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endworldbroadcast · 21 days

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Do you have any advice for coping with schizoid personality disorder?

I think this is strongly contingent on what affects you, personally [ this is a generic observation to make, isn't it? ]. For example, loneliness and avolition didn't use to be an issue for me, it only became so after a specific period in my life that changed a lot of things about me. In present day I ascribe the most difficulties to existential angst first and foremost and to social difficulties + anhedonia/avolition tying for second.

With that said, this is what works for me more or less:

- Try to fight against the idea of being 'special' especially if it makes you think of others as stupid/inferior/dramatic/etc. I think this is incredibly difficult, and it's harder than it seems to balance this in a way where you're also being honest and acknowledging your own alienation and the way arbitrary (or even justified) societal expectations can take a lot out of you.

In my case, I try to resolve this by orienting myself specifically to a sort of 'vulnerability': many schizoids cannot acknowledge they are lonely or anxious or afraid, sometimes because it's shameful to do so but mostly because it doesn't feel 'true'. It doesn't look like 'normal' misery so it's easy to assume it's not 'misery' at all. Accepting one's own thoughts and emotions as real and accepting others have their own deep interiority even when they manifest in 'different' ways helps a lot with combatting the deep distaste for other people.

You might not necessarily learn to like others, but I think the 'angst' isn't as heavy when you recognise these internal experiences (both of yourself and others) as responses to a shared reality, instead of the feeling that other people live in 'reality' and you live (insofar that you 'live') in an inaccessible void.

Even if it's more for the sake of 'self-interest' and not necessarily altruistic, I find that fostering my distaste for people made me feel less tolerant of reality as a whole and more importantly critical of myself. If others are 'bad' then my misery must be evidence that I'm fundamentally worse. I think it's importance to recognise abject misery even without the need of someone to 'pin' it on.

- Find the thing about your identity that you think most people will find you detestable for and then hang out in spaces for that thing or meant to provide support for that thing. In my case it was being a paraphiliac. I think if you become accustomed to seeing the 'worst' parts about you accepted and people like you thriving, it becomes a little easier to accept that the rest of you can be accepted by others.

- Have something to do that your either enjoy or, if you're anhedonic, are able to deal with a reasonable level of visible 'results', such as developing a skill you are naturally inclined at or doing something 'meaningful' (like community service).

- Find a bunch of smaller things to set as goals/expectations for the future even if you're not 'stoked' about it. In my case I don't think I'll actually play Penny Blood when it comes out but I keep a mental footnote of it because the original developer's games were once meaningful for me.

I think the future is difficult to conceptualise in its vagueness and that can be disheartening. For me it helps to have real dates to look forward to instead of a vague 'The Future', even something like 'This game comes out in three months.'

Also, I'm a suicidal person and I find that it's easier for me to avoid suicide attempts by indefinitely 'delaying' it. So I do a lot of these 'I'll wait for [ event ] to happen first' to manage my feelings.

- If you have decent relationships, practice asking them for trivial things. For example I ask someone close to me to reblog commission posts. I think being able to ask for small favours helps fight against the 'love is litigation, relationships are obligations, there is no room for compromise' schema that ye schizoidism is built on. It may not be 'enough' to push a person to commit to anything 'more' or to ask for help when it 'actually matters' but it does help one inch closer to finding relationships at least a little 'meaningful'.

- Instead of trying to interact 'more' try to diversify the avenues in which you interact with others until you find one that works. Are you more comfortable online or in real life? One or one or in group settings? Do you like small talk or find it boring? Is there a specific type of person you want to talk to? etc.

While there are certainly schizoids who are winning the IDGAF war I really think that the average schizoid isn't repulsed per se by interaction but are more repulsed by emotions. Avenues to communicate with others where you have more control over your own boundaries and emotional disclosure are often more helpful.

- My standard for whether I think a relationship is 'good' is to ask myself whether I think I could 'come back' to this person. Whether it's a physical disappearance or something more abstract or mental [ eg I get a little silly with it and have a huge mental breakdown or whatever ], I assess whether this person would be more apt to focus on the 'leaving' or the 'coming back'. There are plenty of people I think that are nice or non-malicious but the personality they have is just that I know I will be 'punished' for 'leaving' [ Getting upset/'Why couldn't you just ask me for help/tell me this was happening?'/Centering their lack of 'obligation' even if I was not inferring they had one to begin with/Just straight up ignoring me because I was 'weird' instead of at least having the courtesy to tell me they can't/won't respond to me ].

To be realistic about my circumstances I know it's a lost cause to think there will be a point where I'll be Normal and Loveable enough to be beyond this type of reproach. Welcome to my dark twisted mind or whatever. All my failed relationships did not die with a lot of drama or fanfare but more a case of where I Lost It and couldn't 'come back', either because I was too ashamed of myself or the person clearly saw me different afterwards even if they wouldn't say it out loud. I find I can't sustain relationships around this people even when neither of us truly 'hurt' each other, and inversely I found there are cases where I have been able to forgive people for a lot/vice versa because the other person was very receptive of 'weirdness.'

[ I think the reason a lot of schizoids stick with childhood friends they had before their personality 'settled' is because those people tend to be more accepting of the schizoids 'checking out' and are quite cool/welcoming about the 'coming back' without much of a need to acknowledge/punish the 'leaving'. ]

- Try to find a system to do your chores/other self-maintenance duties, if not regularly then at least at some point. A lot of schizoids don't feel when they're 'down' but it's commonly observed that schizoids who are stuck in solitude do worse at self-maintenance and won't clean/do the laundry/bathe/eat/etc. as consistently.

In my case I try to do this by making it too inconvenient to ignore things otherwise. For example, I dump all my stuff on the bed so that if I don't clean eventually I can't sleep well (if I leave them on the floor I will never get shit done).

Self-maintenance through routine or some other external marker is helpful because it doesn't require you to depend on what could very well be an unreliable internal sense.

- Even if you're the type of schizoid highly susceptible to loneliness don't bother 'putting up' befriending' people you don't like. It's a waste of time. It's a good skill to practice civility and diplomacy, but faking a sense of 'closeness' is really troublesome.

I do encourage maintaining relationships for pragmatic purposes if not emotional ones as much as you are capable of.

- If you get jealous about 'normal' people like I do get out of whatever thing it is you're in/what you're looking at that's bothering you and try to entertain yourself with something you find more pleasant. This really sounds like 'common sense' but the number of times I find myself seething from seeing people online talk to each other and feeling envious of how other people have friends or some shit is embarrassing especially when I do something else and the frustration immediately dissipates. Like 'wtf was that all about? lol'

- God, this is the most unpleasant thing ever but sometimes even the most extreme of discomforts have no solution in material reality if the problem itself isn't in material reality. This is really what I think gets to me the most: I want to be able to do something to 'solve' my problems, doesn't matter what. I can convince myself of my competence and determination, that I could get rid of the upset that plagues me if I study it well enough, apply all the logic, that there is an action that will make it all stop.

The problem is a lot of my discomfort is existential, they're not 'happening' in real life in any material way. I can't do anything about it, and that uncertainty and helplessness makes me feel even more frantic and worse. It feels easier to accept, for me, that I'll fuck up and embarrass myself over and over than it is to think that misery just happens without someone or something to blame it on.

I talk about it a lot but this encourages not much more than the hyperreflexive tendency to want to take your own experiences, turn it into a tangible object and study it like a possession. It drives you into dissociation and it sort of makes you insane. Happier people aren't happy because they have the amazing sense of logic that allows them to make all the correct choices in solving their problems. They're happy because they embody their emotions and they don't have to stop and 'prove' their happiness is real every moment it happens. It just does. They just do.

