#whom they have taught how to kill

[anthurak]

RWBY AU where everything is the same except Ruby and Yang spent a good chunk of their childhoods befriending the various woodland creatures near their home Disney-Princess style, as per what we see in these hilariously inexplicable panels from one of the DC comic.

Specifically to the point where both girls, and Ruby in particular, can and often do talk to forest critters for various reasons.

Knock-on effects of this change include but are not limited to:

Ruby being both slightly more and less well-adjusted thanks to spending much of her childhood talking to and occasionally getting advice from mice, squirrels, raccoons, birds and more.

Ruby and Yang being able to straight up talk to Zwei.

Ruby and Yang involving their forest friends in their huntress training, leading to many mice, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons and more on the island of Patch gaining unlocked auras and rudimentary knowledge of weapons and tactics.

Possibly Little appearing nine volumes early as a mouse friend of Ruby’s.

Both Ruby/Weiss AND Blake/Yang in the Emerald Forest doing their own versions of the Kronk and Yzma talking to a squirrel scene. Specifically both Ruby and Yang getting reconnaissance information from local squirrels and raccoons. Funny enough, Blake is the one more weirded out while Weiss actually thinks it’s adorable, though Weiss also refuses to admit as much to Ruby at this point while Blake is all the more intrigued by Yang.

[trans-leek-cookie]

Hm I'm not putting this in yhe main tags bc. Yeah but I'm blocking ppl who call the step mother hot

[surgepricing]

I think about Azula shooters often and their common refrain of "if Azula hadn't had a mental breakdown, she would've won" and I'm here to tell you that no, she wouldn't have.

There is no universe in which Azula was winning that fight with Zuko (or Katara, for that matter).

Azula spent so much of Book 2 being built up as this deadly terrifying force against whom the heroes are badly outmatched that it can be difficult to catch exactly how quickly Zuko is advancing.

Back up a bit to Book One. For the fearsome exiled crown prince of the Fire Nation, Zuko's not that impressive a firebender. He's not bad by any stretch, and he's able to lay the untrained Sokka and Katara flat pretty easily. Then he gets in the ring with Aang, who is an airbending master, and the difference between a regular bender and a master becomes apparent when Aang literally puts his ass to bed:

People have attributed this to the fact that no one's fought an airbender in 100 years, but I think it's also worth noting that Aang (a 12 year old from a pacifist nation) has probably never fought anyone before. Like, ever. And yet the second Aang thinks "okay, I'll attack back", the fight's over.

Zuko's got the same genetic predisposition for firebending talent that Azula does, yet it never seems to manifest because of his mental blocks. At the beginning of the series, he's already so beat down that all he really has is conviction, pride, and anger, so even with training from Iroh (the firebending master, thank you very much), he struggles. Yet throughout Book 2, when he has no time to train because he's on the run, he actually seems to advance faster. The fact that his bending is literally tied to his character arc (as his morals become tangled and he has to fight off aforementioned mental blocks) is pretty brilliant. Like, by the time of the Crossroads of Destiny, Zuko getting his ass handed to him by Aang is a pretty consistent feature of the show--he just can't match wits with him.

Hell, at the beginning of the series, he and Iroh (again: the actual firebending master) launch a combined power surface-to-air attack...which Aang casually swats away into a nearby ice wall. Come the Crossroads of Destiny, however, and Zuko by himself launches this bigass fireball that blows through Aang's defenses.

Zuko advances so quickly that it's scary. That prodigious talent is in him even if it doesn't come through as cleanly as with Azula. Who, by the way, was busy about to get flattened by Katara some few dozen feet away, until Zuko took over and then effectively stalemated her himself.

All of this in retrospect makes it abundantly clear why Zuko's firebending seemed to skyrocket so much when he learned true firebending from the Sun Warriors: it was really the only thing left. He's hard a hard road learning how to fight waterbenders, earthbenders, and airbenders, and even if unconsciously, he's applying the philosophy Iroh taught him about augmenting his bending style with aspects of other styles (see also, the waterbending-like fire whips he uses in the above gif). Once he actually understands fire and how it works, he's got it mastered. Hence why any gap between him and Azula effectively disappears as soon as their next fight--before her friends have betrayed her and her stability goes out the window. There's no real sense of urgency to their fight at the Boiling Rock prison. True, Sokka's presence with the sword helps, but Zuko doesn't look remotely worried and he counters Azula's every attack perfectly.

All her life, Azula only ever learned fire. She was taught by the best people the fire nation can employ, so she knows all the cool tricks, but she's still poisoned by the corrupted firebending practiced in the modern ATLA timeline. Unlike Zuko, who managed to get the basics if nothing else from Iroh (fire comes from the breath, and can be used to survive as much as to kill), Azula has always used fire as a weapon and a means to hurt others. She has no true knowledge of the craft, meaning she's got the same weaknesses as Zhao, she's just better disciplined to the point she can make up for it.

Zuko's victory was a given considering Azula's complete loss of control by the time of Sozin's comet, but even had she been in a perfect mental state, she'd have lost, because in many ways Zuko is simply the better firebender.

And that's the truth of it.

[eglerieth]

Some of y’all are not appreciating Bilbo Baggins enough. I am here to remedy that. This guy has:

• somehow managed to establish himself as a respectable, staid hobbit by the time he was fifty, despite being both a grandson of Bullroarer Took and the Shire champion of pretty much every aiming-game known to hobbitkind

• had an in-depth debate on pleasantries with a random guy passing by in the street, who turned out to be GANDALF

• collapsed in front of his own fire shaking and muttering “struck by lightning” over and over again in response to hearing about dragons and danger

• mind you, this was after he screamed loud enough to startle a roomful of Dwarves

• signed up for a dangerous quest completely outside of his league out of spite

• when told to scout out a mysterious light, saw some trolls, and instead of reporting back with the information, decided to PICK THE TROLLS POCKET

• arrived in Rivendell for the first time and said it “smelled like elves”

• upon meeting a strange creature that visibly wanted to eat him, he decided to play a riddle game with him- and guessed pretty much every one, and made up his own riddles, afraid and alone, that not only were good and full of linguistic puns, but actually stumped the other guy- AND THEN CHEATED AND WON WITH A QUESTION

• showed mercy to said strange creature who wanted to kill him, and was now standing between him and freedom

• eavesdropped on the dwarves arguing over whether to try to save him, then popped up casually smack in the middle of them just as they were debating

• somehow managed to sleep like a log at the really really high eyrie full of wild predators

• found himself in a bad situation, said eff it, and turned around and antagonized and fought off an insane amount of man eating spiders, like enough of them that fifty was a small portion, by singing at them with incredibly complex and punny insulting songs composed on the spot, while simultaneously slaying them in multitudes despite having zero combat training. Seriously, we don’t discuss enough how epic the spider scene is.

• broke a company of dwarves out of the very secure prison of the Elvenking by inventing white water rafting with barrels

• charmed his way out of being eaten by a dragon

• stole the frickin Arkenstone from the guys who employed him, one of whom was a king

• took part in an epic battle, only to be knocked out in the first ten minutes and miss the entire thing

• was named elf-friend by the guy who’s prisoners he sprung

• wrote his own autobiography, complete with all the narrative recognition of his own heroics

• spent 60 years writing said autobiography

• taught his lower class neighbor’s kid how to read

• taught his nephew Elvish- not only Sindarin, but Quenya too

• spent decades telling his cousins his own story as fairy tales, complete with character impressions accurate enough that one of them was able to fool a servant of the Enemy with a second hand impression

• used the One Ring of Power to hide from his neighbors

• planned an elaborate feast with multiple social faux pas to mess with his neighbors, complete with a purposefully bewildering speech and culminating in him vanishing into thin air in front of everyone

• left his cousins and neighbors very unsubtle passive aggressive gifts in his will

• settled into Rivendell, randomly befriended the heir to the throne of like half of Middle Earth, and apparently spent his time writing very personal poems about his hosts and reciting them to crowds of elves

• after being invited to a Council of basically every major kingdom in the continent, spent a quarter of the time reciting vague poems about his friends, a quarter of the time telling anyone who would listen about his heroic past, and half the time interrupting to ask when lunch would be

• volunteered to bring the ring to Mordor

• became one of only four or five mortals in history to live in Valinor

Seriously, Bilbo Baggins may well be the most chaotic, insane person in the entire legendarium, and that includes the likes of people like Finrod “bit a werewolf to death to save the life of guy who he just met and gave up his kingdom for” Felagund.

[ameliathornromance]

A Whole New World - Short Orc Romance

- When your Orc found you, you were in your Church with your other sisters of the cloth.

- They all prayed to the Gods.

- Gods that they wished would come, strike down these beasts who threatened your lives.

- The Church doors were difficult to get open, but your Orc did it. The doors burst off the hinges, crashed into the pews.

-Your sisters all took off running, leaving you behind.

- You tried to follow, but ended up tripping over your robes, falling on your front.

- Your Orc stormed towards you.

- You try to scramble away, desperate to escape your oncoming death, but it was no use.

- He was too big, too quick.

- You close your eyes, expecting a bludgeoning with that horrifying club he had clutched in his hand. You raise your hands above your head and cower for your life.

