#and no hunter isn’t a singer

[alithetiredartist]

not to be overdramatic but in my willow centric human au the emerald entrails are a band

#willow park #and no hunter isn’t a singer #i’m deciding between gus and skara #but vineys on drums #and willow plays bass #hunter either does keyboard or guitar #i feel like he’d know the guitar #he just has a secret one that he plays when he can #rich kid things #yeah i have a secret guitar that i play when my uncle isn’t home #and it’s like ok can you play this electric one #they’re a rock band #i feel like every band fic has them play like pop and mainstream songs #but my children would never #not in this universe #toh #hunter toh #the owl house #and they look like that one huntlow i drew with the dyed hair #later on

[wearywinchester]

Settle Down

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: A rough day leaves you unable to sleep, and unable to slow your thoughts from racing. But a certain hunter knows the solution to make things better.

Warnings: angst, anxiety, crying, mild language, fluff

You woke up again, just the same as you’d done probably as little as minutes ago. With the same pound of your heart, so much so it sent trembles through you. With the same wetness on your cheeks, the breeze from the half open window blowing over them and cooling the heat that burned in them.

You were still slightly dampened with sweat, each prickling round of it never having fully gone away. You woke up just as disoriented as the previous time, just as confused. And it remained as such until your gaze scanned around the room.

It was fine. You were at Bobby’s house, in that familiar old bedroom. You were laying on that same old twin size mattress, surrounded by those same four walls and all the posters that hung on it, their corners peeling away.

It was fine. You were in a familiar space, and not trapped in the nightmare your mind had created for you. You weren’t, but your head was telling you otherwise, and nothing could outmatch the stubbornness of your very own mind.

But this time it was different. It was different in the sense of dread it left you with. The dread of falling back asleep and repeating the same routine as you’d done so many times before, all in this same night.

You were so tired, so very tired and the fatigue weighed heavy on you. It was damn near maddening how exhausted you were, yet completely awake all the same. And you couldn’t bear the thought of tossing and turning and returning to that space your mind created for you should you allow yourself to close your eyes again. You couldn’t. You won’t.

You were fairly certain everyone was still in the house, but given the hour, there wasn’t much movement to base your guess around. You could only hope for it to be so.

And hope is what you held as you pushed the covers back towards the foot of the bed. They’d been suffocating you with an overwhelming heat, yet the moment they’d left your skin, a bout of shivers ran through you immediately. But the inconvenience wasn’t fully so as you planted your feet on the floor.

You were unbalanced as you stood up, that tremble radiating from head to toe as your heart did little in slowing down since you’d woken up.

Everything in the room was as you’d left it, from your duffel bag to your shoes, though you were certain you wouldn’t have been able to notice a change with how worked up you were in that moment. But you knew enough to know things were as they should be, knew enough to know you were alright where you were in Bobby Singer’s house.

You stepped in the hallway, the small nightlight that was plugged into the wall by the baseboards having illuminated the space some. The door to the room Sam was staying in was closed, the light from the lamp that’d been shining under the door having been turned off.

Bobby’s door had been closed as well, the sound of his snores seeping through the old wood having been a dead giveaway that he was home too. But neither were what you were looking for, and you continued on to the stairs in search of it.

You wince at the sound of the wooden boards, creaking under your feet. It spiked a fear of being heard by something you wouldn’t want to, the sound having attracted the attention of monster after monster in all the homes you’d hunted in before.

This isn’t there, you remind yourself.

But still, the fear was still there.

The further down you got, the closer to the first floor you were, you saw the glow of the lamp illuminating the space warmly, the one in the living room. And the closer you got, the more you heard the sound of the tv playing a show you couldn’t discern. But, regardless, it sent a flicker of relief through you.

You stepped down from the last step and looked to your side, seeing a familiar boot, half tucked under familiar blue jeans dangling off the couch. You walked towards the living room, relief in your timid stride as you got closer.

Dean was on the couch, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. One leg lay outstretched across the couch, the other having been bent, his foot planted on the floor.

The coffee table was littered with lore, newspapers and clippings scattered across it. A plate with pizza crust was on the far end, a couple empty beer bottles amidst it all. The rest of the six pack sit on the floor by the table, the one he bought at the gas station down the road.

His lips were parted and he was snoring softly, and it was then that you’d begun to feel bad. He was just as tired if not more. You shouldn’t be bothering him with your stupid little sleepless night, you shouldn’t disturb his sleep just because you couldn’t maintain your own slumber.

That feeling was sinking and it had you swallowing thickly, tears stinging your eyes at how hopeless you felt as you backed away, spinning on your heel as you began to leave the room.

You tried your best to be light on your feet, to sneak back upstairs just the same as you snuck down. But it was silly to be so hopeful, the floor creaking seemingly louder than before as you stepped on it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and held your breath.

“Sweetheart?”

Dammit.

You released the breath you were holding and opened your eyes after a moment. You felt selfish for the relief you felt upon hearing his voice.

You turned around after a moment or two, meeting his half squinted gaze as he sat up a little bit. You swallow thickly as you look at him, optimistic that maybe you didn’t look distressed, that maybe you looked like your normal self. But again, that was a silly notion.

“You okay?” He asks.

Your nod was immediate, frighteningly so, and you knew it wasn’t believable. “‘M fine.”

Your voice was trembled and you hated it, the pitiful sound having made you want to cry even more. He was never going to fall for that one.

“Y/n,” he says, and you can hear it in his voice as he wakes up more. He was never fully asleep anyway. “C’mere.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean. Was just grabbing some water.”

He knew for a fact that was nothing other than a lie. He knew it because he brought you a full glass just thirty minutes ago, and it accompanied the other glass that remained there from when he’d brought it up earlier. And he knew that if he would’ve been up there with you he’d have been awoken by your nightmare, saw it with his own eyes in real time. But he sees it now, can tell that’s what it is.

The only reason he’d been sleeping separately was because that damn twin bed was too small for two, and he wanted you to have your space. Because when you’re upset that’s most always what you want, even though he would have crammed himself onto that mattress in a heartbeat had you wanted him to.

You do want him.

“Yeah, well, ‘m not asking. C’mere,” he says, soft yet demanding all the same.

You don’t hesitate, your feet moving before your mind could tell you to stop. You walk right over to him and around that coffee table. You feel the warmth of his hand as it wraps around your wrist, tugging you down to sit in his lap.

The couch was warm, what little you felt of it anyway. But you tucked yourself against him, as tightly as you could manage. You no longer cared how pitiful and afraid you looked, he knew that’s how you felt regardless of how hard you tried to look brave and tough and strong. It was a useless effort and you gave up trying to hold it steady.

He picked up the remote and turned the volume down a couple notches, but left it on. He knew you don’t sleep as well without something on in the background.

He tossed it to the side, and you jostled around for a moment from your spot on his chest as he reached up and grabbed the fleece blanket from the back of the couch, opening it up with a couple shakes. It fell over you with a cool breeze before the weight of it conformed around you, warm, but not as warm as the green eyed hunter you’d tucked yourself against.

“Better?” He asks, the single word having been spoken against your forehead.

It wasn’t until he heard your hum of approval that he pressed a kiss there, humming himself as he smoothed your hair away from your face.

“Thought it might be.”

Dean Winchester may be rough around the edges, you knew that to be true, but a side so few see is just how much softer than that he could be. Just how nurturing he truly is.

You knew it to be so as he caress your skin with a featherlight touch, the calloused feeling of his hand having mingled with the warmth, the feeling putting the idea of comfort to shame as his hand settles on your cheek.

He can feel the heat in your face, can really feel it as he wipes away the dampness from your tears with a swipe or two of his thumb. He knew you weren’t alright, he knew it from the moment you got in the car earlier that day.

His lips were soft and warm as they pressed their way along your forehead and against your temple, nearly making circles if soft kisses as his fingers gently worked through every tangle in your hair.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks softly.

You respond with a simple shake of your head, and you began to worry he’d confuse it with a nod, but your worries soon diminish.

“‘S alright,” he says, “won’t make you talk.”

You exhale a long sigh, feeling as though you’d been holding your breath even though you haven’t been. But you lift your head as much as you could muster, tipping your head back to look at him and admire.

Admire the way he looks at you, the way he observes every inch of your face. The way he tangles you up with himself, keeping you close. The way he looks so sleepy, yet so ready to go up against anything that even puts thought into hurting you. You just look at him for a few moments.

“I love you,” you whisper, soft and gentle and entirely meaningful.

You watch a soft smile tug at the corners of his mouth, soon to fall from your line of sight as you lean up and kiss him. But when you pull back and look it him once more, it’s never left.

In a few fleeting moments he bends his legs to scoot you upwards, tucking you into him all the more closely. His hand settles on your cheek as his lips press to your forehead, and one to your nose. He pulls that blanket up some more, and lays further into the couch.

“I won’t let anything happen, sweetheart.”

In other words, I love you too.

And finally, for the first time that night, you were able to settle down.

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20 @wandering-winchesters @senjoritanana

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fic #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction

[ardafanonarch]

Hi there! This blog is a very cool concept.

If you feel up to it, I'd like to know where the idea of Maedhros as a diplomat and scholar comes from.

In fic he's often portrayed as such in Valinor, serving at Finwë's court, sometimes being close with Fingolfin, bring into linguistics, etc.

Thank you!

Maedhros the Diplomat (with an Addendum on Maedhros the Scholar)

[~3.4k Words]

Ah, Maedhros. A treasure trove of fanon for our first excavation. As this is also our first investigation of characterisation, let’s establish a structure for talking about characters.

There are two ways that we learn what a character is like from The Silmarillion:

The narrator tells us, either: a. with short, pithy statements (someone is “wise” or “steadfast” or “greatest”) b. with longer descriptions

We deduce character from their actions and their relationships to others.

Using this structure, let’s look briefly as what we know about Maedhros.

1a.

Maedhros isn’t “mightiest in skill of word and hand” like his father or “the strongest, the most steadfast, and the most valiant” like Fingolfin. He isn’t even noted as being particularly good at anything like his brothers Maglor “the mighty singer,” Curufin “who inherited most if his father’s skill of hand,” or Celegorm, Amrod, and Amras who were all skilled hunters. He’s not even noteworthy for any negative traits like Caranthir, “the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger.”

Despite being one of the story’s protagonists, and certainly the most narratively prominent of the sons of Fëanor, all Maedhros gets in this category is “tall”[1].

1b.

