on her stomach. She places her hands over his, and closes her eyes.

"So, you were spying on us?"

"I was," she admits freely. "I love seeing the two of you together. I couldn't help it. Plus, I'll never pass up a chance to hear you sing."

He presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, next to the strap of her tank top.

"What did our little bird want?" she wonders.

"Apparently, she doesn't want to pass up a chance to hear me sing, either. She asked if I would sing that song for her tonight before bed."

It's been years since she's sang Judith to sleep. She smiles gently.

"She's missed you, too. More than you know."

"Yeah," he whispers. "I kind of...got that. When she was talking to me."

She nods. They're quiet for a few moments, listening to the sound of the soft breeze blowing around them.

"Michonne?"

She shifts, turning so she can see his face. He stares at her, bringing his hand up to trail along her cheekbone.

"I love you," he breathes.

It's the first time she's heard him say that in seven years.

"I love you, too," she tells him, and places a kiss on his forehead before wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her cheek on top of his head.

She knows things won't be perfect from here on out. Sex isn't a magic spell that will fix everything, as much as she wishes it was. There will be obstacles in their continued journey back together. He'll still have bad days. She will, too. There will still be nightmares, still be pain. And they'll never be the same as they were.

Instead, they'll be something new. Something that's suffered, but come out on the other side. And they'll be stronger for it. She knows they will.

They love each other. And their love is strong enough to weather any storm, to survive any fire. It's gotten them this far in the new world, and it will continue to sustain them. That's all that matters.

They love each other.

She closes her eyes, tightens her arms around him.

"I'm so glad you came home to me," she whispers.

"Always," he answers gently.

She hears the kids running around inside through the open window. Daryl shouts after them, something she can't make out, but Rick laughs. The sun shines on her skin. She hears the sound of the town thriving and bustling around them. The sound of her home. Their home.

And she smiles.

***

A/N: This is the first time I've ever written smut, so I hope it turned out okay and wasn't too clunky.

Alas, my dears, this is the last real chapter of this story. I have a short epilogue planned, but other than that, this is where I will leave this version of Rick and Michonne - at the start of a new beginning, finally on the same page and together with their family like they're always meant to be.

ALSO - the absolutely lovely @mdgart has agreed to create some of her wonderful art in honor of this chapter! It’ll most likely be posted somewhere on tumblr - I’ll be sure to reblog it here - but also keep your eyes open and on our twitters (mine is @hawthornegrimes and hers is @ms_doomandgloom) for that some time in the near future. I'm so excited for you all to see her beautiful work!

Thanks for reading! I hope this chapter was worth the wait. (Props to anyone who can come up with the other fictional couple I referenced in this chapter.)

xoxo, rebekah

[vividreminisce]

I Want - Chapter 1

Here’s the first chapter to my completed series, “I Want”. This was something that I had the inspiration to write last year and it did not let me go. I read so many stories from incredible authors in ao3 and I had the itch to had my own story into the many that were written about a special historian/scholar/leader.

I mentioned it in one of my posts that this series is currently completed on ao3 and if you liked this, don’t hesitate to hop over there to give it a read! It would mean the world to me if some people read this on Tumblr too as I feel that it gives people the privacy to put their thoughts and opinions privately, as I read in a post just very recently.

I am very new to posting anything on Tumblr, so I deeply apologize for making mistakes, either with the story or on the tags; I’m total baby with this, but I will do my best to learn!

Without further ado, below are the tags and below that is the actual story! Please enjoy! :D

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Series Summary: When was the last time that anyone thought of their wants? What happens when they realize them after it was almost too late?

A different approach to when the Warrior of Darkness and Crystal Exarch return to the Crystarium after the battle with the Ascian. Emotions run high from several days of healing and only having themselves to sort them out.

Chapter Summary: The battle has been won and now it is time to go home. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn, the Warrior of Darkness, A’viloh Entialpoh, and the Crystal Exarch prepare for the trek out back to the Crystarium. However, the Warrior asks something of the Exarch before they part, both unwilling to leave yet.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Ship: G’raha Tia/Crystal Exarch x OC

Rating: Mature, SFW,

Writing Tags: Some depictions of medical procedures (not medically trained, so some facts will be medically wrong, but it’s all for the story), Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt, Healing, Comfort, Acceptance, Fluff.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“G’raha… Hold on just a bit more, please….”

“We have made it this far… It would be… A disgrace to my people should their leader fall now…”

“...A disgrace… That is certainly one way to put it… It is not. You have… gone through much these last few days. We all have.”

Whether G’raha wanted to acknowledge those words, or simply make it seem like he did not hear from how quietly the Warrior spoke them, the brunette did not know. The little that he did at the moment was enough to keep him moving. Just like how Ardbert asked of him not too long ago.

He had defeated Hades.

The Crystal Exarch had been saved.

All of the Scions were alive.

And they were all on their way out of The Tempest.

Something curious made the Warrior almost falter: when having spoken the Exarch’s true name, he had shuddered, also losing momentum. His stance had closed, almost as if wanting to shield himself. Once he had noticed how far he was from the Warrior, he did his best to catch up, a slight limp in his step. The Warrior kept his attention elsewhere but took note of that strange happening, instead raising his head to where the surface could be seen. They only needed to climb to the water's edge and then, only then, could they be swept by the waters of Kholusia. At least, that was the theory.

“Follow my lead, Ryne. A’viloh, I expect that you will be the last to climb?”

“Yes. I will give everyone a boost. Please, keep the Exarch close to you.”

“Of course.”

“I… apologize for the burden--”

“We will have none of that, Exarch. Alisaie and I will be right behind you. You have been away from the Tower for too long. We will give you as much healing as we are able, we only ask that you keep moving forward.”

“I trust that you will keep your eyes where your hands lay, Urianger.”

“Of course, my lady.”

A’viloh couldn’t help the slight smile from appearing on his face at hearing his friends--his family--conversing normally. As if they did not just fell one akin to a god, the very same Ascian that was hellbent on making the Eighth Umbral Calamity happen in the Source. He knew that it wasn’t just for show. He could feel their nervous and grateful energy at being able to see the sky another day. It followed Alphinaud when his trembling hands grasped the strong rocks above him, lead Alisaie when she would ask the Exarch if he needed more healing magic, and stayed with Y’shtola when she kept her eyes on the calm waters looming closer. Ryne would glance down occasionally to see that everyone was clinging on with all of their might, and also to guide the Exarch’s hands to the right places. Thancred did not look their way once.

Once the Warrior saw Urianger’s hand reach the surface, he began his climb. His eyes never left the tower of rock in front of him as his mind wandered for a brief moment.

‘I musnt forget to write all of this in my journal…’

=====

His wounds were enough to keep him awake as he swam to the surface. He found Alphinaud’s face firmly planted on the wet sands of the beach, Alisaie shaking him vigorously.

“Alphinaud! For God's sakes…”

Brown eyes turned, next seeing Thancred patting the Exarch’s back as the latter tried to catch his breath. Ryne was instantly at the leader’s side, hand on his bloodied forearm as she quietly spoke to him. Y’shtola was at a distance, doing her best to wring out the water from her dress as it clung to her. Milky eyes locked with A’viloh’s, and judging from her expression, they found her target. She returned to her task of unsticking her dress from her skin, a faint smile on her pale lips.

A’viloh nodded to each head and frowned when he saw that they were one short. Honey and caramel eyes surveyed the land in front of him until they found their goal and slowly swam to the dead-fished Astrologian.

“A’viloh! There you are! Oh, and Urianger too! Is… Is he breathing…?”

Once A’viloh had gotten the weary Elezen to his feet did the Oracle of Light get an answer.

“T… T’would seem that… those lessons… mayhap would have…”

“He will be fine, Ryne,” A’viloh reassured. “How do you all fare…?” he asked, keeping Urianger steady. Strong hands gently patted the Elezen’s back until his breathing had gone steady. Tired amber eyes gave their thanks to the dark knight, nodding in reassurance.

“Aside from my aching back and Ryne’s dress being in tatters, I do believe that we are quite alive.”

A’viloh turned to the twins, Alisaie finally getting her brother up. Alphinaud’s hands went to his face and started to rub all the sand off his red cheeks, a tear or two coming down from how irritated his eyes were. He could read the twin’s lips, the poor Leveilleur cursing the saltiness of the sea. Alisaie sighed deeply and gave her brother’s back one last smack before affirming that they were alright as well.

Thancred turned to regard the leader of the Crystarium. Anyone with eyes could see that he wasn’t doing well and needed to get back to the Tower. Immediately. Gray hues tried to search for the Allagan ones, but the Exarch wouldn’t lift his head. It wasn’t until Thancred stepped closer that he could hear the rasped breathing from the leader.

The gunbreaker took another step, voice hushed as he bent down slightly. “Exarch, we are a bit far from the nearest Amarokeeper and it would not do for you to collapse now. I must ask that you get on my back, I have the strength to carry you.”

Despite his hushed voice, The Warrior of Darkness overhead his words and turned his head, fully expecting the leader to take the offer. Instead, his expression grew dark when he saw the opposite. The Exarch’s normally relaxed posture was more reclusive, trembling hands slowly wrangling in what A’viloh could only guess was nervousness. Faded ears were pinned, and if a tail could be present, he imagined it would either be curled up around one of his injured legs or between them. He saw the Exarch take two deep breaths and finally lift his head.

Allagan red pierced into the Scion’s stern ones, making them go wide. “It is true that my distance from the Tower has depleted my strength. However, if I am to return to my people, it will be by my own two feet. I need only take a bit more time to arrive.”

Thancred strengthened up, and if it had been any other situation, he would have commented on the Exarch’s stubbornness. But now was not the time nor was he in the mood to argue.

The Warrior kept his smile away at the remnants of his old friend appearing, however, it would only get them so far, no pun intended. He stepped to the Exarch’s left, the leader acknowledging him only by turning slightly in his direction. Placing his hand on the leader’s forearm, he gazed in the direction of the nearest civilization, his plan coming forward.

“Thancred, would it be too much trouble for you and Ryne to head to Wright and procure us some Amaros?” He turned his head head at the sound of footsteps, calculating, but kind eyes focusing on one of the twins, giving the next part of his plan. “Alphinaud, how do you fare with going to the Crystarium with Alisaie?”

The young Elezen tilted his head to the side, the salt water finally leaving his ears after giving them a few pats. He tried to follow the Warrior’s train of thought, but couldn’t figure out where it was heading. “We can make it, but… may I ask why just us two?”

A misstep in his plan; of course it wasn’t just those two that should go. With an apologetic smile, he answered. “My apologies. Please, inform Lyna that we are on our way back home. She will feel more at ease in seeing you both first. Knowing the Captain, she will start to prepare for our recuperation And…  I have a feeling that she has people waiting at all entrances for our return, so you will not have to travel far to find her. Y’shtola, Urianger, with that being said, if you are able, inform Chessamile of the number of beds that needs be prepared. Our wounds are severe, but not life threatening.”

Alisaie blinked at how easily the instructions came from her friend. How long did it take for him to think this all through? She couldn’t help herself in voicing those thoughts, adding a bit of her spark as she crossed her soaked arms. “We have barely left you alone, how have you come up with this plan? Now that your soul is complete again, did it change you to start barking orders?” She meant well, giving the Warrior an easy smile. Tired as he was, she shouldn’t have been too surprised; he always was one to put people first.

“Bark is one way of putting it, yes… Mayhaps your soul should break once or twice to bring you down to size…” came Y’shtola’s sly comment, thankfully only amused by her friend’s orders. Should she have been miffed by him… A’viloh couldn’t help himself in giving his fellow miqo’te a nervous smile, thinking it better to explain himself before others start bringing in their input. He looked up to the sky, his smile more natural on his lips. The sky… it might be a different sky from being in a different land, but it looked just like the one in the Source. Red hues mixing with now natural gold, the gentle blue fading away, the clouds forming shapes that he wished he could just lay down and pay attention to.

But not now. He was thinking too much now. There was too much to do, and he was thinking too quickly.

“Change me, no… But my thoughts are much clearer. That was quite a climb we had, and it made me think of what needs to be done for now” His eyes closed at that. Six beds, bandages and gauze, plenty of alcohol, healers to close the wounds once disinfected--

He turned his head towards Alisaie’s direction, mismatched brown opening to regard her with warmth. “It is much easier to think about my family and what they need. We are almost done, we need just one last push. We do not have much time to waste, and we must act quickly and efficiently. I will join the Exarch at his pace in going back to the Crystariym. Worry not, I will see that we make it back home in one piece.” A’viloh nodded, his eyes landing on each of his friends and taking into account their wounds.

Alphinaud still had salt in his eyes and his ears were a bit red from the water. His clothes were in tatters and he could see a deep bruise appearing on his side, along with some dry blood on his hands. Alisaie had a cut on her cheek and her hair was coming undone. The Warrior didn’t want to look too far down without her knowing, but he could see quite a bit of bruises on her legs as well as how she leaned her weight to her left leg. He already knew that Y’shtola’s back was bruised, and while she tried to hide her short breathing, he had a feeling that one of her ribs was broken. Urianger did his best to appear in his five senses, but from how unfocused his eyes were at times, he must have had a concussion. His clothes weren’t faring any better, cuts and bruises trailing down. Poor Ryne’s dress was indeed in tatters, her shoulders now bare and her boots only holding up by strap or two. Her hands trembled under the sleeves and she grasped them lightly at times. The ribbon in her hair was long gone, and he could see how she tried to bring her hair back now and then. Her white dress didn’t hide the bruises and cuts on her arms, and he dare not think of how her ankles were doing from how the mixture of blood and salt stayed on them. Thancred’s armor had thankfully protected him through most of the blows, just some scratches here and there, but A’viloh knew that he had a few broken bones. Was that a broken finger…?

And the Exarch… G’raha…

It wasn’t that A’viloh didn’t want to pay attention to him. Far from it. However, he knew that the moment he did, he would focus on nothing more. G’raha… his friend… He was here… He was safe. And he was right next to A’viloh. From the little he could see from the corner of his eye, making sure that he was looking straight to the Scions, G’raha was looking up at him. Making what kind of expression, he did not know. But Y’shtola could see it full well. A’viloh tried to read her expression, but she was as unreadable as her eyes. And she made sure to keep it that way. Her milky hues shifted to A’viloh’s, keeping her voice steady.

“Urianger and I will inform the chirurgeons on what needs be prepared. As you say, we must act quickly and effectively. I will assume that no one has any objections?”

Thancred was already on the move with Ryne right behind him, the young hume having given a bit of healing to the Exarch before patting his arm and walking quickly to catch up. The gunbreaker just wanted to scrub his damn armor clean, the tainted aether reminding him too much of his time with Lahabrea. He welcomed the young girl to his side, her pure aether keeping him focused.

Alphinaud was following the gunbreaker at his own pace, speaking quietly with Alisaie as to what should be said once they arrive. Much had happened, and much more had to be kept secret, else the city would be overcome with worry. He gave his arm to his sister, who swatted it away… until she realized that she would be walking too slowly for her own comfort, and promptly wrangled him back so that he would walk at her pace. And she made damn sure to place almost all of her weight on him, her twin smiling at her antics. Y’shtola had wrapped an arm around Urianger’s as well, carefully guiding him towards the right path to Wright. The astrologian was more than willing to follow in her footsteps, although surprised by her initiative. It was not too long ago that she regarded him with scorn from how much he kept hidden from her. He knew that it would take her some time to forgive, and knew even more that she would never forget.

“...Warrior.”

A’viloh jumped at being called; he could no longer keep his gaze forward. He had given enough reason for the Scions to leave them be. They knew that there was much that the Exarch and him needed to speak about, and while now was not the time, they could still be near each other. He looked down at the leader who had not left his side. The same one that still let his hand rest on the one arm that was still made of flesh. G’raha’s gazed up at A’viloh, searching for something that A’viloh did not know of. There was still so much that he didn’t know, and more that he could if he just really put his mind to it. But now was not the time. He wanted to--

“You referred… to the Crystarium as your home. Do you truly see it that way…?”