- Anyway expecting a general state of 'happiness' is a lost cause. Happiness isn't a perpetual evaluation of one's circumstances, it's an emotion that happens sometimes and then fades away. Sometimes there isn't even happiness, just something more subtle like contentment or relief. Still, one can live like this.

Anyway, that's it. I do not actually think any of this is helpful or novel in retrospect but I already typed it out so lol

#d #schizoid tag #schizoposting #long post #I don't really give advice much these days so take this with a shrug #I Claim No Liability Over You Etc Etc

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comradekatara · 1 year

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the gaang + The Wall

...okay yeah.

aang ran away first chance he got. he hated working on the wall. it was so boring and tedious and pointless. he doesn’t know what lies beyond the wall, but surely it can’t be worse than this, right?

every day katara climbs to the top of the wall and gives a speech to her fellow workers about how they are prisoners of their own accord, and if they wish to break their chains they must only take up arms with the very bricks with which they have been supplied. she throws bricks until the wall security guards tase her and hold her in detention for the rest of the day, as they always do. but she always gets back up on that wall by tomorrow. rinse and repeat.

sokka spends his days begging katara not to start shit again and begging the security guards to release katara from holding. in the few blissful moments in between all that though, he gets to spend some quality time flirting with suki by seeing who can lay more bricks first. there’s a strict “no kissing on the wall” policy, so this is the closest they’ll ever get to dating.

toph hates laying bricks because she claims she could just build a way bigger, better wall with earthbending anyway. but apparently “that’s not how things are done here.” she fucking hates it here. she wishes she could just run away like aang did, but she doesn’t wanna leave sokka, and sokka won’t leave katara behind, who stays out of the stubborn insistence that one of these days there will be a revolution, and it is her obligation to fight in it. (toph thinks she’s a total idiot.)

zuko is a firm believer in the wall. if the wall was pointless, then his life would have no meaning, so of course the wall has is very meaningful, and they are all doing important work. fucking duh. unfortunately for zuko, though, his fervent belief in what he’s doing at the wall doesn’t stop him from being absolutely terrible at his job. he’s the worst bricklayer on the entire site. it’s fucking embarrassing.

suki doesn’t really mind working on the wall tbh. it’s nice to be part of something bigger than yourself, yknow? plus she gets to hang out with lots of cool people, and it’s fun trying to see how many rules you can get away with breaking in one day. if only sokka wasn’t so busy all the time trying to prevent katara from getting assassinated, then life would truly be perfect.

mai thinks the wall is all a bunch of boring bullshit, and barely bothers laying bricks, only doing as many as she needs to per day so as not to get punished by the guards. she mostly spends her time making fun of zuko for his awful bricklaying technique or doing impressions of the other workers with ty lee.

ty lee sees the wall as a social activity. she loves manipulating boys into laying bricks for her so that it seems like she’s actually going above and beyond for the project when in reality she hasn’t touched a single brick in months. the irony is that she’s actually much stronger than all those boys she’s constantly ordering around, and could lay her own bricks in record times, but where’s the fun in that?

azula loves her work on the wall and is extremely good at it. that’s why she was promoted to shift supervisor, which is basically the same job for the same pay (one penny a day) except she also has the added responsibility of reprimanding the other kids when they seem to be slacking off, and in truly egregious cases, reporting them to the guards. frankly, zuko does probably deserve to get reported, but she usually just lets him off with a warning, because she knows that he can’t help having been born with particularly limp wrists. besides, she knows how dedicated he is to the wall. one of these days, she’s gonna meet the guy in charge, and, wall willing, become his successor. she can’t wait for the day she runs this wall, so that she can truly maximize efficiency. she already has so many ideas. if only that annoying rabblerouser katara and her delinquent friends weren’t such hooligans, as their superviser, their insubordination makes her look bad. it’s infuriating.

katara and azula get into brick-throwing fights at least once a week. they’ve both been concussed more times than they can count.

#vaindumbass #asks #the gaang and #synthesis #ah yes . the wall #my favorite show

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bug-the-chicken-nug · 1 year

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i know this isn't really The Point they're going for in v9 but man i wish Alyx could just be like.

Genuinely a really sweet, caring, sensitive kind of girl, with the flaws that can come with that instead: Shy, naive, a crybaby, kind of a coward, scared to hurt anyone's feelings, etc.

With the theme of her original story being that it's about learning to stand up for yourself and others, while also staying true to yourself.

Because in the context of her being a black girl (girls typically read as more "naturally" mean and aggressive) and her being in a show about girls who are all supposed to be conventionally strong and brave and good at fighting, this *does* actually loop back to being subversive, and it could be used in some genuinely interesting ways.

Mainly I'm thinking of the girls like originally discussing the story in a way that indicates their culture sees it as a "babyish" story. In the early volume, Yang and Weiss keep taking cheap shots at it all and rolling their eyes at their memories of what a boring little goody-two-shoes Alyx was, and how trite and childish it all seemed even when they were little kids themselves.

Blake tries to defend it, but they don't take her defenses too seriously, while Ruby is too moody to have much input on it either way, but Yang mentions that even Ruby mostly only liked it for the bright colors.

And then a lot more denizens turn out to remember and miss Alyx, in the case of ruder or blunter ones often straight up making commentary about how the girls don't measure up to her.

This offends the group at first, because to be fair some of these comments really are pretty fuckin uncalled for, and plus, they just don't really... Get it.

Despite Alyx hating to fight and having been written as crying and shaking the one time the events of the book forced her to, despite her not even actually *winning* that fight, almost everyone here seems to regard her as more heroic and admirable than our mains.

And Ruby is the first to truly see why: Because for all of her faults, at least Alyx was always *careful* and *considerate*. Alyx always admitted it when she needed help, and didn't try to bite off more than she could chew. Alyx was patient and diplomatic, she *listened* to people, didn't make promises she couldn't keep, and didn't even have a Semblance, but still managed to make things *better* for each character she met, not *worse*.

Meanwhile, the group has still just been causing trouble everywhere they turn up, and they're starting to realize that they can't blame *all* of this on the Afterans just being weird.

This would also end up tying in well with the troubled reaction Ruby has to getting Crescent Rose back, although I would not have Jaune have it, and only have Ruby get it back after an epiphany about how she doesn't actually *need* it to do what's right, or to have a positive impact on others, but keep her conflicted emotions on finding it again, as the weapon reminds her of her own past overconfidence and recklessness, her own belief that she could both literally and metaphorically just cut right through anyone or anything that didn't agree with her.

Also as much as a ton of people hate Jaune right now I honestly think he would've been a cool "villain" to illustrate the flipside of these messages. Like. Neo's great and all but she feels really superfluous and not exactly compelling enough to be the primary villain of the volume at this point.

I'm imagining Jaune being the same age, but the one with Penny's sword now, physically unable to let go of it, in some sort of daze of grief and self-loathing that's being further amplified by some aspect of the Ever After.

He is driven chiefly by a belief by if he'd only been "stronger", everything would've been better.

And in a twisted way, he gets his wish.

It turns out his Semblance can actually resonate with and empower a lingering "imprint" of Aura in Penny's sword to both make it stronger and to give him a sort of bastardized shadow of the Winter Maiden powers.

(Winter still has the "real" version, this is like explicitly a twisted, harmful bootleg version that would also be animated differently from any other usage of Maiden abilities.)

Using it harms him as well, and it's noted that Jaune seriously might eventually freeze himself to death just by continuing to hold on to the sword. His presence is also always preceded by a sudden chill.