- Any moment now, any second now, he is going to bring that club down on your head.

- But nothing came.

“They left you.”

You squint open your eyes. Between your arms, you stare at him. His expression pained, his endless black eyes staring at you with… sympathy? You couldn’t understand what you were seeing; An orc, sympathetic?

The club slips from his hand, landing on the floor with a loud thud. Stooping to one knee, he bends down to your height. “Those who you called sisters have abandoned you.”

You dare to look around. Hoping to see a sister who was hiding behind the altar, a pillar, or anywhere. With some kind of weapon in hand, anything to help you get out of this situation alive. But it was barren. Empty of any kind of life whom had been begging for salvation.

He was right. They had. “To escape you, you who would kill me for praying for your death.” You hiss back at him. You didn’t dare believe him, wanted to retreat back into the collective opinion about Orcs. But it was too obvious to ignore his logic.

The words were harsh and sharp, the Orc did not flinch. “And who is here for you, now that I have come to take the lives of your people? Your Gods? Who you pray to, but have done nothing to protect you or your people from the raid of my brethren? Did not even force a fellow sister to stay and share in your fate, so that you would not have to go into the night alone?”

The words rang through you like the Church bell at the top of the steeple. Rooted you to the ground, the world you had built to protect yourself from the truth, crashed and burned. You couldn’t deny that he was wrong. Your so-called ‘sisters’ had abandoned you. Left you here at the mercy of this monster, not one of them had turned to try and help you back up.

A sigh escapes the Orc. “In our ranks,” he says, “we do not abandon our own.” The hand that held the club outstretches toward you. “Come. No one deserves to left alone.”

Anger had risen, spiteful and raging within your very soul. At that moment, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, the Orc was right. Your mind drifts back to what the Church had taught you about them, the Orcs. That they were monsters, born from the core of the Earth. Where Magma bubbled and boiled, where nothing should be able to survive. How your Church commanded that your sisters swear loyalty to one another. To protect each other and Holy Ground from defamation of the filth that rose from the Earth. To do it together. To die together, if it came to it.

The Gods had abandoned you and your sisters had left you. You gave your life for Gods who did not care.

This Orc, monster of the deep Earth, had shown you more decency in that moment. Than Gods or humans had done in the time you had been at the Church. Spite riddles through you. You take his calloused, rough hand.

- Travelling in an Orc caravan was not easy. They were loud, smelly and stupid. All except the Orc who had come for you.

- He was quiet, preferred to watch his others fight, drink and be rowdy with one another.

- At first, the rest of the group had ostracised you. “Humans are no good.” They would snarl. “Weak and useless.” But, after repairing a few of their clothes and cooking meals, they warmed up to you.

- They were kind to you... In their own way. Like the time when they left a whole dead sheeps’ carcass in your tent. The note left with it read: “For dinner this eve. Make or else.” Panicked, you went to find your Orc friend, who explained that this wasn't a threat. Far from it, as a matter of fact.

- They spoke to you that way because they spoke to their own like that.

- "My bretheren see you as one of us now." Rovi - the name of your Orc friend - explained.

“They’re quite the group.” You observe. You had thrown out your robes as soon as you could and replaced them with something that was far from Holy. Trousers and tunic that you had sewed together yourself and hair let down to your waist.

“Indeed.” Rovi agrees. He slurps the rest of the soup from his bowl. Fire crackles in the fire pit, the nights sky blankets the whole group of Orcs who proceed to play fight and snarl. This was apparently, a common pass time for Orcs, who beat the living snot out of each other as a show of comradery. “They will never hurt each other though.” Rovi assures you, putting the bowl beside himself. “We do not do that, unlike humans who abandon their own, kill their friends and steal for survival.”

You did not judge his impression of humans. Surely, you’d feel the same way too if a bunch of humans started chasing after you, desperate for your head. One thing, you could not understand for the life of you, was why Rovi had taken you in. Despite his obvious dislike for humans, he still offered you a place in his camp. Maybe It was as simple as he said: “No one deserves to left alone.”

Biting your lip, you tell him, “thank you for inviting me into your camp.” You meant it. If it weren’t for him, you would still be slaving away for Gods who had no interest in you.

Your Orc huffs, “better than being with humans who abandon their own.” He looks away from you. Back to the jeering crowd of his fellows, watching them clasp each others hands and pat each other on the back. A show of congratulations on a good fight.

- Your romance with him started when there was when you returned to your own tent.

- On your bed, was a small pouch of gold.

- Being in an Orc camp, you observed their customs and cultures. Often, when courting others, they would leave a small bag of gold in their crushes living quarters. A sweet, but simple gesture. Orcs loved their gold, even if they did not flaunt it. To do so was, frowned upon and compared to the Lords who wore those stupid puffy trousers and powdered tall wigs.

- You did not know who the pouch had come from, but you immediately thought that your Orc friend had been the one to do it. But you had to double check. And so you would gauge his reaction to it.

“Look!” You rushed over to him. Waving the bag of gold up to him, you beamed, “someone likes me! I found it on my bed when I got back from washing in the river!”

Rovi, returning from a hunt and carrying a, poor dead stag on his back, looked at you, then the open bag, gold glittering in the sunlight. “Was there a note?” He asked you, dropping it to the ground.

The rest of the hunting party grumbled annoyances at him, dragging the meat away. Rovi ignored them.

“No, there was just this bag. I wonder who it could be!” Your eyes dart across the camp, looking to the cooks, who were now busy skinning the stag, to other Orcs who were busy tending to a fire and talking in their mother tongue and to those who were busy trying to read from tiny human books they stole from villages.

“Best not to think about it,” Your Orc mutters. “Small pouch of gold like that? They can’t be that interested in you.” And with that, he lumbers off.

You frown. You thought for sure it would be him. His reaction made your heart sink in your chest. Sighing, you walk back to your tent, tossing the small bag onto your desk and clambering onto your bed. You sigh. If it was not him, then who could it be?

Unfortunately, you had noted that there was a fair amount of guess work that had to happen when it came to this as well. Usually, it went over well – the admired knew who their admirer was, and they got together. But, in rare instances, where the admired got their guess wrong: The admirer would challenge the guessed person to combat and they would fight. Not a play fight. An actual battle.

It was rare, but not rare enough to avoid being discussed by the rest of the camp. You had never seen one yourself, and if you could, you’d like to avoid it at all costs. You like everyone in the camp, care about them all , you didn’t want anyone to get hurt. One had to assume, that if two Orcs vied for the same person... You didn't want to think about that.

- You had thought long and hard about who it could be. You had become close with everyone in the camp, it wasn’t like there was anyone who stuck out to you.

- Truth be told, disappointment stirred in your gut.

- You had hoped that it would Rovi who had been the one to give you that pouch. He was kind and caring, even if he was a bit rough around the edges. He gave you a whole new life, it seemed almost right that you would fall for him. After he was able to show you the rest of the world, when you may have stayed with the Church for the rest of your days.

- The next day, you went to go and do what you had to do by the river, coming back to your tent and your jaw dropping.

A pouch – you couldn’t even call it that – a sack full of gold had spilled out onto the floor in your tent. You wondered if you’d gone mad. Startling you, a cheer erupted from outside your tent. What the Hell is going on?!

You ran out and into the main area, where a ring of tall, hulking Orcs had formed. You stood on tip-toes, jumped to try and get a look at the brawl that had just started, but had to resolve to pushing your way through the rambunctious crowd. Once the other Orcs realize who it was trying to get through, they bark at their others: “Get out of the way! Let (Y/N) through! It about her after all!”

About you? More desperate now, you finally found your way to the edge of the ring just in time to see Rovi swing a right hook, directly into the jaw of his other. The other Orc goes flying, his landing in front of you sent shudders through the floor. You recognise him immediately as Barrow, a chef who you often spent time with in the kitchens. He was an Orc of very little brains, but he made a mean rabbit stew. He made some inappropriate jokes to you occasionally, but apart from that, he kept mostly to himself.

“That’s all you offer?!” Rovi roars, “pathetic!”

Barrow was out cold, your Orc friend’s chest heaving up and down. “What’s going on?!” You shout over the jeering Orc crowd.

Rovi’s face, goes from a furious, angry scowl, to soft at the sight of you. Rather harshly, he kicks Barrow out of the way and kneels down to your height. “I’m afraid I haven’t been up front with you,” he begins.

The rest of the Orcs are still watching, but now quiet. Your ears rang with the silence, so used to their loud and obnoxious shouting that it was unsettling to hear silence.

“I know that humans are more upfront with their courting practices so allow me to conform to your culture… And I couldn’t allow Barrow to offer you something so insignificant and small as one pouch of gold… So... Would you be mine, (Y/N)?”

Stunned into silence, you bit your lip. Smiling, you ask, “so the extra large sack of gold was you?”

Rovi grumbles and looks away from, a small dusting tinge dusting his orc green cheeks. “Well, I had to do something…” He mumbles. “I had to do something to show you I am superior… if this one hadn’t beaten me to it.” He shoots another dirty look at Barrow, who seems to have awoken in a daze. “The combat was necessary to tell him to back off.”