‘Is it our home…? It is the home to many… It is… my home at the moment…’ A’viloh thought. He focused on the hand that was on the Exarch’s arm, becoming aware of how little warmth it emanated. More than that, he could see goosebumps appearing. ‘He’s freezing… ‘

“...It is my home.” A’viloh finally answered. He gazed deeply into those Allagan eyes, searching just as much as G’raha did. The leader stayed silent for a few beats, his rasped breathing along with the gentle tide of the sea being the only noise. He seemed to have found his answer--or at least was content enough with what he saw--and smiled tiredly, speaking loud enough to be heard above the waves.

“...Full glad am I to hear that. Should the people of the Crystarium know, they will be filled with joy.”

A’viloh’s tore his eyes away, trying to keep them on the faraway village. There was so much to speak about, so much that they needed to get straightened out. So much that he wanted to say.

Once they were well, talking could happen. He put his other hand on G’raha’s crystal arm, almost pulling away from how faint the aether was. It was even colder, A’viloh frowning from the temperature.

“Full glad will your people be when they see you back” Gaze flicking to the faded ears of the leader, he questioned. “How would you like to see them?” As much as he expected to know the answer, he didn’t, nor did he want to assume.

G’raha’s eyes went wide at the question, realizing the situation. It was true that no one had seen him without his cowl, this being the first time in… well, ever. However, so much had happened, and so many questions would arise. Nerves began to come up, his ears flicking back as he gazed down at the Warrior’s boots.

A’viloh found his answer then. His lips pulled up into a half smile, looking over at his hand. The leader… he was incredibly expressive. The Warrior couldn’t believe how blind he has been for so long to not see how expressive he was. He felt the slight trembles of G’raha’s cold arms and gave them a light squeeze. G’raha instinctually looked up from the movement and found himself less than a fulm away from the Warrior. He saw how clear A’viloh’s eyes were, but more than that, how different they were. One darker than the other, both watched him with warmth and understanding.

So, so much warmth, and understanding. How he relished in the feeling after the last few days they all had.

“I am not sure how you lasted so long with your ears down. Pulling the cowl up, is that all I need to do?” came the question, both hands lightly grasping the base of said item.

It wasn’t just the distance from the Tower that made his blood run cold. His cowl. The item that he hid behind for so long and needed to go back into. It was his symbol, along with his staff. That was how everyone in the Crystarium, no, all of the First, saw him with. The Crystal Exarch was a mysterious man whom no one knew where he came from or how he looked like underneath the hood. He gave, he helped, and he lead. That was his role, and that was all he could ever be.

A’viloh’s brows furrowed at G’raha’s expression. He was shaking harder, eyes wide and… resigned. They were tired. So, so very tired.

…Ah, he knew that look too. He knew it very well.

At least, he thought he did. And he hoped that he was saying something close to what his friend wanted to hear. “...You do not need to keep it up. Not with me.” His hands left the hood, placing them on his friend’s shaking shoulders and giving them another squeeze. They came down slightly, having tensed up from the question.

Keeping his hood down with the Warrior. Keeping his hood down… 

What a wonderful dream that would be.

A’viloh lightly placed a hand on G’raha’s head, gauging how familiar he could be with the leader. G’raha jumped but said nothing, looking up at him from beneath his lashed. This was good enough.

“You will keep your cowl down when you are ready. Do not worry about your people, they will wait as much as they need to to see their beacon’s face.” He slowly spread his hand wide open, thumb and pinky slightly touching the base of his ears. G’raha’s breath hitched at the intimate action, his ears plastering to his head and the Warrior took that chance to carefully pull the cowl over G’raha’s head. His hand swiftly pulled away, bringing down the hood a bit more before keeping his hands to himself. The magicks in the hood worked immediately, only the leader’s bottom half of his face being seen. Despite that, A’viloh could feel the shock emanating from G’raha, and how he wanted to say something, but the Warrior was already onto the next step.

With his back to the leader, he kneeled as he spoke quickly, getting the next words out before his own nerves got the better of him. They needed to get going, just now remembering the fatal wound that the leader had on his back. How he was still standing, A’viloh had no idea.

“There is much that needs to be discussed, and I would love nothing more than to speak with you in private, just as… we would in the past.” He faltered at the end, his heart tugging at the lie.

‘It isn’t entirely a lie.’ That faint, murky voice dwelling deep in his soul reassured. Ah, there was Esteem. He had been ominously quiet during his time in Amaurot, though his presence was clearly there when fighting Hades. A’viloh was starting to worry when he could barely feel him at the end, thinking that the immense light might have done something (he wouldn’t say extinguish, but when dealing with a deadly essence that was the exact opposite of them, he could never be too careful). The dull worry in his mind lessened, acknowledging his words as relief flooded in.

No, they did not speak as much when they were at the Source, far less from all of the light that the Warrior had for so long. But now that it was gone, they should be more active...right?

Continuing, the Warrior did not spare a glance at G’raha. That word, beacon… It was one that he had not heard in a long time. Did it have the same effect on his friend as how it did for him all those years ago? “And talk we will. Once we get back to the Crystarium, and get better, we will talk. You have more days to live and now, you can decide how you would like to live them. I know that you said that you can walk on your own but… please, let me help you. Here, and back home.” When he heard no response, he willed himself to turn his head. G’raha stood there, not having moved an inch. Face still obscured, his mouth was agape and looking much paler than he was minutes ago.

Were his lungs devoid of air because of physical reasons or from the Warrior’s words? Most likely both. Talk, back home, help… They could go back home and they could talk. They could be in the same room and talk, or just, just be. Oh how he wanted that. How he yearned for that.

Taking a shaky step forward, he hadn’t raised his foot high enough, gripping at air when he began to fall but the Warrior rose quickly to catch him. He landed steadily on A’viloh’s back, his arms being brought around the Warrior’s neck. As his legs were hooked, he involuntarily melted onto the Warrior’s strong back. Turning his face to the left, his hood kept jabbing into this skin, and the Warrior’s, but they made no mention. Instead, they kept going, the wind keeping him awake enough as the tiredness started to settle in.

A’viloh thanked his lucky stars at how well that went, knowing that if they had not intervened, they would have continued to talk and G’raha would have undoubtedly collapsed, making it much harder to transport them both. Once he settled into a steady rhythm, he spoke again, volume high enough to get his friend’s attention.

“When we get back, would you like for the people at the Spagyrics to treat you or myself?”

‘What of your wounds?’ he questioned in his mind. Opening his mouth, he tried to voice them, taking several tries to get the words out. So tired… so sore… 

“I will be fine. I will treat myself as well, don’t worry.”

“I… I know you… Warrior… You will… put… me above yourself…” He rasped out, his throat starting to burn. The wound on his back ached, making him curl up slightly from the movement. A’viloh took note of that and did his best to control his walk, still moving quickly but with less movement. His calves were cramping up, his back shooting up with pain along with his arms but he kept going, bending down more to bring the leader higher on his back. He apologized from how much skin he was making G’raha show and continued on, his space slightly quicker.

“I promise to take care of myself too. If I am not well, how can I take care of you?” He could see Wright in the distance, though still far away. Just a bit more…

“So please… Let me heal you. If I mend you, it will be easier to keep your physical self hidden from your people, if that is your wish. Whatever I cannot mend, I will learn how to.” He didn’t hide his desperation as he kept his brisk walk. The aether in G’raha started to wane, panic consuming some of his thought process.

He would not let himself be denied. Not again. Silver flashed in his mind, the sunset behind him reminding him of that terrible day. Not again, not again, not again--

“Who am I to deny such a request… As if… as if I could deny…” G’raha’s speech slurred, unable to keep his eyes open. His consciousness was fading, the dead trees and land melting altogether.

A’viloh felt G’raha’s hands slip, now running to the Amaro porter where Thancred and Ryne were thankfully waiting for them, the rest already for the Crystarium. As carefully as he could, he settled his unconscious friend in the front and prayed with all his might that he wasn’t too late.

[astrid-goes-for-a-spin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014), Supergirl (TV 2015), Superman & Lois (TV 2020) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lois Lane & Iris West Characters: Iris West, Lois Lane Additional Tags: Reporter! Iris West, Central City Citizen, Female Friendship, Commiseration, Women Being Awesome, Women Mentoring Women, Lois and Iris becoming friends, they have a lot in common okay, haphazard characterization of Lois Lane, unholy mix of CW Lois Lane with Smallville Lois Lane personality, Iris loves dessert, Cat Grant (mentioned) - Freeform Series: Part 3 of Iris Week 2020 Summary:

Then it all catches back up to her all at once: there’s no more Earth-1 or Earth-38, and in practice this means that it’s entirely possible she can run into Lois Lane at a national journalism conference.

On their own, Lois and Iris try to get to know one another and realize they have a lot in common.

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

for the tumblr crowd, here’s the full text: 

“Hey! West! West! EARTH TO IRIS WEST-ALLEN!”

At this, Iris turns to see who’s been shouting at her. The conference center is choked with people, and Iris would much, much rather be under the radar this weekend. But apparently she’s well-known enough now, at least in journalistic circles, that the back of her head is recognizable.

It takes Iris a moment to make out who’s calling to her. Pale skin, dark hair, an almost manic affect. The woman waving her over is so absolutely in Iris’s mental uh-oh category that all she can do is blink and stare for at least two seconds.

Then it catches back up to her, all at once: there’s no more Earth-1 or Earth-38, and in practice this means that it’s entirely possible she can run into Lois Lane at a national journalism conference.

Iris wades through the crowds to catch up to her sort-of-friend, and Lois grabs her arm and tows her out of the foot traffic and into a hug.

“It’s so nice to see you doing something normal!” Lois exclaims, patting Iris on the back. While she talks, she’s already steering Iris towards one of the courtyards in the convention center, against the flow of people. “Is it just you here?”

“Yep.” Iris taps at her badge. “I only have three people on staff, so Allegra and Kamilla are back in Central sending their work for edits this weekend.”

“Oh right!” Lois points a finger. “I forgot you were at a do-it-yourself paper. How is it, being editor-in-chief?”

Iris laughs. “I don’t have time to win Pulitzers, that’s for sure. Do you know my entire staff is on Team Flash now? Half my work is doing cover-ups.”

Lois lets out a theatrical groan and guides Iris into a wrought-iron chair at a little table for two. “Hate that. Perks of still technically being on maternity leave after I spent almost two years off-planet is that Perry lets me do whatever I want as long as I’m sending stuff in every once in a while.”

A waiter comes by. Iris didn’t even know they were at a restaurant – but apparently there are several aside from the two food courts. Lois chats him up by name while Iris covertly tries to take some weight off her feet. Her pumps are killing her. She sneaks a glance at Lois’s – she’s also wearing heels, but with the ease of one long since resigned to damaged Achilles tendons.

By the time Iris is tasting an absolutely beautiful coffee-flavored gelato, their conversation has moved away from work: Lois tells Iris about living on Argo and the trials of caring for a half-Kryptonian infant here on Earth; Iris fills Lois in on meeting and losing her adult daughter in less than a year and about the months filled with dread that her husband’s time remnant might murder her. Lois commiserates by telling her about Lex Luthor, and Iris can’t help but worry about taking care of a future West-Allen who’s sure to be a speed-force-powered toddler.

“You and me? We deserve an award,” Lois says, snorting.

Scraping to get the very last of the gelato, Iris looks up at her. “Lois, you have two Pulitzers.”

“You will in time, once that little paper picks up,” Lois says carelessly, and Iris blushes. She might not have grown up on a world where Lois Lane’s name was newspaper royalty, but her confidence still feels pretty damn good. “Which it must if it’s still leading the metahuman beat from Nora’s time.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Iris says. “For once, the only things I know about the future are good ones.”

“Amen,” Lois chuckles. “God, I’d go crazy with all the time travel. Other planets I can handle. Alien husband, got it. But waiting kills me every time.”

“At least there’s oxygen on earth,” Iris says flatly. “I…cannot even imagine traveling in space. It’s making my skin crawl right now.” She shudders for effect.

A phone chimes. On instinct, both she and Lois grab for theirs.  Iris laughs a little – it’s only an alarm she set last night so she would remember she wanted to go to the panel at 3.

“I have to go!” Iris blurts, pulling out a bill and putting it down on the table, gathering up her purse. “I’m gonna be late to Cat Grant’s talk on growing a media company-”

“Oh, just skip it,” Lois groans. “If you really want to meet her, I’ll introduce you. She hangs all over my husband every time she sees him and drunk texts me about how much she hates my freckles and adorable button nose. We owe each other a few punches.”

“Lois!”

Whether Cat Grant’s talk is actually going to be good, Iris does not find out. The floor beneath her shakes, shakes in a way Iris knows in her gut is not good. Needless to say, she did not pack a plasma rifle for the journalism convention.

Lois, on the other hand, looks more energetic than Iris has seen her since the end of the multiverse. She’s got an honest-to-god pen and paper out (how does she have time? Just record it!) and is already halfway across the room before Iris can stand.

“Lois! Where are you going?” Iris shouts after her.

“To find out what’s causing the earthquake,” Lois says like Iris is being an idiot.

Iris stares, and then the light comes on. They’re in a building chock-full of news media – most of whom are cowering beneath any cover they can find. They have no idea how widespread whatever this problem is, and people need information.

Iris and Lois are, perhaps, some of the only journalists in the world with the experience and chops to find out what’s going on in a (likely) unnatural disaster, and steal the scoop while they’re at it.

“I’m calling Barry,” Iris says, hurrying after Lois.

“Too slow, West,” Lois snorts. “I already pressed the emergency beacon in my watch.”

Chasing after her through the convention center towards street, Iris laughs. “You’re such a nerd.”

“A nerd who, if you’re not careful, is gonna steal your headline,” Lois points out. “And by God, your little baby newspaper needs it more than my storied career does. Go, get on the scene!”

As Iris nears the last few sets of stairs to reach the outside, she can see flashes of gold as Barry races around, presumably rescuing civilians from debris. This earthquake was so sudden – and in Metropolis, not on any major fault lines. Iris flicks back through her mental catalog of catastrophes: Geomancer? Malcom Merlyn’s earthquake machine?

There’s the edge of a cape in view now out the glass doors, and Iris notices Lois isn’t with her – there’s a young woman on the stairs, gripping the railing like she’s afraid the sky might fall. Before Iris knows it, Lois is sitting beside her, coaxing her hands off, stroking her hair, urging her to stand. She looks up and meets Iris’s eyes.

“Go get that headline and scoop all these old bags,” Lois commands. “I’ve got it here.”  

Iris huffs a laugh, then reaches down and takes off her shoes. “Yes ma’am,” she says, snapping off a quick salute and dropping her purse.

Armed only with her phone, recorder app open, and the will to prove her newspaper will last into her daughter’s time on its own merits, Iris runs.

[go-events]

GO Rom Com Spotlight: @wyvernquill

The amazing @wyvernquill (also WyvernQuill on AO3) has claimed Ruby Sparks to adapt for Good Omens in the Good Omens Rom Com Event.

For reference, here’s a little background about the source material!

About Ruby Sparks: Young author Calvin Weir-Fields (Paul Dano), once a literary darling, is having trouble composing his next novel. Following a therapist's advice, Calvin pulls out an old manual typewriter and creates a vivacious, flame-haired woman he dubs Ruby Sparks (Zoe Kazan). Overnight, Ruby leaps from the page into Calvin's home as a real flesh-and-blood woman. And, what's more, she's unaware that she's actually a fictional character and that her actions and feelings are dictated by whatever Calvin writes.

We spent some time chatting about how the adaptation is coming so far, as well as future plans for it! Now, get to know @wyvernquill a little better!