Ruby quickly realizes and begins to have a crisis over the implication of Jaune being able to tap into a lingering fragment of Penny's Aura.

Namely, does that mean Penny is in some way... *actually still there?* And potentially *suffering*?

You could use the blacksmith lady to like foreshadow and then kinda explain how all of this is even a thing, so it's less confusing.

And then we get an actual answer to this question! 'Cause the big climax of the volume is now Jaune smacking the group around, they just barely get the upper hand again, and then Jaune uses the last of his strength, shifts the sword into MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE, everything looks Real Bad, but then...

The sword just... Explodes?

And out comes Penny's glowy green Aura ghost, who Jaune inadvertantly powered up enough for her to materialize herself, and whose first order of business is to turn around and briefly apologize before slapping the shit out of Jaune... Which goes right through him physically, but DOES seem to be able to immediately exorcize whatever horseshit was corrupting him.

Her second order of business is to be like "FINALLY! NOW maybe you'll LISTEN to me, Jaune!"

While Ruby is just standing there gaping like "A."

Before anyone (including the audience) can get their hopes up, Penny quickly explains that this is likely only a temporary affair brought about by how much Jaune has strengthened her, and that she can "already feel herself fading", but then smiles and adds on that she's super excited to see Ruby (likely followed by trying and failing to tackle-hug her because that just makes Penny fly straight through her)

Ruby, still, except this time she's clearly tearing up: "A,,,"

Followed by a conversation where Ruby gets closure and Jaune comes clean, but then Ruby confesses that honestly, even with Penny trying to tell her that she asked to be sacrificed and that Ruby should forgive Jaune... Ruby can't. At least not yet.

Ruby ruefully adds "No wonder nobody here really likes me..." to that, to which Penny immediately replies

"But *I* like you!"

And Ruby just scoffs and goes "Do you? Even though your death is my fault too?"

And Penny just sadly replies "Of course. Do you really have so little faith in me?", which kinda gets to Ruby, as it reminds her that her funk is negatively affecting others too. And that in a way, insisting that she's the worst person in the world is still a form of self-centeredness, just as it was to believe that she had all the answers.

She's silent until Penny begins noticeably fading away and dissolving into particles of light, which has Ruby going "Wait! Don't go! Jaune! Jaune, do something!"

But Jaune is of course Spent As Fuck and also probably has lowkey been struggling to stay conscious through this whole conversation, so they have no choice but to make this quick.

Penny gives Ruby one last fond, sorrowful look and says "I'm sorry not everything can go like it does in this story, Ruby. But you? You're still *writing* your story. And I for one can't wait to see how it ends! "

"You're not going to, though! You're never going to, because you-because you're-"

"Once again, Ruby: Do you really have so little faith in me?" Penny says with a teasing grin, before disappearing completely.

Aaand thats a wrap.

Yes it's weird and kind of cheesy, but your honor, my defense is that this whole show is weird and kind of cheesy.

#rwde #very slight nuts and dolts but i intentionally didnt lean into it #its not the point #this should be able to stand perfectly fine platonically

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spinningerster · 10 months

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🧸🌟🎭🖕😬😭 Crutchie ( U.K.)

ty for the ask anon! apologies its taken me a little while to reply! hope you like these :)

🧸 - a headcanon about their childhood

raised by his grandparents, and one of his favourite memories was his fifth birthday, when they took him to the circus. he absolutely loved it, was absolutely amazed by everything. they got him a little stuffed elephant, which he named ellie and slept with every single night.

🌟 - a headcanon about their desires/wishes

I think crutchie is a simple guy. he's not as much of a dreamer as jack (though sometimes he wish he was), one of his biggest wishes is to just have a stable job and a nice house, two things he's never really had.

🎭 - a headcanon about what they lie about

his leg. he'd sometimes try and pretend that, on a bad day, he's okay. he sometimes feels like a burden to the others, even though he's more than capable of protecting himself, crutchie, though, isn't a great liar, and the others can tell if his leg is causing him particular pain - especially jack.

🖕 - a headcanon about anger

crutchie gets very quiet when he's angry. generally being one of the louder newsies, it's really unnerving when he just goes silent. he won't speak to anyone, and will push them away if they try and get him to talk. if he's at the lodging house, he'll either go up onto the rooftop or, on a worse leg day, lay on his bed, just staring into space, which helps to calm him down. if he's feeling more aggressive, he'll punch a wall, his bed, or his pillow. even angry crutchie knows he'd never live with himself if he physically hurt one of the other newsies. he doesn't like to take his frustration out on the others, so does his best to remove himself.

😬 - a headcanon about the worst thing they've done

despite uksies crutchie is the slingshot menace he never intentionally does 'bad stuff' HOWEVER he did once accidentally ruin a painting jack was working on (he tripped and fell into jack). he saved every penny that he could to get jack some new supplies, or at least what he could afford to buy. he knows how hard jack works on his paintings and its one thing he's never forgiven himself for.

😭 - a headcanon about the worst thing that happened to them

the first time he got mugged. at 9 years old, his grandparents had recently passed, and with nowhere else to go, he ended up living on the streets. some older boys stole his crutch (which his grandfather, who had been a carpenter, made for him) and the toy elephant, and they beat him so bad he couldn't walk for a week. he just hid in an alleyway, wanting and waiting for his death. no matter all the bad things that happened to him over the next few years, that was always the worst.

#ngl crutchie is one of the characters I create hcs for the least #pretty happy with these though!#newsies #crutchie morris #ask answered #ask game

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barbara-herself · 1 month

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Litwo! Ojczyzno moja! ty jesteś jak zdrowie: Ile cię trzeba cenić, ten tylko się dowie, Kto cię stracił. Dziś piękność twą w całej ozdobie Widzę i opisuję, bo tęsknię po tobie.

O Lithuania, my native land, you are like health - so valued when lost beyond recovery; let these words now stand restoring you, redeeming exile's cost.

Adam Mickiewicz, "Pan Tadeusz", translated by Leonard Kress

Life in immigration is bittersweet. You experience what life has to offer in a more established country, and soak in the sea of opportunity as its waves crash over your youth. You say to yourself "this is what life is supposed to feel like - I can finally enjoy the mundane, everyday details of my life." The trains don't smell like piss, your alcoholic relatives are nowhere to be found and the heavy burden of centuries of repressions and occupation is left behind.

To live in a young country is hard labour. I was four years old when my country joined the European Union, so growing up we seemingly had everything all the other countries had. Yet the more you study history, the more you realize that your comfortable life is built on the deep, unhealed scars of the past. Almost everyone I know (who is old enough) was living in miserable economic and spiritual poverty merely half a century ago. The collective trauma and pain of a country reborn is a heavy burden to carry, and this is what a lot of Western countries take for granted.

Eastern Europeans are the most brilliant artists, poets, scientists, entrepreneurs, teachers and overall devoted and clever people, however it often seems like we are confined in a collective shame of being "worse" than other, more progressed countries. Lithuanians specifically have a hard time with cooperation and reaching out to other people for assistance. There's this unwritten pride of doing everything by yourself, no matter how much it destroys you, because history has shown us again and again that trusting your neighbour can be catastrophic.

I miss my home country in a way I miss my childhood - romanticizing the beauty of cherished memories, but also being painfully aware of the sorrow that was present. I know I cannot find happiness and be truly myself back home. I know that if I ever come back, I will put on a mask of a hyper-productive and successful young professional, completely losing sight of what I am in my heart.