“I think the gold was more than enough.” You wrap your arms around his muscular shoulders and pull him close. “Thank you for everything, Rovi.”

He freezes for a moment and then returns your gesture, holding you tenderly in that moment. The both of you don’t even hear the crowd of Orcs erupting with cheers and shouts of happiness.

It’s just the two of you. And that’s all that matters in that moment.

[halsteadlover]

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

• Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader.

• Summary: just a compilation of Charles’ ig posts showing how much he’s obsessed and in love with you and his baby.

• Warnings: none just pure fluff.

• A/N: I know I know… I’m a sucker for dad fics I just can’t help it 😭😭 this is my first time posting a smau so please be kind with me I know it’s bad 😭 let me know what I can do to do it better and what you think ❤️ love you all xx

Tagged: yourusername

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charles_leclerc You have never been more beautiful than you are now mon amour. Watching you grow our baby is one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed 🖤

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user1 Charles whipped Leclerc is back in town!

charlos123 screaming, crying throwing up 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

landonorris find yourself someone who loves you like Charles loves his wife (I'm 5'10 girls)

oscarpiastri Shut up no you’re not

user88 💀💀💀

yourusername Je t'aime plus que la lune et les étoiles mon amour ❤️ We’re both so lucky to have you (I love you more than the moon and the stars)

charles_leclerc Je t'aime beaucoup plus bébé❤️ (I love you so much more baby)

versclerc the way he just answers her comments 😭

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charles_leclerc For you mon amour.

For you, who looks in the mirror and doesn’t like what you see but is truly the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

For you, who every single day gives me one more reason to love you even more, something I didn’t even believe was possible. Feeling something so strong for someone that the word ‘love’ isn’t enough to describe it.

For you, who taught me the meaning of true love and what’s really important in life.

For you, who are so beautiful that it still surprise me even after so many years being together how you manage to give me butterflies in my stomach.

For you for whom just one look is enough to make my heart race and my hands sweat.

For you who are the most beautiful thing life has ever given me.

For you, who can brighten my darkest day, who can make me the happiest that I’ve ever been.

For you, who gave me the most beautiful gift I could have ever asked for.

We can’t wait to hold you mon petit, please hurry up 🙏🏻❤️

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user24 GOOD FUCKING BYE

user98 Dragging my teeth on the concrete

mstleclerc CHARLESJSJSIDJSOSKSNSJ OMFGGGGGG 😭😭😭

carlossainz55 you’re making me want one of those little shits

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landonorris I almost shed a tear not gonna lie

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arthur_leclerc I’m so happy for you brother I can’t wait to spoil my nephew ❤️

Liked by charles_leclerc and yourusername

charles_leclerc By the way my wife just bursted out crying seeing this post and I was about to make a video but she literally threatened to kill me if I did ❤️ God I love her 😍

f1fun_12 This is such a Y/n thing to do 😭

sainzzzzzzzzzzzz As she should!

yourusername I can’t put into words how much I’m grateful for you and for everything you do for our little family. Our son is so lucky to have you as a father and I couldn’t have chosen a better husband. I’d be so lost without you baby, I love you more than my life ❤️ ps: stop making me cry for fucks sake I don’t have any more tears in my body thanks

charles_leclerc Can you please unlock the bedroom darling?

yourusername Nope, that’s what you get for trying to filming me

yourusername UNLESS……. You bring me a ketchup sandwich

charles_leclerc it’s already on the way my queen 👸🏻 your wish is my command

user7612 A KETCHUP SANDWICH??? What???

yourusername @user7612 it’s not my fault okay?

monof1 the fact Charles is so used to her cravings that he’s not even questioning them anymore 😭

charles_leclerc @monof1 fun fact: never NEVER argue with a pregnant woman especially if that pregnant woman is Y/n

monof1 @/charles_leclerc OMG CHARLES HI I LOVE YOU

charles_leclerc posted on his story

Viewed by yourusername and 99251 others

yourusername

What did I do to deserve you?

landonorris answered your story:

You’re so whipped mate

charles_leclerc can you blame me? Have you seen my wife and THAT baby bump?

carlossainz55 answered your story:

Yeah ok we get you’re in love and bla bla bla

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charles_leclerc There are only a few days left until our baby arrives and I’m scared and impatient at the same time. My wife is sleeping next to me now breathtakingly beautiful and I’ve taken some time to reflect on how these 9 months have flown by and I can’t believe it, it seems like it was just yesterday that we found out we were expecting a baby. I can no longer remember what my life was like before knowing your existence, little one.

I can't help but imagine and think about you in everything I do and every step I make, thinking about how beautiful it’ll be to see you take your first steps, to see you run around the house, dirty everything, to see you measure my helmets, to see you trying my race suits, to see you go to school, to see you grow in the beautiful and amazing person you’re going to be.

We’ll probably argue sometimes, although I’ll make sure that never happens, but whatever happens, just know that I loved you more than my life from the first moment since I saw that positive pregnancy test and I hope you’ll never forget it even if we have any argument.

Mommy and I are so eager to finally hold you in our arms, hear you cry and take your first breath in this new life. It hasn’t always been easy, I’ll be honest, and it won’t be easy but I wouldn’t change anything. I love you mon petit ange. 🖤

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user90 CHARLES 😭😭😭😭😭

maxlecsainz I swear it’s not that I don’t want a baby it’s just men are not like Charles Leclerc

y/nmommy1 who wants to take a quick bath with a toaster?

user65 I’m on my way sis

y/ncharles82772 wait for me I’m taking a nap on a highway right now

norrizzzzz528 I know it’s the bare minimum but seeing the way Charles loves his family makes my heart so happy 😭😭😭

lewishamilton I’ve never thought there would be a day where I’d be jealous of Charles Leclerc but here we are… Jokes aside I’m so happy for you mate 🖤

Liked by charles_leclerc

user209 you’re so real Lew

landonorris when will the child see his fav uncle?

arthur_leclerc EXCUSE ME?

lorenzotl you’re so delusional

carlossainz55 Yeah. Clearly I AM already his favourite one

pierregasly you’re all so wrong @/yourusername said he’ll like me the most 💁🏻‍♂️

charles_leclerc @/pierregasly she literally never said that?

pierregasly @/charles_leclerc oh shut up you know it’s true

user42 what is going on in this comment section??? 💀

daddylec16 the way they can’t never leave Charles in peace even in his comment section 😭

maxverstappen1 Once I saw Charles crying his eyes out because Y/n sent him an audio with the baby’s heartbeat since he couldn’t make it for the ultrasound

user66 OH MY GOD!!!!!!! 😭😭

maxalonso1995 STOPPPPP GIVE US MORE MAX

charles_leclerc THAT’S NOT TRUE I was just having an allergic reaction to dust

maxverstappen1 @charles_leclerc oh c’mon Charlie

user66 CHARLIEHSJSJDJJS FUCK OFF

charles_leclerc @/maxverstappen1 it only happened ONCE

leclercfan12 every day Charles comes on this app and has to fight for his life poor baby

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charles_leclerc Our little boy Jules Hervé Leclerc is finally here.

I can’t even put into words how over the moon we are right now, I feel like my life just started all over again. Watching my wife give birth to my son is an experience I’ll never forget, you’re a force of nature baby I can’t thank you enough for everything you do for me.

And to my little Jules I love you more than the air I breathe I can’t way to start this new life with you ❤️

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yourusername Don’t let him fool you guys he went to sleep after I GAVE BIRTH

charles_leclerc OMFG THAT’S NOT TRUE DON’T LISTEN TO HER

yourusername hehe 😆 just kidding guys he’s the best. I love you so much Cha, Jules and I are so lucky to have you ❤️

user765 STOP THE WAY CHARLES IS CRYING IN THE FIRST PIC

user22 WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN

mclarengirllll112 JULES HERVÉ LECLERC DO YOU HEAR ME FUCKING CRYING

norrizzzzz528 WHAT IF I JUST KILLED MYSELF

user976 OUR PRINCE IS HERE EVERYBODY MOVE

daddylec16 I know I’ll find someone who loves me like Charles loves his family. I just know it

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[sayruq]