In this category, Maedhros gets more fully fleshed-out:

[At Lake Mithrim] Maedhros in time was healed; for the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, such as those possessed who were nurtured in Valinor. His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to wield his sword with left hand more deadly than his right had been. The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead. The Silmarillion, “Of the Ruin of Beleriand”

Perhaps one of the most striking descriptions of Maedhros comes from an abandoned alliterative verse poem, The Flight of the Noldoli (=Noldor), published in The Lays of Beleriand and dating to 1925 — about a year before Tolkien first put the “Silmarillion” into a prose format in the annalistic-historical mode of the published text.

... and Maidros tall (the eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt than his father’s flame, than Fëanor’s wrath; him fate awaited with fell purpose.) Flight of the Noldoli, lines 123-126

Fire, valour, pain, deadliness, wrath, doom. Taken alone, these passages don’t exactly suggest "diplomat and scholar," yet those qualities are a cornerstone how we often see Maedhros discussed and portrayed by fans. So why?

2.

Maedhros the Diplomat, at least, seems to be based on what he does in canon.

Pausing for a moment, what does it actually mean to be "diplomatic"?

Here’s from Merriam-Webster under diplomatic:

[…]

of, relating to, or concerned with the art and practice of conducting negotiations between nations: of, relating to, or concerned with diplomacy or diplomats.

employing tact and conciliation especially in situations of stress

And for diplomacy:

the art and practice of conducting negotiations between nations

skill in handling affairs without arousing hostility: TACT

It’s worth noting that the first use of the word diplomacy dates to the 18th century (1766) and the concept itself is somewhat anachronistic to the pre-modern world of the “Silmarillion.” However, it’s not difficult to apply the spirit of an “art and practice of negotiations between nations” to First Age Beleriand. We’ll also consider the secondary definition of “tact.”

The Case for Maedhros the Diplomat

Let's look at some times that Maedhros practiced diplomacy and was diplomatic:

1. Waiving his claim to the kingship of the Noldor in favour of Fingolfin:

For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion in Araman; and he waived his claim to kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: ‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.’ The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: resolving conflict by removing one’s own claim to a title.

Is it diplomatic? The dialogue seems pretty tactful — demonstrating deference, employing flattery and logic — and is definitely an improvement on Fëanor’s approach to the contested kingship!

2. Brother-wrangling

There are two significant instances of this in the Silmarillion:

resolving conflict

After an argument breaks out between Angrod and Caranthir over Angrod’s authority to act as messenger to Thingol, “Maedhros indeed rebuked Caranthir … But Maedhros restrained his brothers, and they departed from the council…" (“Of the Return of the Noldor”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: removing threats to peaceable relations between rulers.

Is it diplomatic? Since we don’t know exactly how Maedhros rebuked Caranthir and restrained his brothers, it’s hard to say how tactfully it was done. Maybe.

removing to the Eastern march

There Maedhros and his brothers kept watch, gathering all such people as would come to them, and they had few dealings with their kinsfolk westward, save at need. It is said indeed that Maedhros himself devised this plan, to lessen the chances of strife, and because he was very willing that the chief peril of assault should fall upon himself. The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: again removing threats to peaceable relations between rulers. Also involves gathering followers. Notably, the strategy seems to have worked for as long as it lasted (that is, until Celegorm and Curufin found themselves in Nargothrond).

Is it diplomatic? Again, unclear how Maedhros executed this plan, but the narrator’s tone here is quite approving so it’s reasonable to assume that it was done tactfully.

3. Remaining on good terms with the other Princes of the Noldor

A few examples of this:

Continuing from the preceding passage, “he remained for his part in friendship with the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin, and would come among them at times for common counsel.” (“Of the Noldor in Beleriand”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes.

Is it diplomatic? Yes: extra diplomacy points for taking it upon himself to go to them.

He (with Maglor) attended Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting. (“Of the Noldor in Beleriand”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes, though showing up to the High King’s peace party seems like pretty bare minimum lordly behaviour, not exemplary diplomacy.

Is it diplomatic? We don’t know except through the absence of any evidence to the contrary. Since the Mereth Aderthad was overall a diplomatic success, it’s reasonable to assume Maedhros contributed to that success and stayed on his best behaviour.

He (with Maglor) goes hunting with Finrod. (“Of the Coming of Men into the West”)

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Sure: a leisurely hunting trip with the cousin whose kin you once killed (oops) is a good move.

Is it diplomatic? Again, lacking evidence to the contrary, reasonable to assume Maedhros behaved himself and the trip went off without conflict.

Remaining on good terms in particular with “Fingon, ever the friend of Maedhros” (“Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”). The anecdote about the history of the Dragon-helm (below), which has it pass from Maedhros to Fingon, additionally attests that these two “often exchanged tokens of friendship.”

Is this an instance of diplomacy? Yes: in particular, the exchange of tokens of friendship between rulers.

Is it diplomatic? Unless we imagine Fingon was himself tactless (which is contradicted by what we’re told about him elsewhere) and their friendship was built around being mutually despicable (see: Celegorm and Curufin), fair to assume this was all done courteously.

4. Making alliances

with the Sindar

We know that many Sindar outside Doriath joined themselves to and followed the princes of the Noldor, presumably including the sons of Fëanor. (The Grey Annals §48 in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 11: The Wars of the Jewels, and elsewhere).

with the Dwarves

In the preparations for the Nirnaeth Arnoediad:

... Maedhros had the help of the Naugrim, both in armed force and in great store of weapons; and the smithies of Nogrod and Belegost were busy in those days. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

Also, from the Narn i hîn Húrin in Unfinished Tales:

[The Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin] was given by Azaghâl to Maedhros, as guerdon for the saving of his life and treasure, when Azaghâl was waylaid by Orcs upon the Dwarf-road in East Beleriand.

Azaghâl then sacrifices himself and his people at the Nirnaeth, making the Fëanorian retreat possible.

with the Easterlings

But Maedhros, knowing the weakness of the Noldor and the Edain, whereas the pits of Angband seemed to hold store inexhaustible and ever-renewed, made alliance with these new-come Men, and gave his friendship to the greatest of their chieftains, Bor and Ulfang. And Morgoth was well content; for this was as he had designed. The sons of Bor were Borlad, Borlach, and Borthand; and they followed Maedhros and Maglor, and cheated the hope of Morgoth, and were faithful. The sons of Ulfang the Black were Ulfast, and Ulwarth, and Uldor the accursed; and they followed Caranthir and swore allegiance to him, and proved faithless. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

the Union of Maedhros

Perhaps Maedhros' most-cited and most famous act of "diplomacy":

Yet Morgoth would destroy them all, one by one, if they could not again unite, and make new league and common council; and he began those counsels for the raising of the fortunes of the Eldar that are called the Union of Maedhros. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

And [Maedhros] gathered together again all his brothers and all the people who would follow them; and the Men of Bor and Ulfang were marshalled and trained for war, and they summoned yet more of their kinsfolk out of the East. Moreover in the west Fingon, ever the friend of Maedhros, took counsel with Himring, and in Hithlum the Noldor and the Men of the house of Hador prepared for war. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

Are these instances of diplomacy? Yes: protecting neighbours, gathering followers, establishing partnerships, forming alliances with other groups of peoples, and organising a major offensive on a common enemy.

Is it diplomatic? Again, absence to the contrary and general success suggests Maedhros conducted himself tactfully in all of these dealings. One thing: I have seen a tendency in fandom to credit superior leadership and diplomacy on the part of Maedhros and Maglor for the fact that their Easterling allies remain faithful while Caranthir’s do not. Maybe; but bear in mind that’s a deduction, not something the text explicitly states.

I am sure there are other tidbits here and there to support the diplomatic ability of Maedhros, but I think we have enough here to conclude the Maedhros the Diplomat is a fanon characterisation with support it in canon.

The Case against Maedhros the Diplomat

So Maedhros was a diplomat; but was Maedhros an exemplary diplomat, as the prominence of his characterisation as such would suggest, or just an average one? Let us look at some of Maedhros’ diplomatic failings.

1. hubris, attempted deception

Look: we can’t neglect that Maedhros is behind one of the most disastrous failures of diplomacy in the First Age — his attempt to parley with Morgoth that ends up getting him captured.

Though not in the published Silmarillion, in the 1937 Quenta Silmarillion, Fëanor with his dying breath tells his sons “never to treat or parley with their foe.” (§88). (Christopher Tolkien drew from a later text, the Grey Annals (1950s), for the account of the death of Fëanor in the published Silmarillion where this command does not exist.) I cannot help but laugh at the fact that following this exhortation Maedhros immediately turns around and attempts to parley with Morgoth and outwit him.

Perhaps diplomatic relations with Morgoth are impossible, but then why accept the offer to parley at all? And what’s up with trying to beat Morgoth at his own game (deceit)? Honestly, Maedhros. Not your best moment.

We can say that he learned from this, but it does put into question the idea that Maedhros’ diplomatic training and excellence go back to his Valinorean days.

2. disdain of and aloofness towards another ruler

We saw how Maedhros restrained his brothers in the council where Angrod brought news from Thingol, but what about how Maedhros himself behaved at that council?

Cold seemed its welcome to the Noldor, and the sons of Fëanor were angered at the words; but Maedhros laughed, saying: ‘A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is vain. Thingol does but grant us lands where his power does not run. Indeed Doriath alone would be his realm this day, but for the coming of the Noldor. Therefore in Doriath let him reign, and be glad that he has the sons of Finwë for his neighbours, not the Orcs of Morgoth that we found. Elsewhere it shall go as seems good to us.’ The Silmarillion, “Of the Return of the Noldor”

Fandom loves the line and I can’t disagree that it’s an epic mic drop. But was this really the most diplomatic thing to say? In the Grey Annals, it is said that “the sons of Fëanor were ever unwilling to accept the overlordship of Thingol, and would ask for no leave where they might dwell or might pass.” (§48). (Interestingly, there does seem to have been a point, before word of the kinslaying at Alqualondë was out, that Thingol for his part was at least neutral on them, saying, “Of his sons I hear little to my pleasure; yet they are likely to prove the deadliest foes of our foe” (“Of the Noldor in Beleriand”)). Arriving at a new place and refusing to treat with the person who claims kingship of those lands — and apparently for no other reason besides disdain of that person’s ability as a ruler — doesn’t seem particularly diplomatic.

3. not supporting a superior's initiative

We saw evidence of Maedhros cooperating with the other princes of the Noldor, but that doesn't mean he threw his support behind them at every occasion to do so. When Fingolfin — supposedly, thanks for Maedhros, High King and his superior — tries to rally the Noldor to assault Angband, almost everyone was “little disposed to hearken to Fingolfin, and the sons of Fëanor at that time least of all.” (“Of the Ruin of Beleriand”).