Nevertheless, I miss the flower fields where I let my dog run free and where hares found shelter in the old tree stump by the river. I miss the Old Town, with its secret passages and artistic graffiti under the bridges. I miss seeing people - truly remarkable, talented people, working wonders for pennies, out of sheer love and passion for their craft.

I hope one day, I find my home within me and I can carry my memories proudly. For now, I can only dream.

#writers on tumblr #writing #spilled words #words #spilled thoughts #writers and poets #trauma #lithuania #eastern europe

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ebbarights · 1 year

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idk i think this recent idea that harry potter Has Been Bad All Along is kind of. shortsighted

yes it was definitely overhyped, not nearly as wonderful as tons of people thought (and think) and there are definitely tons of of hints buried in it that, in retrospect, foreshadow jkr's current opinions quite obviously but. it was also really fun. and not inherently worse than any of the kids franchises that are currently being presented as alternatives to it.

i feel like this tendency goes hand in hand with people on the internet being unable to think in grayscales and, like, nuances. people that are Bad could not possibly have created things that are Good because how could they? they are evil! and if nothing good could ever be created by someone who isn't, what does that say about art? who is ever entirely good? at what point does the scale tip on public opinion to render a beloved piece of fiction worthless? and on the other hand, what if a wonderful person creates something that is not good? do we owe it praise because of the inherent goodness of its creator?

obviously fuck jkr and do not give that piece of shit terf a single penny or attention, but i think tying ethics to quality is dangerous.

#i don't have anwers to any of these questions obviously #i haven't eaten in a while and i'm barely coherent but i had to type this out #kind of related to succession although there it's not creators but characters whose ethics are put into question #point is: internet bad for discussion. lol #sorry for the rant

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guyhorne · 2 years

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#Nanomax #Music #loudspeaker #karaoke

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waltherbusch · 2 years

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#Nanomax #Music #loudspeaker #karaoke

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simsbyyelhsa · 4 years

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Harvey whispered something to Bianca and Clint pretended like he was not there.

AS YOU CAN SEE! HARVEY IS SO RUDE! THAT IS YOUR DAUGHTERS BED! REALLY GUYS!

i cant.

#Stardew Sims #Legacy #Challenge #they are worse than penny and ty #i swear if they have any more babies i am throwing a fir #fit #Harvey #Bianca #Clint #svg6 #svg7 #just wow #Halloween #Fall #Sulani

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anvils-of-history · 2 years

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This might just be me, but I've always felt like Semblances were supposed to be shorthand for character development - when the character grew and changed then their Semblance would reflect that change. The show is trying to do that idea, I think, but it just comes across as wasted potential. Magic systems tying to character development is common in shonen and other children's properties as it's less subtext that the audience needs to understand. This isn't bad, and if done well can really elevate your story, but how RWBY fumbles this is that the characters are so mismanaged and all of the magic systems are so convoluted that it all becomes the narrative equivalent of tangled Christmas tree lights.

To show what I mean in regards to how Semblances can be written better, is that during Yang's depressive state she tries to use her Semblance but can't, and when she gets out of it then she can use her Semblance again but it's changed to reflect her new mindset.

If I remember correctly, the stated reason why we didn't see Yang's Semblance until V6 is because they were still trying to figure out how to make it in the new engine. Well, here's your excuse for that without the story's logic snapping in half. Seriously, Tai comparing her Semblance to a temper tantrum brings up a whole can of worms that make the story worse, namely why neither him or Qrow told her that before she went to Beacon. It makes them look like terrible teachers and if Adam had killed Yang then it would've been on them for being crappy teachers. Same goes for them not telling Ruby about her Semblance being turning into rose petals. I'm fine with the idea of Ruby's Semblance developing into her becoming rose petals, but when I say that, in my head it involves years of meticulous build-up and gradual character development so when the change is shown rather than told there's an "a-ha" moment, rather than the "reveal" coming out of nowhere and contradicting everything that came beforehand. Ruby having to be told her Semblance by Penny just makes the character look incompetent (as is RWBY tradition) and the writers pointing it out with Blake lampshading it doesn't make the writing problem any less of a writing problem.

For a writing element that was, in my opinion, supposed to make the writing simpler, it sure has ended up making the story way more convoluted, lol.

#Rwby critical #Rwby bashing #rwby criticism #RWDE

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whatthehelliswrongwithme · 3 years

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Voltron Part 42

I’m back bitches! Done with all my exams and now I’m here, ready for this shitshow to continue! Anyways, have fun! Season8 episode 5:

Secretary Lady, Boss man and Some Other Guy had a nice talk about pets, until Stone Cold Bitch just had to make things awkward

(!But she mentioned Furry (Narti?). So, that’s at least something!)

I feel like Moustache man and Shiro should have had a stronger reaction upon hearing, that Pandora was destroyed

Is Stone Cold Bitch gonna join the random ass children?

Secretary Lady.... Dude..... Not appropiate

Okaaaaay, the random ass children are starting to grow on me...

Random little Tidbit I just noticed: On Keith’s controlboard in the lion, he’s got a lil camera feed of space wolf. Cute!

Team Voltron’s lions got captured by some unknown Galra. And this episode kinda been about Lotor’s girlsquad so far. Are this going to be Big Gal and colourful Ty Lee?

Team Voltron’s forced to strip, because of tracking in their suits. There’s probably various fics about the exact same thing happening

I sure hope, that they’re wearing clothes underneath their armor. Otherwise things are about to get awkward

Seems like Galra Pirate Commander has got some history with the Paladins. (Biggest Plot-twist possible: It’s the space mall-cop)

Is Secretary Lady x Stone Cold Bitch a ship that exists?

Cause, if so. I 100% support it

They wear really fucking ugly suits under their armor. Okay. Got that

Pidge, why can’t you find the way to the lions? Aren’t you also supposed to be all about nature and shit? Cause of Pandora?

What even are your guys’ plan if you actually find the lions??!

Galra Pirate Commander got a penny to pick with Keith... interesting

Also. I know, that he’s the lone wolf, but why did he go off alone?

I love that Secretary Lady immediately knew that something was up, when the Fake-Keith-voice changer said: “Apologies for the delay”

Just like: The Real Keith Would Never Apologize!!!

What the fuuuuuuuckkk???? Allura just chameleon-ed into the background to save Lance. (Allurance? Yay?)

One of Galra Pirate commander’s goons complained that she “didn’t sign up for this”. Guuuurl, you should start a union

Yes!!! Got it right!!! Galra Pirate Commander is Big Gal

But where’s colourful Ty Lee? What happened to my ship?

And when did you get a cool anime-timeskip design?

Keith’s scream was so ~sensual~. I’m not sure I’m comfortable anymore

Nooo, not my ship....

Why do I feel worse for Big Gal than I ever did for Lotor?

Me deperate for Sheith-crumbs: Shiro doesn’t want Keith to die. That’s ship content. Yeah. Absolutely. Not just Shiro, being a decent human being

Keith’s got some serious upper-body stenght, in order to hold onto Big Gal

Awwwwww!!!!!!!!! Big Gal x colourful Ty Lee!!!! YES!!!!

(Also, I just remembered that colourful Ty Lee can turn invisible. Because the show never really did anything with this ability)

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couchpotatoaniki · 3 years

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The Queen’s Consort

You love him dearly, but a servant cannot marry their Queen. Luckily, you’re not one to give up so easily, despite what others might think.