NAHLA AL-ARIAN HAS been living a nightmare for the past seven months, watching from afar as Israel carries out its scorched-earth war against her ancestral homeland in the Gaza Strip. Like many Palestinian Americans, the 63-year-old retired fourth-grade teacher from Tampa Bay, Florida, has endured seven months of a steady trickle of WhatsApp messages about the deaths of her relatives. “You see, my father’s family is originally from Gaza, so they are a big family. And they are not only in Gaza City, but also in Deir al Balah and Khan Younis, other parts,” Al-Arian told me. Recently, the trickle of horrors became a flood: “It started with like 27, and then we lost count until I received this message from my relative who said at least 200 had died.” The catastrophe was the backdrop for Al-Arian’s visit last week to Columbia University in New York City. Al-Arian has five children, four of whom are journalists or filmmakers. On April 25, two of her daughters, Laila and Lama, both award-winning TV journalists, visited the encampment established by Columbia students to oppose the war in Gaza. Laila, an executive producer at Al Jazeera English with Emmys and a George Polk Award to her name, is a graduate of Columbia’s journalism school. Lama was the recipient of the prestigious 2021 Alfred I. duPont–Columbia Award for her reporting for Vice News on the 2020 explosion at the port of Beirut. The two sisters traveled to Columbia as journalists to see the campus, and Nahla joined them. “Of course, I tagged along. You know, why would I sit at the hotel by myself? And I wanted to really see those kids. I felt so down,” she said. “I was crying every day for Gaza, for the children being killed, for the women, the destruction of my father’s city, so I wanted to feel better, you know, to see those kids. I heard a lot about them, how smart they are, how organized, you know? So I said, let’s go along with you. So I went.” Nahla Al-Arian was on the campus for less than an hour. She sat and listened to part of a teach-in, and shared some hummus with her daughters and some students. Then she left, feeling a glimmer of hope that people — at least these students — actually cared about the suffering and deaths being inflicted on her family in Gaza. “I didn’t teach them anything. They are the ones who taught me. They are the ones who gave me hope,” she recalled. “I felt much better when I went there because I felt those kids are really very well informed, very well educated. They are the conscience of America. They care about the Palestinian people who they never saw or got to meet.” Her husband posted a picture of Nahla, sitting on the lawn at the tent city erected by the student protesters, on his Twitter feed. “My wife Nahla in solidarity with the brave and very determined Columbia University students,” he wrote. Nahla left New York, inspired by her visit to Columbia, and returned to Virginia to spend time with her grandchildren. A few days later, that one tweet by her husband would thrust Nahla Al-Arian into the center of a spurious narrative promoted by the mayor of New York City and major media outlets. She became the exemplar of the dangerous “outside agitator�� who was training the students at Columbia. It was Nahla’s presence, according to Mayor Eric Adams, that was the “tipping point” in his decision to authorize the military-style raids on the campus.

On February 20, 2003, Nahla’s husband, Sami Al-Arian, a professor at the University of South Florida, was arrested and indicted on 53 counts of supporting the armed resistance group Palestinian Islamic Jihad. The PIJ had been designated by the U.S. government as a terrorist organization, and the charges against Al-Arian could have put him in prison for multiple life sentences, plus 225 years. It was a centerpiece case of the George W. Bush administration’s domestic “war on terror.” When John Ashcroft, Bush’s notorious attorney general, announced the indictment, he described the Florida-based scholar as “the North American leader of the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, Sami Al-Arian.” Among the charges against him was conspiracy to kill or maim persons abroad, specifically in Israel, yet the prosecutors openly admitted Al-Arian had no connection to any violence. He was a well-known and deeply respected figure in the Tampa community, where he and Nahla raised their family. He was also, like many fellow Palestinians, a tenacious critic of U.S. support for Israel and of the burgeoning “global war on terror.” His arrest came just days before the U.S. invaded Iraq, a war Al-Arian was publicly opposed to. The Al-Arian case was, at its core, a political attack waged by Bush’s Justice Department as part of a wider assault on the rights of Muslims in the U.S. The government launched a campaign, echoed in media outlets, to portray Al-Arian as a terror leader at a time when the Bush administration was ratcheting up its so-called global war on terror abroad, and when Muslims in the U.S. were being subjected to harassment, surveillance, and abuse. The legal case against Al-Arian was flimsy, and prosecutors largely sought to portray his protected First Amendment speech and charitable activities as terrorism. The trial against Al-Arian, a legal permanent resident in the U.S., did not go well for federal prosecutors. In December 2005, following a six-month trial, a jury acquitted him on eight of the most serious counts and deadlocked 10-2 in favor of acquittal on the other nine. The judge made clear he was not pleased with this outcome, and the prosecutors were intent on relitigating the case. Al-Arian had spent two years in jail already without any conviction and was staring down the prospect of years more. In the face of this reality and the toll the trial against him had taken on his family, Al-Arian agreed to take a plea deal. In 2006, he pleaded guilty to one count of providing nonviolent support to people the government alleged were affiliated with the PIJ. As part of the deal, Al-Arian would serve a short sentence and, with his residency revoked, get an expedited deportation. At no point during the government’s trial against Al-Arian did the prosecution provide evidence he was connected to any acts of violence. For the next eight years following his release from prison in 2008, Al-Arian was kept under house arrest and effectively subjected to prosecutorial harassment as the government sought to place him in what his lawyers characterized as a judicial trap by compelling him to testify in a separate case. His defense lawyers alleged the federal prosecutor in the case, who had a penchant for pursuing high-profile, political cases, held an anti-Palestinian bias. Amnesty International raised concerns that Al-Arian had been abused in prison and he faced the prospect of yet another lengthy, costly court battle. The saga would stretch on for several more years before prosecutors ended the case and Al-Arian was deported from the United States.

“This case remains one of the most troubling chapters in this nation’s crackdown after 9-11,” Al-Arian’s lawyer, Jonathan Turley, wrote in 2014 when the case was officially dropped. “Despite the jury verdict and the agreement reached to allow Dr. Al-Arian to leave the country, the Justice Department continued to fight for his incarceration and for a trial in this case. It will remain one of the most disturbing cases of my career in terms of the actions taken by our government.” That federal prosecutors approved Al-Arian’s plea deal gave a clear indication that the U.S. government knew Al-Arian was not an actual terrorist, terrorist facilitator, or any kind of threat; the Bush administration, after all, was not in the habit of letting suspected terrorists walk. Al-Arian and his family have always maintained his innocence and say that he was being targeted for his political beliefs and activism on behalf of Palestinians. He resisted the deal, Nahla Al-Arian said. “He didn’t even want to accept it. He wanted to move on with another trial,” Nahla said. “But because of our pressure on him, let’s just get done with it [because] in the end, we’re going leave anyway. So that’s why.” Sami and Nahla Al-Arian now live in Turkey. Sami is not allowed to visit his children and grandchildren stateside, but Nahla visits often.

[milkyboybluewriter]

Why Bill Hates Dipper

Ever since the Book of Bill came out, I've been pondering why Bill seems to love tormenting Dipper.

I don’t doubt Bill Cipher could find amusement in anyone and everyone’s suffering but he seems to take a special interest in hurting the youngest Pines.  This even goes back to their first interaction where Bill blows a hole in Dipper’s chest before Dipper had said a single word to him, as opposed to Mabel whom he ignored despite her attempt to tackle him moments beforehand.

In Sock Opera, Bill repeatedly harms Dipper’s body with forks, drawers, stairs, drowning, and who knows what else off-screen.  And in perhaps the darkest moment of any Gravity Falls media, Bill’s note from Journal 3 boasts about his ‘grand finale’ of killing Dipper, making it look like a suicide, and forcing the poor boy to wander the mindscape forever.  

During Weirdmageddon Bill repeatedly ridicules Dipper after Ford’s capture, teasing him with insults, Ford’s body, and burning his precious journals in front of him before ordering his Henchamniacs to eat him. In Mabel’s Bubble he responds to Dipper’s rejection by turning Fake Wendy into maggots and delivers an ominous warning to an obviously disturbed Dipper. 

This trend of tormenting Dipper has only intensified with the Book of Bill and Thisisnotawebsite.com.  Every mention of Dipper in the book is an insult or mockery, including two pages dedicated to embarrassing moments of his young life.  Meanwhile, on the website he tries to trick Dipper into staring at the sun until the boy goes blind.  

So why does Bill seem to have a special interest in making Dipper Pines miserable?

It could be as simple as the bully picking on the victim.  Maybe Bill thinks Dipper takes himself too seriously and wants to knock him down several pegs.  Or perhaps Bill resents Dipper for being the closest to what he considers Lawful Good among his family, or for trying to be a hero while categorising the town’s weirdness in opposition to Bill’s desire to create chaos and misery, or because he’s the primary antagonist and Dipper is the primary protagonist?

But Bill probably doesn’t hold Dipper in high enough regard for that to be his only reasoning.  In fact, Bill appears to have a very low opinion of Dipper, in comparison to certain other members of the Pines family. 

In both Book of Bill and Dipper and Mabel’s Guide to Mystery and Non-Stop Fun, Bill claims to like Mabel, comparing her free-spiritedness with his desire to spread turmoil. To him, fun and chaos are the same thing and Mabel’s all about having fun and doing whatever she wants, whatever other people think of her.

Ford worshipped Bill for a time, and is the one who summoned him and created the portal.  Feats Bill was so pleased by, that he apparently grew some degree of affection for Ford if the Book of Bill is to be believed; telling him about his past, ‘gifting’ him with dead rats and the like.  Even though Bill answered Ford's attempts to escape him with horrific torture, Bill still offered him the position of Henchmaniac when he achieved physical form, implying he was willing to put their past aside, on his terms.

Bill’s interactions with Stan are limited to entering his mind and the final battle.  Perhaps, as a fellow conman and trickster, it could be argued Bill might approve of Stan’s crimes even if he’s not exactly impressed by them.  But Thisisnotawebsite.com makes it clear that any affinity he may or may not have had for Stan is gone.  Now there’s only bitterness and rage at having been bested by someone he deems a joke.

Sounds familiar. 

Because it was Dipper who brought the others into Stan's mind and taught them how to fight back against Bill.  Dipper found Wendy and Soos, rescued Mabel and got the ball rolling on the resistance movement that led to Bill’s defeat.  In Mabeland especially, Dipper proves his tenacity by being the only one capable of resisting what Bill declares is his most diabolical trap. 