This statement is frustratingly vague so I won’t speculate much besides to suggest that there could be something suspect — and undiplomatic — behind failing to support the initiative of the High King to whom you so graciously ceded your claim.

4. Oath-related diplomatic failures (kinslayings)

The extent to which the oath is to blame for events is a sticky issue and not the subject of this analysis, but since fulfilling the oath is essential to Maedhros’ character, it’s impossible to avoid it entirely.

The narrator of the Silmarillion is actually quite generous towards Maedhros when discussing the role of the oath in his failings, so it’s no surprise that many fans are likewise generous.

For example:

I quoted above the passage about Maedhros taking “the chief peril of assault” upon himself and remaining “for his part in friendship with the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin,” and it is perhaps the strongest evidence for Maedhros’ diplomatic excellence. It also ends with the ominous words: “Yet he also was bound by the oath, though it slept now for a time.” (“Of the Return of the Noldor”)

And when the concept of the Union of Maedhros is introduced, we are told: “Yet the oath of Fëanor and the evil deeds that it had wrought did injury to the design of Maedhros, and he had less aid than should have been.” (“Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”).

Both of these passages remind us that the oath — a vow to vengeance — is in the long-term at cross-purposes with cooperation and diplomacy.

This becomes especially evident when a Silmaril ends up in the hands of those who should be allies: other elves.

For Maedhros and his brothers, being constrained by their oath, had before sent to Thingol and reminded him with haughty words of their claim, summoning him to yield the Silmaril, or become their enemy. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

The narrator pins this failure of diplomacy on the oath. But, as Maglor will point out in his final moments with Maedhros, the oath does not state how and when they must fulfill it. Is it a mark of a good diplomat to use “haughty” words in making a request? And what about what follows Thingol’s refusal?

Therefore [Thingol] sent back the messengers with scornful words. Maedhros made no answer, for he had now begun to devise the league and union of the Elves; but Celegorm and Curufin vowed openly to slay Thingol and destroy his people, if they came victorious from war, and the jewel were not surrendered of free will. The Silmarillion, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”

What do you mean, “made no answer”? The narrator explains this away by saying essentially that Maedhros was too busy to bother, but is it the most diplomatic to just… stop communicating with the king who had the Silmaril, and whose support would really be quite nice to have in the upcoming war? And what about Celegorm and Curufin’s decidedly undiplomatic threat? Long gone are the days of effective brother-wrangling, apparently. (So far gone, in fact, that by the time Celegorm carries through on his threat and the sons of Feanor attack Doriath, Maedhros seems to have deferred to Celegorm’s leadership.)

The oath is again blamed for Maedhros’ change of course regarding the Silmaril at the Havens of Sirion. Having initially “withheld his hand”:

… the knowledge of their oath unfulfilled returned to torment [Maedhros] and his brothers, and gathering from their wandering hunting-paths they sent messages to the Havens of friendship and yet of stern demand. The Silmarillion, “Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath”

As with the “haughty words” to Thingol, was “stern demand” the most diplomatic approach? Would better diplomacy have made a difference? Well, maybe. I don’t think the discussion between Maedhros and Maglor was inserted into the narrative without thematic purpose — and one of those purposes is, I think, to reveal the slippery space of conflict between obligation and choice; between that which must be done and how it’s done; between the morality of keeping one’s word and the morality of doing the right thing.

Does the oath itself turn an otherwise mild and affable Maedhros into someone haughty and stern? Or are those flaws he already had and which are brought to the fore by the constraint of the oath? Well, examine the evidence for yourself — and allow the imagination to roam.

Final assessment: Maedhros is a good diplomat, certainly compared to his closest kinsmen. But just like Maedhros isn’t the tallest (no, really, he’s not — but that’s another excavation), he’s perhaps also not the best diplomat on the political stage of First Age Beleriand.

[1] If we go beyond the published Silmarillion to the “Shibboleth of Fëanor” (in History of Middle-earth Vol. 12: The Peoples of Middle-earth), we learn that he was a red-head and apparently “well-shaped.” For an author who is notoriously sparse with physical description, Tolkien did seem to have a lot of ideas about what Maedhros looked liked!

Addendum: Maedhros the Scholar

“Diplomat and Scholar” do seem to go hand-in-hand in the fandom’s most popular versions of Maedhros, but I focused on the former for this Ask because there really isn’t much in canon to directly support Maedhros’ skill as a scholar.

The Noldor, as a culture, are loremasters. Fëanor, Maedhros’ father, was one of the most notable of these loremasters, even credited with founding the school of Lambengolmor, Loremasters of Tongues ( in the essay Quendi and Eldar in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 11: The War of the Jewels).

But, when Tolkien gives examples of elven loremasters, who, he says, were also “the greatest kings, princes and warriors,” he names Fëanor, Finrod, the lords of Gondolin, and Orodreth. No mention of Maedhros. And, when discussing which sons of Fëanor took an interest in language, he mentions not the eldest, but Maglor and Curufin. (Both in The Shibboleth of Fëanor.)

So there’s nothing in canon to suggest that Maedhros wasn’t a scholarly type, but it’s not something he’s noted for. His most remarkable trait remains “tall”.

#maedhros #silm meta #the silmarillion #history of middle-earth #1937 quenta silmarillion #melestasflight

[dotthings]

The brosonlies are trying to label Jensen “the bibro king” again and I can’t stop laughing thinking about all the Jensen quotes out there about his love of the show overall and about how it was also about the family you find and a rag-tag team of hunters and Dean’s biggest regret is not saving Cas, and Dean wants to hug Cas and say I love you too, and Jensen speaking whole eloquent paragraphs about what other relationships and characters have brought to the show and the lists Jensen has kept, more than once, of people he wants to bring back.

Jensen “the bibro king” Ackles who called up Bob Singer before S8 and informed Bob Singer I want these people back and Bob Singer said “understood.”

Jensen “the bibro king” Ackles who had lists of people he wanted back for S15, and then lists of people he wanted to bring onto TW, and if you think he doesn’t have a list of people he wants to bring back for the revival, oh my sweet summer child.

And what Jensen misses the most and what he has the most brainrot about is Dean.

Jensen’s statements about it being about the brothers is basic spn 101 and he says pretty much the same thing each time, and not that it isn’t sincere, because Jensen cares about the brothers. It’s when stans then try to portray this as “only” or start stomping around trying to weaponize it again in a blatant attempt to erase everything else it’s time for a reality check.

It’s a meme pushed by people who don’t actually pay attention to the canon or to Jensen himself.

#it’s cute when they try to do this but LOL no #dot trolls fandom #Jensen Ackles #spn

[transbookoftheday]

Foxhunt by Rem Wigmore

In a lush solarpunk future, plants have stripped most of the poison from the air and bounty hunters keep resource hoarders in check. Orfeus only wants to be a travelling singer, famed and adored. She has her share of secrets, but she’s no energy criminal, so why does a bounty hunter want her dead? Not just any bounty hunter but the Wolf, most fearsome of all the Order of the Vengeful Wild. Orfeus will call in every favor she has to find out, seeking answers while clinging to her pride and fending off the hunters of the Wild. But she isn’t the only one at every misstep endangers the enemies she turns into allies, and the allies she brings into danger. There are worse monsters than the Wolf hiding in this new green world.

#foxhunt #rem wigmore #transfem #trans book of the day #trans books #queer books #bookblr #booklr

[djrusso-romance]

We Own the Stars Art by @taylaedraws

Blurb:

Kallista is the most celebrated pop star in the universe. And of course she is. She’s hot, has the voice of a siren, and the most addictive beats this side of the Milky Way. With a legion of adoring fans, a healthy bank account, and access to all the hottest venues, Kallista’s star couldn’t be brighter.

But with fame also comes a dark side. Between the stress of the media hounding her with paparazzi bots, a rival pop singer looking to stir up trouble, and a few stalkers, Kallista is at the end of her rope and just can’t cope. After an unfortunate run-in with an overzealous fan, her manager hires a new bodyguard to protect her.

Xavian is tall, incredibly handsome, and also an ex-bounty hunter. Red flags, much? With a resume like that, Kallista isn’t sure she’s comfortable being around the guy. But the more time she spends with him, the more she’s tempted to start up a little trouble of her own. Unfortunately for the two of them, there’s that pesky no-fraternization rule baked into his contract, which means mum’s the word. Will these two manage to keep their illicit romance under wraps? Or will the media turn their love into a circus?

We Own the Stars is an out of this world alien romance! It��s intended for adults with a guaranteed HEA, no cheating. It’s written in first person, present tense, with dual POVs. You can expect heavy doses of spice, but for a complete list of content information, please refer to the author’s website. Please see the note from the publisher for a list of tropes. This book might be for you if: - You thought the movie Selena was perfection. - You're reading the new Britney Spears memoir and love it - You're new to the alien romance genre and need something to help ease you into it (this book has knotting, yes, but it's gentle, I promise!)

#monster romance #indie authors #indie author #alien romance #monster fuckers #romance books #self publishing #indie books #smutty romance #monster smut #smut author #smutty reads #spicy romance books #spicy sci fi romance

[spnexploration]

Brotherly Figures part 3

Summary: (Early seasons) Sam and Dean save a 15 year old, newly orphaned teenager from vampires. Much to their chagrin, she ends up tagging along on hunts, giving them both a fresh chance at acting like a brotherly figure.

Series masterlist

Part 2 <- -> Part 4

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ava (teen!OC), Bobby Singer

Episode summary: The boys set their ground rules for Ava joining them.

Episode warnings: None

A/N: Bit of canon divergence here. I wanted John to still be alive so I had to set it in season 1, but I also wanted the opportunity of hanging out with Ellen and Jo at some point.

I awoke in a strange bed, opening my eyes to the empty motel room. I panicked briefly that the Winchesters had abandoned me, before noticing their belongings were still strewn around the room. Then I realised I could hear the low timbre of their voices, but couldn't make out the words, in amongst the noises of the road and birds. They must be standing outside talking.

I got out of bed and padded to the motel room door. I opened it a crack and saw the boys standing right outside. They stopped speaking when they saw me.

“If you're going to talk about me, you may as well do it in front of me,” I grumped at them. Dean scowled at me but they both traipsed back in.

“Alright, we have some conditions,” Dean began, “if you're serious about wanting to become a hunter.”

“I am.”

“The first one is that you don't see one speck of action until I say you're ready. You are going to have to train for this, just like we did.” I nodded.

“My condition,” Sam said, “is that you finish high school. You can enrol in distance education and I'll tutor you, but you are not throwing your entire future away.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sam is always serious about school,” Dean interjected, a touch of laughter in his voice.