* * *

goromcom: Let’s begin with what Tumblr can tell me about you. You know how if you open a Tumblr chat with someone you haven't chatted to before, Tumblr tells you two things they post about? I wanted to tell you that yours reports that you post "about #fanart and #illustration". I really admire people who can draw *and* write. Do you enjoy one more than the other?

wyvernquill: Oh, don't ask me to choose between my brain-children! I love both for different reasons, and find some ideas are easier to express in writing, others through drawing; though I also love to combine the two by illustrating my fics or writing something based on some random thing I sketched during class. (I'm also a very quick artist, while my fics tend to balloon out of proportion - so "doing a quick illustration in an hour" and "writing a 102k epic" are two very different and really rather incomparable experiences!)

goromcom: Oh goodness, yes. Two very different creative outlets! But for now, let’s talk about writing. You chose to adapt Ruby Sparks as your rom com. Has this movie been a favorite of yours, or is there some other reason you chose it? 

wyvernquill: Cards on the table? I never heard of this movie before. I got very close to writing the fic without having seen it once, and only watched it a week or so ago. (And even then... it's not a *bad* movie, but, personally, I didn't grow attached to the characters at all. Just didn't really appeal to my tastes, I guess.) So, why Ruby Sparks?

Well, I made a List, capital L for significance. In the 12 hours before claims, I researched the plots of every single movie up for claiming - most of which I never heard of, clearly I don't watch enough romcoms - and categorised them into "absolutely not" "mmmmmaybe?" and "possibly", making my way through IMDB short descriptions and Wikipedia pages until the List was down to the top 10; most of which were movies I'd seen or at least heard of - except Ruby Sparks, which I chose for the simple reason that I'd ALREADY written an "accidental" AU of it.

The premise was exactly the same as roughly 3k of unfinished Doctor Who fic I scribbled together and never published, even though I was quite fond of it. I figured I could re-use my favourite elements of that fic, work off the base premise rather than the movie itself, and see where writing takes me.

goromcom: That is quite a ride! I’m a big proponent of re-introducing or recycling ideas or material that you find compelling but weren’t quite able to use before! It’s like, eco-awareness for your mind. :)

Given your history with this movie, this might be an odd question, but: What's your favorite moment of your movie, and are you looking forward to presenting it in your adaptation? Any loose plans for that scene that you can share?

wyvernquill: For reasons already outlined above, this isn't really based directly on any scene of the movie, but I think Aziraphale writing his idea of a "perfect husband" (and a progressively more thinly-veiled self-insert as the main character) will be a delight!

I greatly enjoy having the subjective perception of POV characters and objective reality be comically different - "I'm an excellent cook," he said, scraping the burned remnants of what could really no longer be called an omelette onto a plate - so I think I'll have some fun there. Maybe Aziraphale will defend his Artistic Vision (And Not Wish Fulfillment At All Shut Up) to someone? I'm not sure yet.

goromcom: I have a feeling I know the answer, but let me ask it anyway. Do you plan to stick very closely to the beats of the original story, or make bigger changes?

wyvernquill: Bigger changes, definitely. I might pluck an idea or two from the movie - and, surprisingly, the rough progression of events was pretty close to what I planned anyway - but it'll be rather different. (See next answer - I might well take more from Mary Shelley than from Ruby Sparks!)

Also, I'm still a bit undecided on this, but I might actually have Aziraphale publish some of his writing about Crowley from the start, something which doesn't happen in the movie until the very end.

goromcom: What's an interesting decision you've made in your planning so far--a notable casting decision, a changing of venue, or some other plan you have to paint Good Omens all over your rom com?

wyvernquill: Well, the moral of the movie was more or less that Writer Guy--no, I don't even remember his name!--has to overcome his controlling half-neurotic nature so he can be happy both among his more easy-going family and with the freespirited Ruby. Instead, I intend to have Aziraphale struggling a la Modern Prometheus (what does it mean to create life, to play God, to have a Creature that thinks for itself?), creating a subplot that is more overtly philosophical and thought-provoking, with a hint of religiosity - the essence of what GO is to me.(Meaning the final conflict will not be Writer Guy warping Ruby into a helpless parody of herself, but instead Aziraphale growing afraid of Crowley, who's beginning to show traits he never wrote for him, attempting to "erase" him again before he loses control entirely... but it all ends happily, don't worry! ;))

goromcom: Those are some pretty interesting ideas you’re playing with! I’m looking forward to reading it. But let’s not give too much away, and move on to my last question. I am blatantly stealing this from The Good Place: The Podcast, but here goes: Tell me something "good". It can be something big or small. It can be a charity you think is doing good work, or you can talk about how great your pet is.

wyvernquill: Oh, the temptation to talk about my four darling cats is Real(tm)... but instead, I want to give a little shout-out to the absolutely fantasticamazingbrilliant teacher at my university who offered a course on fanfic and fandom studies this past term, and who is letting me write my term paper on the Ineffable Fandom!!!

She's the best, lots of fun to discuss with, and research for the paper - deadline in two weeks, I've not yet started writing it, let's hope I get it finished speedily! - is an absolute delight.

(The only difficulty will be staying within the page limit... there's just so much to write about with this wonderful fandom.)

Her course was the highlight of my week, and fan studies (unsurprisingly!) turned out to be a field that really interests me. So thank you so much, Ms Fanfic Teacher, I'm very grateful for... just about everything!!! ^-^ <3

goromcom: That sounds like a fantastic class and an even better teacher. You have to admire the people who go that extra mile to inspire and lift up their students, and get them actually excited about learning.

And you know what else is going to be fantastic? The GO adaptation of Ruby Sparks, coming soon!

[tksfandomhellhole]

totally didn't just give up on the tumblr app and boot up my laptop just to post this

Fandom: Apex Legends (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Mirage | Elliott Witt Summary: 

Mirage is his own biggest fan, because he knows no one else will be.

Mostly an introspective/character piece I did a few weeks back for Mirage and lowkey a plea for buff (which is finally happening!!) Caustic is technically there as well.

Mirage would be elated if you told him that you'd find his picture if you looked up "Self-absorbed" in the dictionary. The idea of negative press doesn't exist to him.

Or at least that's what he tries to make it seem like.

So it would come as a surprise to most that perhaps the most egotistical and self-absorbed of the Legends does not check the ratings or read the comments on any forums about the games.

In fact, aside from hanging fanart on the walls, he keeps any fan letters in a box under his bed only for days where he's at his worst.

(He tends to have a lot of those)

Because the reality is, Mirage is his own biggest fan.

If he wasn't, who else would be? He's certain it's no one.

Growing up the youngest of four boys, it was easy for Elliott to internalize a lot of things that his brothers didn't really mean.

One of those things was that being the youngest made him the weakest.

When his brothers went off to fight in the Frontier War they told him he had the very important job of staying here and watching over their mom. He knew it was just a way to make him feel better about not being able to fight the good fight. That once again he was being excluded because he was the youngest.

It didn't really make him feel that much better when the war was still going on and he was sitting at home feeling useless.

And it definitely didn't make him feel any better when they were reported MIA once the war ended. That now he'd never get the chance to prove himself. That he had stayed at home, useless, while his brothers had fought and lost their lives.

Elliott hates being useless.

Unfortunate that his curse of uselessness seems to have followed him into the games, the one place where he thought he could finally prove himself.

Most of his teammates wouldn't guess it, but Mirage actually brings his 110% to every game.

Problem is, his 110% is not even 70% of some of his more skilled teammates.

And when everyone besides you brings something valuable to the table, you have to hide your inadequacies behind self-deprecation and humor.

Today he's the jump master and the pressure to not make a shit landing might already be getting to him a little. "Just a thought, we could land here." He throws out, trying to gauge his teammates' reactions to the spot. Annnnd dead silence. Great. He takes their silence as confirmation and launches anyways.

"Follow the leader! Or don't- do whatever, as long as we win."

Of course, suddenly his teammates find some other spot far more interesting than the one he pinged, and take that as invitation to silently break off.

He lands on his own and loots as quickly as possible. By some stroke of luck, it's not an active spot, and he gets the drop on an enemy Lifeline.

"Nobody had your back, huh? Hate when that happens." He tells her, irony not lost on him.

He loots her stuff as quickly as possible and drops out, hoping to avoid any smoke from her teammates.

"I'm down!" He hears Wraith say over the comm lines. He takes a look at his map and finds she's none too close to him.

But what is Mirage, if not at least a good teammate, even at the cost of biting off way more than he can chew?

"Uhhh, okay, don't panic, I'm coming to save you." he says with what feels like is becoming his trademark uncertainty.

He makes it all of thirty yards before the squad from earlier runs up on him, and two of them against two of him doesn't work out in his favor. "Bad news, I'm down!" He says over the comm line, using the few extra seconds his knockdown cloak buys him to inch his way into a corner out of sight. Another squad joins the fray, and the first squad ignores him in favor of not dying. He watches the firefight go down suddenly regretting his choice of words earlier. He'd much rather his team all be in one place right now.

To his relief, he can see on the map that Caustic seems to have made his way towards Wraith's now banner and recovers it.

He's not too optimistic about his own outlook though. Caustic is not the fastest legend and there's still a sizeable distance between them.

There's also the fact that Caustic has no real reason to come recover him anyways.

Mirage isn't the worst shooter in the game, but he's no Bangalore. And he's no Pathfinder, no Crypto, no Gibraltar- hell even Revenant at least deploys a death totem that he doesn't care who uses.

No he doesn't do any of the things that everyone else does. He's just another- or well several- pretty faces for people to shoot at.

And he tries, he really does. He keeps an eye on everyone's shields and weapons, keeps an eye out for useful equipment, revives and respawns teammates as soon as possible, but deep down he knows it isn't good enough. There's no advantage to teaming with him. And if there's no advantage, it means anyone stuck with him is at a disadvantage.

When he first joined the Apex Games, the last thing he was worried about was the other people. He was used to looking out for himself- he had already learned the hard way that he was the only person who'd care about what happened to him outside of his mother. So he outfitted himself with his holo-tech and did his best to make a name for himself in the games. He didn't realize at the time how integral teamwork would become, and how lacking that in turn made him.

No matter which way you flip it, all he is good for is eating bullets.

He wants to improve his holograms in some way, but he's no Wattson, and he didn't inherit any of his mother's genius. So instead he tinkers with an old holo-suit every weekend trying to figure out a way to make the modifications he wants a reality. Instead he jokes about how bad he is at this while putting in extra hours at the range whenever possible. Instead he enters combat with the confidence of a seasoned pro and none of the skill to back it up.

Self-absorbed, self-serving, and insufficient. Well aren't I just the greatest person to have on the team? Mirage thinks loathingly.

Maybe it's more fitting if he dies here alone, nothing but fakes to back him- the biggest fake of them all- up. Maybe he was wrong to think he could really be a Legend, much less a champion.

As his eyes begin to cloud over, he's ready for death's cold embrace yet again.

Instead, someone's shoes are in front of him now, and a muffled sigh of discontent is heard as a hand on his shoulder pushes him backwards gently and he's suddenly jabbed.

He really doesn't know when Caustic got here, but he expresses his thanks as Caustic pulls him to his feet.

"Your gratitude is acknowledged, let us move now before the ring comes in." The remnants of the earlier fight are still here in the form of half looted deathboxes, and he has to scour through some of those for some heals and ammo before they move on.

It's looking like the respawn beacon they were heading for won't be in the next ring, unfortunately for Wraith, so they cut their losses and head to the center.

They encounter another two or three squads, and one rambunctious Octane along the way, Mirage continuously finding himself downed in increasingly ludicrous ways.

"I've been observing... I hate to be the first person to break it to you, but I dont think you were really made for these kinds of games, Witt." Caustic confesses, while reviving Mirage for the 4th time.

He just sighs. "Yeah... yea, I know."

"So then why do you do it? Why the masochistic endeavor of placing yourself in an environment where you are the weakest link?"

"Wow, ok, little harsh there." He says, pride hurting more than the injection site of the syringe. "I just... want someone to remember me. And I guess I thought, 'What better way to be remembered than dying in the most glorious bloodsport of our generation?"

"A foolish sentiment. Life is insignificant; why not accept your fate?"

"Listen, I don't have to explain myself to you." Mirage says, a little defensive, and more than a little annoyed.

"Have it your way. Your incredible knack for narrowly defying death has provided me an insurmountable amount of data. So much to notate..."

"Glad to be of service." Mirage mutters bitterly.

Mirage does feel a little stupid when he compares his reasoning to other people's. It's not noble or some part of a larger plan. He isn't searching for answers. He isn't doing it because he has to. He isn't even being straight about it and just acting out of boredom like Octane or Revenant.

He's just worried that once everyone has forgotten him it'll be like he never existed at all.

His mom has already started forgetting... who will be left when she's gone?

It's the one thing that truly terrifies him.

So he keeps going on, even though he's the weakest link.

He keeps going on even if he's the biggest joke amongst the legends.

He keeps going on, even if everyone else is laughing at him and not with him.

Because as long as they're laughing he knows they see him.

Really, he's more concerned about what's gonna happen once they stop finding him funny.

No respawn beacon will ever be able to save him then. 

---

They don't win the game.

He wakes up alone in the med ward, common procedure for the squads upon elimination from the game.

He heads back to his room, not bothering to check the results, congratulate the champions, or talk to any of the other legends.

No one stops him.

He sits on the floor next to his bed and pulls out the box from underneath, taking out a letter at random.

The words start to blur about a paragraph in, and he puts it back once he realizes his tears are just drenching it entirely at this point.

He's ready to go home.

But there's nothing left for him to go back too.

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 6. Argus Limited

This is a re-posting from Oct. 27th, 2018 in an effort to get all my recaps fully on tumblr. Thanks!

Volume Six is here, folks! I am so very, stupidly excited for this season. Heartfelt thanks go out to my friend who was all, “lol yeah sure” when I begged to use their FIRST account to watch. There are heroes in this world and they’re one of them.

A quick note about recaps from here on out: they will (my productivity willing) be uploaded sometime on Thursday or Friday proceeding the new episode. This is partly so that I’m not scrambling to post immediately afterwards—stress and bad writing all around—and partly so that, you know, we can actually recap stuff before the next episode airs. So yeah, that’s the goal.

Let’s do it!

We open on a gorgeous, snowy scene with ROOSTER TEETH PRESENTS smack dab in the middle. You know that feeling you get when you hear the Harry Potter theme at the beginning of a new film and the whole theater loses their shit? Same with Doctor Who and Star Wars? Whatever your preferred fandom, the point is I get the same chills when RWBY comes back and it’s excellent.

The animation really is gorgeous though and I sigh happily whenever I see it, thinking back to the days when cookies disappeared directly into Ruby’s mouth. There’s nostalgia, sure, but it doesn’t beat this detail.

We hear the distant sound of a train and then we’re thrown into exactly what we’ve wanted for literal years now: Team RWBY back together again, fighting not creepy adults but just some good, old fashioned grimm. They’re chimeras and… griffins? Ngl I’m not entirely sure, but they’re big, flying, fire-breathing nasties, so that’s really all we need to know. Luckily everyone falls back into old habits, easily supporting one another and executing perfect attacks (a contrast to the residual tension we’ll see in just a bit). Ruby is so busy posing after a successful kill that she misses the grimm coming at her from behind. Weiss saves her ass with a cheeky, “Thank me later!” At the end of the fight we get a reversal wherein a hit nearly sends Weiss tumbling off the side of the train, though Ruby grabs her at the last second with her own, “Thank me later!” It’s a fun little exchange made better when we think back to the Vytal Tournament. Weiss still “had her back” then too, but was more resistant to Ruby’s proclamation that they’re BFFs. Now the teasing is on both ends.

Notably, Ruby saves Weiss by taking her into her semblance, creating a cloud of rose petals that are half red, half white. Now combined with the old team-ups and some shots in the new opening, this has led a number of fans (myself included) to wonder if a WhiteRose pairing is in our future. Which also means that the ship wars are in full swing. Needless to say I’m not about that nonsense and I’ll only point out here what I said episodes back: if it’s a queer relationship with one of our main girls, and not a random side character who was previously out to murder a whole family? I’m on board.

