#warriors seek help before you kill someone

[majorproblems77]

Taken by nightmares

TW - nightmares, Cia being creepy, warriors gets bullied by his own brain 101, warriors get his soul stolen (in the dream F), Sky gets a little present, but its not pleasant, blood

Running running running

He was running out of time

Time ticked forward. The flames rose higher. The pain in his soul turned sickly.

"LINK!"

Turning around he found a monstrous beast.

Ganondorf.

The glow of the stolen fragments of the triforce shone from his head as the beast stomped forward. But he felt frozen in place.

Impa lay still on the ground nearby. He was too late to save her.

He raised the master sword in front of him, her glow reflecting in the beast's eyes. A final light in the darkness that was consuming the world around them as it fell away in pieces. The screams of his fellow soldiers echoed through the abyss as the wind picked up into a torrent of pain and destruction.

"You have failed."

A sickening voice echoed from behind him. Female....

Cia...

Unable to move he found hands tracing up his arms as nails dug into his flesh. slow steady footsteps filled his ears as she came into view. Her eyes glowed crimson as she tilted her head and smiled.

"You caused this pain." she smiled. Plaicing a hand to his chin as she drew herself into his face. He could feel the blood rushing to his ears. "You should have given yourself to me. It would have made this so much easier..."

He couldn't speak. He couldn't get away.

Trapped.

Alone.

"My chosen one, my perfect soul. Give yourself to me."

He struggled, he cried, but no noise came out.

Let me go! Let me go!

"Your gods can't hear you now..." She giggled, as she took a step back from him, "By my guiding hand, you are mine to the end!" Turning to him she raised her staff, a dark red mist emanating from its gemstone. Stretching across from her and ensnaring him in its grip.

Gold light begain to stretch across his body, "I will manipulate you into my image. And together my hero we shall rule this world."

Nonononononononononono

Let him go!

"..nk"

He could feel his very essence being drawn from him as the darkness began to seep into his bones.

"....ink..."

Just another sacrifice for her war.

Just another one converted to her perfected image...

"LINK!"

Bolting upright the first thing he did was grab the thing in front of him. Turning it around as a scream of pain left it. Green and red filled his vision as gold joined it.

"Link it's okay!"

"NO! NO I WONT BE A PUPPET! I WON'T BE PART OF YOUR PERFECT IMAGE!" He gripped tighter. forcing the object into the green fabric. Another sound reached his ears. Another yell. More pain more suffering.

"Sky can you get free?"

Sky?

"No."

Sky? Sky... Sky...

The next thing he registered was a knife in his hands. A blade pressed against skin. Panicked voices.

"Step back. You're scaring him." A calm voice, unwavering and unafraid.

Who were they ? They wanted to kill him. They were going to kill him or take him to Cia or or or...

"Link. It's okay. The threat has passed." He pushed the steel against the man's neck. "Put the knife down. No one is going to hurt you."

Dusty blond hair filled his vision. As he registered the wrist in his hand roll slightly.

"Who do you work for?" His voice was low, and the knife pressed tightly against his neck. "You have five seconds."

"I work for Hylia. My name is Link. Like yours. I'm a hero from an age before yours." The man spoke plainly and slowly.

Other Links? Other Links...

the chain...

He moved the knife away slowly but The man did not relax. "Put the knife down, captain. It's okay..."

"Its okay... ITs okay.... Its okay..." Slowly repeating it to himself he moved the blade ever so slowly away from his neck. Watching for sudden movements.

The shift of grass from a boot...

On instinct, he turned the blade and stabbed quickly. Finding his blade stopped short of the man's neck by his own arm. Which was now dripping crimson red blood.

Pushing the man to the ground he jumped on top of him, removing the blade from his arm and trying to space it into the neck where it would be safest.

If they can't talk they can't tell. If they can't tell they can't find you.

The man below him pushed away at his arms, pain ghosted his features as he found leverage and twisted his body sending him to the ground. The man above him pinned him down, his arms placed above his head as he felt something heavy collapse across his legs.

"Warriors! It's me! Sky!" The piercing blue eyes looked down at him.

Sky... Sky....

Sky!

He let out a gasp before looking towards the skyloftian again. "Sky?"

"Yep. Thats me. You back?"

Everything came rushing back to him. He'd attacked Sky. He'd almost killed him.

Dear hylia....

"Sky?"

"You had a bad dream, that knocked your senses for a bit." The skyloftian smiled. and offered him a hand.

He offered him a hand?!

His eyes fixed to the skyloftians bracer where blood pooled around some damage. He didn't say anymore. Turning away. "I'm sorry..."

He felt a pat on his shoulder. "I'm okay." You could hear the grimace in his voice. Trying to hide the pain. "Get some rest, we can talk in the morning."

Why would he want to talk to him in the morning?

"I almost killed you!" He spoke to the air. His voice filled with shock as a hand raised to his lips.

"You were taken by a nightmare. That is not your doing." Sky's voice was unwavering and calm.

How could he be so calm at a time like this?

"I...." He tried again.

"No. Get some rest. We will talk in the morning."

Curling up on his side he spoke no more, but he would not sleep either. The threat of nightmares returning too close for comfort.

[saradika]

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

[vigilskeep]

hiya!! I never learned much about oghren besides what I needed to because, from what I remember, he pissed me off so bad with misogynistic comments that in both my playthroughs I kicked him out of the party as soon as the game would let me😂what would you say is the appeal of his character? it seems there’s more to him if I could’ve got past that, based on the posts of yours I’ve seen

i’m not going to make an argument for pushing through if you can’t deal with how he talks because like, it sucks and as i say, they did not do anything with it or make him get better on that. that being said, i think there is something interesting to his character and what can be done with it.

maybe i’m just desperate for dwarven lore lmao. there are three, total, dwarven companions in the series, counting one from a dlc, and i will take whatever lore i can get from my beloved orzammar

oghren operates in a really fascinating space in orzammar’s caste system. he’s born warrior caste, and once, he was everything orzammar values and a great prospect for a brilliant girl from the smith caste. then when she’s less than twenty and he’s presumably around the same, she becomes a paragon, a living legend, the voice of the ancestors. they soar up to being a noble house in a role neither of them are prepared for. oghren goes from being a very desirable match socially to an uncultured hanger-on who doesn’t even have branka’s attention as she becomes obsessed with her work (and quietly seeks a lover elsewhere in her new house). when branka goes into the deep roads two years before the events of the game, she takes the whole house—except him. and she doesn’t come back. oghren’s the single leftover of a house with no head. he’s also a berserker with ptsd, and when he loses control of himself in the proving arena and kills a young man, he’s no longer allowed to fight within the city bounds. if he left it, he’d be casteless; but inside it, he’s not far from that, unable to be the warrior that orzammar’s culture has always told him it is his only role and purpose to be.

there’s a lot of orzammar caste and gender politics in all of that. the guard who tells you about oghren says that he might have been something to be afraid of before the assembly “practically gelded him” by banning him from fighting. losing your ability to perform your caste role is emasculating and oghren’s over-exaggerated masculinity in his crude jokes is a response to that perceived shame. even before the ban, orzammar has the biggest gender inequality of anywhere we’ve spent time in thedas, and there’s a lot of implied social loss in becoming the lesser partner to his wife. both because she’s a woman and was once a lesser caste than him. in his fade nightmare, he’s drunk in tapsters, as strangers berate him for being a shame to branka’s house, dragging it down. he’s openly mocked in the same way in orzammar for all of this. for him in this dream, and in his life prior to meeting the warden, it’s easier to drink than to listen

there’s a lot to get into about how orzammar treats its warriors. they’re sent against the horrors of the deep roads, taught to harness this berserker rage, to be the only thing that stands between their home and the darkspawn, and... then what? is there a system in place for taking care of those veterans? i doubt they hold the same value once they lose the ability to perform their caste role. oghren talks a little about this, but he’s not even able to conceptualise that he should have been helped, it’s more like, how could they teach me how to fight out there like that and expect me to be able to hold back in that proving fight? a warrior’s going to do what a warrior’s going to do! but i don’t think it’s a surprise that someone like oghren turns to alcohol and i sincerely doubt he’s alone in that. compare it to someone like warden brosca’s mother turning to alcohol to deaden herself to life in dust town, and you can see that the dwarven love of drink so often played for laughs is the weight of the caste system in action

[sweetbunpura]

There is a reason Celine is so no holds barred when sparring.

In times of peace, samurai swords were usually only worn as a sign of status as well as to show that the samurai was always on guard. Samurai were forbidden from drawing their swords under pain of death over a wide spectrum of conditions, they couldn't simply draw their blade for no reason. You were not permitted to draw your sword in government buildings and a variety of public spaces, and even when you could, you had to issue a long series of warnings before actually drawing your sword. Any violation of these rules could have dire consequences. Even if you pulled your sword at the right place for the right reasons, you and your family may face the same fate if you failed to kill your opponent. This means that if you were going to draw your sword, you had better have a very good reason for doing so.

Thus, in keeping with spirit of the warriors of her mama's homeland, Celine refuses to draw her live sword in combat unless absolutely necessary (though, she would absolutely beat someone with her practice bokken if she needs to). Which also means, that when she's sparring, she treats it like a life or death situation. She pulls off the gloves, no retreat, no surrender.

And by extension, she expects the same from her brothers.

She remembers the stories her mama told them when she and papa attended NRC. Overblots and fights, ordeals filled with peril and strife. In this place, danger could be waiting around every corner. Though, she does not see magic as a curse as Jehan does. Nor does she see magic as a wonder as Tadashi does. Celine sees magic for what it is, a tool, an instrument that could help or hinder in a given situation. Much like her sword.

The world is not a kind place. (Especially to those the world seems "different")

As such, she wants her brothers to be ready to fight tooth and nail with everything they have at their disposal, just she wants to be. Improve their skills, sharpen their claws, so that when the day comes when they face an opponent fully intent on killing them, they'll be as ready as they can be. Afterall, true Pomefiore students seek not to only better themselves, but those around them, with whatever methods they can.

Yuu: I've taught you well!

Tadashi and Jehan, on the floor:

Rollo, watching from the safety of the sidelines:

Gonna have to drill it into Tadashi and Jehan to be better, but in magic and in combat.

[andreal831]

Is Klaus a good father?

I've been holding this one back for a while and if you are in this fandom, I'm sure you can imagine why. But recently on tik tok someone told me that I just "didn't understand" Klaus' character. But I promise you I do. Which is why I struggle to like him for most of the show.

Because for 90% of the show Klaus is a terrible brother and father.

We can't talk about Klaus and fatherhood without first talking about Marcel. Klaus took Marcel in with the pretense of adopting him. But he allowed his own jealousy to rob Marcel of having any kind of typical childhood. Elijah wanted to educate Marcel and we see they bonded pretty quickly when Marcel first comes to live with them. And most parents would be thrilled to see a child who has lost his mother and experienced so much trauma was still able to connect with someone and be excited about learning. Instead, he is jealous and releases Kol. He allows Kol to completely go off the rails in the same house where a very mortal child is living.

We don't see any more of their relationship until he is older and we see Klaus interfere with Marcel and Rebekah. Again, some people say it's to protect Marcel, but it wasn't. It followed the same pattern of abuse against Rebekah that we've seen before. He continues to rob Marcel of his choices, with joining the war, with dating Rebekah, and then later by trying to steal the city Marcel had worked over 200 years to solidify. Klaus does not take Marcel in because he wants to be a father, he takes him in because he wants a warrior friend. Which is why he released Kol when he felt Elijah "stole" Marcel from him. He never truly wanted family, he had that. He wanted someone who would go along with his debauchery.

And then Klaus finds out about Hope.