Pairing: Servant!Namjoon x Queen!Reader Genre: Royal AU, ‘Secret’ lovers AU, fluff, slight angst Warnings: smoking, swearing, mentions of misogyny Loosely based off: I’m a bit of a history nerd, so this is a weird fantasy mash-up of the reigns of the English Tudor Queens, Mary I and Elizabeth I Word count: 4.5k+

Pungent smells of rose perfume and sweet vanilla filled the room, a cloud of cigar smoke mixing in occasionally as it lay in the atmosphere.

You exhaled after another puff, feeling the tension in your muscles ease with every deep breath. Namjoon drank the sight of you, eyes closed, head tilted back, light grey smoke escaping past your puckered lips.

No matter how many times he sees this, he thinks, he won’t ever get used to it. Normally seeing you in tight corsets, confining gowns, adorned in pretty, expensive things.

But this picture of you is the prettiest.

No fancy makeup, no fancy jewellery, no fancy dresses.

Just you, in a plain nightgown as you smoked a cigar that lay loosely between your fingers, the firelight flickering across your glowing skin (blemished from the years of stress and fighting, but gorgeous nonetheless), and occasionally taking sips from whatever alcohol was in your chalice.

Today was whiskey.

As inappropriate as it is, you never minded him seeing you this unguarded. It was your time to unwind, and Namjoon helped you do just that.

In this room of paintings, you two sat on velvety golden chairs in front of the roaring fireplace and let go of the day’s troubles.

The real world was just on the other side of the door, a twist of the brass doorknob and you two would revert back to a Queen and her servant.

But in here...

In here, in this sanctuary, you were you and Namjoon was Namjoon.

Staff and all those who worked within the palace grounds knew exactly what the two of you were. How much you two meant to each other.

Whispers went about but neither of you paid much heed, even if it caused more than its fair share of trouble at times.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Namjoon asked, noticing how your relaxed brow returned to it’s familiar scrunched-up look.

Chuckling, you kept your eyes closed as you exhaled once more. “You know very well I don’t need money.”

“Okay then,” he huffed, “a kiss for your thoughts?”

One eye opened at his proposition, brow above it quirking as you smirked. “Holding those lips hostage, now?”

A large hand enveloped one of yours, giving it a tight squeeze as he sported a lopsided grin of his own. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You loved seeing him smile, trying to etch the curve of his lips, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the two tiny valleys of dimples.

Using the thumb if your other hand, which had placed the dying cigar on a nearby glass ashtray, you caressed the knuckles of Namjoon’s hand. “Nothing, my love. Just the same as last week.”

The muscular man leaned in closer, whispering faintly in your ear, “and remind me of what that would be...”

His breath smelled of the exotic fruits he just finished eating and all you wanted to do was see how many you could taste on his tongue.

“How much I love my country,” you teased with a sly look, something you loved to do, and you knew that he did too. Probably why his lips lingered over yours, barely brushing together, and before you could kiss him properly, Namjoon abruptly pulled away.

Sat back in his seat, the taller man chuckled at your rouge cheeks and furrowed brow. “I promised you a kiss, only if you told me what you were really thinking.”

As much as you cared him, what had been lingering in your mind was not something he should know yet. Not how stressed you were, not how your advisors had pressed for you to marry someone soon and sire an heir, now that you were of age.

While one faction--led by Seokjin and Jimin, the Secretary of State and Lord Treasurer respectively--had pushed for you to marry the sole Astopian Prince, Jungkook, another faction of advisors (led by Hoseok, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and Taehyung, the Lord Chamberlain) wanted you to marry a noble from the country you govern.

These were you’re most trusted and efficient advisors, but the headaches they have been giving you make you dread to think of how much worse it would be with others in their position instead of them.

Sure, you’ve met the Prince who hails from the Jeon dynasty that has ruled the Astopian Peninsula for many centuries. Conquering copious amounts of land despite not being coronated yet. An over-talented man with an ego too big for you to handle.

Safe to say you weren’t a fan of the idea of being tied to the childish person.

And then the nobility...

All those beasts wanted were two things: the jewelled crown on your head and the golden throne you occupy.

It was one of the reasons why the advisors were so pushy lately--people wanted your strength and your nation, and with no direct legitimate heir, your position became more unstable.

It was shown when you had to squash rebellions to overthrow you with a distant cousin or half-sibling you had no idea existed until you heard of their claim to the throne.

Either Father sure was promiscuous or they did well to cover their lies.

But there was only one man right for you, and he was happily tasting the strawberries you had requested just for him. Servants couldn’t get the quantity or quality of food of your palette. Filled your heart to see him try all the things your taste buds had now grown used to.

“May I lay with you? Just for a little while?”

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to.

Not because you were his Queen, but because he understood you. Knew you had more weight on your shoulders than any other in the country.

So Namjoon did what he he could to ease the burden, letting you lay your head on his chest once you both moved to your bed. Calloused fingertips, rough from a hard day’s work, brushed between silky strands of hair that cascaded down.

“Namjoon…” You could feel his hum vibrating through his chest as he continued to run his finger through your locks, gently untangling them. “Would you marry me?”

If he was shocked from your sudden question, he did not show it.

In fact, he wasn’t surprised at all. Despite how well you were trying to keep it from him--he would have to commemorate you for your efforts--he was still a part of the servants workforce. And servants talk.

“If we could... then yes.” His lips pressed against your scalp for a sweet kiss, mumbling, “would marry you in a heartbeat.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I love you.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough for a marriage to work.”

Namjoon knew what you meant. A classic example of this case would be your parents, the previous King and the late Queen. Your mother slandered for being unable to bare any healthy children save for you, the rest of them unable to live past five years of age.

Their marriage was one of love, you had heard, but after her complicated fertility issues and the pressure of a nation on their heads, things turned sour.

You saw how two loving parents become bitter and died cursing each other with their last breaths.

“You’re right... but we’ve been able to work together well before we fell in love. We’re familiar with each other, how the other works. Their needs and wants. I won’t let us end up as a heap of melted wax, our passion and care for each other burnt out. And I know for a fact you won’t either.”

You heard him through the rumbles in his chest, finding the warmth of both his body and his words comforting to you.

“Be mine and mine only,” you muttered as your lids grew heavy, shutting from exhaustion.

Noticing this immediately, Namjoon chuckled to himself.

“As if I was made for anyone else.”

“--and make sure to increase the taxes on the fishermen in certain areas of the coast as well as lessen them in others. I hear the marine life is becoming scarce these days along the eastern seaboard and to replenish it, we should encourage the fishermen to avoid those areas of concern.”

“Yes, your majesty. That sounds like an excellent solution,” Seokjin said, though not at all surprised you came up with it (even if it sounds simple when you say it out loud). To him--as well as the rest of your court--you did more than an exceptional job at governing your state.

You were the best monarch they had seen in a very long time.

Only, there was one issue, and you were well aware of it.

Breathing slowly, you looked at your council, dreading the words you were going to say next, because the touchy topic was going to be brought up sooner or later.

“Is there anything else on our agenda today?”

The Lord Chamberlain cleared his throat. “Other than the daily workload, there is only one matter left for discussion, your majesty.”

“And what would that be, Taehyung?” you sighed, slight hint of sarcasm laced in the tired tone you spoke in.

“Your marriage.” Seeing you roll you eyes only fired him up more. “You really need to decide! Do you want to completely secure your throne?”

“What about marriage is so important that my throne is insecure without it?” you burst out, not being able to hold in your frustration. “There have been Kings in the past who have lived their entire reign in peace without tying the knot with another, so why me?!”

“Because your a Queen, not a King!” Jimin yelled back, his old habits of arguing with you while you two were younger beginning to kick in. “We all know you’re more than capable of of ruling by yourself, but others still have their old-fashioned way of thinking! They believe that without a legitimate heir from you, your throne is theirs for the taking!”