“What the hell use is high school?” I glared at Sam.

“Well, for one it'll get you into college-”

“How many hunters go to college?!” I interrupted him.

“I did,” he countered, still calm despite my agitation. “And I'm going back to law school at some point. Secondly, hunting isn’t all about swinging knives and shooting salt. A significant portion is understanding lore, doing research, knowing how to critically read what's written. All skills you develop in high school.”

“Did you finish high school?” I asked Dean.

“I didn't drop out at 15,” he countered, arms crossed. “Besides, you want to travel with us you have to convince both of us. This is Sammy's hill and he's choosing to die on it.”

“You’re serious,” I said as I glanced between them, “I have to do high school in order to travel around literally killing monsters with you two?”

“Yes,” Sam said simply.

“Fiiiine,” I sassed. Sam smiled.

“Speaking of travelling around,” Dean started, “Sometimes, we're going to have to leave you behind. Especially in the beginning, but I can't promise you you'll always be able to come in the future, either.”

“So I just have to chill in the motel room?”

“Sometimes, yes. But when I say leave you behind, I mean we're going to drop you with some of our friends.”

“Who are these ‘friends’?” I said, apprehensive.

“Hunters and hunter supporters. We used to get dropped at Bobby's when we were your age too, and Ellen has a daughter a couple of years younger than Sam. We're not going to abandon you, kid.”

“You’re not going to take me if I say no, are you?” I said, much quieter and more hesitant than I had been when challenging Sam about school.

“No.”

I bit my lip.

“You'll be safe with them,” Sam said gently, reaching out to my hand and giving it a squeeze, correctly guessing the reason for my hesitation. “Promise.”

I nodded.

“Ok,” Dean said, “Here's the plan. Sam and I are going to finish this case. You,” he looked me straight in the eyes and pointed his finger at me, “are not going to leave this room. Once we're done, we're going to Bobby's.” I nodded meekly.

“What's our cover story if anyone does see Ava?” Sam asked.

Dean looked me up and down. “How is anyone going to buy two twenty-something year old men with a 15yo girl in their room?” he muttered. “We’re going to be arrested for child trafficking...”

“I could be your sister,” I said hesitantly.

“That could work,” Sam said. “We’ll need to all be up to speed on some details about each other in case we get questioned.” Dean and I nodded.

“It’s probably a good cover story for wherever we go,” Dean said. “If we're in a town being the FBI or whatever, then you can just be my sister. People who know us know that our Mum died when Sammy was a baby, so you'll have to be our half-sister from our Dad. Explains why no one has seen you before, too. But for the love of God, don't tell him you're our sister when we find him next.”

“Ok,” I agreed. “So, what do I need to know?”

We ran through our birth dates, putting them into our phone calendars. Dean was 26, Sam 22 and I had recently turned 15. We came up with a cover story for how I'd gotten in touch with them and started travelling around, and that my mother was dead.

“Alright, we're gonna head out and finish this case,” Dean threw me the remote to the TV, “Don't break anything, don't leave, and don't talk to anyone. Capiche?”

“I get it Dean, you've said it 30 times already.”

“We’ll bring you back some food later,” Sam said.

They left. I channel surfed, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

 

---

 

Bobby didn't seem that put out when Sam and Dean rocked up with me in the backseat. “Who's the kid?” he asked as we got out of the car.  

“Orphan,” Dean replied, at the same time as Sam said “Ava”.

“Need you to look out for her for us,” Dean continued, “get her started on her training.”

“You two idjits go on a recruiting drive?”

“It was not our idea,” Dean huffed.

“Let's get inside then,” Bobby said, turning to the house, “you can fill me in on the details later.”

Sam took me to a bedroom upstairs. I could hear Dean and Bobby talking about me in the kitchen, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Sam left me to put my things in the room and went to join the others.

The men were still talking when I came down the stairs, moving quietly so I could hear them.

“I'm jus’ worried you're going to do to her exactly what your Daddy did to you boys,” I heard Bobby say, “and she ain't going to thank you for it.”

“Believe me Bobby, I know,” Dean said.

“We’re going to do it differently, we're going to do it better,” Sam said. “Besides, it's us taking her in or her going out and getting herself killed trying to hunt things alone. You saw her face Dean, she's already in this life whether we help her or not.”

“So long as you're aware, is all I'm sayin’,” Bobby replied.

There was a small lull in the conversation so I made more noise on the stairs and walked in to the kitchen. Sam looked slightly guilty, perhaps thinking about the fact they'd just been talking about me, but the others had better poker faces.

“Welcome to the family, Ava,” Bobby said. “Guess you're going to be living wit’ me for a while.”

 

---

 

Sam got my enrolment to a distance education provider set up, putting Bobby down as my guardian. He was nothing if not efficient, although I’d been hoping we could delay or even forget about enrolling in school. He found a bunch of grading tests and made me do them, so he could work out what level I was up to in each subject. Then he drew up a whole curriculum and timeline about what I needed to study between now and the end of the school year. He was worse than my teachers.

Dean was at least more fun. He took me out and set up tins on fence posts. He offered me a gun, “You ever shoot anything?” I shook my head.

Dean showed me the basics of the gun he had then got me to have a go. I finally got one of the tins on my 5th or 6th attempt, but I think it was a fluke. “Might be something you need to work on in between all that school work Sammy's devised,” he joked at me.

On my 4th day at Bobby's, Sam and Dean took me to one of Bobby's sheds. “You ever fight anyone?” Dean asked. I shook my head. “Guess Sammy gets to be your first then,” he smirked.

“What?” I asked, incredulous. “You want me to fight Sam? I've seen you two take down vampires with a flick of a wrist, not to mention he's twice my size! I can't fight Sam!”

“Relax kid, I'm not going to set him on you. We're just going to work on some introductory moves.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“But you are going to have to be able to fight him if you ever want to be let loose on monsters,” Dean said more seriously.

“Let's not freak her out just yet,” Sam interjected.

Dean ran us through a few key moves, getting me to block Sam’s attacks and try to escape him grabbing me. I felt clumsy and weak, and was panting and aching by the end of it. I was dispirited, clearly there was so much I just wasn’t cut out for in the life of a hunter.

“Hey,” Sam said to me, noticing my mood. “You're doing great. It's only early days. Dean and I have had a lifetime of this, you haven't even had a week.” I smiled weakly at him.

“It’s uh, it's also not too late to change your mind,” he said hesitantly. “We won't judge you if you want to pull out, we can take you back to your home town and your old school.”

“No!” I snapped.

“Ok, but just remember that the offer’s there.” We walked the rest of the way back to Bobby's kitchen in silence.

Back in the main house kitchen, Bobby approached me. “I found a local teen girls self-defence class,” he said. “Might be a good way to build up some skills, and make some friends your own age.”

“Oh, umm, ok,” I said, surprised he'd been looking. “Thanks.”

“You can't have an old geezer like me as the only person to talk to.”

 

---

 

The next day the Winchesters left. And so my life shifted again.

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

#supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #fanfic series #dean winchester fic #Sam Winchester fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #brothers #teen!OC #platonic supernatural #supernatural #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #teen reader insert #teen reader #supernatural x sister!reader #spn x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader

[lateraniansweets]

flowers in the gun barrel

vash the stampede x f!reader

previous || m.list

002: lamplit nowhere

You leave your house/shop for the first time in weeks with a single .22 cartridge clutched in your hand, a small ammo box of .22s  and the wanted poster in your pockets. A portable radio is clipped to your belt playing some old love song, the singer’s voice slightly distorted by interference. 

It’s late afternoon now and the suns have begun to slowly but surely set. Night won’t come until an hour or two but the temperature's already dropping. Hopefully, it won't be too cold tonight, you didn't bring a coat with you and it'd be too much of a hassle to go back and get it. 

You descend a rusting set of stairs to what could count as the town's town square, you say square but it’s more of a central junction where the paths that lead to the town’s entrance, Plant site, residential areas and mines meet with a few stalls here and there. 

You walk over to the railing at the edge of the square, leaning against it as a breeze blows past. Stray strands of hair and the wires of your earphones sway with the wind as you rest your chin on your arms. You watch the sand shift and beat against the base of the mountain. 

Humming along to the song playing in your ears you unfurl your palm revealing the .22 bullet, its copper coating gleaming in the light of the setting suns. 

What should I do with him?

Vash the Stampede. 

The Humanoid Typhoon. 

The man has a six million double dollar bounty on his head, an outlaw known for the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake. A man who supposedly destroys towns overnight and steals Plants is in town. 

He sounded like something straight out of fiction, most people thought so too, he thought so too.

To destroy a town overnight you’d need a shit ton of firepower, the sort that a single person can’t carry around. If anything, Vash the Stampede was just some made-up person by people to pin the blame on. 

That’s what the old man thought so when July first issued the poster. 

‘It’s probably just an impostor.’

Should I just kill him?

Whether or not he’s actually Vash the Stampede, doesn’t matter because with such a large bounty with his face on it will have bounty hunters and criminals alike tracking him down to this godforsaken dust bowl. The desperate and insane sort would have no qualms with civilians getting caught in the crossfire. 

Even if he didn’t do anything personally trouble would still come. Killing him seems like the best option but…

You bite your cheek.

If I do kill him I might open an even bigger can of worms.  

If I can kill him, that is.  

If he's really The Humanoid Typhoon and those stories turned out to be true…

You take off your earphones.

The square is silent and empty save for a single stall run by a woman in her late sixties.

You close your eyes and hear nothing save for the sound of the wind.

You put your earphones back on. 

… I wouldn’t be able to do anything and it wouldn’t matter. This town’s dead already. 

It's not worth it. 

If I kill him, I wouldn’t be able to claim the bounty and it would just be a waste of bullets.

Definitely not worth it.

You turn off your radio and reach for the small ammo box in your other pocket. 

It's laughable how this whole internal dilemma started with you getting too caught up in a customer's business. 

That's how the old man died.

It would be a fucked up kind of poetic if you died the same way. 

Though, you'd rather the fuck not. 

I'll just give him the bullets and call it a day. 

It made sense to do so, convenient too. 

But…  

You shake your head. 

It wouldn't be the first time you've sold arms to killers. It was something your job entailed and you had killed before but the idea that a bullet or firearm you've sold ending the life of someone is haunting, to say the least. 

Having a good clean conscience isn’t something you can have with being a gunsmith.

‘We’re merchants of death, kid,’ your mentor used to say to you after you’ve sold a firearm or ammo to an outlaw with an apologetic look on his face. You didn’t understand what he meant back then, now you do.