And when Dipper proved he had the strength to refuse his greatest temptation, Bill reacted by turning heaven into hell for a few moments.  Again, a member of the Pines family had rejected his promise of granting their greatest desire.  But this time, it wasn’t the genius Ford who’d rejected him and threatened his plans, it was the meek little boy - the lesser twin in Bill’s eye.  

Dipper isn’t wild like Mabel, brilliant like Ford, or cunning like Stan.  He’s just a kid trying his hardest to do what’s right.  A concept Bill no doubt finds hilarious. 

It’s one thing to be bested by a foe you respect or admire, but it’s quite another to be beaten by someone you consider a joke.  

But he was.  Repeatedly.  First by Dipper and finally by Stan.  

And it probably drives him mad. 

[abyssal-ilk]

A thing that people always forget when chastising vivienne for being so apathetic to cole is the fact that she is a circle mage. People whom are forced to learn that you should not trust demons nor spirits or else they’ll put you down AS A RITE OF PASSAGE. Think back to what Mouse says in DAO. “Keep your wits about you, mage; true challenges never end.” She knows that for the rest of her life, demons will tempt her and try to possess her. She has seen mages turn into abominations, knows how they get them- of course she will support templars who have the skills to subdue them. And now to have a spirit scurrying around without supervision what is the last bastion against a Tevinter Sidereal… I too would be worried as hell if i were a circle mage.

EXACTLY!

not only is vivienne a circle mage, but there are also a few other factors that play into it that make cole so untrustworthy to her. vivienne underwent her harrowing when she was young– in fact, she was the youngest mage to have ever gone through a harrowing and survived it. we don't get to learn much about what she went through during her harrowing, but we DO have this banter between her and cole:

harrowings on their own are already traumatic enough, and with the added insistence from the circles that all spirits and demons are dangerous (which we see vivienne repeat above, "all it can do is harm."), it makes complete sense on why vivienne would be so put-off by cole! especially given how kind he is! she thinks that kindness is a ploy, and why wouldn't she if her harrowing was anything like the warden's in DAO?

and then that's not even acknowledging the fact that cole isn't just ANY spirit. he's the ghost of the spire. he's killed mages before and admits to doing so. and even though he was wrong to do so and realizes that what he did was wrong, that does not mean that vivienne automatically has to suddenly be okay with what cole did. of course vivienne takes cole being the ghost of the spire harder than everyone else in the inner circle. she is the only circle mage there. it is entirely plausible that she sees cole as a threat and views herself as being the person most able to recognize that threat because of what she was taught. it's why she struggles so much to empathize with cole on any level.

ive already talked about this briefly on another post, but cole is also fairly antagonistic to vivienne as well. it's easy to look at their dynamic and think that, well, cole is just trying to help vivienne but he... isn't? his version of helping her is prying into her thoughts without permission and continuing to do so even after she has shown clear discomfort with it.

cole drags her worst memories and thoughts out publicly in front of not just vivienne, but the rest of the party and anyone else who may happen to be standing near them. it's DANGEROUS, what he does, because vivienne is a player of the game. her position at court is a precarious one, and to have someone like cole who can just pick into her brain whenever he wants with no repercussions? it's scary! it's scary because vivienne has no defense against it, especially if the player supports cole and downplays the harm he does. and what can vivienne do about it? she's an ally of the inquisitor, and that makes her cole's ally by proxy. telling cole to stop doesn't work, insulting him doesn't work, trying to get the inquisitor to intervine doesn't work– nothing seems to deter cole.

which is why THIS piece of dialogue is so important to me:

despite everything i've said above, vivienne still cannot help but care about cole. no matter how dangerous he is, no matter what she was raised to believe, she still cares about him and worries for him. their dynamic is SO interesting to me and i really wish people dug into it a bit more rather than just dismiss it as vivienne being needlessly cruel to cole. it's so much more than that.

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.

[thatforkedroad]

Sun-hearted

[ao3] Anakin Skywalker is not human. The people around him try not to think about it.

----

Shmi had always known her son wasn’t like her. 

At first, she had assumed that the pregnancy had simply happened without her knowledge. Or that perhaps her mind had blocked out the event — a slave knew better than anyone how the brain killed the past to protect the present, to keep you surviving. 

But the more she tried to dig up the memory-that-wasn’t-there, the more she ran through scenarios, the more she realised that nothing that made sense. If it had been… any of her theories, she would have known, there would have been evidence, Watto wouldn’t have been so angry when he found out. Eventually, she realised she had to give up logic alltogether. Anakin’s father was not something knowable to her. He (it?) had been something else. Something impossible. 

A miracle.

The theory only grew more convincing as her pregnancy progressed. She began to sense things no human should have been able to. Objects falling before they’d even been knocked. Watto’s bad mood from two rooms away. Her baby’s strong soul, loudly proclaiming it would be a survivor. 

She held her new sixth sense dear for those nine months she had it — but not as dearly as she held her baby boy, to whom the sense really belonged. Her darling miracle baby boy, who always knew too much too soon, who read intentions as easily as he read schematics, and whose quick hands and quicker mind did the impossible on Boonta Eve. 

Slaves were supposed to cling to their miracles, so few and far between as they were. But a mother was supposed to do what was best for her son, and Anakin was her boy above all else. She let him go, hoping the Jedi would understand and care for his impossibility better than she ever could. 

(And as Shmi died, she did not need Anakin’s sixth sense to feel the anger running through his miracle veins. She did not need it to know what would happen next, either. 

She knew with all the certainty her slow-beating heart had that her son’s grief would raze the galaxy to ash.)

—

Obi-Wan knew Anakin didn’t fit in with the other younglings and padawans.

He wanted to believe it was just because of the boy’s upbringing, that it was only because he’d grown up in a much crueler, realer world to the others. Or perhaps it was because Anakin was already a padawan or because of how annoyingly easily it was for him to call the Force. Maybe they just heard the Council had tried to reject him. There seemed to be a few hundred thousand reasons that the children of the Temple would consider him an outsider — but one stood out like a sore and mythical thumb. 

There was no Chosen One or such thing as a child born of the Force. There was certainly no chance that the other children (even the ones who tried to accept Anakin with open arms) could sense otherness in his blood. He was just like any other Jedi, if a little more reckless. 

As Anakin and the other padawans grew, they grew together. He became like well-sewn patch on an old shirt — the difference was there, yes, but only noticeable if you were really looking. It was better for everyone if Obi-Wan stopped looking for the gap, so he did. 

Anakin had never seemed to notice it, anyway. 

(And as he watched Anakin’s slaughter of the Temple, the hot drowning of dread and horror and nausea was joined by a cold, parasitic realisation. The gap between Anakin and the other Jedi had never grown smaller; Obi-Wan had only grown more blind. 

Jedi were taught from a young age that they could not hold or control the Force, that they were to let it flow freely else they would face the consequences. Obi-Wan had been a fool to think that something made of one half Force and one half heartbreak could be held any more than its parent.)

—

Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka felt every clone in the hangar’s mood lift. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile in return — and then he cracked a joke, and the worry and grief of the battle became a distant, shrouded memory.

It always went like this. They came back from the latest campaign dirtied, injured, and with a tiredness that ached into their very bones. They all wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep and mourn and not talk to anyone for several hours. But then Anakin — still riding the high of a good fight — would clap Ahsoka on the shoulder, make a stupid comment to Rex, and everything would feel fine. Better than fine even. 

Morale seemed so reliant on him that if her master was angry or sad or upset, so was the entire ship. When he was in a mood, meditation became impossible, no matter how at peace Ahsoka felt. She once considered that it was more than just moral, more than just his stupid jokes, but she had grown up in the Temple, raised on lessons of a Jedi’s few limits. A single man could not project his emotions onto an army. 

Anakin just had a friendly smile, was all. 

(And when Maul told her — warned her — of what her master would become, she did not listen. She could not listen. She thought only of his grin, and the sunny sureness in her chest that always accompanied it.

And so she fought for it again.)

—

Rex knew, theoretically, that General Skywalker was human. 

He’d seen enough medical scans from Kix (on the unusual occasion that the general submitted to care) to know that Skywalker’s biology was just like any natborn human’s. He didn’t have strange-coloured blood or an extra eye and all his (mostly-intact) organs were in the right places. The records showed that he was completely, one-hundred-percent human. 

Theoretically, this made complete sense. 

And it made sense he would seem slightly off. Rex had spent the first decade of his life surrounded entirely by his brothers and Kaminoan scientists; his idea of a ‘normal’ person was someone who looked and sounded identical to him, not a tall, barely-tanned Tatooinian with the wrong accent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rex knew Jedi were different from your average natborn. They could do all these crazy things that belonged in storybooks and myths, not the battlefield. Swaying people, moving objects (or clone captains) with their minds, seeing the future — if Rex hadn’t been trained to do so, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. 

But if being a Jedi had been the reason, wouldn’t Rex have noticed the same thing with Commander Tano or General Kenobi? He understood that maybe Commander Tano wasn’t old enough to develop whatever it was General Skywalker had — but Kenobi was older, more trained in the Force. Surely Rex would have noticed the same thing, that same surely-not-quite-human feeling with him? 