Klaus' first reaction to finding out of Hope's existence was to tell the witches to kill Hayley and the baby. Which I don't fully hold against him since he didn't trust it was his and was scared. But even after he accepts the baby is his and Elijah brings Hayley back to the house, Klaus shows almost no interest in Hayley or the baby. Rather, he is on a power quest to take over New Orleans from his first child.

The first time we get any sense Klaus cares whether the baby lives or dies is when he nearly chokes Hayley to death. I'm sorry, but that is not a sweet moment. It is abuse.

Throughout season 1 we see Elijah and Hayley grow close while Klaus is absent for most of the pregnancy. Klaus even leaves a pregnant Hayley in the woods alone with Elijah while he is suffering from his wolf venom. Elijah could have killed Hayley and Hope, and very nearly did if it wasn't for Eve. Klaus showed no regard for their safety because he got his feelings hurt that his brother doubted his intentions. Intentions that should have been questioned. Elijah had seen Klaus seek power over family for a thousand years and the last thing he heard from Klaus about the baby was he wanted a legacy, not a baby. Yes, there are a couple of moments where we see he cares or is afraid, but he does very little to actually help Hayley throughout her pregnancy. In fact, he kidnaps her and lets his brother watch over her instead of him.

Then Hope is born. Yes, Klaus clearly cares for her. I'm not denying that. But Klaus is a textbook narcissist and they historically do not make the best parents. We see a moment of selflessness when he agrees to send Hope off with Rebekah and clean up the mess he's made in New Orleans. But again, he relies on Elijah to clean it up while he mopes and isn't concerned about the mother of his child until Elijah forces him to.

Again, we have a sweet scene with Hayley and Klaus reuniting with Hope, but it makes no sense that they left her with Elijah. Elijah who was still struggling to control himself after being mentally and physically tortured. The only protection Hope has is Cami who would not be able to protect Hope if Elijah lost control.

Another moment people think is cute, but I find incredibly manipulative, is when Klaus has Cami and Elijah bring Hope back to New Orleans. The city is still unsafe. In fact she had just been attacked by Finn and Freya was on the loose, someone they didn't trust, Rebekah was missing. It was not the time to bring her back. But Klaus wanted to make sure he had his werewolf army, which Hayley went through with the wedding. A good parent would put their child's safety over anything. Hope should have stayed out of New Orleans until he was sure they could protect her. But Klaus continuously puts his own wants over even Hope's safety.

We don't see much of Hope and Klaus' interactions in the month they all live together. In fact, we see Jackson with Hope more. And that's still limited. Hope is sent out to the bayou repeatedly. A lot of this is because Klaus was busy dealing with all of the threats from his family. Again, it was not safe to bring Hope back yet.

When Dahlia shows up, Klaus goes off the rails. People love to say he was a master manipulator, but he really was just going with the flow and picking the most chaotic option available to him. He admitted to killing a friend of the wolves, effectively losing the army he worked so hard to ensure and causing doubt amongst his whole family about his trustworthiness. Again, instead of putting Hope's safety first, he lets his paranoia lead him and he puts Hope in more danger. Dahlia only finds Hope because he hands over his blood. Instead of working with his siblings to defeat Dahlia while Hayley runs with Hope, he betrays everyone and then curses Hayley. Once again, because he's a narcissist and thinks he is the only one who can protect Hope. This is in direct contradiction to the fact that he's seen his family and Hayley fight to the death for Hope already.

For perspective, I think we need a timeline of Hope's life so far: Hope was born and her mother was murdered while holding her mere second after her birth. Then within a few days sent away from her mother. Mothers bonding with babies in the first few days is so important for development. Rebekah raises her for 6 months or so and then she gets to see her mom for a night and her dad for a couple of hours. Cami and Elijah take care of her for a few weeks and then she's in New Orleans living with Hayley, Klaus, and Jackson (people this 7 month only baby really doesn't even know) for a month. Then after adjusting for a month, she loses Hayley and Jackson for 6 more months. Hope is surrounded by Klaus, Freya, and Elijah -- again, people she doesn't really know. The first year of her life is full of upheaval and she is not able to create a secure attachment with anyone. Klaus only makes this worse by taking Hayley away for six months.

And before you say, 'he did it to save her life.' He made absolutely no effort to help save her and even objected to Elijah bringing Hope out to the bayou. It was a punishment for Hayley believing she knew what was best for Hope even though he was behaving in the exact same way. He also apologizes for it and says he was wrong later. He even agrees he shouldn't have done it.

This is where I get frustrated with Klaus stans. People always want to say he has the best character development, but when I call him out for his early behavior, they get upset. It's because of his early behavior we were able to see any growth.

And we do see growth. To me, the most growth is at the end of season 3. Throughout season 3, we also don't see Klaus interact with Hope very much. Hope is mostly just with Hayley or out in the bayou, basically unprotected. But at the end, he finally realizes what it means to be a father. He tells Hayley to take Hope and run. He puts Hope above his own desires. This is the most selfless we ever see Klaus. And it does cost him. He misses out on five years of Hope's life.

When he wakes up, he is still in that same headspace (thank you Cami). The family decides to leave New Orleans alone and abandon the fight with Marcel. This is shocking behavior for Klaus. But he wants to raise his daughter in peace. I love the couple of episodes we get here with them. But then the Hollow happens and they have to go back to New Orleans. Where Klaus imprisons his first child, Marcel. I'm sorry, but no matter what Hope did, Klaus would never treat her the way he treated Marcel. Whether it's racist, sexist, or based on him not being blood, you decide.

Klaus is only in Hope's life for about a week until he has to leave because of the Hollow. Again, this is peek Klaus parenting in this one week. But then while he's gone, he goes off the deep end. He claims it is to keep Elijah safe, but in reality, it is because he has nothing tethering him. Once Hope sees him, he completely cuts her off. He never actually learned to be an everyday father. He only knew how to make the big gestures. He doesn't know how to sit down with her and explain or even how to reach out to Hayley and have an adult conversation. He abandons his daughter to the point that she kidnaps her own mother to get his attention. He falls back into his old habits, putting his comfort over his daughter. Because it's easier to ignore her than to face the harsh reality of dealing with the terrible things he's done and trying to be an actual better person for Hope.

We don't see Klaus act as a parent for another 7 years. And this whole season was just a mess. I do understand he can't be close to her. But they have magic and phones, he could have contacted her better. He should have been more involved. If you follow me on tik tok, you already know how ridiculous I think Hayley's death episode was.

Hayley's death would have been the hardest thing Hope has ever gone through. I hate season 5 for making her bounce back so quickly. Hayley was the one constant in Hope's life. I know everyone wants to act like Klaus' death should have impacted her more, but she didn't really know him. He was more of an idea to her than an actual person.

Hope was falling apart for most of season 5, so Klaus gets the bright idea to kill himself less than a week after Hope loses her mother. This is portrayed as the ultimate sacrifice for his daughter, but it was incredibly selfish. Elijah was willing and able to die by himself, but because Klaus didn't want another man to die for his daughter, Hope had to lose both her parents in the span of a week. Not only that, but feel responsible for their deaths. I will be the first to admit, season 5 was just bad writing because the showrunners were ready to move on to Legacies. But it's all we have.

All of the development we see with Klaus is destroyed in season 5. I am hard on Klaus' character because this fandom loves to let him get away with everything. But I do genuinely like aspects of his character. And, as I said, I do love the one week of his relationship with Hope, but it's not enough to overshadow the danger and hurt he put her through. 

[sainamoonshine]

Okay so like, time travel fic where Shuri ends up back in the past for some reason, she doesn’t know how. She wakes up during the whole mess of the first Black Panther movie, while she’s fleeing with her mom to seek refuge with the mountain tribe. At first she doesn’t tell anyone, because she’s not sure WHAT happened exactly, whether this is real, if everything she experienced in the future was just a nightmare because of the stress of Killmonger usurping the throne, whatever.

But then while they’re in the mountains fucking Namor shows up. Slamming down into the snow from the sky and he’s like “I want to talk to the Black Panther”.

All of the warriors present ofc are like “who tf are you” and they’re ready to throw down, but Shuri is just like “Namor????”

And he turns to her and like, his shoulders relax, and he greets her. “Black Panther. There you are.”

Shuri is super confused. “I— I’m not. Not yet.”

He inclines his head. “No, perhaps not. But eventually you will be.”

“Hold on, you— you know me? So it was all real then? How?!”

“I have always found the how to be less important than the why.”

That’s when Queen Ramonda interrupts with “Shuri, what is going on? You know this man?”

And before Shuri can answer, Namor says: “My people call me Kukulkan, but others call me Namor. The Black Panther and I seem to have travelled here from the future. I had hoped to take the opportunity to make our alliance sooner, but when I arrived in Wakanda, there was an usurper on the throne.”

Then he looks at Shuri and says darkly: “Do you wish me to kill him for you?”

And Shuri is honestly kind of annoyed — because can’t this dude go five minutes without threatening to kill someone, seriously! Even tho this is Killmonger we’re talking about and she wouldn’t actually mind him dead — and slaps back with: “I’m surprised you haven’t already”, because if Namor actually met Killmonger then she can’t imagine her cousin would have been polite enough for the god king’s tastes. He probably insulted him within the first five seconds.

But Namor’s eyebrows furrow and he says: “When I demanded to see you, he called you cousin. I did not wish to guess about which family members you care about, and which you do not.”

And that’s when confusion and shock finishes clearing from her mind and is replaced by blind fury. How dare he speak like that, as if her sentiments about her family are an inconvenience that he has to be careful of.

“Why are you here”, she hisses.

He tilts his head to the side. “I have already told you. I have come to re-establish my alliance with Wakanda. But I will only negotiate with the rightful ruler. I can either wait until your brother has reclaimed his throne on his own, or I can expedite the process.”

There is a hiss among those gathered, and general murmuring.

She straightens and reaches deep inside herself for what scraps of diplomatic graciousness she can find.

“I appreciate your offer to help, but this is an internal matter to Wakanda. It does not concern you. Stay out of our water until it is resolved.”

“Shuri!” Hisses her mother, who had probably started seeing the hope of having an ally, one as obviously powerful as Namor.

(It is odd, something in the back of her mind whispers, that neither Mother nor M’Baku are trying to take the lead on these negotiations. What she doesn’t know is that both of them have seen how she’s straightened, confidence and power settling over her shoulders, her composure that of a queen, her glare that of a protector. And the interloper, whom also carries himself with the grace of a king — whom calls himself by the name of a god — defers to her. He calls her Panther, and has had eyes only for her since she has spoken his name.)

Namor tilts his head to the side, considers her thoughtfully. “The usurper wants to wage war on the surface world. Left unopposed, he will burn everything. You wish me away from him. You are concerned that I might find an alliance with him more productive than one with you.”

Shuri does not clench her fists but flexes her fingers instead, vibranium claws that she does not have ready to tear at his face and gift him the scars of the future-past anew. “Don’t you dare!” She roars.

“I will not,” replies Namor almost as loudly, as angrily. “It is to you that I have given my word. I am not some surface-dweller to go easily back on it.”

He steps towards her. All warriors present twitch, spears held higher, but Shuri is still as a stone, her glare almost daring him to try his luck. He stops in front of her and raises an open palm.

“Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“Your hand, Panther.”

She places her hand in his, eyes still locked on his, challenging. Without a word, Namor pulls something from his pocket, and ties it around her wrist.

Shuri looks down. Gasps.

“Your mother’s bracelet. You— ”

“It belongs to you.” Once finished securing it to her wrist, he lets his fingers run over the jade stones, not tenderly (she refuses to think the word in association to him) but… contemplatively.

“Do you remember,” he says in a low voice, “when I told you that things could have been different?”

She sets her jaw. Just because she has chosen not to act on her anger any longer does not mean she doesn’t still burn with it. “You are the reason things were not different.”