"Should’ve chosen a better career path," you mutter, popping open the ammo box and slipping in the bullet you had been holding on the single empty slot—it holds eight in total, enough to fill the cylinder of a revolver. 

You close the lid, thumb tracing circles on the metallic surface before putting it back in your pocket. 

You'll give the bullets to him.

Whatever else happens after you do, you’ll take responsibility for it.

"Please, don't make me regret this."

You don’t know whether or not your words are addressed to you or him. 

You decided to check the outskirts of the town first, tracking the dusty paths that led in and out of town for any footprints just in case he had already left. 

You find none.

He was probably still in town and would be staying overnight.

You immediately know where to find him. 

No local here would let a stranger stay for the night and there was only one inn in this town. Located little ways downhill from where you are currently near the Plant facility it should have been a short walk.

It would have been a short walk had you not been haphazardly walking in the dark, holding onto railings and such so you won’t roll downhill and break your neck.

All the lights in the town are off.

Another blackout.

It’s a frequent occurrence now these days, sometimes it would last for a few hours sometimes it would last for days.

You pass by where the Plant is kept.

The facility’s emergency floodlights are lit and you see people guarding its perimeter, armed with their rifles. It's an unusual sight,  maybe in other towns seeing the Plant so heavily guarded would be nothing out of the usual but not here. Security when it comes to the Plants here is laxer compared to other places, probably due to the town’s isolation and the fact that everyone knew everyone.

It's like how some communities don’t lock their doors at night—which your town does, much to your ire—because they know no one would break in.

Something, something, it's all down to mutual trust in the community.

A muffled snicker.

“..ey watch this.”

You stop in your tracks, tensing as you hear the click of a flashlight being turned on.

Fuck, not again.

You wince, shutting your eyes closed as a beam of white light shined directly at you.

Every goddamn time! I’m going to shove his gun up his ass!

“FUCK OFF JO!”  You shout, raising a hand to simultaneously cover your eyes and give the man the finger.

Jo cackles, the sound bouncing off the sandstone rocks. 

“Go home kid! It’s way past your bedtime!” he shouts back, a grin on his face

Like he’s one to talk.

Jo’s only a couple of years older than you and was definitely in no place to call you ‘kid’. The man has the humour of a thirteen-year-old boy and a bit of a baby face. If you asked a stranger who was younger: you or him, they’d answer him.

You stick your tongue at him. A childish response, yes but it’s better than a verbal one. You weren’t in the mood for throwing petty insults back and forth.

Your hand drops to your side and you continue on your way, ignoring Jo’s loud calls for you.

A single moon in its third quarter phase rises above the mountains, illuminating the night sky. It's slightly smaller compared to its other counterparts but you’re thankful for its light nonetheless for making the rest of the journey to the inn easier, still, you curse yourself for not bringing a flashlight with you.

You stop by the entrance of the inn, taking in its rusty facade. It’s barely changed over the years, the same three floors built on the side of the mountain, the same painted signs—albeit faded, and there was still that same old mysterious stain on one of the beams of the veranda.  

Through the glass window, you could see two figures seated around one of the tables in the diner area of the inn conversing softly. Their shadows projected on the walls by the light of a lone lamp, the Humanoid Typhoon and Moses the innkeeper.

There he is.

You step inside silently, seating yourself in between the two men. Goosebumps rush up your arm as it brushes the metal prosthetic of the outlaw beside you, still, he doesn’t seem to notice.

You can’t help but frown as you hear a thrumming, it sounds vaguely familiar but different. Your eyes dart around the room searching for the source of the sound but you find nothing. 

It’s probably machinery for the Plants or something

You shove it to the back of your mind. Weird noises aren’t your priority right now.

“I’ll put a word in for Alfie,” says Moses, “She’s the chief engineer ‘round these parts. No guarantee she’ll let you take a look but it’ll be worth the try.”

“Thanks,” you can’t see the look on his face, his eyes hidden by the round frames of his sunglasses, “I hope she does.” He smiles at the innkeeper, it’s a boyish one.

You look between the two men, it seems you’ve walked in on a rather important conversation that involves the town’s Plants. You eye Moses, resting your chin on your palm as you bite your tongue. 

You’re too trusting for your own good old man. 

You tilt your head towards the outlaw's direction.

“How much are you charging?”  

“...” 

Moses jolts, his eyes

“...”

Undercut—as you’ve come to call him mentally, puzzled by what spooked the old man stiffly shifts his head left. 

His eyes flicker hesitantly downwards, a shade of blue hidden in an orange tint. You meet them holding back a smile by biting your cheek. 

“Hello.”

He shrieks.

THUMP!

He falls over, landing on his side.

He tries to help himself up by grabbing onto the table.

The table tilts to the side along with the lamp.

He yelps and braces for impact but Moses steadies the table and you grab the thin wire handle of the lamp before both items could fall over and hit the idiot.

Undercut squeaks out a 'thanks' and awkwardly returns to his seat. 

You set the lamp down, staring at the dancing flame within it, holding back the impulsive urge to touch the flame. A tired sigh escapes Moses, “We gotta put some bells on ya, kid.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Moses did that once when you were younger and it didn’t work. 

“Y-yeah we shou-” You whip your head to Undercut, sending him a glare and slamming a hand down on the table. He yelps, jolting in his seat and stammering out some incoherent nonsense that you won’t even bother to decipher. 

You sigh, wishing you were at your house all clean and in your pyjamas not dealing with a weirdly expressive outlaw who made weird noises every five seconds in the fucking dark .

“Just-” Groaning, you reach into your pocket for the ammo box, “I found some .22s in my storage,�� you slide it over to Undercut, “ Messed up my inventory, backroom’s a bit of a mess these days.”

The words come out with a little more hostility than you’d like but you can’t find it in yourself to at least try and fake a neutral tone. It’s dark, there’s dirt on your skin, a criminal with a six million double-dollar bounty on his head is in town, and something’s wrong with the town’s Plant but you can’t find it in yourself to truly care about any of it all, let alone bother with face value civility.

“Thanks,” Undercut takes the small box in his mechanical hand, popping it open and examining the projectiles with a practised proficiency in his eyes.

Something tugs at your chest when Undercut lets out small hums of approval as he inspected the bullets. You can’t pinpoint what it was exactly but it felt…nice.

He shuts the box close, placing it down squarely on the table. 

“How much is it?” He asks, eyes hidden in the shadow of his sunglasses. 

What kind of idiot wore sunglasses at night?

“Fifteen bucks-” 

“No way!”

You shrug. “Bullets are starting to cost more these days.” 

Manufacturers have been raising their prices lately, and buying for retail’s starting to cost a pretty penny. You’ve considered making your own as your mentor did from time to time. Ultimately though, for safety and consistency’s sake you decided to stick with the standardised bullets from manufacturers but sooner or later it just wouldn’t be financially feasible to place any orders for calibres that aren’t used by the town’s lawmen.

They’re the only ones buying from you these days.

You’d probably have to close the shop in a couple of years.

He slumps down rather comically on the table, defeated, mumbling about how many slices of pizza he could've bought for the same price. 

You would’ve agreed but why pizza specifically??

Undercut pats through the many pockets of his coats and pants. You spare a glance at Moses, figuring it’ll take the blonde a bit to hand over the money. His arms are crossed and there's that look on his face that you know all too well. 

We'll talk later, he says silently. 

You turn your attention back to Undercut, ears twitching as you hear the faint metallic jingle jangle. He produces a literal handful of coins—why the hell is he walking around with that many coins in his pockets?—and a single ten double dollar bill crumpled into a ball from his pockets.

“Sorry, if the bill’s a bit crumpled,” Undercut says, passing you the bill, brows furrowed in concentration as he counts the coins.

“Don’t be,” you take the bill from him, unfurling it and holding it against the light, “As long as you didn’t give me fake money we’ll be fine.” 

“Ho? Threatening my customers now, Powder?” Moses quips teasingly. 

You hum, checking for any sign of the bill being fake, “It wasn't a threat, it was a warning . There's a difference.”

It’s real. 

You fold the bill in half, straightening it as best as you can. “And, can, you stop using that nickname.”

“Why?”

You could practically see the shit-eating grin just from his tone.

“Because! It’s-” Undercut slides a semi-organised pile of coins over to you. You cut yourself off and give him a look, "Seriously?" 

He chuckles, flashing you a boyish smile, "Sorry." 

The softness in his smile makes you almost forget all that he's allegedly done, almost. 

You huff, counting the coins again, wondering how you’ll be able to carry them back to the house with you. Maybe, Moses has a spare pouch or something lying around.

BZZT

Your eyes dart to the light bulbs above, listening for that same electric buzz.

BZZT

There it is.

“Power’s back,” you mutter, stacking up the coins in neat stacks of five.

“No, it’s no-”

 All at once the lights on the floor turn on, “-t…” 

Undercut’s eyes widen in surprise as he looks up at the ceiling. He turns to you, confused. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?” You blink a couple of times, eyes adjusting to the sudden stream of light in the room. 

You cringe as you hear the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. 

“Finally,” huffs Moses, taking the lamp by its wire handle and going down a hallway that leads to the kitchen and his office.

“The lights,” Undercut clarifies, “How’d you know that they were coming back on?”

“I heard it.”

“Huh?”

"I've got a good ear," you force a small tight smile on your face. You hope it wasn't obvious that it was forced. 

"I see, " He says but it's pretty evident that he doesn't quite get it

With the lights back on, you could finally get a better look at the likely-not-real Humanoid Typhoon. Tousled golden blonde hair, crimson coat, mechanical arm and golden sunglasses, he looked exactly like his wanted poster. He looked to be about your age—maybe a few years older, but without a doubt, the two of you are in the same age group.

That fact’s a little unnerving and just overall really weird , the man should at least be twice your age not around your age. 

Stories about Vash the Stampede, Humanoid Typhoon, The Red Devil and whatever epithet the outlaw had gained over time had been around since you were a kid. Unless this guy had really good genetics he shouldn’t look this young, let alone act like it.

It’s none of my business , you remind yourself. It didn’t matter if it was genetics, a really good skincare routine, bathing in the solution they kept Plants in or the blood of his enemies, it was none of your business. 

“Anyways,” You start, getting on your feet and stretching your arms, “You didn’t answer my question.” 

“Oh! Right!” His gloved hand reaches for the back of his neck, scratching it as he shoots you an apologetic smile. "Sorry, what was it again?" 

"How much," you repeat, "are you charging?" 

"Um…" 

You raise a brow at him.

If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he was a scammer about to name an obscene price.

You don’t know what compelled you to ask that question in the first place. You chalk it up to curiosity about how he—a complete stranger, convinced Moses to help him get a look at the Plant. 