Back in the fight though. The rest of team RNJR appears with Nora exclaiming, “Why is it always something?” God that’s a mood. Welcome to adulthood, kid. It’s just one crisis after another—except in your case the crises are objectively more dangerous. Sorry about that. We get to see Jaune’s improved reflexes as he fends off all the fireballs with his shield while Ren and Nora team up to knock some of the monsters out.

Honestly, I love this trope in action stories. Where—as Nora does here—a character just shouts out a friend’s name to get their attention and they immediately know what kind of move they’re about to pull off. It’s made more hilarious to me given that RWBY once had attack names and Jaune at least made the attempt with JNPR...but apparently they're not needed anymore. So unrealistic, yet so very cool when used.

So yeah, things are going pretty smoothly… up until Oscar yells out “Tunnel!” Ruby saves Weiss from falling, they manage to get over or between the cars, and in the sudden darkness we transition to what we only realize later is a flashback. At least, I didn’t realize it until later. Totally thought we’d had a time skip and they were just hopping another train…

My stupidity aside, before we hit the train station we actually see a familiar hallway filled with angry voices discussing the disaster at Haven—one of which is Adam’s. I really enjoyed this technique, wherein we slowly pan across the room as the voices grow more frantic and the sounds of fighting break out, the camera revealing bodies scattered across the floor. By the time we reach the throne—and Adam on it— we realize that the fight occurred prior to this moment, something that Adam is now remembering. He goes all skyward scream on us as he howls menacingly. Okay, dude. Compared to Cinder and Salem you’re really not all that.

Now we’re at the train station where Qrow is narrating a letter to Ironwood. Hell yes, please bring back the badass, protective Ironwood who defended the students at Beacon and stood up for Weiss. I’d be very pleased if he joins the RWBY gang by the Volume’s end. Qrow’s optimistic about the trip—they’ve plans to reach Ironwood before the letter does, which says either good things about Remnant’s transportation or bad things about its mail—though of course we as the audience know it’s not going to be nearly that simple. We learn that only two weeks have passed since the battle, but people are still reeling from all the implications. Lionheart tragically lost his life defending the school and oh, some students coincidentally were there and did some stuff. Excellent choice in showing us the mindless crowds while we hear this, the naive masses who, yes, would absolutely believe a story like this.

It’s easy to criticize no one supposedly noticing Salem, magic, the finger Ozpin has in every pie, etc. but ultimately people believe what they’re told—especially when it’s much easier to swallow than the truth.

Enough of the doom and gloom though. Ruby is having the time of her life.

Qrow: “What’s with the running?”

Ruby: “What’s with the standing?!”

I love this girl so very much and it’s wonderful when we get to see her acting like the kid she is. She uses her semblance with abandon because yeah, if I could turn into rose petals I’d be doing that all the time too. Ruby teases Yang with something from the gift shop and I really hope we get to see what that is. Yes, we end the episode with everyone left stranded in the wilderness, but if Yang’s bike can survive then so can Ruby’s souvenirs.

(Seriously though they presumably lost all their luggage that sucks.)

Everyone else is in top, feel-good form too. Nora daydreams about hitting the beach, complete with a thought bubble of topless Ren and a beachball. Weiss quips about how she spent all last Volume getting out of Atlas, thanks, but Ruby reassures her that at least she’s back with the team now. When two jokers arrive boasting about how they’ll be the ones keeping the train safe from grimm, Ruby and Yang act exactly as nieces should when your cool uncle is telling them off. AKA, making fun of them behind his back.

God they must have been terrors as toddlers. I mean we already know Yang carted Ruby off into the woods one day so yeah, I’m pretty confident in expressing my surprise that Tai doesn’t have a full head of gray hair.

The two Nice Guys go on to specify that they’ll provide extra protection for a “generous tip,” which—while essentially a throwaway line—reminds us how most of the world functions outside of our close-knit cast. Money, and more specifically Schnee money, quite literally dictates who lives and who dies. Not everything about RWBY is fantasy oriented…

We learn that everyone is just waiting on Blake— “as usual”—and we cut to her with Ilia as the two of them say their goodbyes. Ilia will be helping Ghira lead the Faunus in a “new movement” and is supposedly 100% on the straight and narrow now. Cool? I guess? To be honest I’m fine with her taking a back seat for this Volume. There’s a moment where we get a shot of Ilia and Blake’s feet, the former’s angled forward in a classic kiss pose, and I was super glad to see that they were just sharing a hug. I really don’t want the first LGBTQIA kiss on RWBY to be iffy on consent, considering that Ilia knows Blake isn’t interested. Hug though? That was super sweet.

Sun and Neptune show up to say their goodbyes too. They’re heading to Vacuo to meet up with the rest of their team because, in Sun’s words, he’s the “worst leader” ever. You kinda are, dude? I loved Sun up until they had him following Blake without her permission and continuing to do so after she asked for space, all in the name of the guy supposedly knowing what the girl really needs. The reminder that Sun abandoned his team to do this just reinforces how much I dislike that plot-line.

Sun gets the kiss—on the cheek—and after leaving Neptune lectures him on “letting [Blake] go.” Except it’s not about you? Blake is off to quite literally save the world and the fact that these guys view that as a threat to any potential relationship is… icky. Ugh. Oh well. They’re presumably gonna be offscreen for a while.

The train finally arrives and everyone piles in. We’re back to bunk beds! And of course Team RWBY is situated exactly as they were in Beacon’s dorms. Weiss gets annoyed with Ruby’s cloak hanging down over the side. Blake has a book in her lap. Ruby challenges Yang to a video game. Cue nostalgia. I fully expect fluffy AU fics where they ride the train all the way to Atlas and treat the trip as one giant, dramatic sleepover. This is non-negotiable.

Tension seeps back in though when Yang moves to pull her luggage from the rack and Blake immediately hops up to help her. In a super guilty “I know I fucked up and now I’m gonna smother you” way. Really excellent voice acting here. Yang ends up reassuring her. No, things aren’t perfect between them yet… but they’re definitely improving.

While short, for me this scene was perfectly balanced between acknowledging the girls’ complicated relationship without totally undermining the happy mood. Nicely done.

Then Qrow shows up with a drink. A drink with a slice of orange on the side. I have never enjoyed a moment more and I was so surprised I didn't take a screenshot of it. Clearly I was too distracted and am I too lazy to go back for one now? You betcha. The point is everything is fine, dandy, and filled with alcohol.

So of course RT goes and ruins it for me. Something hits the train and in a split second everyone is on high alert. A quick peek out the window reveals grimm and Blake mutters darkly that it’s “just my luck.”

Qrow: “Not yours.”

Are they gonna leave the safety of the train to those bozos from before? Hell no. Especially when one guy is grabbed right when the fight starts. I mean, poor dude, but he also kinda sucked as a Huntsmen. He wouldn’t have even made it past Beacon’s initiation, let alone graduated.

…I guess he’s kind of like early Jaune? Useless, wannabe hero who acts more confident than he actually is? Aw, now I really do feel bad.

He’s grimm food though. Gotta move on with our lives.

The other dude isn’t doing too well either, though RWBY and NJR + Oscar quickly show up, coming full circle to where we began the episode. Oscar insists that he’s got this fight under control which tells me (hopefully) that in the past two weeks they’ve had serious conversations about if and when Ozpin gets to have control. That’s super great, though I do wish we could have seen it. Flashbacks, maybe?

As the fight begins Ruby announces that the plan amounts to “don’t let anyone else die.” Uh...Ruby? Buddy. Pal. This is why people die. Because they didn’t have plans! Pyrrha—god rest her reckless soul—went off after a freaking Maiden by herself. Jaune got Amber killed because he didn’t obey the plan of watching the door. Lionheart frantically calls Salem with no real plan for what he’s going to offer her in exchange for his life! Plans are important, Ruby. You’re the team strategist. It was a badass line, I grant you, but please do not.

Luckily, no one (else) dies. That would have been pretty brutal for a premier. +1 point for world building where we see that trains like this have built in defenses to fight off grimm. -2 points for how useless it ends up being. As Qrow quickly points out, the turrets are drawing all the grimm to the front of the train where the passengers are. So, not good. Oscar is charged with telling the surviving goon to knock it off already while Qrow faces off against the super fierce chimera grimm. Not gonna lie though, when its tail first started up I thought Qrow was getting attacked by a dove…

This time when we hit the tunnel everyone makes it back safely inside with the exception of Goon #2 who gets his arm injured in the scramble. He’s literally crying on the ground when, in a pretty harsh move, Qrow drags him up and demands to know what the hell all that was. Civility and benefit of the doubt? Not Qrow’s strong points. It allows Ruby to take control of the situation though. How do you make sure that your cast of kids is continually calling the shots?  A) isolate them and B) when you can’t do that have the adults act like children instead. We see that a fair bit in RWBY.  

Jaune steps in to heal the guy’s arm, which is an unexpected surprise. I honestly thought we'd get a whole Volume’s worth of him figuring out how to access and control his semblance, though I suppose once it manifests you’ve got the basics down. We’ve seen that semblances can be improved upon—Ruby turning other people she carries into petals; Ren dampening the emotions of a whole train—so presumably Jaune will be able to heal more complex and life-threatening things in the future. We also hear in the ensuing conversation that he can amplify someone else’s aura…to be decided what exactly that means, how it connects to healing, and what the limits of the skill is.

During some theorizing about the attack Ozpin brings up that grimm are attracted to the relic they’re carrying and… oh boy. Here we go. Is it tradition that every recap the fandom goes for Ozpin’s throat while I stand here defending him? Might be. Let’s create a (semi) comprehensive list:

This might have been less of a secret and more of a slip. The guy is thousands of years old and the forces they’re dealing with are stupidly complicated. He can’t info dump every detail of a multi-century war in one sitting. So—

He might have thought this was one of those innocuous things that shouldn’t take precedent right now. Not the sort of thing he needs to worry them with. He claims in the promo that he didn't lie to the group and he quite possibly didn't. There's a big difference between lying and not telling someone every single possible thing that might be pertinent. Especially when—

We know that grimm are already attracted to people/negative emotion and they’re sequestered within a whole train full of presumably stressed travelers. There’s no reason to think the artifact would put them in more danger than they already are and therefore isn't at the top of the list of revelations to dole out. Especially with—

Qrow and his bad luck semblance. He literally just implied that the grimm were there because of him. There’s a reason he didn’t want Ruby near him during the fight with Tyrian and now they’re all stuck together in close quarters. The grimm were coming anyway. Even if we didn't have Qrow's semblance and big crowds we can also assume as much because of—

Those turrets. They weren’t there for a fashion statement. The whole train was crazy armored. They’re clearly very used to getting attacked on this route. It's a normal thing.

All of which is to say that the relic is one of MANY reasons why they might have gotten a buttload of grimm on their tail. Ozpin mentions this as one possibility in a very “Here’s something else to consider” way and everyone (characters and fandom alike) jump on him like he’s solely responsible for this predicament. Besides, what would they have done differently? Not carry the relic? That’s not an option. Be more on guard? They’re already constantly on guard. None of their actions would have changed had they known.

Really though, it’s the keeping of secrets that people are mad about, not necessarily what the secret is. So if we ignore the possibility above that Ozpin legit didn’t think this was worth mentioning/even forgot about it, we have a) he withheld the information because it might have made them wary about traveling with others, but they need to get to Atlas as fast as possible and the train is the best way to do that. So yeah, that’s a possible change, though I agree with Ozpin’s theoretical logic here. It was worth the risk.

b) he didn’t tell them because—again—worry is a negative emotion and that might have just doubled their problem. Awful as it is, knowing you're carrying a thing that might attract more grimm is one of the best ways to make sure that you do, in fact, attract them. Knowing what the relic does is dangerous. 

c) he doesn’t trust them with all the information about these super powerful relics that are going to decide the fate of their world. Which honestly? Kind of fair. Yeah, I know he promised them no more secrets, but this is a centuries old, god-like entity making a promise to a child. It’s not even really a matter of trust anymore. We’ve got a core group of nine here and everyone has someone else they’re close to. Ruby isn’t going to keep secrets from Tai. Blake will probably fill Sun in when she sees him again. Weiss is close to her sister. Etc. In short, as soon as this many people know a secret it isn't a secret anymore. Ozpin is no doubt aware that anything he tells to their now massive group is fair game and he has to carefully consider what he wants to risk going public/landing in Salem's hands. A general doesn't tell every lieutenant the details of every plan. That's a good way to lose the war. Fate of the world vs. a promise made to Yang? C’mon. There are priorities here.

d) finally, we’ve seen evidence—particularly after the iconic food fight—that Ozpin desperately wants his students to be kids as long as they can. He might keep information to himself simply because he doesn’t want to burden them. And given all the reasons listed above for why they'd be dealing with grimm anyway, what's the harm in giving them what little peace he can? It's not perfect reasoning and if this is the case the others have a right to be annoyed, but it's understandable. It certainly doesn't make Ozpin the monster I see countless posts painting him as.

Plus, Yang? I’m not sure you have the right to get indignant about keeping secrets right now. Granted, there’s some ambiguity surrounding whether she’s mentioned Raven as the Spring Maiden, but regardless we haven’t seen any evidence that she’s told the group the details of what happened down in the vault. That’s a pretty big thing to be keeping to yourself.

A lot bigger than, “Oh yeah this relic attracts the thing we’re attracting anyway. My bad.”

Why the relic attracts grimm is another question. Because it’s connected to the original brothers? Just because Salem wants it and she seems to be the grimms’ creator? We’ll have to see.

Ruby interrupts everyone’s fury to point out that they have bigger issues at the moment and Ozpin’s expression kind of kills me? He looks so shocked to have anyone standing up for him, even if it’s a defense of practicality instead of his actions. I wonder if this Volume is going to have the team starting to lose a little faith in Ruby. Given the clear divide here (angry Ren, Nora, Weiss, Yang, and Blake on one side; Ruby, Oscar, Ozpin on the other) this might be a major theme moving forward. It would make a lot of sense too given Ruby's past relationship with Ozpin. To Yang he's just her headmaster; to Ruby he's the headmaster that let her into her dream school early. To Blake he's someone who wanted information from her before she was ready to give it; to Ruby he's the adult who gave her advice at the dance and was emotionally open with her about committing more mistakes "than any man, woman, or child." No matter how far she's come, they'll always be a part of Weiss that sees Ozpin as the teacher who didn't give her the leadership position she thought she deserved; to Ruby he's the man that has put a staggering amount of trust in her: by letting her into his school, giving her a team, sending her to Mountain Glenn, etc.

Now, it might be time for Ruby to put her trust in Ozpin.

Fight temporarily averted, they decide to separate the teams… which felt a little forced to me. I mean I get it. As said, giant group. It’s hard to write and keep track of that many, so let’s knock three offstage for a while. Jaune, Ren, and Nora will see the people to safety while Ruby and the rest of the gang eventually catch up. We get a glimpse of Maria—the old lady with awesome glasses—clearly plotting something and then everyone heads back to the roof to finish the fight with the grimm.

Blake has a quick vision of Adam; the last time she separated a train car. Excellent touch there. Ruby tells Ren to use his semblance through the scroll, but we also get a glimpse of their signals getting weaker. Another nice touch considering how important we know the scrolls are throughout the RWBY universe: how the team keeps in contact during the Volume Four short, the damage that the fall of the CCT tower has caused, etc.

We get a final, epic showdown with a massive grimm where everyone’s teamwork proves to be some top tier stuff. Blake and Yang capture it using Blake’s ribbon. Weiss freezes off its wings. Then—in a fantastic split screen—Ruby and Qrow both use their scythes to cut the creature in two. I’m here for the power family moves.

Only problem is that a final fireball from the grimm hits the train, derailing their section. Weiss keeps them all from dying an awful death, but now they’re kind of stranded.

I mean, they already were stranded before, but I guess the hope was the back of the train would have carried them farther down the tracks before losing momentum?