Namor’s lips thin. He steps back, letting go of her hand, fingers slipping over her skin — she doesn’t pull away or otherwise react, just lets her hand drop, because she’s not about to let him win this by giving him a reaction — then he pulls another item from behind himself. A large, familiar conch shell, which he’d been carrying attached to his belt. Under his cape, she hadn’t seen it. He holds it up in between them.

“If you change your mind, about needing help.”

“I won’t,” she says, but reaches out to take it anyhow.

Namor takes another few steps backwards, raises his hands first in the salute of his people, then of hers, and finally takes off into the night sky. Shuri does not stare after him. It is another victory that she will not give him.

***

Later, after she has explained — a sparse on details as the others allow her to be — about the time travel she still cannot explain, and who exactly Namor is, M’Baku whistles at her.

“And what did you do to this god-king, that he’d hold on to an alliance you made even across time?”

She glares at him. She preferred it when he called Namor fish man and wasn’t awed by him.

“I beat his ass,” she snaps. “He deserved it.”

Her mother looks shocked. M’Baku looks impressed.

Shuri feels a headache coming on.

***

She should have considered her words more carefully.

Stay out of our waters until the situation is resolved.

Namor barely waits until the funeral in the Atlantic is over that he reappears in Wakanda again, demanding to speak with her brother.

(T’Challa, he is here, alive and well, and she has barely had the time to hug him, to cry, certainly not enough time to explain the situation properly, and she resents Namor for this, that he should butt in back into her life so soon, when she is finally surrounded by her loved ones, back from the grave, some of which HE took from her—)

Anyway. T’Challa and Namor talk, they make an agreement, peace is reached.

Shuri has more important things to see to.

She tells her family as much about the future as she dares, as much as she can bear to. But some events she doesn’t broach. After all, they need to know about Thanos, about the blip, even about T’Challa’s illness. But the war with Namor will never happen, now. They have their alliance, and he seems hell bent on sticking to it. So why should she burden her family with nightmares that will not come to pass?

She couldn’t even if she wanted to. Every time she thinks that she might talk about it, the words die on her tongue.

And then there is the matter of the bracelet. She uses it to recreate the herb long before her brother’s illness even starts to take hold, and how is she supposed to even begin to explain what it means, that Namor gave it to her this soon in the timeline? That the man who took her mother away also gave her her brother back. How is she supposed to feel? Angry? Relieved? Bittersweet?

Unfortunately, her lack of explanations regarding her past with — against — Namor, her clear refusal to breach the subject, her avoidance of these memories… it all leads her family and friends to speculate.

They see her, barely able to stand being in the same room, gritting her teeth any time that she looks at him, but still furiously insisting that they make their alliance with him, that they protect his kingdom with all the might of Wakanda.

They see the god-king, who will call T’Chala “king”, but insists on calling her “Panther”, even though she is not. His eyes, following her across the room. The way he only ever folds to her opinion, while everyone else has to argue with him for hours. How he tolerates her temper, how his very first offer to her was to kill the one who usurped her brother’s throne.

They come to the conclusion that Shuri and Namor had a bad breakup.

[notasapleasure]

Saga AU, before the beginning for Cass maybe?

Askbox writing meme

ooof ooh boy, you asked for it!

This 'before the beginning' is how saga AU Cassian was taken from his home during the wars between the Nonoalca and the Chichimecha in Toltec Mexico (mid-tenth century). In canon I suppose it's equivalent to the mining/ecological disaster on Kenari we don't see, that leaves the scar on the land and the children without any adults.

It's not seeking to make any judgement on the way the societies vary in their attitude to human sacrifice, more just following the (pre-)historic record that the Chichimecha came out on top. Also exploring the idea of Cassian's journey from someone who feels angry that unjust things happen to him into someone who feels angry that injustice happens to anyone at all.

I called him Cahuan here, thinking the pronunciation could shift enough via interactions with speakers of other languages to sound more like 'Cassian' by the time he finally reaches Maine/Norse Vínland. Kerri is Quauhtli.

Apologies for any egregious inaccuracies - I'm grateful to Kay for help with the research into this setting, but any mistakes or misunderstandings are my own!

CW for children caught up in a slave raid.

Notes at the end

Before the beginning

When the jaguars descended on them they were with their mother in the fields of amaranth. Cahuan heard her scream his name - she told him to protect his sister. Quauhtli was a few rows over, barely tall enough to be seen behind the weeping plumes of golden-red seed. She wailed for her mother, and Cahuan told her to be quiet.

He was meant to go to her, to protect her, but he froze, trying to count the figures prowling through the crop: big, broad-shouldered warriors with obsidian blades on th edges of their macuahuitl, glinting green-gold under the sun. Cahuan couldn't see their faces with the bright blue sky behind them. They were just dark monoliths circling the women and children in the field, a net closing in with arms extended, stretching like evening shadows made solid.

"Cahuan! Take your sister! Run!" his mother called again, and he made a confused scrabble for the blade his father had given him. It was only as long as his small hand, black and smooth as lakewater, and so far he'd only used it for killing chickens and skinning game. He understood now that he had to be the one to protect his family though, he had lived through fourteen rounds of the tzolkin and his father had trusted him with this knife.

Cahuan set his thin lips into a grimace and spoke a prayer to the feathered serpent. He squeezed the leather grip of his knife and dropped into a crouch. His little sister called for him and he told her to stay put, ignoring his mother's plea for them to run. A jaguar was approaching her and Cahuan saw a glint of teeth, saw the loops of rope at its belt.

The slave raids had grown more frequent as the war heated up, but they'd never expected the Chichimecha to raid so close to the boundaries of Tollan.

Cahuan ran at the jaguar, head down, his childish bellow of rage mingling with the shrieks and cries of the other Nonoalca who'd been working the field. As he approached, trampling the dry stalks of the amaranth, scattering its grain and cutting across the neat rows, the ocelotl seemed to grow taller. It seemed to Cahuan that the jaguar's great head moved in front of the sun to block his warmth, and the warrior's bare, muscled arms with their paint and tattoos swung wide as a snare to catch Cahuan.

He jabbed with his knife and the warrior deflected his blow easily. The strength of his parry appalled Cahuan, but he couldn't back down now. He felt the hilt of his knife dig sharply into his palm and he changed his grip to stab at the ocelotl's forearm as it swung after him.

This time he connected, and the warrior snarled in fury. The sound of his voice made Cahuan's hair stand on end, it made his heart quake and his ribs ache. The ocelotl struck him in the jaw with one empty paw, then kicked Cahuan in the chest so that he fell back on the hard ground.

The sky was so very high above his face and the ground was hard, rain-thirsty, the dry crop of amaranth whispering crisply beneath his shoulders. Cahuan tried to draw a breath but his ribcage spasmed in pain; he tried to raise the hand holding the knife but the jaguar put a foot over his wrist. He didn't press down with all his weight, just enough for Cahuan to know he would do so if there was a struggle.

He couldn't unclench his fist though. The knife was held tightly in it, so tight its stone hilt cut his palm through the leather and reed grip. Cahuan whimpered as the ocelotl moved his sandalled foot off his wrist and brought it down on the knife his father had given him.

The obsidian blade crunched like bone beneath the ocelotl's weight and then the warrior crouched down, his own knife pointing at Cahuan's throat. The face of the jaguar he wore was moulded into a fierce snarl. Polished white fangs framed his eagle-beaked nose and black paint around his eyes made them seem sunken into his face: clear water sparkling a threat from deep in a well.

"You are brave, boy," he snarled. "Are you brave enough for Tezcatlipoca?"

Cahuan felt his heart thump against his breastbone, responding to this call from the gods. But he was afraid - he wasn't ready to give that up yet. Didn't he deserve to enjoy the gifts of the gods first, before he gave back to them?

The ocelotl took a fistful of his hair and pulled him to his feet, and Cahuan screamed as his scalp burned. He clawed at the jaguar's paw but the grip didn't loosen, and the warrior wrenched his head back so Cahuan had to look up into his monstrous twin snarls.

"The rope. Take it and tie her well," the ocelotl nodded at Cahuan's mother. Her face was wet with tears and her teeth shone white as the grimaced. She held her hands to her neck and shook her head and Cahuan tried to shake his head too. He tried to kick at his captor, but the claws in his hair tightened and the ocelotl shook him by his scalp.

"You'll get your reward, boy! Now do as I tell you!"

To his other side, Cahuan heard his sister screaming. Another warrior strode over to them with Quauhtli gripped under one arm and a second child bundled under the other, like turkeys ready for market.

Quauhtli's face was red from crying and she squirmed and wriggled. She called for her mother and she called for her brother, and in the tone of her desperate shrieks, all Cahuan's bravery evaporated. The stream of pain in his head and his chest met the stream of pain from his family's cries and as they mingled, Cahuan burst into furious, terrified tears.

The ocelotl holding him laughed a booming laugh. "Only fit for the rains. Here boy," he swiped the thumb of the hand holding his macuahuitl across Cahuan's cheek and tasted the tears he'd collected. "Take responsibility for your women!"

He released Cahuan and took the rope from his belt, handing it to the sobbing boy. "Tie her well!"

Cahuan's hands shook and so did his mother's as he wound the rope around her wrists, the obsidian bladed macuahuitl of the ocelotl held to his mother's neck. When he was made to do the same to his desperate little sister, who sat in the dirt and howled at the sky as he approached her, one warrior spoke to the other: "He hasn't the pride to go for Tezcatlipoca. Keep him with these two, though, and you'll have a strong and obedient slave."

--

Notes:

ocelotl/jaguar - the Chichimecha warriors wearing jaguar skin, followers of Tezcatlipoca, big fans of the old human sacrifice.

Nonoalca - followers of Quetzalcoatl. Under the rule of priest-king Ce Atl Topiltzil (mid-tenth century) human sacrifice was reduced, as it was believed not to please Quetzalcoatl. These guys lost the religious war, after lots of slave raids and guerilla attacks from the Chichimecha.

macuahuitl - hand held weapon with barbs of obsidian set into the wood (like a small baseball bat with razor blades in it...)

Tzolkin - 260 day basic calendar (from Mayan sources). So Cahuan isn't fourteen, he's ten (14 × 260).

Tlaloc - god of the rains. Tears, especially children's tears, featured in sacrifices to him to encourage the rains.

[pandoraslove]

Best

Neteyam x reader 

A/n: I really wasn’t sure about posting this because I don’t know how to feel about it. This is my first time writing for Neteyam, but definitely not my last. 

summary: you seek help to save your people and make an unexpected connection. 

I sought refuge with the Omaticaya clan. I was honest and told Toruk Makto and Neytiri everything the moment I arrived on my Ikran, Malu. She was a sweet Ikran that could kill you in a mere second, she was purple with rosy hues. My mother was a beautiful na’vi, she loved our people, her name was Minotaur. My father, Skakoan, was brave and courageous, he always did what was best for the people. He kept us safe. They were both murdered protecting their people, us- my brother and I. Selkath, my brother, betrayed them… me. Our people. Eywa. He betrayed us all.

“Toruk Makto,” I greet standing in front of him and his wife, “I have come in search of sanctuary. Please.” I say the plea quietly. Luckily it was only, Jakesully, Neytiri, and I. My people, Kekunani, are warriors, who show little emotion. It is common for it to be said only for the weak to show emotion.

“Why do you seek shelter?” Neytiri interrogates.

“ I am Y/n of the Kekunan clan, daughter of the Skakoan Olo’eyktan and Minotaur Tsahik. I was next to be Tsahik. My brother Selkath tried to kill me simply for trying to save my people, our clan is small, but strong. I tried to save them. I cannot help them if I am dead.” I explain to them.

“How is your clan in danger?” Jake asks.