Moses is a trusting man but he isn’t stupid.

 “Look, you already saw the state of this town when you entered it,” You rest a hand on your hip, “We don’t have any money to pay you for the ‘quick look’ you’re planning on doing.”

“That’s okay,” He smiles and you swear it looked almost fond , “I’m doing it free of charge.”

You blink at him.

“I’m doing it free of charge,” he repeats, purposeful, getting to his feet.

It’s then that you realise how tall he is.

He could make break my neck easily.

It’s a rather grim thought but it's the first thing you think of upon your realisation.

“But that doesn’t guarantee that you’ll be able to fix the Plant.”

Why are you doing this? Why are you continuing this conversation? 

You should stop him. 

Don’t let him near the Plants.

He’ll hurt them. Steal them.

Leave everyone here to die.

But…

But what?

The faint thrumming grows louder.

Trust him.

Trust him.

Trust-

“I promise,” he assures, “I’ll help fix whatever’s wrong with the Plant.”

“Okay.” You don’t know how to respond to the conviction in his words, ears still ringing as the thrumming slowly fades and you push the strange sound to the back of your mind.

 It makes you want to believe him. 

Part of you believes you should, part of you already does.

"Okay," He echoes your answer looking… relieved.

 For a moment you see a weary glint in his eyes, the look of a man carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You blink.

It’s gone.

In a complete one-eighty, he laughs, it's exaggerated and nervous, before excusing himself saying he was exhausted after days of travelling.

He doesn’t leave time for you to process all that he was saying because as soon as he finished his sentence he all but ran upstairs. You’re left gawking up at the stairway, listening in on the muffled thumps of his boots and the creaky opening and closing of a door.

You let out an exhale.

A glance at the window shows two more moons rising high above, flooding the land below in their celestial light. It’s getting late now.

You should probably go back to the house.

Shit, the coins.

You press your lips in a thin line, irked. 

“Moses!” You call out.

No answer.

He was probably in his office.

You call out again, heading towards the hallway that leads to his office. It’s dimly lit and looked a little less dreary than you remember.

 As a kid, you used to be so scared of this hallway and the made-up monster that hid in its shadows. Jo used to make fun of you for being scared of this hallway but he was the same, letting out ear-piercing shrieks at even the tiniest sounds. 

Your name is called out from behind the doors. 

It's Moses. 

You walk a little faster, stopping in front of the door to wipe your boots on the mat laid on the doorway. 

You place a hand on the knob and the door opens to reveal Moses sitting behind his desk, nursing a glass of whiskey. Judging by the bottle on his desk it’s his good whiskey. You don’t know the name of it but you know it's the expensive kind that costs thousands on the market. 

You could count the number of times Moses opened the bottle with one hand. 

They weren’t happy occasions.

You step inside, closing the door on your way in. 

Moses’ office is a windowless room, with stacks of papers spread out in what could be best described as an organised mess. The lights are turned off, and the office is lit by the lamp from earlier.

You cringe as you step on a stray piece of paper. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything important

“Do you-” Moses cuts you off, gesturing for you to take a seat on one of the chairs across from him.

You don’t oblige him.

“What are you planning to do with the boy?” He asks, taking a sip from his glass.

Straight to that then.

“Nothing.” You answer, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to lean on one leg. “I’m guessing you already know who he is?”

“I do,” He looks up at you, a sardonic look on his face, “Vash the Stampede. It didn’t take me long and the boy doesn’t even try to hide who he is in the first place.” He opens a drawer and produces another glass, uncapping the bottle and pouring you a drink. It’s only enough for one sip.

“What gave him away?”

“Booked a room, and introduced himself as Vash. Not Vash the Stampede just Vash,” he pushes the glass towards you, “I'm guessin’ the coat was what gave ‘im away for you?”

“Red isn’t exactly a subtle colour.”

“Touche.”

You gesture to the bottle and the glass offered to you earlier, “What’s the occasion?”

“Just felt like drinking something strong tonight.”

Understandable, tonight is the calm before the inevitable shitstorm that’ll come tomorrow.

“Come, drink,” He taps the glass meant for you, “No one deserves to handle this stone-cold sober.”

He’s right.

You take a seat on one of the age-worn chairs, taking the glass in your hand. “Thought, you never liked us kids drinking your booze,” you quip, before taking a sip of the alcohol. The whiskey burns your throat and you can’t help but cringe at the sensation.

Moses snorts, “I never liked Jo drinking my booze, you on the other hand…” 

“-can’t handle anything stronger than wine and wouldn’t touch your stash with a ten-foot pole,” You finish for him, setting down the now empty glass on his desk. 

A fond smile crosses Moses’ face, reminiscing the first time you and Jo drank and the alcohol-related antics Jo dragged you into. 

There was this one time he got drunk on moonshine and picked a fight with a toma. Thankfully, you and a rancher managed to reign him and the toma in before he got his eyes pecked out. 

Jo ended up puking all over the rancher.

It was gross but the memory still gets a giggle out of you.

You’ll never let him live that down.

Moses pours himself another glass of whiskey, “You really aren’t planning on doing anything to ‘im?”

“Yep,” your finger traces the rim of your glass, “other than keeping an eye on him til he leaves town, nothing.”

“I see,” Moses motions to refill your glass, “But you were planning on killing him weren’t you?”

You wave your hand, gesturing no at his offer. 

“Yes,” you admit, “but I figured it wasn’t worth it.”

“Oh?” There's curiosity in his tone, "What changed your mind?"

ᶜʳᵉᵉᵏ 

You glance at the door.

“Like I said, I figured it wasn’t worth it. If I killed him I wouldn’t be able to claim the bounty and I’m not confident I’d be able to kill him in the first place.”

ᵖᶦᵗ⁻ᵖᵃᵗ.

ᵖᶦᵗ⁻ᵖᵃᵗ.

ᶠᵒᵒᵗˢᵗᵉᵖˢ. 

ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ��ᵃˡᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵃʷᵃʸ.

Moses hums face schooled into an indifferent expression. It does little to hide the regretful look in his eyes.

“And,” you continue, looking away from him, training your eyes on your boots, “I feel like even if I turned him in or kill him before— if he does anything, it’ll only be delaying the inevitable.”

Moses is silent and you can’t bring yourself to look at him. The town means a lot to him, he loves this place but the writing on the wall is clear. In a few years, this place would be nothing but abandoned buildings and empty mines. People with the means to leave have already left and others are saving up to leave for other settlements.

Something was wrong with one of the Plants, even if Alfie doesn’t say anything it's pretty damn obvious something is wrong. More people will leave because of that.

“I know,” Moses says, grief reflected in his eyes. He drinks the last of his whiskey before getting up and taking his coat from the coat hanger by the corner. 

He opens a cabinet and tosses a key at you. 

You catch it and you look at Moses standing by the door, confused.

“Stay here for the night,” he says, “keep an eye on him.”

He opens the door to leave.

“Are you really going to help him get a look at the Plant?”

 Are you going to let the number one suspect in a serial Plant theft case near our Plants?

He stops and looks back at you, defeat and exhaustion in his eyes. “I am. If he does anything it’ll only speed up the inevitable.”

He closes the door, leaving you alone in the windowless office.

The flame in the oil lamp flickers.

You glance at the now near-empty whiskey bottle, a pit forming in your stomach. 

Something bad is going to happen.

Your eyes flicker over to a lone picture frame on the left of the desk. It was the only thing that Moses always kept on his desk. The frame was turned face down, the people and memories in the photograph too painful for Moses to look at. Still, it's there, in a permanent place at his desk because he can’t bring himself to hide the photo away, never to see the light of day again.

He misses you, D.

You spare a final glance at the picture frame before lifting the lantern’s thumb lever and blowing the wick out. 

I miss you too.

An exhausted exhale

I wish you were here, you would know what to do

crammed for an exam and pulled an all nighter running on 3 hours of sleep and I just finished a career coaching talk weee

#vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #tristamp x reader

[blue-whale-supernova]

Ok I’m Taylor Swift’s new album TTDP

THE BLACK DOG OK

I WAS JUST THINKING YOU KNOW. WHEN MALEC HAD THAT ONE BREAKUP PHASE, I know smart phones weren’t that advanced yet, BUT WHAT IF, WHAT IF MAGNUS FORGOT TO TURN HIS LOCATION OFF AND ALEC COULD STILL SEEEEE ITTTTTTR

The LYRICSASAAAASSASS

“I am someone who, until recent events

You shared your secrets with

And your location, You forgot to turn it off

And so I watch as you walk into some bar called The Black Dog HUNTER’S MOON

And pierce new holes in my heart”

UM. HELLO. THAT IS PROBABLY HOW ALEC FELT IF HE COULD SEE MAGNUS’ LOCATION

LIKE

“And it kills me

I just don't understand

how you don't miss me

in the shower and remember

How my rain-soaked body was shaking

Do you hate me?”

THIS IS SO MALEC CODED I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY

“When someone plays the starting line and you jump up, But she's too young to know this song”

Cue Magnus, who has lived lifetimes, I bet a penny he has songs stuck in his head that only lovers from ages before could reminisce with him. Wasn’t there one he loved dearly in the fifties called Eda who was a dancer and singer at a club?

“That was intertwined in the tragic fabric of our dreaming”

I’m sorry the start of City of Heavenly Fire and between that and City of Fallen Angels was very tragic fabric of them. IM CRYING

“I move through the world with the heartbroken

My longings stay unspoken

And I may never open up the way I did for you”

That’s Magnus for ya.

He loved Alec so dearly. And the way alec hurt him it would be hard for him to open up to someone else again. That and also because Alec was so special to him.

Lastly,

“Old habits die screaming”

This line is just too iconic to miss. And isn’t that true. I feel like it would’ve broken a large part of both Magnus and Alex had they broken up like that and hell yeah there would be a lot of screaming insides.

Anyways I have more screaming analyses coming up. Next one is loml

#malec #city of heavenly fire #the mortal instruments #songs that make me think about my ship at random moments during the day #the tortured poets department #song analysis #magnus bane #alec lightwood #cry me #lyrics that make you cry an ugly cry

[lampmanliveblogs]

While the rest of the Hexside students distract Kikimora, our heroes have just enough time to draw up the complicated teleportation circle… with a bit of help from Luz’ palisman, who has yet to take on its true final form.

Kikimora is able to shake off the attacking kids long enough to take one last shot, just as Luz activates the teleportation array and and a brilliant flash of light, their whisked away from danger and into the vast cranium of the Titan.