In the final scene we have an unexpected voice happily proclaiming that they’re still alive but boy, that was a close one! Maria hobbles out, having clearly planned to be with this group when they went their own way.

My personal theory? She knows (and to some extent recognizes) Ozpin. I can’t believe he wasn’t involved in a conflict like the Great War. Hell, he was probably at the center of it and Maria looks very old by RWBY standards. We have no concept of how long people in this world can live so I don’t think it’s a stretch to put her in her 90s or well over 100—old enough to have fought in the War and potentially recognize one of the central figures, even in a new reincarnation depending on her instincts, knowledge, and semblance. Her name lends a bit of credence to her age, if nothing else. As far as I know “Maria” doesn’t mean/isn’t evocative of a color… though I’m far from an expert. Could totally be wrong about that.

Regardless, we’ll see. More info arrives next week!

Other Details of Note

The grimm are at a distance when we first spot them and they actually look a lot like crows. The same motif we’ve seen with Raven and Qrow’s entrances but, you know, bad.

I really liked Qrow’s line to Ironwood about how they’re bringing “more than bad news.” It’s appropriately vague—can’t go admitting that Oz is back with the group—and at the same time quite up-lifting.

I personally take Ozpin’s “I hope they’re not from Beacon” as more of a joke than a true worry. If you’re telling me that this old as balls control freak doesn’t remember every student that’s ever passed through those doors… I don’t believe you.

When Blake is saying goodbye to Ilia and Sun we have lots of animation for her ears, helping to express her emotions. It says a lot about her character development that she hasn’t re-adopted the bow in such a crowded, human packed space.

Neptune is pursuing the “wrong tree” okay lol that was good.

When Neptune and Sun discuss re-uniting the team we briefly hear the soundtrack from their Vytal Festival match. Excellent.

Interestingly, Oscar gives Ozpin control immediately during the conversation about the relic, almost like he already knew what was going to be revealed and understood that it was important… I wonder how much they’re sharing thoughts now, two weeks later.

Here, have a beach Ren and happy birb. Yes, I went back for the screenshots...

[peppermint-shamrock]

On Mischaracterization and Backlash

tl;dr Peppermint bitches about prevalent fanon that she doesn’t like.

This is primarily going to be talking about Atem and Yuugi, since I’m more invested in them than say, Kaiba or Malik, but I would say this issue occurs with pretty much all of the major/popular characters. I’m also sure this applies to the spinoffs as well, but I will only be talking about the original in this post. Of course, I think this is a general problem, and I would encourage reflection on it in regards to other characters/series too.

Fanon, Headcanon, and Mischaracterization

Most of you are probably familiar with these terms, but for the sake of clarity, I’ll define these terms as I understand them and will be using them in this post.

Headcanon - An individual’s belief or interpretation of a character, event, etc., that is neither contradicted nor confirmed by canon (although it can have hints towards it).

“Headcanon” - a common misuse of headcanon, in which the belief/interpretation is clearly contradicted by canon - no amount of freedom of interpretation can get around the fact that it’s just plain incorrect.

Fanon - When a headcanon or “headcanon” is prevalent and shared by significant numbers of fans, and is often popular enough to even be confused with or taken to be canon by those fans.

Mischaracterization - when a character is represented in a way inconsistent with their personality/actions in canon. This is often expressed as exaggeration of traits the character does possess in canon, but taken to an extreme and reductive degree, where other aspects of their character are downplayed/ignored, to be inaccurate. However, it can also be expressed as traits the character does NOT possess in canon at all.

Mischaracterization can be part of fanon and “headcanons”, but doesn’t have to be. In some cases, mischaracterization can be done deliberately (such as for a crackfic/humor or role reversals), with the understanding that it is not plausible in canon.

Just to be clear - there’s nothing inherently “bad” about these things. However, they can certainly be incorrect, and it annoys me when things that are incorrect are taken as canon - not even “up for debate” but taken as absolute fact.

Characterization and Mischaracterization in YGO

Characterization is a complicated issue in YGO, because canon is complicated in YGO. We have the manga canon, we have the Toei anime canon, we have the DM anime canon, we have the dubbed anime canon, we have the movies, we have R, we have the video games, we have Capsule Monsters...granted, not all of this is considered canon, but it does influence people’s perceptions of characters.

So, characterization can be different between the different canons, and what would be mischaracterization in one canon may, in fact, be accurate to another canon. It is also the case that most of the major characters change and grow over time, making their early characterization much different than their late characterization - Atem in the manga is perhaps the most obvious example. Often, fans will mix the characterizations (or what they believe to be the characterization) from different canons and different times, which can create some muddy mischaracterization problems. After all, Atem issuing harsh penalty games is not out of character for the early manga, but post-Duelist Kingdom, it would be inaccurate to portray him inflicting those. Yuugi threatening Kaiba is canon to the DSOD dub, but would be out of character to portray him doing so outside of the dub context.

Regardless, there are some things that are inaccurate no matter which canon you go by.

I won’t pretend to be an expert in fandom history - I never watched this show as a kid, so I’m a latecomer to the fandom. However, the Internet never forgets, as they say, so I’ve had some exposure to the remnants of old fandom, and from this, I’ve identified three rough “eras” of mischaracterization: “young”, “abridged”, and “backlash”. These roughly occurred in that order, and I say roughly because you can still find all of these in modern fandom, and likely “backlash” existed even in the early days, just not to the extent I see it in recent fandom. Perhaps a “fandom old” could give more insight into this or narrow down these areas, but these are my personal observations.

“Young” Fandom Mischaracterization:

The “traditional” mischaracterization. The kind that mostly everyone complains about these days, at least in my corner of Tumblr. I call this “young” because it came out of the days of fandom before I got here, and also because it seems to come from young (as in young teens) fans more than others. It still persists to this day, but is nowhere near as popular as it once was.

This is the kind of mischaracterization that gives us Anzu bashing, where she’s made into an evil and manipulative person who doesn’t care about her friends. She becomes completely unrecognizable, as the only thing she shares with her canon self is an attraction to Atem, which is twisted into something evil.

This is the kind of mischaracterization that gives us the yami/hikari fanon, which is little more than a euphemism for seme/uke - essentially making characters into bad yaoi stereotypes. Atem, Kaiba, Yami Malik, and Yami Bakura are characterized as extremely suave, sexy, powerful, dominant, aggressive, controlling, protective, etc, in a way that makes them hardly distinguishable from one another. Yuugi, Jounouchi, Malik, and Bakura are characterized as cute, innocent, powerless, submissive, helpless, passive, etc, again in a way that makes them hardly distinguishable from one another. Their unique personalities are stripped away.

Often Atem is made cruel and abusive towards Yuugi, Yami Malik is made hyperactive towards Malik, and Yami Bakura is made to be gruff but caring towards Bakura.

In modern fandom, at least Tumblr fandom, it’s pretty well accepted now that these things are mischaracterizations, as Atem is recognized to be an awkward lost soul who cares very deeply about his friends, especially Yuugi, Yami Bakura is recognized as having no idea what he’s doing, and also abusive towards his host, Yami Malik is recognized as the manifestation of of Malik’s trauma and therefore distinct from Yami Bakura and Atem, and Anzu is recognized as someone who cares about and supports her friends. Because of this, I don’t really have to complain about this one much, although I will confess that most of these things annoy me enough to cause me to immediately lose interest in a fanfic.

“Abridged” Fandom Mischaracterization

Mischaracterization done for humor. I call this type of characterization “abridged” because that is probably the most obvious case of this. However, this can encompass more than just the abridged series characterizations - in fact, the one that particularly bothers me the most didn’t come from YGOTAS at all. But it is the spirit of humor that ties these mischaracterizations together.

Aside from YGOTAS, this gives us my personal unfavorite, Atem as an idiot that doesn’t understand modern technology or modern culture/slang, or doesn’t understand anything except dueling. I’ve talked about this plenty, but this is completely inconsistent with canon, as Atem uses technology on a regular basis, has all of Yuugi’s memories, and even believed himself to be Yuugi for some time. There is no reason why he shouldn’t understand everything that Yuugi would.

Related to this is a characterization of Atem where he will inflict penalty games/send people or things to the Shadow Realm/murder at the drop of a hat. Again, he knows how to work a toaster, he’s not going to banish it to hell. He’s also not going to inflict a penalty game on someone for cutting in line or otherwise mildly inconveniencing him/Yuugi - most of the penalty games were the result of Yuugi or friends getting badly hurt.

We’d be here all day if I listed everything, but those two particularly stick out to me as annoying. With this mischaracterization, I do feel bad about getting so annoyed by it sometimes, because in a way, it seems less legitimate to get annoyed when it’s clearly done for humor. But personally, I think the issue for me is not the humor, it’s when it’s taken as canon so often that even when clearly a joke, it rubs me the wrong way. And it IS taken as canon - I have seen posts comparing “fanon” (usually the above “young” mischaracterization) with “canon” (this “abridged” mischaracterization, usually). Neither is accurate, yet one is accepted that way. This also brings me to the final category:

“Backlash” fandom mischaracterization:

Because a lot of people have realized that the first type of mischaracterization is just that, mischaracterization, in recent times there’s been a backlash against it. An example is as I’ve referenced above, contrasting “fanon” with supposed “canon”. As well as just a general shift in the characterization in new fanworks.

However, this backlash doesn’t represent characters as accurately as it purports to. For this reason, this type of mischaracterization is starting to get on my nerves the most - because it is held up in contrast to the obvious, “young” mischaracterization, it is given false credence. But is equally as inaccurate...perhaps even more so in some cases.

This type of mischaracterization gives us reversals - switching who gets the bad yaoi stereotypes (i.e., making Yuugi the “seme” and Atem the “uke”). This is again more of a younger fandom thing and an earlier part of the backlash, but is still present.

Particularly there seems to be this push to make Atem completely awkward and Yuugi completely smooth...a reversal of “young” characterization where Atem is smooth and suave while Yuugi is innocent and blushing. But both are inaccurate characterizations - they’re both awkward teenagers. Yuugi’s only “experience” with sex is watching blurred out porn videos. He’s not going to be some ultra-dominant sex god who completely takes control in bed. He’s gonna be just as awkward as any teenager with his first time.

I know. That’s not sexy. People want sexy so they need to have some sort of dominant and controlling character involved. At least, that’s my assumption behind why this sort of characterization is so prevalent either as Atem or as Yuugi. I’ve even seen this characterization for Yuugi apply to other ships too (like peach). I don’t think it’s any more accurate there.

There’s also a tendency towards a cruel abusive Yuugi. Again, this is a backlash against innocent angel Yuugi, and may also be a backlash to cruel abusive Atem (although why one of them must be cruel is beyond me). Lately scrolling through fanfic, summaries and tags are full of “Yuugi is a jerk”, “Yuugi is an asshole”, “Yuugi is a killer/criminal/etc”. I’m honestly getting really tired of the trend. No, Yuugi is not some perfect innocent angel, but he’s not an asshole, he’s not cruel, he’s not any of those things. He’s not perfect, but he is an exceptionally good and kind person.

Conclusion:

As I said above, there’s nothing “bad” about these things (although there’s certainly a lot wrong). And I am not saying that people can’t or shouldn’t write mischaracterizations such as these or any others. After all, just because something doesn’t appeal to me personally doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t exist.

But I will complain about it. And I do want to ask people to stop acting like these things are canon.

And quite honestly...I can understand how things get exaggerated sometimes. Especially for humor. And sometimes more subtle aspects of a character can be forgotten about. But completely contrary characterizations...I don’t understand how those become so prevalent. You like these characters, right? That’s why you write them, that’s why you write about them. Did you not fall in love with them for their canon personalities? Where then is the appeal in completely changing their personalities and relationship dynamics? If that other sort of personality/relationship dynamic appeals to you, why did you fall for this one in the first place?

I don’t know. For me, I like the characters for who they are in canon and I don’t want them to be something completely different. Same with relationship dynamics.

[celebistar]

Personal: Hiatus

Personal venting; warnings, frank talk about my own poor mental health lately, specifically anxiety, so if you're not feeling well yourself you should probably avoid.

Honestly, I’m really on-edge right now as I’m writing this, but I felt I had to get something out or I just cannot sleep (not that it’s easy anyway with jetlag…) It feels really strange b/c I haven't done this type of really-personal ‘feelings’ post/rant for a long time now, not since I was RPing but well…sometimes you just gotta get your feelings out.

It isn’t really any one thing or aspect or event in particular, but just lately, especially in the past month or two, I’ve noticed myself engaging less and less with Nobunagun, i.e. fanart/fanfics. Partly it’s just the cycles of life and work and limited time, but honestly the truth is, I feel that I am…reaching the end of my “Nobunagun rope”, so to speak. Lately I’ve just been mentally burnt out, not because of any one thing, but instead of the raging wildfire I used to feel whenever I engaged in my fics and art at like 1:30am, I just feel…oh. Like neither like nor dislike, which it in and of itself is nothing wrong, but for someone like me who has always bounced from obsession to obsession—and I mean that quite literally—it’s a scary and strange feeling. Frankly, I don’t know if I like it; not being able to fall back onto my creative imaginations whenever I want to, whether it’s to pass time due to boredom or to help me cope when other stressful things happen in my life.

Now, most people would probably say ‘well that’s normal isn’t it? Interests always change’ and yes, they do; in fact, before Nobunagun I inevitably shifted interests after a while—I think YGO was the first really big one, but even before that there were myriad of series like Digimon, Cardcaptors, etc. etc…and each time I thought ‘wow, GX (or some other series) is so great, I don’t know how I can run out of ideas!’ but gradually I did move on—usually because some other interest caught my eye and was more exciting, so by the time I consciously realized I wasn’t super obsessed with the previous one, it was more like an ‘oh well’. I never really stopped to think or really miss it, because there was always something new to entertain me, keep me thinking at 110% (kinda like serial dating now that I think about it, like those people who keep chasing that initial ‘high’ you get at the start of something new but you can never maintain). Now that I am sort-of-kind-of in that phase of ‘whoa, something’s obviously wrong if you’re feeling mentally unwell so let’s take a step back’, I think it is true; that, honestly, it isn’t healthy to have an obsessive relationship with Nobunagun 24/7. It may seem strange that I am using relationship terms to describe a fandom, but I think they are parallels in many ways. But there’s a difference and it’s that Nobunagun is just a thing, a really great thing yes—but it’s not a person. It doesn’t make decisions or tell me what to do; frankly everything I choose to engage in, is 100% in my own control. But somehow, over the course of being a fan, I seemed to have imposed these really strange, invisible ‘pressures’ on myself, so to speak. Perhaps it comes from having a mind that is either all or nothing when it comes to interests, or maybe it’s because I always managed to move on to something more exciting before the old interest fully waned. I don’t know.

All I know is that whatever my ‘relationship’ with Nobunagun is right now, it’s not healthy nor good. Realistically speaking, I know it’s nearly impossible to like something 100% of the time, 24/7. I believe it is possible to sustain interests for your entire life—drawing, writing, gaming—or even series—I mean, I myself have loved the Fire Emblem series ever since they came out in the US and I don’t see myself stopping anytime soon. But unlike Nobunagun, Fire Emblem has always been what I would consider a ‘background’ interest; it’s always there but I rarely engage in what I would consider fandom activities, such as drawing fanart or writing fanfiction. Hell, I rarely even read FE fanfiction anymore (though I used to). Yet despite all this, despite advice from people I trust and love, and despite my own logical mind telling me this…I just can’t seem to let it go. At least, not easily. For some reason the very thought of no longer liking Nobunagun as I used to, so passionately—not even just no longer interested but just ‘not as interested as before’…it sends me into panic attacks. In fact I have actually been suffering quite bad anxiety these past few weeks because of this very dilemma—unable to focus, panicking the second I see something Nobunagun and I don’t feel excited, trouble sleeping…I mean hell I’ve even had trouble starting new anime series because there’s always this inkling in the back of my mind ‘what if this is the show that replaces Nobunagun?' I don’t know why I think of it as that; I don’t know why I have this self-imposed chain around myself and Nobunagun, even though it’s all my own thoughts. I just know what is, and that’s just what it feels like. I don’t know why I have such a severe trepidation of something else replacing Nobunagun even though it’s just how interests come and go and frankly, it was Nobunagun that replaced Eyeshield 21 before it.