“My brother is blinded by rage, as if he’s been taken by a demon. He- he murdered my peoples Ikrans, he set fire to their homes because they disagreed with him. He is using fear to control them. He has betrayed our parents, me, my people, and Eywa. I am here to ask for safety, but I will not ask for you to help me in this war with my brother.”

“How old are you, Y/n?” Neytiri asks while observing me.

“I am 17,” I tell her. From the stories I've heard, she was only a year older than me when the Great War happened.  

“You are so young and in a war with your own?”

I smile sadly, “I would love nothing more than to change it all, but my brother, Selkath, he is beyond salvation. I have asked our great mother to guide me, help me, help him and our people.”

“You can stay here, If you’d like we can help your people as well.” Jake says, looking towards Neytiri for approval.

“Thank you. This will be temporary, this is between my brother and I and I will stop at nothing to put a stop to him.” I tell them, It pained me to say. Maybe I won’t have to kill him, but I have to put a stop to my brother.

Jake and Neytiri introduced me to their kids the next day. Neteyam, who was a year older, Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk, the youngest of their daughters. I hung out with Kiri for a while and Tuk reminded me of a lot of the kids in my clan. Lo’ak was funny, he reminded me of Selkath when we were younger, when he hadn’t let the rage get to him so deeply. Lo’ak would never turn into Selkath. And Neteyam, Neteyam was a lot like me. He reminded me of myself, at least partly. He was kind.

I’d spent most of the morning along with them before I left to look for my Ikran. My clan wasn’t too far. I’d done this for my people’s sake and my own. I made sure to take in everything, every little detail what was different, if my people seemed more hurt. every little detail was marked in my head. When I returned I went to my tent. I was startled to find Neytiri there.

“Are your people okay?” she asks in a way of greeting.

“As okay as they can be.” I responded.

“When Selkath is dealt with, what will you do?” she asks.

“I am not fit to be Tsahik, I would not be good. Maybe I will give the role to someone Eywa leads me to.” I sit down across from her.

“You are young, you will learn.” she encouraged me. “You have my Jake and I to help you, if you’d like.” I smile and hold my hand out to her.

“Thank you, Neytiri.”

That night I went out with the Sully kids. They’d convinced me to go with them to see the forest at night. It was a beautiful sight. The animal and plants had a glow so beautiful that it felt as if it were all fake. near my clan the forest is not as bright, more dull. but it also had its beauties.

“Are you alright ?” Kiri asks from beside me.

“Of course,” I tell her, giving her a small smile.

“you seem to be stuck in your head.” Neteyam says from beside me as well.

“I am… just taking in the beauty.”

“my father told me a little of why you’ve come,” Neteyam exposes, Kiri was now with Tuk, Lo’ak and the human boy ahead of us.

I sigh, “it’s only a matter of time before he comes looking for me or I go to him for a duel.”

“duel?”

“If he lives he continues to lead my people down a path they will not survive, If I live I save my people,” I explained quietly.

“We can help you,” he says. We stopped walking, Kiri and Tuk being entertained by a bioluminescent creature.

“You already are, you’ve given me a place to stay.” I say sincerely to him, my hand on his arm, as I give him a small smile.

It was almost dawn, I’d been with the Omaticaya clan for nearly three weeks. I was sitting in front of the spirit tree sending up a prayer to protect my people, to protect me. Yesterday evening, just before eclipse, Selkath approached me on his vicious Ikran in the forest. I was alone, thankfully. I no longer could recognize my brother and it pained me more and more everyday. Our duel is set for tomorrow at eclipse on the Hallelujah mountain at the highest point. I had yet to inform the Sully’s. I don’t want to worry them, i’ve grown so close to them in such little time, I cannot imagine putting them in danger. As the sun rose I walked back to the clan i’d grown to care for. I met the Sullys in their tent as it had now become mandatory that I show up for at least one meal a day. Neytiri and Jake’s orders. I sat beside Neteyam who gave me a playful nudge and smile.

“How are you?” he asks.

“good,” I tell him. I felt light today. knowing no matter what my people would be safe after tomorrow.

“good.” he says with a smile. Over the little time i’ve been with this family I’ve grown close to Neteyam. unbelievably close.

“do you want to go fly together after breakfast?” he asks.

“i would love to,” I responded with a smile.

Neteyam and I left the rest of the Sully’s once we both finished. The excursion was… magical. we laughed and flew together and I was truly happy. I hadn’t felt like this in what felt like years. I allowed myself to let go of everything even if it was temporary. Neteyam landed down below near a river. We got off our Ikrans and sat with our feet inside the water.

“Thank you, Neteyam. For everything.” I tell him after a moment of silence.

“Always,” He says looking me in the eyes. “Y/n?” The way says my name makes me wish he was the only one allowed to say it.

“Neteyam.”

“go on a date with me.” he says, I was slightly taken aback. but happy nonetheless.

“Of course,” If I survive tomorrow, “I do have a pretty busy schedule…I’ll have to check when I am free.” i tell him half jokingly. He laughs and comes closer to me tickling my sides making me burst in a fit of laughter.

when he finally stops his attack on my body and allows me to catch my breath I look at him, actually look at him taking in every detail. My hand rest on his cheek as I lay on my side with him next to me.

“I see you, Neteyam.” I say gently.

“I see you, Y/n.” He says in the same gentle tone. I lean closer, but he’s the one to initiate the kiss, a kiss so gentle I felt as if I were floating.

I spent my time leading up to my duel with Selkath with the people I’d grown to love. I gave Tuk my necklace that my mother had gotten me for my 12th birthday. She’d give me many growing up. I gave Kiri my beaded bracelet. I left Lo’ak my small dagger. I left Neteyam, another of my daggers with a note. Neteyam and Lo’ak would find their gifts if neteyam were to look for me in my tent. If I made it back they wouldn’t know they existed.

I readied myself as eclipse settled closer and closer. I steadied my mind and heart, sending a prayer to Eywa. I grabbed my remaining daggers and my bow and arrows before calling Malu to take me up to the place I would meet Selkath.

He stood at the peak, his body rigid, and back towards me. I studied him before calling out to him. He turned to me and I no longer recognized him.

No words were shared before he charged at me. Knife in hand, he aimed directly to my heart. I moved under him, deflecting the hit. It was a dance, a beautifully tragic dance once. My daggers hit his body as his hit mine as well. Maybe it was from the blood loss or the overload of emotions I've been able to feel in the last few weeks, but I could not kill my brother and live. It would haunt me and possibly kill me as well. Tears and sweat mixed together each move brought us close to the edge of the mountain.

“I cannot kill you, I will not!” I shout over the wind.

“then you will die.” He responds in a cold tone.

“You hate me so much ?” He stayed quiet. I hit him hard enough so that he’d drop his knife. “Is this what you wanted?!” I ask, grabbing onto his shoulders, moving us closer and closer to the edge of the mountain.

“I will kill you!” he yells. I could feel him trying to push me but I held my grip on his arms.

“Let my people go!” I yell, both in prayer and to the man who caused this all to fall from the mountain, fear flashed in his eyes, I closed my eyes accepting my fate.

I thought it was the end, that I would see Eywa when I opened my eyes again. Instead I found Neteyam, Neytiri and Jake. I gasp and sit up remembering the events before I closed my eyes.

“you’re okay,” Neytiri says, laying a hand on my back. Neteyam was holding my hand. small sobs shaking my body.

“Selkath?” I ask.

“Eywa heard you Y/n.” Neytiri says.

“A swarm of Ikran saved you and my dad banned him from ever leading any people.” Neteyam says. I nod my head in understanding and send up a prayer to the Great Mother, thanking her for not making me do something I would not be able to live with.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“Jake,” Neytiri says nodding her head towards the entrance of the tent signaling to give me and Neteyam so moment alone.

“What were you thinking? you should have told me, Y/n.”

“I was thinking about my people,”

“Well they are here now, they are our people,” He says, his eyes on mine. I smiled at him sweetly. And in this moment I knew Eywa has blessed me with the best things I would've never thought of.

[thegamingcatmom]

👋

I recently read the story you last posted "Old habits die hard" and it was so well written it made me tear up, honestly it was so sad. We got to see a little snippet of those bad days that sometimes just not even them can help going through. But it left me with questions (perhaps is too similar to the story so idk if I am being repetitive) I was wondering how can MC truly help them in such days, how can she offer further comfort to make them feel better? They are very different from one another too so each of them may have different ways to cope with it, would they openly seek comfort in MC right away? Or would they close off hoping to get over it on their own, even distance themselves a bit to clear their mind? I think the main question because I am rambling is how they ask MC for what they need to in that moment?

Hey there! 👋

Thank you for your lovely words. I gotta admit I'm quite proud to have evoked such strong feelings. That was the goal with this one. ❤️

Right so, when they seek MC out depends on how far gone they are at that time and which sister she's dealing with I´d say. Because, as you said, their ways to cope and seek help might differ.

The good thing is: ever since they've found their mate, their ways to cope with things changed a bit. It became healthier, you could say. As I've said in another post, their ways to deal with such days before MC pretty much consisted of:

seeking human company (Tanya)

intense training session (Kate)

closing off/alone time (Irina)

It was their way of escapism.

MC's changed that. She's made them more willing to ask for help because they know they'll be met with nothing but love and acceptance. They might not always know how to convey what they want/need (Old Habits Die Hard), but at least they'll actively seek that help now. That's what's important.

What happened in Old Habits Die Hard was pretty much them at their "worst". Like, yknow, the pain isn't always the same. Some days it's more bearable than others. But when it's not, they'll spiral like that.

With that said:

.

.

.

How would they ask for help?

I think Tanya and Kate would struggle a lot more than Irina with admitting when they need help.

.

Tanya is the leader, as such she´s probs more used to giving guidance than seeking it. So, I think a small part of her might be too proud to admit it because she doesn´t want to appear "weak" in front of her coven and, more importantly, in front of her mate. It´s ridiculous, and deep down she knows this. But it´s not like you can just turn off those voices inside your head.

However, a good leader knows when it´s time to let someone else take the reins for a while. That´s when she´ll seek out MC.

I don´t think she would be very vocal about it though. It´s more like she´s gonna...linger, longer than she usually would. Not necessarily seeking contact just yet, but more like breathing the same air, so to speak. She´s gonna start a conversation about the most random of topics then, kinda using it as an excuse for all that lingering. Then she´ll start twiddling her thumbs.

She doesn´t twiddle her thumbs. Ever.

With Tanya, it´s all about reading between the lines.

.

Kate struggles as well, albeit for different reasons. She was a warrior in her past life, and vulnerability had no place on the battlefield. I like to think that part of her still feels that way. Habits are hard to break, after all. Also, just like Tanya, she doesn´t want to show any kind of "weakness". That stuff could get you killed in combat.

But I also think, back then, she developed her own technique to slip into a state of mind that would allow her to stay focused despite the chaos in and around her. She´s probs seen some nasty stuff in her time as a warrior, so I can´t imagine she didn´t have some trick up her sleeve to deal with the horrors she no doubt faced back then. Mediation before a big battle or something.

With that said, I think she´d try and deal with stuff herself first. Not in the same every-tree-is-an-enemy way, but more like what she used to do back then: mediating. Just trying to get a clear head. Sometimes it works and she manages to chase those demons away herself. But more often than not, it doesn´t.

That´s when she´ll seek out her mate.

Like Tanya, she´s not very vocal about it. But unlike Tanya, she won´t beat around the bush either. She´ll seek physical contact right away, for example by wrapping her arms around MC from behind, plonking herself down in her lap or just snuggling up to her. Then she´ll start mumbling and muttering under her breath, barely loud enough for MC to understand.

But the bits she does catch are enough.

.