There they stand now, under The Collector’s Archive House, so close, yet so far away. For I fear that the hardest part is yet to come…

Listen, I don’t know anything about Star Trek, but I do know that ”Beam us up Scotty” is a Star Trek reference. So yeah, shoutout to that, as well as Camila coming out as a fellow Cosmic Frontier fan, which also doubles as a light-hearted reference to the fact that Hunter, like O’Bailey, is a clone.

And let’s not forget Amity and Willow being best friends again, that’s super precious too. You love to see it.

Alright, first things first, I love the guesses the squad had.

Camila guessed a dragon, because dragons are THE fantasy creature, and she knows how much Luz loves her fantasy books.

Hunter guesses a bird, not just because of Flapjack, but because Eda (and the rest of the Clawthorne family) has a bird palisman.

Amity guesses an otter, which is a callback to Enchanting Grom Fright, when Luz wondered if she should go to Grom dressed as an otter… with a dark side!

Willow guesses a bat because…. because… um… Bat-Queen? Maybe? They did have that excursion in the Bat-Queen’s forest back in Escape of the Palisman.

And finally, Gus throws out snake. And I’m going to be honest with you guys, I might’ve maybe had a few hints at what Luz’ palisman was gonna be. Enough to figure out it was a snake, or more accurately, snake-related.

As far as in-show foreshadowing goes… at the top of my head, last episode we had a bunch of snake imagery around Luz. We had her finding the ”snake pajamas” in Camila’s nightmare/flashback, we had Luz wearing that shirt with a staff and a snake on it, and I think she might’ve had a drawing of a snake in her notebook? As far back as episode one of season one, Luz was playing with snakes and I think Camila might’ve even said something about Luz making some friends that weren’t reptiles. That’s not even to mention the fact that Luz’ newly adopted sister is a snake.

So yeah, there’s been plenty of snakes around Luz. But of course, this isn’t just any old snake, it’s a…

A SNAKESHIFTER. You guys know I love a good pun. And just like Vee, this little cutie is a shapeshifter. Which is so perfect for Luz, the child of two worlds, a chaotic being, always on the move.

Her name is Stringbean! Now, David ”Stringbean” Akeman was an American singer-songwriter, musician, comedian, and semi-professional baseball player. String bean is also one alternate name for green beans. You can also call them haricot verts, if you wanna charge extra.

So yeah, I gotta agree with Luz here: she’s perfect! She is Luz' own infinite potential given physical form.

Now that things have calmed down just a little, Willow takes the opportunity to thank Hunter for his words before, he really helped her, and he means a lot to her too. and then they blush and almost hold hands and it’s so cute.

In fact, it’s almost a little too cute, I’m starting to get nervous here. Because surely, they’re gonna end the episode on a cliffhanger, and there’s only just over a minute left of the episode…

But before that, I’m gonna get what might very well be the last cute screenshot of this episode.

Look at the babies! Look at them!

Aaaaaaand there we have it. Good vibes ended. The camera pans upward to The Collector overlooking our heroes, with Raine still possessed by Philip looming behind them, ready to whisper yet more poisonous words into the ear of the Lord of the Fireflies.

”I think I wanna play a new game.”

And with a snap of their fingers, The Collector ends the episode right then and there as everything goes black.

Treat me like I'm evil Freeze me till I'm cold Beat me till I'm feeble Grab me till I'm old

Fry me till I'm tired Push me till I fall Treat me like a criminal Just a shadow on the wall!

#the owl house #liveblog #the owl house liveblog #toh s3e2 #for the future

[nancylou444]

Hi! I hope you’re having a good day/night/morning!

So, I I need to share my thoughts with someone before I burst, and you’re always posting your thoughts, current and past, on destiel, so I’m hoping you can sympathize. Of course, you’re free not to read or post if you don’t feel like it (and I know you don’t need my permission for that either 🤦‍♀️ ).

So, I’m currently watching a reactor watch Supernatural who ships destiel. I’ve almost quit a few times due to annoyance, but they are otherwise entertaining and generally try (or tried) not to bring it up too often, and it’s now on season 15, so I’m locked in until the end. They just watched the episode "Last Call" where Dean is suddenly a good singer. Of course, they mentioned "bi lighting" and "subtext" because of course Dean can’t hang out with a male friend, especially one John caught him drinking with and got "mad" without it being because he was caught doing something "gay." 🙄 Not just because it was, you know, stupid to get drunk on a hunt. Plus being hungover for a hunt isn’t exactly ideal, even if Dean was old enough (he might have been). .

Anyway, this person actually used the words "I’m winning" in reference to the episode because Jensen (not Dean) sang, Sam was hanging back with Eileen, and Dean was chilling under the "bi lighting, " apparently. All I could think was, I’ve been literally watching this destiel shipper turn into a heller before my eyes over the months. And of course, they ship Sam and Eileen and were so happy that Dean went off to give them time alone 🙄 . It’s like heller brains only have one accepted scenario, and once they get in too deep, they become a clone of the rest.

Naturally, they want the show to end with Dean and Cass off on a beach (never mind that Dean mentioned wating Sam in that scenario) and mostly out of hunting, but not to get away from Sam, no. He’s there, too. Somewhere. Teaching the new hunters with Eileen or … something. It’s so ridiculous that they think this will/should happen. 1) When has the show ever hinted at a conventionally happy, or even happy at all, ending? 2) Dean would sooner gnaw off his own arm than semi-retire with Castiel on a beach while Sam continues in the hunting world without him. 3) Dean hasn’t wanted a romantic relationship since Lisa. 4) People who think Sam would want to continue hunting, on his own, if Dean stopped or semi-retired haven’t been paying attention to the show. I even saw one of their idiot followers saying Sam was alway better at adapting to hunting while Dean has always wanted out. 👀.

Anyway, I got ready to write a reply arguing against their idiotic ideas, but then I stopped and realized there was no point. There is literally no point trying to talk sense into people who spend so much time looking for hints and parallels pointing to the things they want (less codependent brothers and destiel) that they ignore the very literal and easy to follow canon, or actual text, of the show. It was a breakthrough fir me. There. Is. No. Point.

So, I deleted my planned response and just thought to myself, "You just enjoy your 'winning" honey, while you can." Because they are going to absolutely HATE the end of the show, and I’m just petty enough to be looking forward to seeing it. Does that make me a shitty person?

I realize it’s my own fault I’m annoyed right now, but I can’t just quit watching something once I’ve gotten this far, so I’ll have to suffer through (not looking forward to Despair 🙄) until the end.

Anyway, If you took the time to read this, thank you. I just needed to share this with someone.

This was an enjoyable ask, my darling. ❤️

LMAO, yes it is amazing the way that hellers 'see' the show.

Even now, almost three years after the finale, they still think destiel became canon because of the dubs and THEY had a 'wedding'.

Please let me know how they reacted to the 'confession' and the finale. 😆

#anonymous #destiehellers #no really what show are they watching

[a-concert-just-for-me]

plot twist hunter isn’t bad at typing in particular, he’s just dyslexic lmao

Here’s some stream of consciousness dialogue between him and Luz I did real quick on my lunch break

Yes I really did look at a Singer instruction manual for this LMAO

#toh #sillyposting #my fics #I’ve had this idea for a while but I saw a fic mentioning his bad typing and I’m like alright that’s IT I’m writing it #I can slap so many disabilities and neurodiversity on this boy #I think it would be VERY interesting to have Luz and Hunter bond over being bad at academia

[pomegranarchy]

Theres this song I’ve been listening to lately, called Wait by The Dear Hunter. I don’t have the context for the singer’s life or the album or whatever, so I’m speaking about it as a standalone song.

Heads up for religion talk (generalizations about christianity, as i dont have significant knowledge of any other) so feel free to skip on.

This song has really struck a chord in my soul, so to speak. I’m already quite comfortable with the subject of death, and the concept that as living beings we are destined to return to the earth through decay. I find it rather beautiful.

This song lingers on the fear of one’s own mortality, and ties it to religious fear.

The song starts with “I lost my faith when I was young” so it confuses me to see the interpretation that the singer is afraid they won’t go to heaven if it exists. If they were afraid of that, then wouldn’t they remain in the faith? That’s a pretty big scare tactic of christianity. If you don’t believe in god, you go to hell. Without staying in the faith, one already accepts they won’t go there.

There are also calls to religion that imply any faith that the singer practiced was empty.

“I stood in lines to bow my head, I’d fold my hands and speak in tongues”

This is clearly about prayer of some kind, and tongues can be about latin or any other old language, but christian prayer isn’t usually in latin. Its in the language the worshipper speaks. So tongues… to me, that means the words being said are nonsensical. That the prayers for help, advice, good fortune, or anything else— is meaningless and nonsensical. Especially with the following line.

“But I could tell no apparition heard a single word I said”

Whether it be the dead or a god, those prayers are not being heard. It could be willful ignorance, which means a god is purposefully choosing to abandon people. It could be the god physically cannot hear, or that a god simply doesn’t exist. In any case, prayer does nothing. It is an empty act.

So. Back to mortality. “I’ll know when I turn to dust” “but i fear the answer isn’t enough”

To me, this is about knowing one will die. The singer has accepted that. Everyone dies, and so will they. Thats just how it is. But after that…? There is no knowing. And if there is something after, instead of nothing, then theres the possibility that what waits beyond is worth the fear.

“I fear that there is a heaven above” “I hope that there is not a heaven above” says to me more that the singer is afraid of heaven. Or, more accurately, the concept of a heaven. Hell and eternal damnation is not being addressed here. Pain and punishment isn’t the fear.

Because a heaven implies the existence of a god. A being that is all-powerful, all-knowing, all-judging, all-loving. A being that is all-powerful is responsible for evil and suffering, or complicit in this suffering, or is in fact not all-powerful. If it is not aware of suffering, then it is not all-knowing. And if it is all-powerful, and is all-knowing, but allows suffering, then it is not all-loving. If people go to hell, then it is not all-loving.

A god that is all-powerful and sends people to hell is punishing its own creations for things they have zero control over.

It makes heaven completely arbitrary. It is a paradise that belongs to a god that condemns those that it controls, for being the way it created them.

“So will I never know heaven or hell, or is eternity something worse?”

There being nothing after the end is the preferable fate. Should the singer ever know heaven or hell, then eternity is to be feared. It proves an existential fear of something that rules reality and chooses to make people suffer.

And… its cathartic. To listen to this fear. To this song.

There are christians out there that talk about love and acceptance and how the stereotypical christian goes against the message of the faith or what have you— but it doesn’t address what makes me so uncomfortable with christianity. That a god exists. That this god has created a heaven and hell. And because those realms exist, if I don’t have the “correct” interpretation of reality, that I don’t do the “correct” way of living life, then I shall suffer forever.