Maybe he just spent too much time around the General. Maybe this thinking was just a part of having a good natborn friend.

He hoped it was, at least. 

(And when Rex heard of the attack on the Temple, he understood his hope was for naught. 

He and his brothers weren’t an isolated incident, he knew; Ahsoka had felt the deaths across the galaxy. He had no doubt the clones on the battlefield cut down their generals — who trusted them like they trusted their own right hand, who stood alone in front of a one-thousand strong army — with an alarming ease. 

But he heard reports of the Temple, of blue-painted clones massacring all there, and knew they couldn’t have done it alone. Only one Jedi was strong enough to take on a Temple of their own kind and win.)

—

Padmé wondered if her husband was made from the stars themselves.

It seemed like the only explanation, sometimes. How could anything mortal be so beautiful? How could anything born on solid ground hold that much love in its heart? He was impossible. He looked her in the eye and saw right through every mask she wore, saw that all she was at the core was an overworked girl from Naboo — and still beamed like she was the most perfect thing in the galaxy. He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him nor for the stature of Amidala. That seemed rarer than stardust. 

She would see him and her breath would catch with something that had to be more than love. He stood by the window and stared into the Coruscanti night like he could hear every thought in the city-planet, his golden-brown hair catching the edges of the hundred-colour lights. She ought to walk up to him, hold him, tell him she loves him and pepper him with kisses — but all she could do was stare. In those moments, he was perfect and divine, and she could not interrupt them with her mortality. 

(And as Padmé lay dying, her life force dragged out by some dark presence, she thought of her star-husband. And she thought of the refugees she had once helped when their sun imploded. It should have been a lesson learnt; stars were beautiful in the night sky, warm in the summer, but dangerous. Able to end entire planets in their own cosmic pain. 

Some small part of her knew this when she first said I love you. But she could not listen. She saw only the star-beauty in his eyes and all the love he held in his sun-heart.)

—

Anakin Skywalker had long questioned whether he was human or not. 

But as Darth Vader looked down at his mechanical hands, heard his pressurised breathing, and ignored the pain that followed his every half-sedated movement, he found his humanity was no longer a question. 

[nthspecialll]

Something I love about Red Dead is the depths of the characters.

Yes, Arthur Morgan is a murderer, a man who beat another to death for ten bucks, who stole from banks and who helped kill about half the law in one town, he is known for brutality and doing any dirty work he is ordered to do, but he is also a father, a man who went out of his way to spend time with a son he didn't even plan to have and whom it would be easier to leave. He is a man who ran with letters between star-crossed lovers and helped them escape. He is a man who helped an archeologist gather dino bones and a monk free slaves.

Yes, Hosea Matthews is a scam artist, he is the leader of a wild and brutal gang, he planned countless schemes, he murdered a man and laughed about it but he is also a teacher. He taught orphan kids how to ride, how to shoot, how to read and write and how to care for themselves in a world that had betrayed them. He is an adviser people around him trust to be honest and to help them along the way.

Yes John Marston is a killer, he killed as early as twelve years old, he was ruined from the start, he beats people for information, he murders with no thought, rustles horses, robs trains and gets those uncooperative smacked, but he is also a man who gave medicine to a girl in the desert who wanted to be closer to god. He gathered flowers for an old man and his wife. He ran into a burning stable to save animals, risking his own life.

Yes, they were all men wanted by the law, shunned by the world, but in their own society they were cared for, they were appreciated and relied on, they were worth something. They were more than the crimes written on paper, were they good people? No, but they could definitely have been worse.

[nemesyaaa]

AND I SAID " ROMEO TAKE ME SOMEWHERE WE CAN BE ALONE."

AND MY DADDY SAID " STAY AWAY FROM JULIET. "

“ I TALKED TO YOUR DAD, GO PICK OUT A WHITE DRESS. IT'S A LOVE STORY, BABY, JUST SAY "YES. ”

🌹 it was a tragedy but you were already hooked. if you die for me, i would die for you, as he always murmurs in your ears.

romeo!jj who knelt down for you the first time he saw you in that rose garden, on one of his knee, dressed in his shining silver armor. he was a fallen prince that reached for his sinned princess.

romeo!jj who complimented your sublime, long dress, a gift from your father, but who wanted to see you without it.

romeo!jj who helped you lace up your corset, but had to refrain from touching you in front of your servants every time your breasts bounced above the cleavage.

romeo!jj who helped you undo your dress, sliding the threads through his hands, while kissing your skin every time he undid a lace.

romeo!jj who liked to irritate your father because he was young and arrogant. romeo!jj who showed up at balls where he is not invited, drinks from the cup of wine of your dad before throwing it on the ground, and sneaking among the guests to find you. you. the woman he seeks and wants. romeo!jj who kicked out all the dance partners you had, just because he was the only one who can make you dance.

romeo!jj who fighting your father with his precious sword in front of everyone, while making you dance. he was meticulous, his blade never touched you.

romeo!jj who may loose the fight but will end up finding you on your balcony later while you wait for him in the light of the moon.

romeo!jj who kissed you passionately, with the love you deserved. romeo!jj who was all dirty after a long battle, messy sweaty hair that smell victory, bruises on his pretty young face, and blood but who refused to be far away from you.

you were his juliet to whom he wrote love letters with ink stains but you loved to smell his scent in every word.

romeo!jj who was not a music lover but such a fan of hearing you play the harp late at night.

you had tried to teach him but his hands were always somewhere other than on the tiny fragile ropes.

romeo!jj who forced you to leave your prison while your parents slept to take you to have fun. you threw yourself off the balcony and he caught you in his arms. but often complained about the size of your dress. sometimes, jj fantasized about seeing his princess in silver armor.

you had tried to push him away dozens of times, but it never worked because he was stronger than you at this game. romeo!jj wanted you, and even if he had to have the world against him , it didn't matter, because he would let this world burn for his only love.

romeo!jj who fought duels with all his rivals, and who took pleasure in capturing you whenever he could. he had a big white horse and took you for rides. sometimes he dreamed of being an evil prince and kidnapping you, and locking you in a giant tower. but you were too beautiful in his eyes to be hidden from the world.

you were his juliet, the one to whom he revealed his scars, to whom he let see his weaknesses, his true nature, weak and sensitive.

you were his juliet and he agreed to cry in front of you because of his father.

you were his juliet, a sin. but he was in love. no matter how much hell tormented him, he would descend there for your beautiful eyes.

he was your romeo, and he taught you how to use the sword, one hand on your waist, and another on his weapon. romeo!jj who had engraved the initials of your name on his blade.

he made you a soldier capable of fighting, but you remained his princess who would never be able to kill anyone. but you didn't have to worry, that was his favorite part. fighting for you.

he was dressed to kill every person that pissed you, and make him jealous, and you were dressed to be his favorite pure and soft angel. and in the future, his perfect wife.

romeo!jj who knew how much your families hated each other but couldn't stay away from you for more than five minutes. romeo!jj who planned to run away with you.

romeo!jj who knelt in front of you one day, “will you marry me ?” with the most precious ring in his hand. romeo!jj who had found nothing better than to make you cry on your birthday with his surprise. romeo!jj who wanted nothing more than for you to be his.

even if your father humiliated him yesterday because a capulet would never marry a montague. that the blood of your family was superior to others. that he would never have you.

there had been another fight between the two. he never gave up, even when your father placed a blade against his throat, forcing jj to go on his knees. you begged your father to not kill him. while you cried your heart out, jj's blood stained your dress, he whispered in your ear.

“ already in tears for me? i didn't fuck you well yet. don't be a crybaby, princess. your romeo will not die tonight. ”

you wanted to hit him. but you smiled at him when he got up.

but you knew that his own father had also beaten him for this betrayal and shame that was your love for each other.

“ my father is going to kill you.” you said with a soft voice, your fingers stucked in his blonde curls, while he was on his knees, his hands on your waist covered by your big princess dress. and his eyes all over you.

“you are the only one capable of killing me. and you've already done it a million times.”

“ don't die, jj. i forbid you. you think you can conquer everything like achilles, but you will die because of your ego. you are young and i still need you."

" you trust me ? "

"my father is a monster. he won't be afraid to kill you."

" are you afraid of dying with me?"

“nothing scares me more than dying without you., jj. ”

but you had let yourself be blinded by love and happiness, you could never have known, neither you nor jj, that it was the last time you kissed his cold and bruised lips.

and the saddest part was that you died without knowing where your romeo was. you had both been consumed.

you had forgotten god, and you had been punished with jj for that.

credits to @daddldee for the dividers <33 moodboards was made by me. and i'm proud fr 😭 yes, it's inspired by love story/white horse by taylor swift, dont ask me why 😔 i dont think it's really angst but yes, both jj and reader die at the end💀

[sokkadora]

see you again — mizu x reader

inspired by: see you again; tyler, the creator

summary: can i get a kiss? and can you make it last forever?

a/n: this came to me in a dream and made me wake up in a cold sweat /j

wc: 2.6k

tags/warning(s): allusions to period typical homophobia, angst, afab reader, fluff, arranged marriage, near death

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

You and Mizu had always been close. You would frequently visit your grandfather out in the thick woods behind Kohama, of whom Mizu was an apprentice of. Your grandfather was grateful of you coming around to give Mizu another outlet, a real friend her age to speak to instead of trailing behind him all day and night.