Irina is the one who struggles the least. I´d even go so far as to say she has no problem at all with admitting when she needs a helping hand. Why would she? It´s her mate, after all. Someone she trusts 100%. Granted, she doesn´t carry the "burden" of being a leader, and she probs didn´t suffer a life that forced her to close herself off from the world like Kate did. But still-

Out of the three of them, Irina´s always been the one to fully allow herself those feelings. When she feels something, it´s with every fibre of her being. She´s a person who´s 100% committed - to herself (inner peace) and the person she´s with. It´s either all in or nothing with her, and she´s all about honesty. That also means being honest to yourself.

I mean, we all got those days where we just don´t feel like ourselves, right? Perhaps we´re moody or just feeling down, seemingly without reason? Like a strange kind of foreboding?

That´s how it is for her. She knows when her body´s telling her something, and she always listens.

So, as soon as she realizes something´s just...off, she´ll seek out her mate. No hesitation. No beating around the bush. Just brutal honesty.

How else is her mate supposed to help her?

.

.

.

How can MC help in those moments?

Honestly? Just being there helps.

Being their ear when the words just can’t seem to stop, their shoulder when their woes become too heavy to carry alone, their voice when they seem to have lost their own.

MC just needs to be MC. Their mate.

That´s all they need.

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋

.

EDIT:

Btw: Remember me saying I ugly-cried while answering an ask? If you liked "Old Habits Die Hard", you´ll probs love the next one. 🤧

[bonefall]

Can you tell us a bit more about your Sharpclaw? Why is he so concerned with loyalty when he likely was on his own before and this whole “being loyal to a clan” thing is probably as new to him as any cat else?

Long ago, Spiderstar realized that her Clan would not be able to survive if they stayed together.

No matter how many times they killed the rats, they would come back. For every warrior lost, it seemed like the hordes gained another. Her cats were admitting taking food from twolegs, always ready to run from the gorge at a moment's notice, looking at her with guilty eyes. She began to wonder if she was wrong for admonishing them, the way a leader is expected to.

The story goes that one day, she observed a web of spiders hatching from their eggs. The mother watched as her children created small plumes, and floated away on the breeze. It hit Spiderstar, in that moment, that this was how they would survive. Connected by a great web, but scattered to the sky, where they could not be found.

BB!SkyClan never fully disbanded. Like a web, they would share news, come to help one another and inform of safe twoleg houses, trade kittens to each other to raise as apprentices.

From Spiderstar, to her successor, and down to Skywatcher, there was always a "keeper" of this information. When Firestar and Brokenstar arrived, Skywatcher simply spread the news on the breeze. His connections told their connections, and soon, a dozen cats had answered the call.

And, of course, Sharpclaw was one of them.

He may be a rogue, lived most of his life on his own, but in his head that just means he knows more about what it's like to not have a Clan. He's happy to work with ex-Kittypets who choose the Clan above their humans... but even them, how can they ever truly understand what it's like to have nowhere else to go?

He's been waiting for this moment his whole life, from the time he was a young kit being told the stories of Old, from the second he was first introduced to old Skywatcher as a child. "And here," He argues, "Are kittypets who see our way of life as a game. The time of SkyClan's Scattering is over, we are upon the days of a new dawn, and these outsiders are clinging to the past. We don't need twolegs, or the kittypets that can't choose between US or THEM. Leafstar, loyalty is the value that this Clan is built on-- we have to be strong without the help of these Daylight Warriors."

"Lol," Leafstar says, "Lmao even"

I'm bit a bit hyperbolic, but that's how Sharpclaw FEELS about her responses. She's not LISTENING to him (because his ideas suck) or TAKING HIM SERIOUSLY (she is, she's just telling him no and he doesn't like that). She has him as her deputy exactly because she is seeking opposing viewpoints, but this doesn't matter to him in his perceived entitlement.

And this is the resentment that Darktail eventually targets, realizing that his pride and ego is the perfect wedge to drive between him and Leafstar.

Leafstar wasn't picked by SkyClan, someone else picked her for you.

She doesn't want to listen to you, you're so correct and she doesn't appreciate you.

She's letting weakness into your Clan, and if you wait too long it'll be too late

PROVE it to her by taking YOUR supporters and attacking her at night. Show her how good of an ally her kittypets are when they can't defend their Clan, safe in their human nests.

Take leadership from her, you will lead your Clan to the new dawn you've always envisioned.

[moonspirit]

I remember an anonymous asked about if Mr. Leonhart still abuse, hit her. But this time what would be Mikasa and hitch's reaction? What would they do or say?

Like Mikasa and hitch are together for some reason and they saw bruises and cuts on Annie, and Infront of them, saw Mr. Leonhart physically abusing, hitting Annie.

For Mikasa, they are close, aside from the fact that Annie and his childhood friend Armin are together, became close after comforting each other when both having a breakdown, and the okapi scene, and the fact that Annie is her old rival and still rival too but friends, when they are cadets she also respect Annie, and even now she also saw Annie as her equal, in fighting... So seeing Annie letting herself get abuse and hit by the same man that's the reason she fights for the Marley, that she waited for (9 years?) just to see him? Nuh uh I don't think Mikasa would just stand there and watch that man hit and abuse her friend and rival..

And for hitch, seeing this, her former roommate, who's so strong, who fights them to death for her father, who would do anything just to get back to him, get hit and abuse by the same man? The same man that the reason why Annie keep fighting, and the same reason that Annie told her would kill anyone again just to jet back to him? I think hitch would explode, like her friend who would sacrifice everything just to get back to him, that she herself help Annie to escape just to get back to her father, would hit her? Nuh uh uh, I believe that hitch would take me. Leonhart's cane and idunno wanted to hit him so bad...

Both would be uhh disbelief, seeing once an enemy, a strong soldier warrior who would fight anyone and anything are letting her self get abuse, hit, hurt, beaten, and injured.... Just because she loves him the most and the person she only wanted to seek love, since no one gives her, since her biological parents abandoned her...

(Please go too into details!!)

Hello there!

Oohhhh it's a Hitchannie Mikaani ask! (well, kind of).

It's always very lovely to think of these three in the same space and scene. Annie inviting all the women of the AoT world to become unintentionally and uninhibitedly attached to her will always be funny xD

But let's get to it!

Between Hitch and Mikasa, it's the latter who's more prone to losing her temper and acting on impulse. Combined with her Ackerman strength, if she was to see Annie being hit by her father before her eyes, it wouldn't surprise me if she immediately went to defend Annie from being abused any further, going as far as to hurt Mr. Leonhardt for it in some way (like twisting his arm behind his back or knocking him down to the ground). This can also give rise to a certain angst to be had between Annie and Mikasa; one lost both parents in brutal murders, while one only has a father and treasures him like her life depends on it. If Mikasa hurts Mr. Leonhardt in the process of protecting Annie, she would maybe have to face the question of, "Do you even know what it's like to finally get back to your only family?"

With Hitch... her way of protecting Annie could be a lot more of personal and verbal attacks. Being aware of Annie's motivation for doing all the damage she did, it would be particularly horrifying to see that very same motivation hit and abuse her former gloomy roommate. Like a personal betrayal. Hitch really became so attached to Annie that she spent a great deal of her time and energy worrying about her; it gives a lot away for a person who always seemed very careful about where her efforts really went. It's also something of a protective mode she has around Annie tbh; that realization that such a touch, dangerous and strong person was driven only by a desperation to be united with someone - a very soft purpose, you see? A contrast, so to speak. Hitch would spit in Mr. Leonhardt's face (metaphorically... for the most part...) and call him out on his violent behaviour and terrible parenting. I'd say that would be her way of defending Annie.

Then again, both Hitch and Mikasa recognize Annie's vulnerability in the face of love and family - to say they become furious when seeing Annie being abused is an understatement tbh. :>

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if you gave Edward from Twilight the Auryn and a responsibility to reimagine Fantastica, because I feel like the end results would be hilarious. And also do you think any of his family is coming to rescue him when he's lost all concept of who he is?

I mean, that's the thing though, Bastian's father in the real world was becoming increasingly worried his son was missing for several hours but a) didn't know his son was in a book b) probably couldn't enter the book if he tried.

Going to Fantasia is a solitary journey that's just you and your imagination, I was never given the impression that you could go after anyone or that someone could travel with you. The only people that can help you are yourself and the friends you make along the way during the journey (e.g. Atreyu).

As for Edward, we'll have to back up a bit. We know the Neverending Story changes per whoever is reading it, as it's intended to draw you in and sus out who can add to the world and save them from a lack of existence.

In Bastian's case, it was the tale of a boy he would always have wanted to be, Atreyu, who is kind, brave, a heroic warrior, who undergoes many trials as expected in a fantasy novel. It's the kind of story that Bastian not only loves to read and escape in, but wants to be himself (hence, when he goes to Fantasia himself, he immediately starts transforming himself into someone much closer to Atreyu: handsome and skinny, brave, heroic, a warrior, wise and charming).

What I'm getting at is that this has to be a book that engrosses Edward so that by the time he meets the Childlike Empress, he's invested.

I imagine it's the story of fantasy Bella Swan. (We'll place Edward before he actually meets Bella Swan).

The Neverending Story for Edward opens up on a beautiful young woman in a poor provincial town who believes she's very unordinary, plain, and isn't like the other girls. She's kind to others to a fault, sacrificing her own needs and wants for the sake of others, and is overlooked by everyone.

One day, her father falls ill and so she goes on a journey to seek the Childlike Empress who is the only person left who may be able to save him. When she reaches the Ivory Tower, Bella is devastated to hear that the Childlike Empress is ill herself and seeing no one. She is told that there is a person that Bella must find who can save both the Childlike Empress and then her father. Bella goes on a perilous journey to find said person, nearly losing hope several times along the way and growing as a person as she faces dangers she never imagined.

In despair, Bella returns to meet the Childlike Empress in defeat, noting she found no such person, "oh but you have" the Childlike Empress says and then Edward gets the truly surreal experience of being talked to by a book.

Like Bastian, it won't shut up until he gives the Childlike Empress a new name, which he eventually does, at which point he finds himself in Fantasia.

There, similar to Bastian, some of his first efforts are to change himself. He becomes human again, gallant, handsome, wise, a prince in every aspect, everything that is worthy of Bella in the novel (losing bits and pieces of himself along the way of course). To his dismay and anger, Bella doesn't love him, seeing that he's losing himself constantly and that what's left of him is a caricature of a man. Edward, too, forgets why he ever thought he loved Bella or the idea of this woman, and gets high on a power trip.

"I will declare myself emperor!" Edward says and... I imagine Bella does try to stop him but I'm not sure raising an army as Atreyu did is in her wheelhouse.

Edward might just kill her to obtain his goal at which point he damns himself and becomes one of Fantasia's many emperors.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Weeping Into Our Beers

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Big Sky, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, World of Darkness

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions Of Violence

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Beau Arlen/OFC

Synopsis: Wounded warriors from very different worlds find some comfort in each other.

Tags:  Beau Arlen, Emily Arlen, Carla del Lugo, Sarah Fights-The Mighty (OFC), Crossover, AU, Bar Therapy, One-Night Stand

AN:  Sarah is my longest-held and dearest personal avatar -- or Mary Sue if you wanna be a jerk about it -- from a Werewolf The Apocalypse phase I went through way back in high school. For the nerds who care, she's a Black Fury Philodox and practicing ecoterrorist, who's buried a lot of loved ones including and especially her only daughter. In case anyone's coming from that side of the tracks, Beau Arlen is the acting sheriff of Lewis and Clark County (county seat Helena, Montana, USA), a transplanted Texas whose daughter was kidnapped and nearly killed by a serial killer. In this headcanon Big Sky takes place in the World of Darkness and Beau's an innocent human who has no idea werewolves exist. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

Beau Arlen wasn't above playing up to clichés, it helped people feel comfortable around him.  Like not code-switching to hide his accent, using informal-yet-courtly manners, exaggerating his bowed legs a little when he walked.  Someone could call this just another cliché, the hard-drinking Texan seeking truth in the bottom of a beer bottle.  Well better a beer bottle than a whiskey glass, he supposed.  And nobody who knew the story would begrudge him seeking a little chemical comfort.