That’s not love. That’s not a god worth worshipping.

So… yeah. I hope that there’s no heaven above.

Death is more comforting than heaven.

#tw religion #tw christianity #tw death talk #tw mortality #existentialism #religion #atheism #personal talk

[danceswithsporks]

With the first part of Calm coming out soon. I’ve realized that I’ve figured out everyone’s love interest beside Hunters.

So.

I’m giving all of YOU the chance to help me decide on who they’ll be. Vote in the poll below or reply with a suggestion!

Any ties and I’ll punch out previews to see which one we like more.

If the one you wanted isn’t selected, don’t worry! If there’s enough interest in multiple then I’ll do a mini (which is still a few parts) fic of that one as well!

Tagging my tag list cause I love y’all and respect your opinions!!

Wanna be added to the tag list for more Bad Batch lovin and feels? Let me know!

@rndmpeep

@sarahskywalker-amadala

@queenariesofnarnia

@idoubleswearimawriter

@bambambunny

@ravenclawbitch426

@jupitersaturnapollo

@mzjakao

@heylosers06

@dangraccoon

@impala1967666

@6oceansofmoons

@andrakass2

@ducks118

@motte-the-goblin

@rintheemolion

@merkitty49

@moonwreckd

@jediknightjana

@onyxtides

#clone wars fic #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars #star wars fanfiction #hunter x reader #hunter bad batch #bad batch fic #the bad batch fic #the bad batch #tbb hunter #hunter tbb

[lectorel]

Rabbit Heart

(Inspired by the Mage in a Wolf Pack original fic series on AO3, you'll need to read a few of those first.)

Jaime . . . floats. One step out and to the left of himself, ice-numbed to sensation. Wake. Work. Obey. Cast, in the short moments when he was given back a sliver of his strength. Bow. Obey. Eat. Sleep. Wake. Lay Limp. Wash. Work.

Hums, sometimes, tuneless little things that taste like memories. ‘digger, digger, singer of songs…’

This doesn't change, when he is passed to other masters. The lines change, but the pattern stays the same. Wake. Cast. Work. Strip. Obey. Sleep. Wake. Eat. Jaime exists entirely unmoored from time and place, in the smothering fog of over-extension and apathy. 

He rarely notices when one master becomes another. Mostly when the new had a taste for flesh the old had not, or the reverse. His current masters are kind, in the careless way hunters are prone to. A person is given orders. An object is used. There is power in breaking a person to heel, but all ruining a tool proves is carelessness. 

If he is sick, if he’s injured, he’s likelier to make mistakes or mishandle a spell. So he is fed, and given clothes to cover his body, and treated if he is injured. He is a useful thing, to be maintained and then forgotten when unneeded. 

Like all tools, there are some uses he is better suited to than others. Jaime is not allowed to heal - no hunter would be careless enough to let a mage, even a collared one, work magics on their bodies. But neither is he required to bind and chain unwilling captives. Instead, he is set to warding chicken coops, warming water for the wash, repairing damaged walls and decaying fences. Simple things that require neither force nor strength of will.

They don't travel - or at least never enough of them at one time that he is left without supervision or required to accompany them. Jaime has never bothered tracking the passage of time, but he thinks he's been in this place for a while. He mostly remembers now how to get from one building to another, can plan a path to accomplish his duties without too much doubling back.

It is an easy life, and Jaime knows that easy never lasts. Sooner or later, he will be put to the work he was first collared for. There is no point in waking.

Jaime floats, and his body obeys.

***

Runa had noticed the problem by mid-summer, but back then, she’d believed her pack would fix it. It’s nearly winter now, and her faith has run out.

The adults of the pack refuse to see it, refuse to understand, because the mage had hurt uncle Dimitri. They were angry, and they wanted someone to blame. The mage was an easy target. But all the pretending in the world couldn’t change the truth. And the truth was, he’d never acted out of malice.

Malice would require the mage to remember people existed when they left his line of sight. The mage had to be ordered to bathe himself. and occasionally ended up frozen in place because he'd forgotten what he was ordered to do and the collar’s bindings forbade him from acting without permission. All he’d done was obey his Alpha, the same as Runa is supposed to obey Lada.

He isn’t capable of intending harm. There’s something fragile in him, like the lightning-struck tree Runa found two summers ago. From afar, it had seemed healthy, as if it had escaped the storm with only a few branches lost. But when she’d gotten closer, she’d seen the long seam where sap had boiled and split the tree open from the inside. It had survived the first winter, but it’d never woken after the second.

The mage, too, is slowly dying, and Alpha had ordered everyone not to help him.

Runa had never disobeyed her parents or her alpha. Not really. Little rules sometimes, like going to bed on time or taking turns, but never the big rules. The ones that even the adults had to follow. And the rules about the mage were big rules - Alpha had explained that to all the puppies in very careful words.

But Runa had already known the rules - if you can’t kill something cleanly, you don’t kill it at all. If someone isn’t pack, you don’t bring them into the den. If someone wants to leave, you have to let them. If a person’s hurt, you need to help them.

Alpha is the one who broke the rules first, her and all the other adults; she put the mage in a collar like it wasn’t the exact thing the pack had killed hunters for doing to uncle Dimitri. Alpha is wrong, and she keeps pretending she’s not, keeps saying that the mage is an exception.

It’s dangerous to have magic now, in the Heartstone pack. Alpha has made it that way. And Runa is the only one who knows it’s Toby, not the mage, who keeps the candles lit all night.

There are uses for collared mages. Alpha made that very clear. Runa isn’t going to let the pack collar a second one.

Alpha makes the mage sleep in the storage shed, with only a worn fur to keep out the cold. With the first storm of winter threatening, the pack will either need to move him inside soon, or let him freeze. The adults are still fighting about it, which makes now the only chance Runa has to get them all away.

The night is dark, only a single sliver of moon to light it, and the wind cuts through Runa’s sleeping shirt like a knife. Toby whines in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. The shed door isn’t locked properly - Runa jammed it a few days ago, when she oiled the door hinges to keep them from creaking. She slips inside, soft as a fieldmouse through grass, and shakes the mage awake. 

“We’re going now, sweetheart,” Runa says softly, pulling the mage to his feet with her free hand. “Can you hide us?”

The mage blinks, once, twice, eyes only half-focused on Runa and Toby’s sleeping form. Runa holds up the command token, thumb pressed to the center symbol, and pushes her will into it. Unlock. Not a full release - only the collar’s keybinding, locked away among Alpha’s things,  could do that - but enough for something like awareness to flood into the mage’s expression. 

“We’re leaving, all three of us,” Runa repeats, and asks a second time, “Can you hide us?”

“. . . You’ll be faster without me,” the mage says, after a long, long moment. “If you steal me, it will be. Bad.”

Runa tilts her head in acknowledgement. “Staying would be worse.”

 “If you do, when they catch you, they will kill you,” He looks at Runa for a single second, gaze darting to Toby’s sleeping form and then away before she can interpret the expression he wore. Runa hears an echo of familiar candace in those words, and wonders if he’s ever heard the rabbit song, before the Alpha chained him. 

“They might,” she acknowledges. Six months ago she couldn’t have imagined the possibility. Now, though, all her certainties about her family have been shattered. However - “But first, they must catch me.”

#mage in a wolf pack #writing #if you tell your children that some people deserve to be hurt #they'll learn that you think it's okay to hurt people #and if you're very lucky #they won't agree

[tkblythofficial]

What’s your opinions on J?

I don’t like him to put it simply. A lot of R’s fans see them as a package deal but I don’t and will never see him as someone I have to support because I like R.

There’s some R fans who genuinely like him and I can respect that. However, majority don’t care about him and use their relationship to get likes from R on Twitter. It’s shameless.

One thing about me is I don’t care who my fav celeb dates, if I don’t like their partner I will not support the relationship and won’t change my opinion for a like on Twitter from said celeb. Everyone always says “if you like R, you would want her happy and J makes her happy!” Every time someone says that I roll my eyes. If R/J break up tomorrow, the same people will slander him and say “I never liked him anyways!”

Anyways! Here’s the list of reasons why I don’t like J:

1. The most obvious and disgusting: how they started dating. They met when she was 17 (she blew out her 18th birthday candles on set of WSS and Spielberg himself said they had “sparks” and told R to stop giving heart eyes to J when filming…) and he was 23/24? And it looks like he lied about his age too so he’s a year older than originally thought…wow. The issue isn’t their age gap, it’s when the age gap started. If you have to wait until your partner becomes age appropriate to date publicly then it’s predatory and creepy. I also have reason to believe they started dating privately before she was 20. The whole “besties” crap they did for 3 years didn’t fool me. And even if nothing happened, waiting 3 years to ask your gf out because she’s now the right age is so gross. I’m around R’s age and the thought of pursing someone younger than 22 grosses me out. I don’t want to talk about prom or algebra homework on date nights…

I’m also willing to bet 10 billion dollars if someone asked R if she would date/pursue an 18 year old as 22(going 23 year old) she would say no….

Exactly my point….

2. I really don’t like his silence on R’s hate. A ig post, a comment or something would be better than nothing. This is a personal pet peeve of mine though so maybe not everyone feels as strongly about it. She puts 100000000 percent into him publicly and he does nothing in return.

3. I think he’s unprofessional tbh. I was not impressed with him during TBOSAS tour. He seemed either drunk or incoherent during some of the interviews or easily irritated. R had to save him on multiple occasions because he didn’t seem present or know what’s going on. However, I did think he was occasionally funny, insightful at times, had a nice vibe with Hunter / T and from what I’ve seen, he’s a great singer. I also found him giving love notes to R and T while filming really sweet. Other than that I wasn’t feeling his vibe at all. There’s a video I saw (found it) where R, T and J walked into someone’s livestream video. T immediately greeted the crowd and so did R and J stood in the background awkwardly with a smile. R also enthusiastically told T that she had the same sweater as someone behind the camera and T replied with interest then R quickly grabbed J so he doesn’t feel left out.

4. Adding to the above, R needs to be careful with having herself linked to him unnecessarily. She mentioned that she turned down playing Lucy Gray because she was going to be away from home too long and magically her bf gets cast and BAM, she accepts the role. Imagine turning down this role, a role that the director personally wanted you for and in a franchise you love because you’ll be away from your bf too long. I call BS on everyone not knowing that he was her bf beforehand. The fact that we know this is horrible. She shouldn’t be on any more projects with him and should allow him to do his own thing. It’s not her job to help him get a job.

#my answers #about j