Mizu was quickly drawn to you the day you first showed up as a small child, but was worried about how you would react to her most potent feature. The first few visits you had that she was there for, she ended up curiously watching you from afar as you would talk to Eiji about your newest skill your mother had taught to you, or watching you play outside in the forest.

The first time you had seen Mizu’s eyes, you were enthralled by them. Of course, you had heard of the onryō haunting Kohama, but you expected them to be taller, have sharp and frightening features. But Mizu was shy and gentle with you, silently greeting you with a small flower every time you came to visit as you started to grow closer. You bonded over your shared want to master a weapon that seemed so far out of reach, you with your bow and Mizu’s sword.

You were her closest friend, the first person beside her mother to know she was a woman. You were never scared or deterred from her or her slowly hardening demeanor, or her sharp blue eyes. She could pinpoint the exact moment she had begun to fall for you; after quietly sharing the fate of her mother on the one day that the bad men had come to take her out of this world.

You were nothing but kind with her, an arm resting on her shoulders as your hand gently carded through her hair that you had helped her tie up so many times. When she turned her head to look at you through nervous eyes and she saw nothing but fondness and warmth, she knew you had her wrapped around your finger.

Your visits started to become more infrequent as your father began preparing you for your duties as a wife in the near future, and Mizu found herself distracting herself from your absence by throwing herself into her sword and fighting techniques. But in the moments before bed, she would lay on her back and stare longingly at the ceiling, wondering what would happen if you and her were to just run off together and start your own life together. But what she yearned for to be possible hurt her, because she knew it could never be. The relationship she so desperately craved to have with you was forbidden; it could get the two of you killed.

So her mind became consumed with her quest for revenge. Her sword was forged from the meteorite she and the swordfather found, and she was marching her way to say goodbye to you. The rain that poured on the day of her departure set the tone for how well the attempt at a goodbye would go. With how stubborn you were when it came to Mizu’s safety, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

She stealthily climbed up the tree beside your home, crawling in through a window on the second story floor before quietly in front of your door. Now, she’d never been to your home, but you’d described it to her enough for her to be able to get her bearings. She patted off the front of haori nervously before raising her hand and knocking on your door softly.

She could hear you shuffling around before arriving at the door, opening it and smiling widely at the sight of your friend. She allowed herself to curl her lips into a small smile as you pulled her into your room, the smell of your lavender incense and smoke from the candle crawled it’s way into her nostrils while you shut the door behind the two of you.

While Mizu was glancing around your room for the first time, you smiled before clearing your throat to catch her attention. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at you, her smile dropping at the reminder of what she was here to do. She decided to rip the bandaid off, not bothering with any pleasantries.

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Your mood and smile dropped, brows furrowing at Mizu’s sudden words.

You knew of Mizu’s yearning and hunger for revenge, but you figured you’d have more time with her in Kohama before she would depart. You regretted not sneaking out to your grandfather’s when you had the opportunities presented themselves, you felt incredibly guilty for leaving Mizu hanging for so long. She seemed colder now, you wondered what she had been through in the months since you last visited.

You should’ve made time. 

Why didn’t you make time?

Now the one you loved more than anything any rich lord could offer was leaving, and you were stuck here to become a docile wife. The thought of it put a horrible taste in your mouth.

You swallowed thickly, “I’m coming with.”

Mizu blinked in surprise, her eyes widening as you began to gather up your bow and quiver that laid hidden beneath the floorboards in front of your sleeping pad. She swiftly moved over to you, kneeling and placing a hand on your bicep to stop you. She could see the tears glistening in your eyes through your hair that draped over your face, brushing it out of your face and tucking it behind your ear softly.

You paused your frantic movements to grab your weapon, glancing towards Mizu, who continued to be nothing but gentle with you as you began to let the tears trail down your cheeks. You wept, feeling homesick for the person who hadn’t even left yet.

“No, you’re not.” Mizu said quietly, but in such a firm tone you knew there was no room to argue about it. “I need you here. I need to know that you’re safe home, in Kohama. Where I’m going… you could get killed. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you on my watch.”

“But you could get killed, Mizu.” You whispered, turning into her, almost. Your knees touched, Mizu’s strong hands resting on your biceps while you raised your head just enough to stare at the scarf wrapped around her neck. Slowly reaching up, you fidgeted with the standing end of the knot before letting your hand fall to rest against her binded chest. “You could get killed and I’d… I’d never know. I’d be here waiting for you, and you’d never come back. I can’t…” Your voice shook, and Mizu’s hands began to as well. “I can’t live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

Mizu’s eyes widened at the admission, her heart swelling sadly.

“Nothing – and I mean, nothing,” she swallowed her anxieties. Should she be admitting this to you now? What if you’re right? What if she doesn’t come back? She paused briefly before deciding to just spit it out. If she was to die while on her journey, she was not going to die without knowing what it felt to be yours.

Even it was for a few fleeting moments.

“will take me from you before I’ve gotten the chance to give you the life you deserve.” She whispered, hands sliding down your arms to take your hands into hers. She rubbed her thumbs over the tops of your knuckles. “I love you,” She admitted, whispering your name as she reached a hand up to cradle the back of your head and pressing a firm, loving kiss you your forehead. “I’ll come home to you. I promise.”

‘She loves me?’ You thought, your brain swirling with excited thoughts as she pressed a kiss your your forehead. Your grip on her top tightened, and you finally mustered the courage to look into her eyes. Oh, how you loved them.

Seeing how this may be the last time you may every get the pleasure of seeing them, you reached your hands up and cupped her cheeks with a heavy sigh, hands shaking. Her eyes stormed with several emotions. Embarrassment? No… Love? Yes, and you were thrilled that it was openly aimed at you. 

With the courage boost of her gaze on you, you shakily traced a thumb over her bottom lip, swallowing down the thick emotions that you felt bottling up. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t shy away from you. She never has.

You slowly leaned up, brushing your lips against her own before finally pressing them together, a mournful whimper leaving Mizu’s throat the second they made contact. Was this the only time she would ever be able to kiss you? She wondered, gripping your wrists softly as she eagerly kissed you back, her stomach flipping.

After what was too soon for either of you, Mizu pulled away, much to her own dismay. It was time.

You swallowed back a cry before pressing your foreheads together, “I love you too.”

———

You didn’t think she’d be gone for so long.

The first day was miserable.

The first month? Miserable.

The first six months? You guessed it!

Miserable.

The first year? Not any better.

You started to visit your grandfather more often to make sure he was cared for and still alive, you often cooked him dinners and stayed the nights to eat with him. He was the only thing besides your concealed weapon that really connected you to Mizu now that she was gone, and your frequent visits to him had interfered with your attempts at an arranged marriage, which resulted in your father doubling down and finally marrying you off to a lord after nearly two years of Mizu’s absence.

He hardly paid any attention to you, which was a blessing for you. It gave you more time to practice your archery and hunting, letting you keep a piece of Mizu with you. It also promised an easier escape for whenever Mizu came back.

Which she did.

Half dead though, which wasn’t ideal.

A man who you now knew as Ringo came crashing into the woods where you practiced archery at the request of your grandfather, and the moment you heard Mizu’s name slip out of his mouth you were sprinting towards your grandfather’s home. He had heard you sprinting through the woods, panting harshly before you slide one of the doors open. He placed the large metal tongs in front of your stomach before you could run to Mizu, guiding you over to the table to grab something to eat.

“You’ll do the boy no good if you cannot take care of yourself while you care for him, child.” He bonked your head with the tool, hobbling away after you walked over to Mizu with the meal, kneeling down beside her and setting it down beside you. 

Your hand didn’t dare make contact with the injury on her forehead, but gently settled against her cheek. Your throat tightened from the overwhelming myriad of emotions washing over you the moment you laid eyes on her pale skin, you reminded yourself that she came home to you. Alive. But the look and thought her physical state worried you beyond anything you could reassure yourself with.

You had politely asked and instructed Ringo to deliver a message to your “husband” (to you, he was just some deadbeat you were legally tied to. He was already close to his deathbed before the few days that had gone on before Mizu’s abrupt arrival) that you were staying with your grandfather for a few days, falsifying an injury that he supposedly sustained that you needed to help him with. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, somebody you cared about was injured, it just wasn’t your grandfather.

Of whom made sure to put you to work while you were there, gathering firewood for him and assisting him to make tea and Ringo to make dinners for the three of you until one of the injured had woken up. It wasn’t the person you wanted to wake up most though.

Taigen, had been the first to rouse from his brief coma. You were not his biggest fan, but you knew him from the years you’d spent growing up by his side in the same village. Mizu never went into depth about what Taigen and his friends had done to her before the two of you met, but she said enough to make you strongly dislike the man.

He was surprised to see you, especially in the getup you were in, dressed similarly to Mizu. In your defense to yourself, how were you supposed to hunt in the kimonos that the women usually wore?