Hoseok rested his hand on the red-faced man’s shoulder, pushing him back down in his seat from which he left as he argued with you. “What we’re trying to say, your majesty, is that the world’s attitudes are years behind ours. They’ll keep coming for your head if you don’t produce a legitimate heir, and the only way you can do that is if you marry.”

Grunting with frustration, you stormed out of the room, rushing to your bedchambers.

Felt lightheaded. From the advisors, from the world, for the corset restricting your breathing. Too many thoughts rushing through your head, you didn’t see Namjoon following behind you with concern hidden beneath a blank expression.

It was only until you stopped to open the door to your bedchambers did you realise he was right behind you. “Leave me to rest,” you spoke firmly, remembering to maintain the roles of servant and Queen even if you two were at the boundary of sanctuary.

Wanting to say more but being unable to have the freedom to say it while you both were in the doorway, Namjoon simply sighed and stood outside as you closed the door on his face.

Threw yourself on the bed, hoping for some miracle that will allow you to knock out there and then.

First, you needed to breathe. You needed air into your lungs to stop the dizziness.

“In... Out...” You hear someone speaking from your mind, louder, yet more soothing than the rest. Namjoon’s deep voice lulling you from a past memory.

“In... Out...” You followed as instructed, listening to his advise to settle your pounding heart.

“In... Out,” you repeated alongside his voice in your head, finding your beating organ relax bit by bit until it returned to normal.

Squeaking of the hinges had not brought you out of the trance you were in, but the dip in your bed under a person’s weight did.

“Don’t mind me,” Yoongi said as he lay beside you, his arms crossed behind his head, “your servant let me in.”

“Of course he did,” you smiled. Namjoon knew that if he was not allowed to comfort you, then someone else would have to in his stead--and there was no one better than the Foreign Secretary.

Yoongi--like some of your councillors--had grown up with you. He knew you like the back of his pale hand, and he was the only advisor you completely trusted.

Others had lost that level in pursuit of their own ambitions; he was the only one who fought against you appointing him for his role, wanting to stay in the shadows--something he had grown accustomed to.

Only when you explained that his real job would be your Spymaster did he agree. It was the shadows he was used to, and you weren’t going to fully rip him away from his comfort zone.

After a few minute of laying side by side in silence, you began to spill your thoughts.

“No one has any idea how painful this position is. Nor how bothersome getting the throne was in the first place. Now they want me to marry and relinquish my power after everything I had sacrificed to get and maintain it. Want nobles and Princes that would just overrule me and ruin this nation I brought back from the ashes like a phoenix.”

Attempting to gulp down the lump rising in your throat, you just couldn’t stop.

“After the shitshow my parents and my forefathers had turned this place into, I returned it to it’s rightful glory. It became a mythical beast because of my efforts, and now they demand I marry a man who would mistreat me and my people, as if we were mere deer or rabbits rather than powerful, fiery birds of the sun.”

Silent tears rolled down the sides of your face, the muffled drops on the sheet being the only sound indicating to your advisor that you were indeed crying since his eyes were closed.

“What do I do, Yoongi?” you begged in a small voice, not to an official of your court but your childhood friend. “How can I marry someone who cares more for power than they do for me? More than my people? How could I marry when the whole of my heart belongs to another?”

“Well, that’s easy,” he replied--already knowing exactly who you were talking about--not even opening his eyes as you turned you head to see him, awaiting his explanation. “Just marry the person your heart belongs to.”

Glaring at him, you spat, “if it was that easy, don’t you think I would have done it already?”

“Don’t lash out at me like you did to Taehyung and Jimin. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re my advisor and you fail to give me advise--”

“I just did--”

“Advise that I can use.”

Opening one eye, he looked at your annoyed face. “I told you before that I didn’t want to be an advisor.”

“Well I couldn’t just let you stay in the gardens your entire life. You need people skills, and to do that, you need to socialise with things that can actually speaks,” you threw your arms up, gesturing to nothing in particular just to emphasis your point, tears dried. “Besides, I prefer your company and council over the rest.”

Yoongi was not one for taking compliments--it was an unusual and unfamiliar task for him, especially if it didn’t come from you--so he stayed silent from the next few minutes.

“Who said it? That you can’t marry the person you love?”

You snorted at his stupid comment. “Everyone, Yoongi. Everyone.”

“Really?” He clicked his tongue. “That’s strange. I’ve never heard anyone say those words to you directly, and I’m the Spymaster.” He saw how you gnawed on your lip, eroding away the ruby lipstick until you finally got what he said.

Rapidly propping your body on your elbow, you snapped your face to look at him. “Are you suggesting I just marry who I want anyway?”

“Well, yeah, that is what I said at the start.”

Sent him a pointed look. “You know there’s gonna be a lot of opposition.”

“So? You’ll face opposition if you choose one faction over the other. You already face it daily anyway, so I don’t see the point in fretting over it. At least this way, you can live your life with the person you love the most.”

For the first time during the entire conversation, Yoongi’s face softened as he sat up with you, taking your hands in his as a comforting gesture. They weren’t Namjoon’s hands--certainly weren’t as big or warm--but they did the trick.

“Listen, the only reason they’re pushing for a marriage with a nobleman or a foreign prince is because they want to milk this opportunity for all it can be. An advantageous marriage, that’s all they’re looking for.”

“But their main issue can simply be resolved with an heir.”

“Exactly. You can have a legitimate heir with the person you love, regardless of his status. All you have to do is marry him.”

Bursts of happiness bloomed in you, showing your smile and rosy cheeks, in your thumping heart and rushing blood. Unable to contain it, you pounced on your old friend. “God bless you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me,” he chuckled, with his own ruddy cheeks, “Besides, I never approved of those half-baked fools they offered to you. Especially Prince Jungkook.”

Releasing him from your tight hold, you looked at him fondly. “Would’ve been a pain in my ass if I really had married him.”

“Mine too,” he shuddered at the thought, “Rather have someone I know marry you than an arrogant stranger that I have to learn how to speak respectfully to.”

“You should be used to it!” You lightly hit his arm. “You’re the Foreign Secretary! It’s your job to talk to arrogant strangers.”

“And I dread every meeting,” he grimaced.

“...so it would be wise to change the systems in the areas that are being raided. For those most at risk, use all you can to protect our citizens. Place more guards and use stronger, more-resistant building materials for reconstruction, and also see if you can build an underground shelter for the people to take refuge in, stocked with supplies.”

“Wonderful, your majesty,” Seokjin said, scribbling down what you said in his little notebook. “We’ll begin that immediately.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back in your chair, which was significantly bigger and fancier than the others. “Is there,” you sighed, still not ready for the conversation to come. “Is there anything else on today’s agenda?”

“You know very well what we’re going to say, your majesty.” Your eyes landed on Jimin, who was much more calmer than last week.

“Yes, I know.” Briefly, your eyes shot to Yoongi, who was sat opposite to you on the large, round, spruce table. Puff of air pushed out of your lungs as you cracked your knuckles as a way to release the tension in your fingers. “How about this? State your cases; who you nominate to be my husband...”

Taehyung was smart, so he caught your hesitation. “But..?”

“But I have conditions of my own. Two, to be exact. Nothing exactly difficult.”

Hoseok scratched his head, feeling somewhat happy you’re not avoiding this topic as usual but also slightly suspicious.

“You main argument for me to get married is so I can have a legitimate heir, right?” Mumbles of agreement erupted around the room. “Good. So my first condition would be that whoever I marry won’t be King, they will be my consort.”