Now, most people would say this is a sign that I should probably take a step back and re-evaluate just what it is that’s actually important in my life, and take care of myself—no thinking of Nobunagun, no trying to churn out another 2-3 chapters or another illustration in a week. And I do agree; I know, deep down, that this is warning sign that if I don’t change something soon, then I won’t even be able to salvage my love for Nobunagun—it’ll just turn into a destructive mess that ends with the only recourse being complete and utter amputation. Which is definitely not something I want. And yet it’s really hard to tell myself that it will be okay, that I will come out of this maybe not liking Nobunagun with a raging passion 110% of the time but maybe only like 30% of the time, and that’s okay—but somehow it’s very difficult to convince myself of that (if it were, trust me I wouldn’t be up typing this at 1am). I’m very much reminded of a time earlier, when I was still very active in RPing and I went through a very similar upheaval…how I couldn’t imagine not RPing anymore, how I couldn’t imagine going on in the fandom without it…but in the end, looking back I know I made the right choice, and I came out better for it. I didn’t lose my love of Nobunagun after basically stopping role-playing, and I learned, slowly, to be passionate about it again without being anxious. I came out all right and what’s more I felt l learned a lot and became a better person because of those hard times. And when that time really came, it just faded naturally and without fear—these days let’s be honest, I don’t RP anymore, even though I have the accounts—they’re honestly just there for archival/dump purposes. So that’s how I know I made the right choice…I have no regrets and I don’t/didn’t feel fear when I stopped roleplaying. It just happened naturally, and I can still look back on those times fondly.

So maybe this phase right now is just another one of those hard obstacles that I have to face, sooner or later, maybe it didn't even have to be with Nobunagun but it just so happens that Nobunagun is the thing that I'm into now…maybe it’s a reconciliation of the last remnants of being a ‘super-fan’, that Nobunagun may be the last fandom I really feel a lot of passion for, and it’s hard to say good-bye to what feels like a huge part of what defined you. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe I’ll come out of this with a looser, but still warm relationship with Nobunagun. As my boss (of all people) once told me, ‘think of it as trading fireworks for a comfortable shirt; in the beginning of anything, it feels like there’s always fireworks going off because it’s so new and exciting, but after a while things start to even out and you don’t always feel excited, all the time. It becomes more like wearing a comfortable old shirt; it’s kind of the same over and over, but it’s familiar and comforting. And when those fireworks do come again, it’ll still be exciting—but just not all the time, so when they come you’ll treasure them.’

Maybe that’s the real answer; what I would like to be able to do, is like so many of my friends, is to rotate through different interests—Fire Emblem when a new banner comes out, whatever anime I happen to be watching this season—and go back and forth so when I’m thinking ‘hey, I don’t feel like writing Nobunagun stuff’ I can go and engage with something else. Yet it doesn’t feel like I can, even though I know I am capable of it; back when I was into YGO Zexal, I actually went between different fandoms quite often—off the top of my head were Star Trek, Mass Effect, but at the same time I never lost interest in Zexal; it was just kind of there, and I went back to it after a while. So, I know from past experience I’m capable of it…and back then, I didn’t feel any sort of fear or trepidation of being into something else—but of course each experience is different and it could be that the new thing didn’t allow me room to question whether or not I still liked the old thing—but anyway that’s a different topic.

Going back and actually reading my personal posts during that really bad mental period where I had to take a hiatus from RPing and Tumblr in general (or the ones that I haven’t deleted anyway), it actually is strangely calming because it proves to me, gives me physical evidence that I went through something so painful and never thought I would be okay but guess what I turned out okay. So it gives me hope…that this too, like everything else shall pass. It’s also kind of ironic that many of the things that I said then are what I’m saying now—so I don’t know, maybe it means something, maybe it doesn’t.

But what I do know, is that for the time being, I must take a step back. I must find a way to break these self-imposed chains that force me to think ‘you must obsess over Nobunagun 24/7’ so it doesn’t consume me to the point where my mental health deteriorates. So I don’t end up seeing Nobunagun as a dark spot in my life, but rather a positive thing and something that I will continue to like, but in a more balanced relationship. Not freaking out when I realize that maybe I’m just too tired to think about Nobunagun right now, and knowing that a lot of this is honestly the anxiety talking. Speaking of which, the sucky part about anxiety is that there isn’t a cure—it’s a condition, but you can manage it, and not let it define you. Meditation has done a lot for me, both in the past and now more than ever, and also just writing things out—hence why this really long-ass post.

Anyway; strange how writing things out and admitting your deepest fears can make them seem less scary and overwhelming. Perhaps that’s the point of journaling and such? Although my handwriting is so terrible these days and so slow that it’s faster for me to type rather than keep an analog journal…maybe some people will think that I am freaking out over nothing, that a fandom is nothing to lose sleep over but well, we all have our vices I suppose. I mean hey, at least it’s just a static thing, and not say, an abusive partner.

In any case, for the immediate time being I will be going on hiatus—just like that time when I kept getting anxiety about RPing, and I had to take a step back—I must do that now, too. Frankly I don’t think it will make much of a difference since I rarely update here anyway but on that note, I will not be checking for notifs/contacts on Tumblr or really anywhere else. i don’t know when I’ll ‘come back’ and honestly I don’t want to keep putting myself on schedules or deadlines; when I feel ready, I’ll know and it’ll happen naturally. I have the most wonderful friends and family so have no fear, I will not be alone. I’m sure I’ll be back, when I feel ready.

[reciprocityfic]

fires, chapter three

Title: Fires Fandom: The Walking Dead Pairing: Rick x Michonne Rating: T Summary: “Because sometimes fires burn to make way for something new…something beautiful.“  The evolution of Rick and Michonne’s relationship as they prepare to go to war with The Saviors.  Canon-divergent.

Author’s Note: So, there will be one more, short chapter after this one. Thanks for sticking with me, even through the long waits between updates!

chapter one on tumblr, ao3 or ff.net.

chapter two on tumblr, ao3 or ff.net.

chapter three on ao3 or ff.net.

CHAPTER 3: RADIANCE

Carl is the first to know, of course.

She hadn’t given him any specific time to bring himself and Judith home, just told him to mosey on over whenever he felt like it.  She even encouraged him to have a lazy morning, hoping that her and Rick could get in some more alone time before having to face the world again.

But after they confirm the decision they’d made the night before, realize that they’re going to marry each other, they can’t wait to tell him.  The dress in a hurry and then jog to Rosita and Tara’s, Rick taking Judith and Michonne grabbing Carl’s arm and practically dragging him back to their house.

Carl barely has time to cross the threshold and close the door behind him before his dad and Michonne corner him, the four of them still in the foyer.  Carl frowns and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“‘Chonne, I thought you said to be lazy today.”

“Yeah, well.  Change of plans.”

She can barely hold back her smile, and Carl notices.  He looks back and forth between her and his beaming father, Judith resting her head against his shoulder in his arms, looking just as groggy as her brother.

“What’s going on?” Carl asks slowly.

Michonne doesn’t even have a chance to open her mouth before Rick speaks.

“Michonne said she’d marry me,” he blurts out, a hint of awe in his voice, as if her wanting to marry him is so improbable, an honor he can’t believe has been bestowed on him.  She smiles at the same time it puts a pang in her heart.  He still can’t see his worth.  His beauty.  She wonders if she’ll ever succeed in changing that, and smiles again knowing she’ll have the rest of her days to try.

She’s lost in her thoughts, and it takes Rick saying his son’s name to pull her out of them and register the fact that Carl hasn’t yet responded to the news.  She blinks, turning slightly to see the blank look on Carl’s face, and fear starts to stir in her gut.

She’d been so caught up in the prospect of marrying Rick, in marveling at how natural the whole thing felt, that she hadn’t even considered the possibility that Carl might not approve.

She and Carl had cared about each other for so long that she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t cared for the boy, even though she knew it really wasn’t all that long ago.  He had accepted her long before his father had, perhaps even loved her before he did, too.  When her and Rick had finally gotten together, she got the sense that Carl had almost expected it.  That he’d been waiting for it.  She’d always known him to be wise beyond his years.

The transition from friends to lovers had gone over so smoothly in their household, that she hadn’t considered the transition to husband and wife might not be that simple.  In an instant, so many thoughts flood her brain that she can barely keep track of them.

She supposes it hasn’t been very long at all since his mother died.  Judith had just turned one by their best estimation, meaning that barely a year had gone by since Lori passed.  That year felt like a lifetime, but it wasn’t, and she considers the old world, of a widower remarrying in such a relatively short time after the death of his wife during childbirth.  It seemed sudden to the part of her that still remembered how life before felt.  Did that matter in this new world, when days sometimes felt like weeks and a year could seem like a lifetime, even when it wasn’t?

And if Carl didn’t approve, what would they do?  Would his feelings make them call the whole thing off?  She would love Rick just as wholly and desperately no matter what Carl thought.  Nothing could change that.  But Carl’s rejection of this next step would undoubtedly cripple that all-consuming joy and peace that flowed through her now, and she hates the idea of that.  She hates it.

But then Carl smiles brilliantly, and she feels so light.  Like her feet will lift off the floor.

“Took you long enough to ask, Dad,” he says with a smirk, and Michonne grabs both of her boys and pulls them towards her without thinking, wrapping her arms around them and leaning over to nuzzle her face against Judith.  The little girl babbles and bounces, sensing the happiness of the three people around her.

“You’re really happy, then?” she asks, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.  She has to be sure.  To know that her happiness, that this rightness flowing through her veins is safe.  Carl reaches up and touches her cheek, wiping away the moisture and then glancing up at his dad with a knowing smile.

“Yeah.  It’s cool.”

Rick laughs, and then Carl laughs, and then Michonne laughs because they do.  Judith keeps babbling and bouncing.  She tightens her grip on all three of them, stands in the middle of the foyer and holds her family.

Her family.

*             *             *

“When are you guys gonna do it?  You know, actually get married?”

Michonne looks up from the eggs she’d whipped together for all of them once they finally managed to move from the doorway.  She finds Carl staring back at her, a half-smile still on his face.

“We didn’t set a date,” Rick answers from behind her, where he’s refilling Judith’s sippy cup with water.

“Got any suggestions?” she asks the boy, scooping up a bite of eggs on her fork and reaching to her right, where Judith sits in her highchair, remnants of her breakfast smeared across the tray.  The little girl accepts the food, and Michonne smiles.

“What about today?”

His words make Michonne pause, and when she turns to look at him, Carl shrugs.

“What?”

“We just got engaged last night,” she says, as Rick hands Judith her drink and then walks around the table, pulling out the chair next to Carl and sitting down.

“So?” Carl asks.  “I don’t think there’s anything big going on today.  If you can postpone anything, or hand off duties to someone else, I think you should do it.”

“Should we really be postponing anything at this point?” Rick offers.  “I mean, you never know – “

“One day isn’t going to change anything in the long run,” Carl interrupts.  “Negan and The Saviors – they’re not the only things that matter.  We can’t stop living while we’re fighting them.  At least not completely.  Stuff like this is important, too.”

Carl drops his gaze towards the table, and Michonne sees the briefest hint of sadness flicker across his face.

“It’s just that you can’t be too sure of anything anymore.  I mean, I know we’re gonna be here tomorrow.  And I know we’re gonna beat the Saviors, and we’re gonna have a lot more tomorrows after we win, but…I can’t know anything one hundred percent.  No one can, especially now.  So if you really want something, if something’s important – and this is important – I don’t think you should wait to do it.”

Michonne can only stare at him, mouth slightly open, wetness slightly stinging the corners of her eyes.

This kid.  He was going to be the end of her.  She was sure of it.

“You’re too smart for your own good, Carl Grimes,” she declares after a few moments, as Rick leans over and ruffles his son’s hair before placing a quick kiss on the top of his head.

“I can move things around and pass things off.  Clear my schedule,” Rick tells them, turning to look across the table at Michonne, a smirk on his face and mirth in his eyes.

“What do you say, Mich?  You want to marry me today?”

The smile she gives him nearly takes up her entire face, and she reaches across the table to take his hand in hers.

“Yeah, Grimes.  I do.”

He laces their fingers together, and she sees his eyes begin to shine.  She has to turn away to keep from crying herself.  She can’t remember a time in her life when she’s been so happy and cried so much.  Maybe the day Andre was born.  It’s almost exhausting – feeling so much, loving so much – but she wouldn’t change it or trade it in for anything in the world.

She looks towards Judith, and the girl stares up at her, homemade blueberry jam from The Hilltop smeared around her mouth.

“What do you say, Judy?” Michonne asks.  “You want to come me and your dad’s wedding today?”

Judith reaches towards Michonne to pat her cheek with her chubby, sticky hand, and laughs.

*             *             *

Carl, rather unexpectedly, turns into the wedding planner Michonne never got the chance to hire, and the one Rick and Lori couldn’t afford.

“Okay,” he says, his tone curt and purposeful, “you two go get ready. I’ll take Judith and go tell Father Gabriel and invite everyone. Or, wait…”

He trails off, eyes darting around the room almost nervously, as if someone was listening in.

“Are we inviting everyone?” he asks quietly. “Or just us?”

The three of them exchange a look, and know they all agree on what to do without needing to have a conversation. Carl speaks for all of them.

“Just us. Got it.”

He moves to lift his sister out of her highchair and then walks over to the sink to wash her hands. After he dries her off, he grabs his and Judith’s shoes from their spot by the door and sits down on the couch.

“Like I said, just go get ready,” he instructs them again as he ties Judith’s tiny sneakers. “The rest of us will take care of everything else.”

He slips on his own shoes in a flash and then scoops up his sister, turning to Rick and Michonne.

“Meet everyone at the church in about an hour?”

They barely have the chance to answer him before he’s out the door, talking to his sister as she chatters back brightly.

“I think I’m just gonna put Carl in charge of everything from now on,” Rick says after the sound of the door shutting behind their children has left the room. Michonne laughs and walks to him, standing in front of him and grabbing both of his hands, twining their fingers together.

“He’s always very determined. It’s a good thing.”

Rick laughs lowly as he nods in agreement, eyes locking with hers. It takes only a moment for his laughter to fade, and for everything else to fall away except the two of them. Their eyes gleam as if they’re kids who have just realized it’s Christmas morning, except that this is the best Christmas morning they’ve ever had, and there will never be a better one. They both know what they’re getting, and it’s the one thing they want most in the world.

She wants to kiss him, wants to lift herself on her toes and press her lips against his until she can’t breathe. But she knows if she kisses him once, she’ll kiss him again, and again and again and again until all thoughts of weddings and churches and guests are far away from her mind and the only thing she cares about is his voice in her ear and his heart beating with hers and how good he feels pressed against her and how much she loves him.

She can see the same desire in his eyes, so she bites her lip almost bashfully before speaking.

“Well, you heard him,” she tells Rick quietly.

“Yeah, I did. We better go get ready before he comes back and yells at us.”

They both chuckle, and then almost freeze as they catch each other’s gazes again. As the gravity of the moment, and of what they’re about to do, sets in and suddenly knocks them off their feet.

But then, in an instant, they’re off.

They chase each other to their room playfully, hands wandering and grabbing the other all the way, soft curses and jokes and the other’s expense mumbled back and forth as they trip up the stairs in their eagerness, light laughter filling the air. She’s reminded of the night they first kissed, and how the journey they’d taken from the couch to their bed had felt much as this one does. It buzzed with the same nervous, excited energy, and her heart had pounded the same beat with each step she took.

She knew that night, as they ambled up the stairs, that her life was going to change forever. She knows that again in this moment, and the prospect fills her with the same delight she felt all those weeks ago.

They stumble into their room, and she opens the closet while Rick walks to his dresser.