Still, there was a reason he was drinking at Longhorns as opposed to the Boot Heel tonight.  He was in a weird mood, and it was the kind of weird mood that led to bad decisions.  If Mo Poppernack, Lord bless him and his offbeat cheer, hit him with any more well-meaning kindness he just might knock the poor guy's block off.

A few seats down the bar, a couple got up.  Beau studied them in his peripheral vision.  Not a couple-couple, the body language was wrong.  Family he'd guess, even thought they looked nothing alike.  The man was six feet of ugly, black hair and bad acne scars, with a New York City accent that sounded like sandpaper being rubbed together.  The woman was older, petite and stocky, long brown hair pulled back into a French braid, her voice deep with a rasp that said cigarettes.  They embraced.

"Take care of yourself Chainsaw," the woman said, soft and tender.

"You too boss," the man said, touching her face.  "Don't get too drunk, okay?"

"No promises."

The man left.  The woman stood there for a moment before hauling in a deep sigh and sitting back up to the bar.  She glanced around.  Beau noted her eyes were a fine blue-gray, sharp as she checked the exits and counted heads.  Her jacket fell open as she stretched, and Beau didn’t see a weapon.  Funny, she sure as hell behaved like a woman expecting a fight and a bloody one at that.  Beau also noted a wide scar across her left cheek, four parallel lines like Freddy Kruger had cut her with his glove.

---

"So, the question becomes,” Sarah said, picking up her beer, “how drunk is too drunk?"

"Well, that's more of a philosophical question, I find."  Sarah glanced down at the resident of the stool a few slots down the bar.  A charming smile shone out from a short beard, one that found an echo on her own face.  "Unless motor vehicles are involved in which case too drunk equals 0.08 blood alcohol content or over."

"No vehicles involved," Sarah confirmed, mirroring his folksy slant on VEE-hicles.  "I'm staying at the motel a couple doors down."

"Oh well in that case," he tipped the neck of his own beer in a little salute, "however much proves as needed to thoroughly drown your sorrows."

Sarah chuckled.  "Too bad my sorrows have gills."

He grimaced.  "Oooh.  Yikes."

"I just settle for taking them out back and giving them a bath every now and again," she added, finishing off her beer and asking the bartender for a glass of water.

"Sound plan.  Very sound," the charming man approved.  He lifted his bottle, "My sorrows,” he drank, cleared his throat, “they just refuse to drown."

"Bastards found submarines?"

He laughed and Sarah felt her heart do that liftoff thing it did sometimes.  He really was very handsome.  Reminded her a little of Mark.  Similar coloring anyway, those fine green eyes he’d given Charlie before he split.  "We're way overthinking this metaphor."

"Just a skoash," Sarah agreed, and they shared a smile.

The charming man gave her a closer look and Sarah let him.  Some company would be nice.  Pull her out of her own thoughts for a while.  "I'm Beau," he identified himself, stretching to extend a hand across the empty barstools.

Sarah took it, noting a grip firm enough to be friendly.  "Sarah."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest," she said, and Beau moved the few seats down.  Stood about six-two, jeans, boots, sheepskin-lined coat, silver belt buckle about the size of her palm.  Forty-ish, she guessed, and he wore his years well.  Better than she was at any rate, with gray threading her hair thicker by the week.

"So, my interesting new friend," Sarah said, "what're your sorrows that they're lurking in submarines?"

"That's a long story."

Sarah shrugged.  "I got time.  Who knows?  Maybe talking them out a little'll make the fuckers drown faster."

Beau considered her.  She saw him noticing her scar, making a mental note of it.  "You're not from around here are you?"

"Obviously," Sarah said dryly.  "You aren't either.  Texas?"

"Got it in one."  He signaled the bartender and ordered, paying for Sarah's like a gentleman.  "Friend of mine was County Sheriff when he got wounded on the job.  He called me to fill in temporarily."

"That must've ruffled some feathers."

"Not as many as you might think although that might be a case of delayed reaction."

Sarah listened and sipped as Beau unbottled and laid out one hell of a story.  It was a struggle to keep her poker face when he described the serial killer who'd kidnapped his daughter.  Revenge or justice or both-- burning the Panty Man didn't make Charlie any less gone, forever lost before she really had a chance to live.  "Thank the Goddess your daughter's all right," she said.

"I mean, yeah, Em's tough.  Shit she's doing better than her mom’n’me."  Oh boy, could Sarah relate, the pups taking in stride what broke their elders.  "Carla's moving back down to Houston, permanently.  Her family's all there.  She needs the support system.  Come to find out plenty of her friends were really Avery's friends and they didn't have much use for her with him gone."

"Assholes," Sarah gave her opinion.

Beau shrugged it off.  "Last time I talked to her Emily asked me point-blank if I was gonna relocate with them."

"You thinking of getting back together with your ex?"

He thought a moment.  "It's funny.  Ask me that question a year-- hell, even six months ago, I'd've leapt at the chance.  Carla . . . she's one of the most amazing women I've ever met.  I think I'm a better man than I was when she left me.  I know I could be a better husband to her.  I’ll always love her."

"But?"

"But."  Beau sighed.  "But the issues that drove her away, those haven't gone anywhere.  And I don't know if we'll be good to each other, after Emily goes off to college, starts living on her own."  After a moment's thought, Beau added, "Avery was a grade-A jackass but Carla loved him.  She's still in mourning.  I don't think trying to get back with her will do anything but end badly."

Sarah made an educated guess and said, "Besides, there might be someone else."

Beau's eyebrows lifted, just a little.  "Are you a cop in your day job or just really good at bar therapy?"

That surprised her into a chuckle.  "People open up to me.  Goddess knows why.  Who is she?"

"One my deputies.  Tubbs's undersheriff," he confessed.  Sarah winced.  "Yeah.  I mean, she's . . . beautiful, tough, smart.  Brave?  Hell she kicks down doors better'n I do.  I think . . ." he trailed off, shook his head.  "So yeah, there might be someone else.  But then there might not be.  She lost her husband little over a year ago, went through a real rocky patch right after.  I'm not sure . . . I don't know if she's really put all that in her rearview.  Plus, she's technically my subordinate and anti-fraternization regulations are a thing that exist.

"It's not just her though," Beau admitted.  "I moved up here pretty much done with ever’thing.  Not just from the job either.  Didn't see much point to doin' anything but the daily routine.  Some days not even that."  Sarah nodded.  She could relate to that too.  "Then Tubbs asked me to fill in for him, just until he got back on his feet.  Now it's looking like he's retiring completely and his job needs filling.  The City Council asked me if I'm considering running for the office next year.  I have to give them an answer by close of business Monday."

Sarah whistled.  "No pressure or anything."

"Nope.  I mean, it shouldn't even be a choice, really.  Any other candidates I can think of are local boys'n'girls.  Who'm I?  I'm just the out-of-towner who happened to be in the big chair when the murder rate spiked to the highest it's been in fifteen years.  And there's Emily to think of.  I . . . I lost a big chunk of her life when I was going through my bad time.  I don't want to lose any more."

"Buuuuuuut?" Sarah dragged out.

"But," Beau said, signaling for another beer.  "But I have a life here, a good life.  Last thing I expected.  I mean, I like the country.  I like the people.  I got a job that might lead to me doin’ some good, 'stead of just playing Catch Me Screw Me with the cartels all day ev'ry day."

"Okay," Sarah said, considering as she finished her beer and asked for another water.

"Ah," Beau said, lighting up like a man who'd just solved a riddle.  He really was unfairly handsome, Sarah thought.  "Pacin’ yourself?"

"Takes the curse off the hangover," Sarah lied.  "And I've made some dumb decisions while drunk."

"Mmm?  What sorta dumb decisions?"

"Aggravated assault decisions," Sarah said.  Before he could ask, she amplified, "Got in a bar fight with a couple of dickheads over a Lions game.  Put'em in the hospital.  Took a plea, did a year, completed my probation about fifteen years ago.  Luna's blood I feel old now."

"I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Sarah said, noting the closer look he gave her.  She'd admit to going to seed a bit the last few years.  "I took boxing lessons all through high school.  I've got a decent left for my size.  And the other guys were really drunk."  Being able to ignore pain at will helped there.  Shifting to Glabro to match their height helped too.

"Makes sense," Beau shrugged.  "What're your sorrows that they need drowning?"

"Nothing that can really be helped," Sarah said, thinking of Misty giving her pups suck and glowing with joy, Chainsaw taking his broken heart back to the solace of his people and trying so hard not to blame her for losing Tripwire.  Roger, oh Gaia and Her mercy Roger--  "The inevitable march of time.  Makes me mopey.  Your problem on the other hand, sounds like something that can be addressed plain and simple.  Stay or go?"

"What do you think?  You have kids?"

"Had," Sarah said, her heart throbbing along the scar.  Charlie had lived there once, under her heart.  "She died."

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry," Beau said.  It was fascinating, she could read his heart in his face.  "I feel like a dick, whining about--"

"Hey," Sarah said, twisting in her seat and reaching over to take his hand.  "We're not talking about me, we're talking about you.  Let me ask you this; have you talked to your daughter about what she wants?"

"Yeah.  She didn't come right out'n say so but she wants me close.  She feels safe with me.  God knows why."

"Because she knows for a fact you'll deconstruct anyone who so much as looks at her wrong," Sarah said.  She thought a minute.  "Your girl's how old, sixteen, seventeen?"

"She'll be seventeen in a few months."

"My advice, for what it's worth," Sarah said, "is call her tomorrow when you both have time to talk.  Ask her what she needs from you.  Does she need her daddy or does she need her father?"

"There's a difference?" Beau asked.  He hadn't moved to take his hand back.  Instead he gripped at her fingers.

"Yeah, there is.  Daddy makes your problems go away.  Father helps you fight them yourself.  If you try to be her father when she really needs her daddy, you'll wind up making her feel alone.  Unsafe.  If you try to be her daddy when she needs her father, you'll wind up undermining her sense of herself.  That'll push her away, just when she really does need you."

Beau stares at you.  "That's possibly the least stupid thing I've heard in a long time."

"Oh thanks," Sarah snorted.

"No I meant-- sorry, I didn't say that right."

"What I mean is," Sarah said, "if you're making the decision for her sake, it might not be a bad idea to make her feel like she's got something of a say in it.  You got a life here that you like and want to keep, and that's okay.  But you got a duty to her.  Wise woman told me once, if there's a conflict between your head and your heart duty gets the tiebreaker.  At least then if it turns out you made a mistake you won't get eaten alive by your own conscience."

Quiet from her drinking partner as he finished off his beer.  He didn't let go of her hand and Sarah didn't take it back.  Been a while, since she'd felt warm at the thought of a man's hands.  His were nice, big and thick-fingered, nails clipped close and tidy.

"Thank you," he said as he put the dead soldier down.  "That actually helps a lot."

"What'd'you think you'll wind up doing?"

"I don't know," he admitted.  "Least now I can think the problem through instead of just brooding over it.  But now I got another problem."

"Mmm?  What's that?" Sarah asked.

A slow smile lit the other man's face, turning him from nice to look at to honestly breathtaking.  "I gotta think of another problem for you to solve for me."

Sarah laughed.  "Smooth."

"Sorry, been a while since I tried to be good company to a lady."

"Lady?  Lady?  What lady?  Where lady?" Sarah asked, miming a confused look-around.  "Shit I wish you'd've told me you were trying to be a gentleman, I'd've used my company manners."

"No no no," he deflected with a raised hand, "you've been delightful.  I'm just sorry I'm out of problems for you to solve for me."