“But that’s unorthodox,” Seokjin piped in, more as if it was a passing thought than a counter-point.

“So would you rather me marry and then be overruled?” Your brow quirked, challenging them. Standing, you looked around, leaning your weight on the hands on the table.

“All of us here know that I am more than capable of ruling--you even said it yourself, Jimin. I know I can handle the weight of the country on my shoulders. Have been since I was 15, and I won’t allow some officious idiot ruin what I’ve build from the ground up.”

None of the advisors said another word on the matter since they knew you were right. Their Queen knew the country inside-out and having another person who had less experience or was not so familiar with the customs of the nation become more powerful was certainly a recipe for disaster.

“Very well,” Seokjin muttered. “Your second condition, your majesty?”

“This one may be a bit more challenging for you to follow, but it is just as important as the last.”

“And that is...?” Hoseok pried.

“After I choose, there will be no arguing. The monarch’s word is final and you should treat it as such. Once the decision is made, all of you--regardless of personal opinions--will have to greet the Consort with respect since they will become a part of the Royal Family.”

Carefully crafted words made the others oblivious to your plan. All but Yoongi.

“I think it’s safe to say that we all agree to your quite reasonable conditions, don’t we?” Taehyung looked around the room to see if anyone would object to his statement and, luckily, no one did.

Sitting back down on your seat with a silent groan, you waved your hand to signal the start of the debate. “Finish this matter by noon.”

With no further need for delay, the talks began. Seokjin, Jimin, and a few others opted for Prince Jungkook on the basis that he held power and knowledge, while trade and relations between the two countries would be much better.

An argument that you could handle without being married to him by simply being his friend and whatnot--but you of course kept this to yourself.

Various others began to offer you more local choices of husbands; lords, earls, dukes and the like. Hoseok and Taehyung both wished for the Duke of Lysia as he held a lot of support from the people, understanding of the country and culture and had retainers for your army should you need them.

It was as if they had forgotten you had no need for more love from your people since almost every single one already supported you. Also letting the fact that it would be treason if the Duke didn’t raise his retainers for your army upon your orders slip their minds.

But as the two sides died down, you looked at your Foreign Secretary. “You’ve been awfully quite, Min. Do you have someone’s name to put forth?”

“Yes, I do, your majesty,” he said quietly, appearing to be uninterested but you knew better.

Chuckling beneath your breath at his coldness, though never letting the smile become visible, you cocked a brow. “And who would that be?”

“Kim Namjoon. Your personal servant.”

“This is preposterous!” Jimin yelled, slamming his fist on the polished spruce.

You lifted your hand up to silence the Lord Treasurer, glaring eyes reminding him of your second condition before returning to question Yoongi. “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you both love each other.” He tilted his head to the side, yawning.

“Also on the grounds that he too is familiar with the royal customs and culture of this country, not to mention that he normally overhears what goes on in important meetings--excluding this one, of course. You confide in him and he has never broken your trust, despite how well he is within the servants--who often tend to chatter amongst themselves. He knows the ins and outs of the place and already unofficially aids you in decision-making.”

He licked his lips. “And, most importantly, he is fertile so you can sir a legitimate heir.”

“But what about his lack of power?” the Captain of the Royal Guard countered.

“He knows how to move with the people. The lad keeps his ear close to ground and is smarter than he looks. Besides, none of this matters since he’ll be a consort anyway, not a King.” Yoongi lazily shot back, killing Hoseok’s argument.

Silence grew over the room as each pair of eyes looked in your direction, already knowing the decision deep in their hearts. “A five minute recess is required.”

The advisors all stood as you did, only taking their seats again once you had left the room and the double oak doors shut behind you.

“How was the meeting, your majesty? Was awfully long this time. Any difficulties?” Namjoon enquired, not knowing what exactly went on.

Without answering him, you walked to a nearby empty room, with him trailing just behind. Turning on your heel, you held his arms, intensely looking in his eyes. “Did you mean it? When you said you would marry me if you could?”

Knowing that the two of you were hidden in a temporary haven, he gazed lovingly at you, caressing your cheek with his rough hands that only seemed to sooth you. “Of course I did, my love.”

“And if I could make that happen? Today? What would you say?”

As if he ate multiple salted crackers, Namjoon found his mouth dry up instantly. “What?”

Seeing his hesitation, you fought back the bad thoughts, the lump in your throat, the storm brewing in your stomach. “What would you say?” you pressed again, much harder than last time.

“I-I...I can’t.”

Tears tried to spring into your eyes, the sheer willpower you had to stop them from showing made your eyes burn. “Why?” Your tone turned stiff and stone-cold. He hated that--hearing you talk to him without emotion.

“Because it would mean I would have to become King. Although I want to lessen the burden you carry by your lonesome, I can’t take away the power you fought so hard to keep. Can’t be a ruler this nation and you deserve.”

Water began to spill as you closed your eyes, a sigh of relief escaping past your lips as your legs gave out under you. Luckily Namjoon was there to catch you. Lifted you from the ground and place you gently on a nearby chair. “You should really explain before you finish.”

His brows furrowed, kneeling down in front of you as he looked up to see your soft smile that had his heart beating just a fraction faster. “Should know better than to doubt my love for you at this point,” Namjoon whispered against the cold skin of your hands that he held in his own warmer ones.

Chortling lightly, you leaned to rest your forehead against his. “I really should, shouldn’t I?” Biting the lower flesh of your lip, you continued. “Would you reconsider if I said you’d only be my consort? Not a King?”

Could feel his lips stretch into a smile as it was still pressed against your knuckles. “If that’s the case, then definitely.”

“Good,” you grinned, standing up as you noticed the time on the clock. Wiping away the tears, you checked to see if you were decent in one of the mirrors.

Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, you kissed his cheek. “Time to tell them my decision.”

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 3 years

Note

No no can you elaborate on the whole The Green Knight vs Magicians Fanfic thing?? Like I’m genuinely invested

haha that is very nice of you (and ty for an excuse to talk about The Process, lmao)! basically i watched the show and wrote a post-resurrection quentin story that was in my view pretty gentle (wild geese) - it spends a lot of time in a painful headspace, so i don't think that was every reader's experience of it, but there's very little friction in the story, everyone is pretty much nice to each other the whole time, the problems of the story are all carried over from the past, and (most relevantly, for this), quentin basically does what he "should" do, and he wants what he's "supposed" to want, the entire time. the story hangs on his courage, and doesn't dwell on his faults. it was my post-4x13 catharsis story, where i wanted to scoop him up and set him somewhere safe, the story equivalent of handing him a blanket and some hot chocolate. writing that fic was like giving him and therefore myself a hug.

damage control for a walking corpse came from a different set of impulses, one of which was just the impulse to do something different: like, i'd done a sweet post-resurrection queliot reunion, so how else could i play that? i'd written an eliot story where the love confession goes terribly, which i enjoyed, but thinking about why quentin might reject eliot and why in general quentin might come back to life with a lot of anger at the world made me want to explore that from his perspective. and there was also... like, in that david lowery quote i posted, when he says, "i wanted to roughen myself up a little, i wanted to do something that had to be reckoned with in a different kind of way": yeah! that! like there was this voice in my head whispering: but what if you made it worse? no, worse than that. worse than that, even! keep going! i've said before that one of the things driving that story was writing whatever i thought was funniest, but another guiding principle was that if i got an idea that made me flinch, that meant i should put it in. i wanted to write a story that didn't pull its punches, that didn't, like, toe the line of something fucked up and unpleasant and then back down so that everyone stays appropriately sympathetic. i wanted to drive across the line in a monster truck and force myself to figure out what was on the other side. i wanted people to say and do things i didn't have an automatic resolution for. in lowery's phrase, "i wanted a protagonist who is someone unlikable," although i wouldn't phrase it that way because i think the word "unlikable" is for babies (i get what he means and forgive him but believe we should not encourage its use). but i wanted to explore things like ego and denial and vindictiveness, these ugly, embarrassing sides of ourselves that every single person has and most people don't love to look at. lowery has talked about how he put a lot of his own worst traits into gawain, and i find that really refreshing in a discourse landscape where identification is assumed to happen only on the axes of aspiration or pain. sometimes i identify with characters because they suck in ways that i also suck! i like a story that makes me wince in recognition. and i like a story that does that and then turns things around in some way (although i also like a story that doesn't!), because to me, "you are valid" is a less hopeful lesson than "you can change."