“I don’t have a tie,” he tells her from across the room, and she shrugs as she runs her fingers over the clothes hanging before her.

“I don’t have a dress. We don’t need them.”

He hums, and she hears a few drawers open and shut. Then, his footsteps travel back across the room to where she’s standing. He presses himself into her back before she can turn around.

“I’ll see you in about an hour, yeah?” he asks softly, brushing a kiss against her cheek. Her eyebrows pull together.

“Where are you going?”

He scoffs playfully as he moves from her and steps out of the room, turning to walk backwards down the hall and towards the stairs with clothes bundled under his arm.

“Don’t you remember? It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

*             *             *

Wearing white wasn’t very practical anymore.

Not in this world, when days typically ended with clothes covered in dirt, sweat, guts, blood, or some combination of the four.   Usually some combination of the four.  Not only was white harder to clean - it also made it easier to remember.  Color could hide things; it could absorb the splatter of your own blood across your chest, soak in the sweat that gathered in beads on your back as you ran from walkers, collect the dust of dirt that settled on your shoulders and swirled up your nose and into your lungs as you dug graves to bury your loved ones, or holes to hide weapons for an upcoming war.

She can still think of their first trip to The Hilltop, remember Rick on his back with a blade at his neck.  She can remember following him into the bathroom and helping him remove his coat and shirt, and sitting on the counter as he scrubbed the white fabric together in the sink.  She can see the blood mixing with water in whirling patterns and rippling down the drain, can feel his stubble under her fingers as she wiped the sticky, red film off his cheeks and chin.

Killing that man was justified - it was necessary - and she’d want Rick to do it again in any type of similar situation.  Hell, she’d do it for him one million times over, again and again, without hesitation and without regret.

But it was still someone’s blood.  Someone’s life.  And that t-shirt sat in the bottom of his dresser and it was still stained and every time she caught a glimpse of it she saw the knife and the still-warm body that fell on the ground with a thud.  She saw Rick’s face and fingers coated in red.

White didn’t hide anything.  White made you remember.  And it didn’t make sense to wear it.

And yet in those first few days, when Deanna told them about her ridiculous parties and took them to a room full of spare clothes, encouraging them to pamper themselves - as if something like that could exist in this world - she had taken the white blouse that hangs in the back of her closet now.  She had chosen to wear the black dress she grabbed over the shirt, of course, but she kept both of them.  She took something extra, and it hadn’t sat quite right in her stomach, because extra had no place in their lives anymore.  She and her family had spent so much time without anything extra.  They’d barely had enough to survive.

But she took the blouse anyways.  Maybe she hoped for more parties that would feel less and less preposterous as time went on.  Maybe she thought there might come a day when they didn’t return home in the evenings covered in guts and death.

Or maybe she had felt Rick in her heart even then, nestled deep behind her ribcage, small and secret, but there all the same.  Maybe part of her had known all along.

Whatever the reason, she took it, and it had hung unused and almost forgotten, buried behind practical things.  But now she pulls it off its hanger, the delicate chiffon smooth against her fingertips, and slips it over her shoulders before moving to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

She stands in front of the full length mirror hanging on the back of the door, studies her reflection, and smiles.

The shirt isn’t exactly a style she would’ve gravitated towards before.  The thin bows that close the sleeves are a tad too sweet, the flower-patterned lace that covers her shoulders and upper chest kind of darling for her tastes.  But she looks at the way the fabric lays and flows over her body, the striking contrast between the light fabric and her dark skin, and she feels pretty.

She turns to the drawers under the sink, takes out the few elastics and bobby pins she’s collected over the past few months, gathers the top half of her locs and pulls them back and then secures them.  She pauses, and then feels her heart jump as she quickly goes for the bottom left drawer, suddenly remembering the handful of cosmetic supplies Tara had found in a makeup bag left in the corner of a walk-in closet in one of the empty houses.  She swipes a wand covered with half-dry mascara over her eyelashes lightly, and then grabs a tube of wine-colored lipstick and runs it over her lips, rubbing them together before examining them in the mirror.

She feels beautiful.

It’s only the second time she’s felt that way, unreservedly, since the world went to hell.  The first was when she and Rick had made love for the first time, after she removed her panties and bra and laid back on their bed, completely naked before him.  His gaze had raked over her unabashedly, reverently, and goosebumps raised on her skin.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, the awe and adoration in his voice palpable.  Her heart swelled.  She felt loved, and wanted.

She felt beautiful.

She feels beautiful now, and she wants him to see her.  She wants to watch the look on his face as his eyes take her in for the first time, wants to see his skin twinge pink and his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows slowly.  She wants to see his eyes shine in that way that makes her insides twist in the absolute best way.

She smiles again, and then turns for the door,  stopping in front of the full-length mirror once more before leaving the room.  She takes a deep breath, and runs her hands down her blouse.

White holds no secrets, leaves nothing to the imagination.  White makes you remember.

And she wants to remember this day.  This moment, the way she looks, how she feels, all the details of the events that will take place in the next few hours.

She never wants to forget them, and she vows that she never will.  She’ll hide them in her heart, where no one will ever touch them.  Where no one will ever take them from her.

For the rest of her life, they’ll be hers.

*             *             *

When she arrives at the church, she finds Rosita standing outside with a bouquet of flowers.  She smiles widely as Michonne approaches, and pulls her into a gentle hug once she’s within reach.  Michonne freezes for a moment. She’s never known Rosita to be very physically affectionate with the group, and she barely has time to clear her head and return the embrace before Rosita pulls away.

“Sorry,” she says quickly, looking past Michonne, a slight blush beginning to color her cheeks.  “I hope I didn’t mess up your outfit or anything.”

“Rosita, you don’t have to apologize for hugging me.”

“Yeah, I know.  Ignore me.  I’m just…I’m glad you and Rick are doing this.  After everything, you deserve something good.”

She brings her gaze back to Michonne, and worries her bottom lip with her teeth before speaking.

“I never thought I would end up being this happy for you guys.  I know that sounds kind of insulting, but I don’t mean it like that.  But after we met up with Glenn and Tara, and when the four of you walked into that train car at Terminus…I never dreamed that I would’ve gotten close to any of you.  But here I am, still with you guys.   Alive because of all of you.  I found a damn family at the end of the world.  After my first one died, I never thought I’d have one again.  Never thought I’d even want a family if one managed to show up.  But I’m glad you guys showed up.  I’m glad that I’m still with you.  And I’m happy for the two of you.”

Rosita takes a deep breath, and averts her gaze again, suddenly finding something interesting in a patch of grass.

“And if Abraham was still here,” she continues slowly, “he would be too.  I know he would.  He and Rick didn’t get off to the greatest start, to say the least.  But at the end, he really respected him.  He cared about him, and the rest of you.”

Rosita laughs lightly, and then looks at Michonne, tears shining in her eyes.

“He was happy for you and Rick.  Shit, the day you guys went to Hilltop for the first time, he came home with this giant ass grin on his face, and the first words out of his mouth were, and I quote, ‘Guess who finally pulled their heads outta their asses and started ‘uggin bumplies.’”

“Oh, God,” Michonne groans, covering her face with her hand.  “‘Uggin bumplies?”

“Who knows,” Rosita says with a chuckle.  “That’s Abraham for you.  Or, I guess, was Abraham for you.”

She pauses for a moment, letting the air settle between them and the mood drop a beat before continuing.

“The point is, he cared about you and Rick.  He cared about all of us.  And I know if he’s somewhere right now - watching us, or looking down on us or whatever - he doesn’t regret dying for us.  And he’s glad you’re doing this.”

Rosita sniffs, wiping at her eyes and muttering an expletive under her breath, and Michonne reaches out to grab her hand, squeezing it softly before dropping it again to wipe at one of her own tears that escaped from the corner of her eye.

“Damn it, I’m not supposed to make you sad on your wedding day.  I’m not supposed to make you cry.  You’re supposed to do that in there,” Rosita says, motioning with her head towards the church.  “And they’re supposed to be tears of joy and shit.”

Michonne shakes her head.

“No.  I’m not sad.  I miss Abraham, but I’m not sad.  I’m glad I got to know him, and that I was able to call him family.  Rick is, too.  And I’m glad he’s happy for us.  Thank you for telling me all of that.  Honestly.”

Rosita gives her a closed-mouth smile and nods, before glancing down at the bouquet in her hand and handing it to Michonne.

“This is for you,” she says, and Michonne grins widely at the colorful wildflowers she’s holding.  “Me, Tara, and Judes picked them from that little patch that’s right outside the walls.  I know they’re not much - “

“They’re perfect,” Michonne interrupts, and she means it, with every fiber of her being.  “They’re absolutely perfect.”

Through everything that’s happened, through the end of the world, these flowers have survived.  They’re still there, and still growing, bringing a bit of light to such an ugly world.  Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, they’re mostly insignificant, but they matter.  They’re proof that regardless of how grim things seem, there can still be good things.  There can still be beautiful things.

She brings the flowers to her nose and inhales their sweet scent before holding them in front of her and looking towards Rosita.

“So, how are we doing this?”

“You’re walking in the church and then walking down the aisle.”

“Everyone’s here already?” Michonne asks.

“Yep,” Rosita confirms.  “We were just waiting for you.”

Michonne frowns.

“Shit, am I late?”

Rosita laughs, and shakes her head.

“No, you’re right on time.  We just got everything ready.  We wanted to do this for you.  We wanted to give you this.”

Michonne feels her eyes well up again, and Rosita grabs her arm and pulls her towards the door.

“Nope,” she says.  “I refuse to make you cry twice before we even get into the church.  You look gorgeous, by the way,” Rosita tells her as they reach the entrance to the church.  “Rick’s going to die.”

“After everything we’ve been through, he better not even think about dying on me now.”

The two women laugh, and take their final few steps towards the church.  Rosita pauses once more, glancing back at Michonne.

“You ready for this?��� she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Michonne inhales, and smiles tenderly.  Her fingers toy with the stems of her flowers.

“I’ve been ready for this for a long time, I think.”

Rosita nods, turns around, and pushes open the heavy sanctuary doors.

*             *             *

She doesn’t look at rick when she walks into the church because she knows that once she sees him, she won’t be able to see anything else.  And she wants to remember every detail - every inch - of this moment.

All of her family’s eyes are on her as she enters the sanctuary.  She smiles as she observes them sitting in the pews, everyone who’s been invited, everyone who Carl’s deemed as theirs.

Tara and Daryl sit next to each other, and when their gazes meet Tara throws a playful thumbs up and Daryl gives her the closest thing to a smile that Daryl has.  Rosita slips into the pew right behind them, smoothing her hair and looking at Michonne fondly, the weight of their conversation still heavy in both their minds.

Aaron and Eric sit across from them, Aaron with his camera in hand and Eric resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.  Aaron has an eager grin on his face, and Michonne’s heart fills with gratitude as she looks at him.  He brought them here, and while Alexandria has been far from perfect, it’s become home. It’s the place that she will fight for as long as she’s able.

It’s the place where she found herself falling in love.  The place where she realized she could have that, even in this world.  And she could have it stronger than it’s ever been before.

Her eyes move to Father Gabriel, standing at the center of the altar with his Bible in hand.  His expression is so peaceful, and she wonders how often he stood like this in his past life, and if it brings him comfort to practice his calling again.

She thinks of how much he’s grown in the time they’ve known him, how he’s transformed from a cowardly priest holed up in his lonely church, into a survivor.  A fighter.  An asset.  She’s proud of him, and she’s come to care deeply for him.

Then, she takes a moment to remember everyone who should be there, but isn’t.

She thinks of Maggie, Sasha, and Enid at The Hilltop, and Carol and Morgan at The Kingdom, loved ones that are farther away than it seems they should be.  But their world is growing, and that means their family is, too - not only in numbers, but also in distance.  And it’s right - it’s good - but it’s not easy.

And then she thinks of all those who can’t be there.  All the people they’ve lost.  She thinks of Beth and Noah sitting next to each other in a pew.  She thinks of Denise, who should be sitting next to Tara and holding her hand.  She thinks of Tyreese, standing in the back of the sanctuary with his electric smile on his face, Bob standing next to him and already starting to treat him as a brother.

She thinks of Deanna, finally getting to see Michonne figure out what it was she wanted for herself all this time.  She thinks of Andrea, watching with her heart beating fondly in her chest, as she sees how much her group ended up meaning to her friend.  She thinks of Abraham, trying to hold back the colorful remarks he already thought up when it’s time for her and Rick to kiss at the end of the service.

She thinks of Hershel, looking at them with warm eyes, glad that they’ve found their way.  That they’ve found their place in the world.  And that they’ve found each other.

And she thinks of Glenn, one of the dearest people to her, standing in his rightful place at Rick’s side.

She remembers all the people she still holds inside her.  She takes a moment to mourn them, and to miss them.  To love them.

She reaches the head of the center aisle and finds Carl, carrying Judith, a miniature version of Michonne’s wildflower bouquet clutched in her tiny fists.

Carl Grimes.  The boy wearing an oversized sheriff’s hat and a face dusted in freckles, who was willing to take on a restaurant full of walkers by himself just so he could show his baby sister a picture of their mother.  The first one who accepted her into the group at the prison.  Someone who’s seen so many horrible things, and has yet remained thoroughly good.  Her dearest friend, whom she loves completely and irrevocably.

And Judith.  A baby - a baby - who reminded her of everything she lost and everything she blamed herself for.  The little girl she avoided for as long as she possibly could.  But Judith wore her down, and as soon as Michonne opened herself back up, Judith cemented Michonne’s love for her in a single heartbeat.

And now they stand in front of her, brother and sister, wide grins on their faces as they prepare to accept her into their immediate family, and readily claim her as the closest thing they’ll ever have to a mother again.

Carl and Judith.   Her Carl and Judith.

“I told Judy we couldn’t throw flowers until you got here,” Carl whispers to her as they approach each other, “but she didn’t listen to me.”

She looks down and sees Judith picking at what is now mostly stems in her hand, petals scattered on the ground near her brother’s shoes .  Michonne laughs lightly and sweeps a hand over the girl’s soft, blonde hair.

A silence falls over them, and Carl looks at her expectantly as she tries to think of something to say.

“You ready for this?” she asks after a moment.

“Hell yeah,” Carl answers quickly, a smirk placing on his lips.  “The real question is, are you ready?”

“You better believe I am,” she tells him, and his smile grows.

“Let’s do this, then.”

He turns with Judith and begins to walk down the aisle.  She takes a deep breath, then turns towards the front of the church, closing her eyes.  She counts to three in her head, and then opens them.

Her gaze finds him instantaneously, like he’s full of some sort of magnetic force and she’s made of metal, she a moth and he the only flame in a pitch-black night.

Rick.

Rick Grimes.

Her last and greatest love.

He’s wearing a light blue linen button-up, and a pair of navy denim jeans that barely look worn, and she chuckles to herself as she sees he’s changed out of his beloved, ratty black jeans for her and their special occasion.  His dark brown hair is neatly slicked back, and her favorite, silky, thick curls lay in multitudes at the nape of his neck, as they always do.  Two days’ old stubble covers his jaw, and her stomach flutters as she imagines the delicious way it will scratch at her skin when he kisses her and when he makes love to her.

His blue eyes gleam, his smile shines so brightly it could light up a starless sky, and she can hardly hold herself back from running to him.  She wants nothing more than to be by his side, and the short aisle suddenly feels six miles long.

But she walks it, and she gets to him, finally.  As she comes to stand in front of him, he reaches out and cups her face, his calloused fingers caressing her soft cheek.  His touch sends pinpricks of electricity over skin and down her spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing her cheekbone, and he hand that’s not holding her flowers takes his hand from her face, hold it to her lips so she can kiss his palm, and then brings down their hands and twines their fingers together as Gabriel begins to speak.

The ceremony is mostly a blur, because now that she’s here with him - touching him, seeing him, breathing him - she can’t focus on anything else, just as she’d predicted.  But it doesn’t matter, because the words aren’t important.  He, and she, and the fact that they are here together - those things are important.  And they are truer than anything has ever been.