"If you're having car trouble I can take a look--" Sarah teased.

"Naw, Pedro's running like a sweetheart."  No mistake now, his hand was holding hers.  His thumb swiped across the soft skin across the back.  Beau pivoted in his seat, opening his body more to Sarah.  "I, uh . . ."

"Is this the part where you invite me over for coffee or am I supposed to invite you for coffee?  I haven't done the coffee thing in a while," Sarah put it out there.  "Cuz if you don't mind a walk I'd love to have you over for coffee."

Beau considered.  His eyes were a little soft with the effect of the beers.  It made him look even cuter.  Luna's blood he must've harvested broken hearts by the truckload when he was younger.  "I'd like that.  Some coffee."

---

"Oh we need to make a pit stop at the 7-11," Sarah noted as they walked through the bar's parking lot.

"Oh yeah?  What for?" Beau asked.

"Coffee.  You take cream and sugar?"

That surprised him into a laugh.

---

Beau paused when he got down to her underwear.  "It's okay," Sarah reassured him as he looked her over.  At the roadmap of battle scars all over her body.  "If they're a mood-killer for you that's fine.  We can get a good night's sleep and no hard feelings."

"They're very much not," Beau said, touching her face.  "Just don't find it so weird you put a couple guys in the hospital all of a sudden."

Beau had a few battle scars of his own, some knife cuts and a couple of bullet holes.  He seemed to view them dispassionately, a source of neither pride nor shame.  "Mmm," he grunted as Sarah traced light fingers over his ribs.  "Tickles."

"Sorry."  She firmed her touch, slid her hand to caress his chest.  Firm definition under a healthy layer of squish, haired up a bit across his pecs and down his tummy.  She picked up his hand and examined the tattoo on the inside of his forearm-- a fleur-de-lis with a crown and anchor.  "This is French isn't it?"

"Mmm-hmm," Beau said.  "My mother's family's French.  My real legal name's Beaumont Theodore Arlen."

"Beaumont Theodore?  You poor poor boy," Sarah said.

Smiling, Beau put a hand on her shoulder.  "What about this?" his thumb rubbed over the tribal pictogram inked below her collarbone.  Faded with age, not that it mattered.

"Sort of a family mark," Sarah vastly oversimplified.  "The ones on my arms're relics of a gang I ran with when I was younger.  And what have we got here?" she asked as she put her palm over his zipper.

"Well darlin’ thishere's a fella love'ta meet you very much," Beau grinned.

"Luna's blood don't tell me you named it," Sarah groaned around her giggles, as she worked his button open and slowly lowered the zipper.  "On second thought," she said after working his pants down enough to get a look at him, "a fella this handsome probably deserves a name."

"We don't really blush in Texas, so let me," Sarah squeaked as Beau reared up and flipped them over, pinning her beneath his body and giving her a kiss, "demonstrate my appreciation."

"Oh my," Sarah sighed.  Beau kissed down the pad of tummy fat, carefully avoiding the straight line of her hysterectomy scar.  "Your mama raised a very polite boy."  Tipping her a wink, Beau split her with his thumbs and applied his mouth.  Sarah just shut her eyes and enjoyed it.  She couldn't remember the last time a man had done that for her.

"Such a mess for me," Beau noted when he came up for air.  Hot and flushed and panting, Sarah watched him squirm his pants off to land of the floor.  He belly-crawled and rolled to flop next to Sarah, hot and really unfairly fucking glorious in his birthday suit.  He had his wallet in his hand and with a little pleased grunt he pulled a condom out of the inner pocket.

"Allow me," Sarah said, taking the packet away from him.  Beau gave a little be-my-guest wave.  He fit in her hand just right, hot and firm.  Hearing him moan was lovely, as she clamped the condom packet between her lips and just played with him.  Easy to forget how much fun cocks were to just play with.

Beau seized Sarah's hand.  "Gotta stop a second," he panted.  "It's late, I'm tired, and I'm pretty sure I'm only gonna be able to do this once."

"Sorry, got carried away," Sarah said.  Wrapping him up was the work of a minute.  "How do you want me, cowboy?"

“Mmm . . . right about here I think,” Beau said, tugging her up and rolling her beneath him.  Sarah sighed as he pressed into her.  He was warm, warm and thick.  “Oh you make little sounds,” Beau said, because of course he was a talkative lover.

“Careful please,” Sarah said, breathing through the stretch, Little Beau wasn’t very little and it’d been a while.

“Accourse, accourse,” Beau kissed her.  “Lord Jesus you feel nice.  All soft and warm.”

“Careful, careful,” Sarah said as Beau braced his arm on the bed.  He lifted her leg and his hips moved in a wave.  Sarah sighed, he was moving inside her just so nice.  “Goddess yes,” she sighed.

Grinning big and bright, Beau brought her carefully to the edge and over.

As sparkles snapped along her nerves, Sarah flipped Beau over and returned the favor.

---

Glass cool and dusty under his fingertips, the heart inside still vivid red with the living blood it had once driven forth.  Twist slowly clockwise and the masking tape label bearing the single word in Sharpie -- EMILY--

Whirl around and there she was, the she become an it, laying with eyes open and empty right along with the chest.  And more.  There were other jars, other names.

CARLA.  RANDY.  BEN.  DENISE.  CASSIE.

Open empty eyes, open empty bodies, and the knife with her name was in his hand--

Beau woke up gasping.  Breathing exercises, breathing exercises, pull on the air there's plenty of it.  Beau pulled in for five heartbeats, pushed out for five heartbeats.  In, out.  His heart slowed as his breathing did.  Under the sheets his toes clenched and relaxed.  Beau let the motion ground him, pull him back to himself and the world where Emily was okay and it was just a dream.

And a world where he wasn't alone tonight.  How 'bout that.

Sarah wasn't any kind of beauty, a woman pushing fifty who'd lived hard and looked it.  On the other hand, she'd been kind without making him feel like he needed to be managed like Carla, and without the baggage of mutual attraction like Jenny, and not someone whose good opinion he cared about like Cassie or someone who’d been through enough already like Denise.  Beau got feelings about people sometimes, and his intuitions told him Sarah was good at carrying secret things.

He checked his phone, nodded at the lack of messages, and burrowed back under the covers.  As he did, Sarah grunted a bit.  Her muscles were rigid and her breathing was short and shallow.  Carefully, Beau spooned himself behind her.  "Hey there," he said softly, kissing her shoulder, "hey wake up, it's a dream, shh."

"I know that babe," she said, sleepy but clear, "I've had bad dreams all my life."  She rolled over and let Beau pull her close.  Kissing him, she asked, "What about you?  You okay?"

"Yeah."  He kissed the top of her head.  Stroking down her back and making a mental map of the scars under his fingers.  "My daughter's okay, the bad guy's dead."

"Right.  Just your imagination being a dick to you."  That made him chuckle.  "Go back to sleep.  Sounds like you could use it."

"Yeah," Beau agreed.  He took a breath from her hair, smelling cigarettes and beer and sex.  All that plus a warm body alongside his-- all of it pulling him far away from his usual and customary.  It felt nice, a little time-out from his reality where all the choices seemed bad for one reason or another. Beau shut his eyes and let fatigue do its thing.

When he woke up next the bed was empty and the room was full of morning light.  The bathroom door was shut and he could hear the blow dryer.  And singing-- Beau chuckled when he heard Sarah's alto voice singing something he didn't recognize.  Something sweet and melancholy, something that made Beau wish for his guitar.  God, there's something he hadn't thought seriously about in forever, just one of the many small joys that had died with Randy--

That's not true, something in his head spoke up, and for once the voice was gentle instead of accusatory.  Not dead, just put away for a while.  He wondered if Jenny sang, wondered if her voice went high and sweet or deep and smooth--

As he thought he sat up and found his phone.  No messages, thank the good Lord.  As he sent a quick good morning text to Emily, the blow dryer shut off.  "I alone, survived the sinking," Sarah's voice went softer, mindful that someone might be sleeping, "I alone, possessed the tools, on that ship of fools."

Sometimes a man is cursed with the need to know a thing.  Beau opened the browser on his phone and started typing.

The bathroom door opened and Sarah emerged wrapped in a towel, brushing out her long brown hair.  "Oh, good morning.  Shower's free."

"Thanks," Beau gave her a smile and hit the restroom.

---

Sarah got dressed as Beau got cleaned up and ready to face the day.  The day was shaping up beautifully, just right for a long drive down out of the mountains.  Been a long time since she'd been so by herself, not tied up in her responsibilities as pack alpha or sept warder or tribal elder or den mother.  And such lovely new memories to reflect on, she thought with a smile.  If tired and drunk Beau was this fantastic in bed she truly envied the woman who landed him long-term, scars and all.

She was just finishing up with the packing when the bathroom door opened.  "Hey," she said, "I'm on my way out the door but if you want we could grab some breakfast and I can drop you off somewhere."

It wasn't Beau looking at her, it was a cop studying a suspect.  Those beautiful eyes said very clearly bullshit me at your own risk.  "I know who you are."

"Really," Sarah said, pulling her bag up onto her back.  She stood straight and met his hard stare with her own.  "And who am I?"

"Stalinski, Sarah Michaela," Beau recited.  "Person of interest in the Chippewa Valley reactor bombing, person of interest in the Exxon Transit Pipeline sabotage, suspect in the murder of Willard Mikaelian--"

"AKA the Panty Man, and my daughter was his last victim," Sarah pointed out.  He never got to hurt another baby girl again, was the part she didn't say.  The law didn’t handle him for shit.  I did.  She left that part unsaid too.

Beau blinked, but that was all.  "You've got an FBI file thicker'n the King James Bible and your name's on half a dozen terrorist watch lists."

Sarah kept his gaze.  She really didn't want to hurt him if she didn't have to, not as a cop doing his duty.  "So."

"So."

"Am I under arrest?  Being taken in for questioning?  Detained just for the hell of it?"  Because that wasn't happening.

He didn't answer right away.  "No.  No, the only thing I can honestly accuse you of is getting drunk in a bar.  Which isn't illegal."

"Then,” Sarah asked, clapping her hands on her thighs, “why the dramatic reveal?  You wanna feel like you got the upper hand on me?  You got it, you win, fair and square."  He hadn’t and never would, but if the Goddess was good he’d never know that.

"Fine,” Beau said, and Sarah made a mental note to check his bloodlines because a human should not have this much presence, “I want you out of my county, and I don't want to ever see your face here again.  If I do I will turn you over to the feds.  Clear?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow.  "Your county?  Sheriff?"

Beau blinked.

"Sounds like your decision's been made.  And message received-- Helena is a no-fly zone from now on."  Sarah opened the door, but turned to look back at her one-night lover.  "For what it's worth," she said, "you're a good man, and you need to cut yourself some slack.  Take care of yourself Beau Arlen."

With that food for thought plated and served, Sarah shut the door and headed for the car.  Stranger In Town went in the stereo and Sarah drove away into the risen sun.

---

AN2: The scene stuck in my head so hard, I had to write it out. I just got done watching Big Sky, and it's a deep shame the series wasn't picked up for a fourth season-- I'd've loved to have seen Beau and Jenny running head-to-head in the next sheriff's election. Oh, and gotten more Emily. I love Emily.

[mareastrorum]

I have to gush a bit about Episode 5 of Blue Eye Samurai.

MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD. I hold nothing back, so unless you want big stuff spoiled, don't read.

I love how this show explores the issues of colonialism, patriarchy, sexism, racism, revenge, etc. It does not shy away from criticizing Japanese culture in the same breath that it shows respect to how and why it developed that way and to the individual people portrayed in the narrative. One particular bit that stuck out was the Bunraku puppeteers and how they were a visual cue about the destructive and self-perpetuating effect of cultural and societal pressures on Miku's path.