Today, Ringo was tailing your grandfather everywhere, claiming to be his new apprentice and Taigen was off exploring Kohama for the first time in years. You leaned against the building and watched as Ringo rambled while pulling out the firewood your grandfather needed, and your grandfather grumbled under his breath in irritation.

You let yourself chuckle, something you hadn’t done in a long while before your head whipped around at the sound of a groan coming from inside the house. You turned on your heel and jogged inside, your jaw dropping as you gasped at the sight of Mizu. She was sitting up, her hand pressing against the injury that had been stitched up by Ringo before you’d been alerted of her presence in your home.

You quickly ran forward and fell to your knees, engulfing her in a tight embrace. You felt her stiffen as you began to cry into her nape, but she seemed to recognize you quickly and returned the embrace, shutting her eyes tightly.

When you felt her warmth beneath your fingertips, it felt like you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. She came home. To you. And she was alive.

“Mizu…” You laughed through a sob, your hands shakily grabbing the fabric covering her shoulders. Relief flooded through your system as she rested a hand at the small of your back, tugging you closer against her. “You’re alive! Oh my god, you’re alive.” You pulled back, shaky hands cupping her cheeks gently. 

She brought a hand up to grab one of your own to steady your touch, leaning into your hand tenderly before turning into it and pressing a kiss to your palm. It felt good to be home. You were home, still. After all these years, after Mikio, after everything, you remained constant, unmoving. One of the only people that were consistently by her side after everything.

“I missed you,” She mumbled, her right hand coming up to gently rub your chin with her pointer finger while her left hand rested against one of the hands on her face. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

You laughed through continuous tears, shaking your head softly, “I’m just glad you’re back, dumbass.” You held her face a little tighter, sniffling. “Even if you were half dead.”

“I kept my promise, didn’t I?” She joked, gazing into your eyes. They still held so much kindness and love for her… god, she didn’t deserve you. 

“Barely…” You pouted, beginning to litter kisses over her face. She laughed softly, enjoying the affection far too much for her own good. She couldn’t leave you behind again, not now. Two years without you was already enough torture. You finally lingered your mouth over her own when the door opened, and you both turned your gazes to see Taigen awkwardly standing in the doorway.

“Was I…” He clears his throat. “...interrupting something?”

Mizu scoffs, rolling her eyes, “When do you not?” She asked rhetorically, beginning to bicker with the man.

Before he left again, he started mumbling something about how ridiculous Mizu was being and how he didn’t need this today. You couldn’t help but snicker at the mans grumbles, turning to face Mizu again, who was already smiling dotingly at you. She grabbed your face softly in one hand, and you melted into the touch that was missed and yearned for.

“Now where were we?”

[psin314]

some dead and missing characters from murat's backstory. translated bio is under the cut.

his toyhouse page At the age of 6, Murat was given to the Crows. He was taken under the care of a young but skilled master assassin, Esteban. Murat has no memory of his childhood until he was 12, and his mentor never said anything useful about it. He only said that Murat was an unbearable crybaby. Esteban taught Murat everything he knew. He taught strictly, punished him for any mistakes, but Murat still enjoyed being around him, because Esteban was funny and caring. When Murat was 20, Esteban was brutally murdered while on a contract. The next 10 years of his life were not particularly interesting. He carried out contracts flawlessly, and spent the money he received on carousing. He spent everything on expensive aged booze and gifts for girls with whom he could not build long-term relationships, although he truly fell in love with each one. So once he fell in love with a girl from his own house, Layla, who was not interested in him. He did not lose hope and continued to try to win her over. One day, she finally reciprocated. It was strange, but Murat, in love, did not notice the trick. Murat's 30th birthday was approaching, but he was not destined to celebrate it in a warm place. Murat, for no apparent reason, was grabbed by what he thought were his friends, and they threw him at the feet of the de Riva house talon. As it turned out, Murat is a traitor who has been sabotaging his own house for years, and there is irrefutable evidence of this, which Layla provided them with a heavy heart. Murat did not understand what was happening, he was definitely slandered and was not guilty of anything. No one listened to him, even Layla stood in tears. Murat should have been killed right here, but Layla stood up for him. She explained that Murat had done all this only because of his own stupidity. He was a good liar, but an incompetent crow. All this time, she had been correcting his mistakes for years, but she had failed to keep track of them all, and this is what it had led to. She was ashamed that she had covered for him for so long, but death for him was too much. As a result, Murat was kicked out into the street and ordered not to approach the faction again. Murat tried to get through to them, but no one listened. He didn’t know what to do now. The Antivan Crows were everything to him. So he simply decided to get drunk on cheap beer in a tavern. For the next 10 years, he did nothing but that. For the first few months, other crows were watching Murat, but nothing suspicious was noticed, only his binge-drinking. A couple of years later, one of Murat's old friends came to him with good news - Murat was not guilty, everything was actually set up by Layla, who had currently run away and was hiding. That is, he can return. Murat attacked his old friend and sent him far far away. Nobody visited Murat again. Until he was almost 40, Murat lived in a vicious circle of "no money - work - get money - drink." There were attempts to break it, but he always returned to the beginning. He made friends in the port with a fisherwoman, Paula, who helped him find a job. She sincerely wanted to help Murat with his problem, since he reminded her of her lost son. She was rude to him, but tried to help anyway. Paula had health problems, and one day her heart just stopped beating. Murat could have gone on a bender again, but he decided to try to change his life. By the age of 40, Murat finally stopped drinking and returned to the Crows. Here, it was as if everyone had forgotten him. And his old friends no longer trusted him as much as before, although that situation was resolved long ago. Murat is passionate about the idea of ​​at least partially solve the problem of betrayal among the Crows. How - he has no idea, but he will definitely come up with something. The rest of the story is familiar.

[starry-bi-sky]

im having more fem Danyal thoughts. But specifically I've been thinking about Dani in this au. Now, Fem Danyal is just the alt. version of Danny to my other DAG au, which means she follows that lore. that being said. Danyal and Dani already had a pretty rocky introduction in the first place, ANd if we follow canon's setup, Dani in fem!Danyal's world would be a boy rather than a girl. I'm gonna call him Ali for easier difference (my train of thought was Daniel -> Eli -> Ali). While Danny may resemble Talia more than Bruce, Danny and Damian still look very similar to each other. Their blood relation is unquestionable.

You can imagine how fem Danyal might feel, walking into her room one day after school, and finding a little boy on her bed who looks, at first glance, like the little brother she loves to death. If meeting Ellie triggered Kill Bill Sirens in Danny's head, meeting Ali bass boosted them. For a terrifying, fleeting moment, Danny thinks Damian is right there. That somehow, her clever, intelligent little brother found out she was alive and tracked her down.

She slams the door shut, completely at a loss for words. Her heart has nearly stopped a second time. Then she realizes: this boy's eyes are blue. Not green. He looks too old to be her brother. His jawline too narrow, his hair too messy. As he talks, his voice is not the same as the sparse few videos on the internet showing Damian speaking. This is not the child she helped take his first steps with, nor the child she watched utter his first words. This is not the boy whom she taught to pick up a sword; this is not her brother.

Safe to say, Ali gets a knife pulled on him much, much faster than his female counterpart did. He lives, fortunately, but their relationship is unsteady and rocky even after Ali betrays Vlad and joins Danny.

Danny is unsettled by him, not for being her clone -- although that plays a minor part -- but because every time he drifts into her peripherals, she keeps thinking it's Damian. And it spooks her half out of her mind. She gets her hopes up at the same time her heart drops, then she turns her head, and it's not Damian; it's Dani.

It's also why she won't call him 'Dani', it's one letter too close to 'Dami' and she's afraid she'll call him that if she's not careful. So when he brings it up jokingly, she immediately shoots it down; "I'll call you Eli." instead. (Ali thinks she's boring -- he thought 'danny with a y' and 'dani with an i' was funny. Frankly, so did Danny, but she's too uncomfortable with the idea of calling him Dani.)

When he asks her why, she lies and says it's to prevent confusion. When their relationship is better, "Eli" eventually becomes "Ali".

("Why Ali?" he'll ask her, with an ear pressed against her ribs while Danny coils one of his curls around her finger. She's steadily become more and more affectionate; Danny has the impeccable ability of making it seem so forced and stiff and natural at the same time.)

("Do you not like it?" She'll ask him, voice stilted and unsure. She's got her heart in her throat, but she's starting to stop seeing Damian whenever she looks down. "We can keep it Eli if you'd like.")

("No, no. I like it. Just... why Ali? Does it mean anything?")

(Danny will smooth her palm over Ali's forehead, scratching his hairline with her nails, and feel embarrassed. She'll be silent until he looks up at her, and then she clears her throat. "It means eminent; exalted; noble.")

(Ali stares at her in dead silence, long enough that she starts to grow worried. Then tears bubble up in his eyes, and for a moment Danny thinks she said something wrong. "I lied;" he croaks, "I love it.")

(She will hesitate, and then wipe the tears off with her thumbs. "Ali al Ghul," she'll mutter, "but that name is for you and I only. To the world, you're Ali Fenton." Perhaps she shouldn't be giving him her mother's last name, but he is of her blood now too.)