Their vows are short and simple, because so much has already been said between them.  And although there is still so much left to stay, they will whisper those things to each other in quiet moments they steal from the world - in times that are purely theirs, and no one else’s.

For now, they say what they can.

“I lost everything,” she says, tears gathering in her eyes, and he squeezes her hand.  “I lost everything I loved, and after I did, I didn’t think there was anything good left in the world.  And I thought I was only alive so I could suffer, as punishment for failing the people I cared about.  But after I found the prison, I realized that there were still good things left in the world.  Carl, Judith, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, and the rest of our group - they made me realize that I could have a family again.  And you.  Meeting you and knowing you.  You taught me that I could trust someone again, and believe in someone.  You showed me that loving someone in this world was worth it, even though it’s dangerous.  I laugh with you.  I look forward to every day, because I know you’ll be in it with me.  And I promise to spend every one of the rest of my days with you.  I promise to help you find the beauty that’s left in the world, like you did for me.  and I promise to love you every moment for the rest of my life.”

He reaches up to wipe away a tear that’s fallen from the corner of her eye, and he trails the backs of his fingers down the side of her face.  His eyes well as he speaks.

“You saved my life,” he says earnestly, the slightest tremble in his voice.  “You’ve saved it over and over again, and you keep saving it.  You support me, and you tell me when I’m wrong.  And no matter what I do - no matter if I win or lose, or what mistakes I make - I know you’ll still be here for me.  You prove to me that there’s something more than just fighting to survive, and that I don’t always have to be a warrior or a leader.  You show me that we get to live, not just survive, and that I still get to be just me.  And I want to live with you, for as long as I possibly can.  So I’m going to fight for you.  For us, and the life we can have.  And no matter what happens, I’m always going to protect you.  I’m always going to take care of you.  And I’m always going to love you.  I promise you that.  As long as there’s breath in my body, I’m going to love you.”

It happens very quickly after that, and Father Gabriel can only get out “You may kiss…” before his arm snakes around her waist and he pulls her towards him as his other hand cradles the back of her neck.  Her hands grab the collar of his shirt and tug as he presses his lips against hers, before moving her fingers to their favorite spot - tangled in his hair.  She opens her mouth and his tongue dips inside, and they drown in each other.  It is only when she reluctantly resurfaces for air that she registers the cheers and applause from their family.

As they part, Carl and Judith approach.  Judith reaches for Rick and he takes her, as Carl throws his arms around both Rick and Michonne.  She hears the snap of Aaron’s camera somewhere in the noise of the crowd.

Soon, the others come up to them and laud them with hugs and words of congratulation.  Aaron hands her two polaroids: one of her and Rick lost in each other, in the middle of their kiss, and one of the four of them - her, Rick, Carl, and Judith - wrapped in an embrace just afterwards.  Tears fill her eyes once again, and she hugs Aaron fiercely, telling him thank you over and over.

When she lets him go, she kisses each photo lightly, and then holds them both over her heart.

*             *             *

Carl takes himself and Judith back to Tara and Rosita’s for the second night in a row, stuttering out that he wants to give her and Rick alone time as a deep brush colors his cheeks, and she’s momentarily mortified that one of her best friends, her adopted son, just made reference to the fact that he knows she’s most definitely having sex with his father tonight, but Rick only laughs as Carl stumbles with his sister out the door.  Rick pulls Michonne into his side as the sound of his laughter still echoes in the empty foyer, and she can’t help but be warmed by the sound.  His laughter is her absolute favorite song, and she couldn’t stop the smile that creeps up on her face and twists up the corners of her mouth even if she tried to.

They turn towards each other and bring their mouths together, kissing lazily in the middle of the room, appreciating their alone time and relishing in the fact that they are together, and that they belong to each other.  They always have, and getting married today only confirmed that bond.  It’s an outward expression of an internal, emotional commitment that they’ve now made known to everyone around them.

They keep kissing until their breath is short, and Rick presses his lips to her forehead before taking her hand and tugging her towards the stairs.  She stops in the kitchen to retrieve an almost-empty package of blue tack from a drawer.  When they reach their room, she pulls the two photos Aaron took from her back pocket and kneels, hanging them on the wall with the tack, right next to her pillow, so she’ll see them every morning when she opens her eyes.

She stays there, admiring the photos as her heart flutters, and runs her fingertips over the smooth film of the images.  Suddenly, one of Rick’s arms wraps around her from behind, and she smirks softly.

“Gotcha something,” he whispers, his lips pressing against her ear before moving to trail down her neck.

“Yeah?” she breathes, tilting her head to the side.

He hums against her shoulder, reaches around to take one of her hands, and drops two small, cool objects in her palm.  When she opens her hand, her breath catches in her throat.

“This is what I spent most of my hour doing.  Now, rooting around through old, leftover jewelry isn’t how you typically go ring shopping,” he says, his voice holding the slightest tinge of nervousness, “so i know it’s not much - “

“It’s perfect,” she tells him, quickly interrupting him as she gazes down at the two rings in her palm.  The engagement ring has an array of flat diamonds set into the silver band, while the wedding one is a smooth, simple, silver ring.

“Yeah?” he asks, as she turns around to face him.

She nods fiercely, and then holds the rings out to him.

“You’re not going to make me put them on myself, are you?”

Her voice breaks as her question comes to an end, and he chuckles.

“Nah.  I think I can do that part for you.”

He begins to slide the rings down her third left finger slowly, first the wedding one, and then the engagement.

“I didn’t know what size you were, so I just guessed,” he cautions.

“They’re just right,” she assures him, as the rings slip easily over her knuckles and sit on the bottom part of her finger with just the right amount of snugness.

Once they’re in place, he brings her hand up to his mouth and kisses her rings before running his lips over her knuckles.  She laughs, even through the tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Well, where’s yours?” she questions earnestly, and he smiles as he digs back into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out a plain silver ring to match Michonne’s.

She looks at his left ring finger, where the tan line from his old ring has finally faded, and she grins as she slides on his new piece of jewelry, knowing that now, a new one will begin to take form.

She keeps her hold on his hand when she’s done, and they gaze at each other, his eyes beginning to gleam with unshed liquid.

“Michonne Grimes,” he says, his voice proud, and awed.  “My wife.”

Her heart and stomach leap at his words, and she brings her hands up to caress his face, and she wipes at the moisture on his cheeks as he gently begins to cry.

“My husband,” she murmurs reverently.

A short beat passes, and then they lunge at each other, pressing their mouths together and each moving their lips with the other’s.  She giggles against him as he pushes her back onto their blankets and pulls her legs toward him.  He breaks their kiss and rakes his eyes over her.

“You didn’t need a dress,” he tells her.  “You were still the most stunning bride there’s ever been.”

She flushes at his compliment, reaches up to push a few stray strands of his hair out of his face.

“And you were my handsome groom.  Especially in those new pants you found.”

He throws his head back as he laughs.

“I did that just for you, you know.”

“I do know.  And I appreciate the gesture immensely.  Although,” she says, her voice lowering slightly as she runs her foot over his calf, “I think I’m ready for them to come off now.”

He smiles at her mischievously.

“If you insist.  But only if I get to take clothes off of you, too,” he says, his hands already slipping under her blouse.

She looks up at him from under her eyelashes, playfully tapping her chin with her index finger.

“Hmm.  I think I’ll make that deal.”

They undress each other slowly, taking their time to reveal every inch of themselves to the other.  And though they’ve done it an uncountable number of times before, it feels different, after the promises they made today.  It feels like more.

Once they’re both naked, she reaches down to grab him, but he stops her hand before it reaches its goal.

“Wait,” he tells her, moving down to lie on their pallet and pulling her with him, so they’re facing each other, their legs tangled together.  “I just…I just want to hold you for a little bit.”

He wraps his arms around her to caress her back.  She nods, and bites her lip, trying to temper the overwhelming love swelling inside her once again, as his fingers begin to trace up and down her spine.

They lay quietly, her hand trailing over his forearm as it rests against her.

“Rick?”

“Yeah, baby?”

She sighs, and snuggles closer to him, resting her head on his chest.

“I know I don’t need a dress,” she says softly.  “And you don’t need a suit.  And we don’t need a bunch of guests or a huge party, but I think…I think I want it.”

She tilts her head up to look into his eyes, and he brings his hand up to move one of her locs from her face, before resting the hand on her cheek.

“I never did,” she tells him, one corner of her mouth turning up.  “At least, I never thought I would.  But I don’t want the world to take that from us.  I want it.  With you, I want it.”

She wants everything with him.

His eyes become bright, and the sweetest smile graces his face.

“Then let’s have a wedding,” he says, and she leans in to press a kiss into his shoulder.

“After this war is over - “

“After we win this war,” he corrects, and she nods against him.

“We’ll have a real wedding,” she continues.  “We’ll invite everyone - The Hilltop and The Kingdom, too.  I’ll wear a dress, and you’ll wear a suit.”

She can’t help but giggle gently at the mental image.  She never dreamed she’d see herself wear anything like that again.  Not in one million years.

But here she is.  Happy.  In love.   Married.

“It’ll be beautiful,” Rick declares, as he takes her left hand to kiss her rings once again.  He studies them, and takes a deep breath, the slightest frown slipping onto his face.

“You know,” he begins, “we probably shouldn’t tell anyone else we’re married.  Which also means we shouldn’t wear our rings.  If Negan finds out…”

“Negan will use it against us,” she finishes.

“Negan will use it to hurt us.”

She exhales, and closes her eyes.  She knows he’s right - they can’t wear their rings yet.  But she doesn’t want to take them off.  She never wants to take them off.  She’s only had them for a matter of minutes, but they’ve already become such a part of her.

“Maybe we can wear them just for tonight.”

He smirks, and then rolls her onto her back, and presses his lips to her nose as he settles on top of her.

“Yeah,” he agrees.  “Let’s wear them tonight.”

They kiss, and as his hands roam all over her body, his ring leaves a pleasantly hot trail against her skin.

*             *             *

A few days later, a group of them travels to Hilltop to help with weapons training.  Their family greets them at the gate; Carl and Enid run off together, Sasha eagerly takes a look at the rifles Tara and Scott found in an abandoned cabin last week, and Maggie goes to Rick, giving him a hug and then updating him on the overall status of the community and the progress they’ve made.

It warms Michonne’s heart, to see Maggie lead these people.  She’s so smart, and loving, and capable of such amazing things.  She’s leading, and thriving, and she wishes more than anything that her family was here to see it: her mother.  Hershel.  Beth.

Glenn.

When they’re given a quiet moment, Michonne pulls Maggie away from the group, and they end up standing on the back porch of the mansion, looking out over the thriving sorghum fields growing under the afternoon sun.

“Rick and I got married three days ago,” Michonne tells her, once the two women are alone and settled.

Maggie’s arms are around her immediately, and she kisses Michonne on the cheek before speaking into her ear.

“That’s so amazing, ‘Chonne.  If anyone left on this earth deserves to be happy, it’s the two of you.  I wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

“I wish you could’ve been there, too,” Michonne says as they separate and look back over the horizon.  “It was just us: Carl and Judith, Tara and Rosita, Daryl, Gabriel, Aaron and Eric.  You, Sasha, and Enid, and Carol and Morgan - you all should’ve been there.  It felt incomplete without you all.  I missed you.  And there’s a good chance we would’ve waited to do it until you all could come, but then Carl reminded us that you shouldn’t really delay anything these days.”

“He’s right,” Maggie says.

“He is.  He’s smart.”

“Well, he grew up in this world.  He’s had to be smart, to survive.”

Michonne nods, and then closes her eyes.

“Glenn should’ve been there,” she whispers.  “We’ve lost so many people during the time we’ve been together.  I should’ve seen so many faces in that church that I didn’t.  Faces I, and nobody else, will ever see again.  But Glenn…I felt his absence the most.  His hurt me the most.”

She sees Maggie’s head drop out of the corner of her eye, and she swears under her breath, mentally scolding herself.

“Maggie, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have - “

“No,” Maggie interrupts with a shake of her head, looking up at her friends with tears in her eyes.  “Don’t be sorry.   Please don’t be sorry.  I think a lot of people assume I don’t want to talk about him, but I do.  It hurts, but I want to talk about him.  He was here.  He lived, and he touched all of our lives.  And he deserves our conversations, and our memories.  He deserves to be remembered.”

MIchonne nods, and her vision begins to blur as her own tears form.

“God, Maggie, I wanted him there.  I wanted him there more than anything.”

“Oh, he was there,” Maggie assures her, sending her a tiny smile.  “You might’ve not been able to see him, but he was there.  He wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

Suddenly, Maggie laughs.

“You know, Glenn told me back at the prison that you and Rick were gonna end up together.”

“The prison?” Michonne asks, her face scrunching in confusion.  “Rick tried to kick me out of the prison every three minutes.”

“Must’ve been a bunch of unresolved sexual tension driving him up a wall.  Tension that is very resolved at this point.”

Michonne groans, and covers her face with her hands as she feels blush rise up into her cheeks.

“You’re not wrong,” she mumbles, and the two women laugh.

“Whatever it was, Glenn knew,” Maggie says, a wistful smile appearing on her lips.  “Glenn saw it.  He was good at that - seeing things.  Seeing people.  A little while later, I saw it too.  Then eventually, everyone saw it.  I think the two of you might’ve been the last ones to see it, in fact.”

“I think we were hiding from it, a little.  The idea of it was scary.  Letting yourself feel like that, knowing how much you could lose.  Especially after you’ve lost so much already.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Maggie asks softly.  “Or maybe wish you’d never found it in the first place?”

“No,” Michonne answers.  “I found the love of my life.  Finding Rick, and being with him, brought me back to life.  He’s the greatest thing I’ve ever had in my life.  How could I ever want to give it back?”

“Me either,” Maggie agrees.  “Even though I lost him, Glenn is the best thing that ever happened to me.  I’m grateful I’m got to have him for any time at all.”

Michonne slips her arm around Maggie’s waist, and squeezes her closer as Maggie lays her head on Michonne’s shoulder.

“We didn’t tell anyone we’re married, other than the people who were there,” Michonne says.  “You can tell Sasha, obviously, and Enid, if Carl hasn’t spilled it to her already.  You can probably let Jesus know, too.  But we’re not telling anyone else, and we’re not wearing out rings yet, either.  Because if Negan finds out, he’ll use it to hurt us however he can.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Maggie swears.

“It’s what we’re trying to prevent,” Michonne tells her, and then pauses for a moment.  Maggie tilts her head in question.

“But after we win this was against The Saviors, Rick and I decided that we want to have a real wedding.  With guests, and a reception, and an actual wedding dress.”

Michonne turns so that she’s facing Maggie, and grabs her hands.

“Maggie, you’re one of the most important people in the world to me.  And I can’t imagine getting married, or throwing any part of a wedding, without you by my side.”

“Are you asking me to be your maid of honor?” Maggie asks, her eyes lighting up.

Michonne looks at the ground bashfully.

“Yeah.  I am asking you that.”

Maggie squeals, and throws her arms around Michonne in a tight hug.

“Of course I will be!  I love you all so much, Michonne - you, Rick, Carl, and Judith.  You’re the closest family I have left, and I wouldn’t dream of missing this, or passing up the opportunity to be there for you and help you with this.”

But Maggie laughs as she pulls away from Michonne and motions to her finally-noticeable, ever-growing baby bump.

“This little one might be the size of a basketball by the time the big day comes, so who knows if I’ll even fit in a bridesmaid’s dress.  Of course, I guess I’m a matron, not a maid.  Ooh, yikes.  Matron makes me sound so old.”

“Maggie, you are the furthest thing from old,” Michonne promises her as she pulls her in for another hug, and over Maggie’s shoulder, Michonne sees Rick walking across the backyard, and she manages to catch his attention.  He stops, and meets her gaze.

The smile on his face shines as brightly as the sun behind him.