Throughout the episode, interspersed with the main story and with flashbacks is a performance of Bunraku, a traditional Japanese puppet theater. Puppeteers wear black to disappear into the background and are meant to be ignored.

First, the performance overlaps with a flashback to Miku's past, when she first began on her quest for revenge against her possible fathers. She isn't experienced yet and gets horrifically injured, then stumbles off for help. The performance begins with an introduction about how the samurai isn't afraid to die, but is afraid of dying before fulfilling his vow of revenge.

At about 8:27, when the samurai sees his future bride, the puppeteers visibly fade in the animation. The overlapping flashback is when Miku, after being injured during her search for her potential father, rediscovers her "mother" (the maid who raised her until their hut burned down). That event leads to Miku foregoing her revenge, marrying Mikio (a disgraced warrior), and trying to settle into a peaceful life.

Miku was making her own choices to live peacefully, even when her family criticized her or talked her down. But Miku kept trying, even pushing back against the others and learning to be diplomatic in the face of their judgment and cruelty. She was breaking the cycle of hate by choosing to be kind and trying to help. It wasn't about shirking Japanese culture nor about acquiescing to gender roles; the puppeters were still gone whether she was trying to be a proper wife or when she showed her true self (a swordsman) to Mikio or when she told him of her oath of revenge and how she lived as a boy.

Of course, that didn't last. (It's not made obvious in the episode whether it was the maid or Mikio who reported Miku, though I'm leaning that it was the maid.)

Regardless, in the overlapping Bunraku performance, the samurai discovers his bride was from his enemy clan that he swore revenge against, and she tries to dissuade his wrath. When Miku is waiting (dressed as a bride, too!) in their home for Mikio to return from delivering the horses to the lord (including her own), she hears numerous horses approaching and takes a kitchen knife. Then, at 34:50, after the samurai beheads his child and bride, the puppeteers are back. Next, Miku leaves the home with a knife in hand to fend off the warriors that have come to kill her, and they confirm someone reported that she (the "white devil") would be there. Mikio arrives and sees her and the blooming fight, then flees, abandoning Miku to die. The dead bride, held aloft by two puppeteers, then becomes an onryō as Miku slaughters the warriors herself with Mikio's naginata.

Miku could have fled or hidden, but she chose to kill. That decision pulled her back into this cycle of destruction and hatred. The puppeteers were back because it was meant to show that outside forces were involved in Miku's decision: the trauma she endured as a mixed race person in Edo period Japan, the culture of honor that bound the warriors to hunt her and Miku to seek revenge, the cowardice of Mikio in the face of a wife stronger than him, the selfishness of the maid that blamed Miku for her suffering. Miku made a choice, but that choice was not made freely--she was forced into this by things she could not resist or escape.

The point was to show that Miku could not live her life freely in a society that demonizes her. Miku seemed to be free of the puppeteers, but the samurai was still a puppet the entire time. The puppeteers were always there. The harmful effects of specific aspects of Japanese culture were always there.

We just didn't see them because Miku was happy.

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Burrowsand

Aliases / Nicknames: ??

Gender: tom

Sexuality: bisexual (male-leaning)

Family: unnamed mother, unnamed father, unnamed sister, unnamed sibling

Other Relations: Daisysage (mentor), Sorrelaster (friend/abuser)

Clan: ShadowClan

Rank: medicine cat

Characteristics: sensitive, insecure, thoughtful, quiet, shy, caring, avoidant, introverted, socially awkward, manipulated

Murder Motive: fearing he would get into trouble

Method of Harm: taking herbs from his Clan

Number of Victims: 9

Number of Murders: 6

Murder Method: withholding information about danger, taking away medicine

Known Victims: several of his Clanmates

Victim Profile: his Clanmates

Cause of Death: throat bitten out, killed by Sorrelaster

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story: 

It is alarming how quickly one action can completely change someone's life. Or in Burrowsand's case, inaction.

There was nothing special about him.

He couldn't even last through warrior training for more than a few days. He just couldn't bring himself to kill those adorable little creatures! And when they squealed in fear...

So he became a medicine cat apprentice instead, something his new mentor wasn't afraid to show her displeasure of. She as well as her own mentor were still in their prime, they didn't need a new apprentice yet. He would only get in the way, he was only wasting their space.

While his littermates told each other about the cool moves they learned or the prey they caught, Burrowpaw had nothing to contribute without lying. What would he say? "That's cool you caught a pigeon mid-air, Bumblepaw, but I was made to clean out the rotting herbs--twice because I did it wrong the first time and Daisysage scolded me"?

It didn't help that he was already a sensitive cat. Everything just burrowed deeper and deeper into his mind, until even a glare from Daisysage could send him into a panic attack.

He hated gatherings. So crowded, so loud, and he was meant to act like nothing was wrong while sitting almost in front of the whole crowd. He just wanted to go home and curl up in his nest and dream the night away.

He wasn't expecting anyone to try to talk to him--tried not to talk to anyone, but the WindClan warrior, Sorrelaster, had sought him out. He was so...nice!

Burrowpaw didn't know why anyone wanted to talk to him, let alone why Sorrelaster was so interested in him, but he was kind and friendly, and Burrowpaw began to seek him out.

Sorrelaster was the only one in Burrowpaw's life other than his littermates that didn't scold him or treat him like a nuisance. He seemed genuinely interested in anything Burrowpaw had to say--about the day he had, how he felt, a cool fact he wanted to share, and Sorrelaster became his shoulder to lean on.

In time, Burrowpaw sought him out even when a gathering wasn't occurring.

The first time was after a queen had given birth to a litter of kits. Burrowpaw, helping his mentor, had bitten into the sac surrounding them. But he did it wrong and though the kits were okay in the end, his mentor dragged him by the scruff out of the den and berated him in front of the entire Clan, shouting that he would make a terrible medicine cat if he didn't pull himself together.

Burrowpaw ran from the camp, ignoring his littermates who tried to comfort him, and stayed at the border with WindClan for half a day before Sorrelaster found him, heard him out, and held him close while he cried.

He became his only friend, his closest confidant. He would go to Sorrelaster for comfort, advice, or even to just be with a friend.

When Burrowpaw needed help, he would go to Sorrelaster, and Sorrelaster would go to him, such as when he asked Burrowpaw for herbs. He convinced the apprentice to sneak them out of his camp without telling anyone, which soon became a regular occurrence.

He was confused when he asked the WindClan medicine cat if everything was okay during a Half-Moon meeting and she responded that it was all fine, but Sorrelaster simply told him that she was just making sure no one knew that the Clan was weak, but Sorrelaster feels fine telling Burrowpaw because he can trust him. They can trust each other.

When Burrowsand received a prophecy that foretold danger for his Clan, he immediately went to Sorrelaster for advice, detailing to the warrior how he had seen vast amounts of rain pouring into the camp, loosening the Clanrock and causing it to fall.

The WindClan warrior advised him to keep quiet, reasoning that it will only cause cats to panic, and it's not like he saw anyone die in the vision, right? Would he be able to prevent such a huge rock from falling anyways?

The doubts were enough to silence Burrowsand. Even though it was Sorrelaster's idea, he only blamed himself when the danger came and cats were hurt. Two died the first day, and another succumbed to injuries shortly after.

He couldn't keep the secret any longer and confessed to the leader that he had seen the rock falling but chose not to tell anyone. For that, he was given apprentice duties for three moons, made to clean beddings, pick ticks, and clear the dirtplace.

A year later, Burrowsand received another prophecy. Again, he went right to his friend. Burrowsand expressed his desire to tell his leader right away this time, but Sorrelaster told him to hold on. What could he do to prevent it? What could anyone do? Nothing. If they knew that Burrowsand saw it coming, they would only blame him for not preventing the impossible.

Burrowsand knew he should tell...but what if Sorrelaster was right? He was always so wise, and he cared about Burrowsand's well-being. He had no reason to think that he could be lying.

So Burrowsand withheld the truth again, and when again it caused tragedy, he had to bite his leg until it bleed to prevent himself from admitting what he had done.

The next night, WindClan invaded their camp. With their numbers lowered, ShadowClan was defeated, their herbs stolen and their dens destroyed.

In the middle of it, Burrowsand met Sorrelaster's eyes, all love and affection lost. Sorrelaster went straight for the medicine den and began to tear into the supplies. Burrowsand cried, shocked and distraught as he tried to get Sorrelaster to stop. He tried to grab him, tried to pull him back while asking what he was doing and why.

Sorrelaster responded with a bite to Burrowsand's throat.

Additional Information: 

--Sorrelaster's own profile will be posted separately. He befriended Burrowsand to get herbs out of him, and when Burrowsand described the visions, Sorrelaster saw the opportunity to weaken an enemy Clan, which is why he told Burrowsand not to tell anyone, and why WindClan attacked in the end.

--WindClan attacked at night during a Half-Moon, which is why he was the only medicine cat in camp.

--His victims are:

3 dead (first prophecy)

2 dead (second prophecy)

2 dead (by sickness--on separate occasions, both because they didn't have the medicine due to Burrowsand giving them away).

--Not speaking once was bad but not terrible, it was the repeated getting his Clanmates hurt, lying to them, and sharing critical information with an enemy warrior that caused Burrowsand to be condemned (that and his own guilt).

--Base: RUSE'S F2U CAT BASES by CarnivorousRuse on DeviantArt

[cyborgpulsebooks]

So I finally have an answer to that one WOL QOTD question about whether your character's ok with all the killing of trash mobs in FFXIV or not

The short, sweet, and easiest answer for me is that Pluvie tends to use non-lethal force when possible. Indeed, this was my first reaction when I saw the post for the first time (which was ages ago, and I can't be fucked to go back and find it on my computer which barely runs tumblr as it is). Particularly when it comes to knocking out guards, infiltrating institutions, basically anything where there's real mortal life involved, non-violence is her instinct.

However.

Pluvie, up until SHB, truly does not understand why people are afraid of her. She's a healer, right? She specializes in white magic and conjury, and she's also dabbled in scholarship/arcane magic and astrology. During STB, she goes into battle donning the red of a healer, the color found on her cleric's robes. She's the Liberator, yes, the Warrior of Light, but she's also Eorzea's - if not Hydaelyn's - most powerful healer, and that is why she's on the front lines of the fight.

But then you have Zenos. Right? Who sees the bloodshed and the rage boiling beneath the surface of your WOL no matter their backstory or class. You also have Thordan, the expac before, cowering in terror before you. If Pluvie's just a healer, if she's only a white mage, then why does Zenos seek to awaken the beast within her? Why do world leaders and small resistance leaders alike feel they must seek out her supposed "sword-arm" to help with their armed conflicts if they know she doesn't use offensive magic very often?

It's because during the rare times that she does, Pluvie absolutely eviscerates a motherfucker. Re: Lahabrea, Re: Thordan, Re: Zenos, Re: literally any of the raid bosses.

We know from shb that the Light aspect may be static, but it is NOT benign, and if this is the well that Pluvie is repeatedly drawing from in order to cast her magic, amplified by the Echo and Hydaelyn's blessing, she's basically nuking people left and right. But because this power was something originally sold to her as the power of nature, the power of the Elementals (re: conjury), and knowing just the propagandist backgrounds of both Ishgard and Gridania where she's spent the most time living and learning, Light has been sold to Pluvie as inherently Good tm and Just tm. So if she gets angry, if she causes a rockslide with her magic, or chokes someone with the wind, or tears them inside out with a ray of light, it's hard for her to see beyond the intention she has been sold as the reason she uses this magic. If that makes sense.

Basically, while Pluvie IS Hydaelyn's specialist magical healer girl, the power of white magic can be exactly as devastating as black magic in the right hands.

Too bad she doesn't really understand that about herself until she's drowning in Light from the inside out.