and re: "i wanted to tarnish his legend and see what changes the story would go through as a result" - i mean, yeah, i also wanted to do this with quentin coldwater specifically, largely because his prickly, flawed nature is so much of what drew me into the show and appealed to me about him specifically. if you took like an average of the quentin coldwaters that show up in fandom, that guy would be a lot nicer than the dude on the show. that is neither a bad thing nor remotely unique to the magicians, and as a reader i'm like, often down for that ride. but as a writer i am very driven by novelty, because i often need to feel like i am solving a puzzle to stay engaged, and i had, again, already written a story where he basically shows up ready to bring the best of himself; i wanted to write a story about the guy who responds to penny's attempt to show genuine empathy about the death of alice (who by that point was also btw like the one person on earth penny himself might plausibly identify as a friend) by accusing penny of being bad at sex, which is an iconic and incredibly slept on scene. it's easy to identify with quentin when he's sad or caring or brave. but i like that the show asks us to engage with him when he is petty and unwise and dickish (and i find it honestly kind of [thinky face emoji] when people very vocally relate to quentin, but not in any particularly unflattering ways). i wanted to do that, but like... more. lol. what happens to the story about quentin if quentin makes it extremely difficult, actually, to root for him? what happens if he doesn't really want to get better? what happens if he's running away harder than just reading a favorite old book? what happens if he does things he actually kind of should regret? i wanted a quentin who didn't just to come to some new understanding and feel better about himself, but who profoundly needed to change the way he was living. which i guess is part of what i liked about the green knight, too: that understanding only really counts in the end if it's paired with action. that gawain learns: the bad news is you are what have done, but the good news is you can change what you do. you can't tell that story with a character who's on his best behavior.

#i also relate to the part where lowery is like 'it's all in the text and i was excited to dig in'#bc like. it literally is all in the text... the balance is different but it's all there #but that gets into the whole thing of like how the show gives him all these things that he should feel really fucked up about but like #doesn't ever show that and doesn't ever resolve it #hits the reset button on his character growth and doesn't ever acknowledge that's what happened #so like part of the fun of that story was using the fresh trauma of his death to kind of regress him in certain ways #which i find psychologically plausible but was also a way for me to get at the stuff that is established in like #season 1 and then just never dealt with #halfway through season 1 the show comes right out and says that quentin's central problem is that he is always running from himself #in a text with like any respect at all for the rules of character and narrative and how those things work together #either his inability to stop doing that would be clearly identified as an ongoing and increasingly severe problem #or we would see how he learns to stop doing that #but on syfy the magicians...... neither of those somehow #so like it's All There in both the parts i like about the show and in the parts of the show that make me incoherent with rage #but. this was long enough already #i have another ask i've been marinating on on a somewhat relatedish topic that maybe i will wrap up later #askbox #writing tag

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marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

Text

Daisies

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader Words: 2700 Warnings: gambling, swearing, alcohol, rough handling by guards, allusions to prostitution (it’s part of a scam), lighthearted punishment in the stocks Synopsis: Pero seems to always be around at the wrong time to sabotage your scams and join in with your punishments. Enemies to Lovers (sorta)

Daisies: attachment, new beginnings

💐

“Now remember, ten or above wins you double your stake, below ten and your stake is mine.”

The scruffy drunkard sat opposite you let out a bellowing laugh, the nasty stench of his rotten teeth hitting your nostrils. His movements sloshed the tankard of mead in his hand, spilling some of its contents on the table between you. You had to hold back your look of disgust and smile through the uncomfortableness.

“I won’t lose. Throw ‘em, lady,” he slurred. You had to fight off the smirk threatening to show on your face as you shook the two, six sided dice in your right hand. You had nothing to worry about, the dice were weighted, favoring the lower numbers and therefore guaranteeing your win every time.

“Alright, but when you win you owe me a drink!” you winked cheekily at your mark, catching his eye whilst you threw the dice on the table. The more you distracted them the less chance there was of getting caught in your scam.

The dice came to a stop and you both looked down at the same time; a three and a four, earning a groan of disappointment from the few onlookers that had gathered to watch.

“Better luck next time,” you grinned, gathering up your dice and winnings as the man muttered something unintelligible and grumpily left the table, “anyone else want a go?”

“I will.”

You froze at the voice in your ear and saw the figure of a familiar man take the recently vacant seat opposite you. Pero Tovar always seemed to show up in your life when you least wanted him to. He was an annoying ghost and you could never shake off his haunting. You should gather up your earnings and leave but something kept you rooted to the table. And the longer you took to contemplate your next move, the more the drunkards in the tavern wanted to know what was going on. Soon you’d attracted quite the crowd.

“I said, I want a go.”

You looked into his brown eyes, the ones that sparkled with humor, always at your expense.

“It may be too difficult for your small brain to understand how to play,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Then let us play a different one. I will throw the dice, and if the total is lower than ten, I win every penny you have taken tonight.”

The bastard. The only reason he would suggest playing it that way was if he knew how you were cheating the game. You clenched your jaw in frustration.

“I think I am ready to take my leave-“

“But we have an audience!” Pero smirked, raising his voice and waving a hand at the tavern full of people who hurrahed, eager for you to throw the dice. You were cornered, physically by the wall of people around you and mentally by Pero who knew if you refused the game it would look suspicious.

“Fine,” you grumbled, faking an over the top smile, twirling the dice in one hand and clenching your other hand into a fist under the table. Stay calm, don’t show him how much he was getting to you, you told yourself. You’d chase him down afterwards and with a knife to his throat take your money back. That would show him.

You dropped the dice on the table and leaned back in your seat to see Pero staring at you. You didn’t need to see the dice to know you had lost, the weights that usually worked for you were against you this time, and the tavern goers yelled in surprise and delight, some were even joyfully patting Pero on the shoulder in congratulations. All the while Pero was smiling at you, self satisfied at playing you at your own game.

You pulled the drawstring bag off your hip and threw it across the table, hitting Pero in the chest.

“Better luck next time,” Pero mocked your earlier words, “would you like a drink to drown your sorrows in?” Pero threw the bag of coins in the air and caught it successfully.

“Oh bugger off, Pero,” you hissed, leaving the tavern in a huff. You didn’t want to see him again this night. You’d get him back next time.

The boy was young, still a teenager but old enough to know better. His clothes were of the finest materials, gold threads held the pieces together and added beautiful patterns to the front and shoulders of the jacket. He even had a long, shiny feather in his cap. He stuck out in the crown like a sore thumb.

You had been scouting the market for marks all morning and he was the only person you thought worthy of relieving of coin. He had a guard with him, who was more interested in looking at the women walking by, and his coin purse was dangling enticingly down by his hip. It would have been much easier for a child to run along and snip the string with a knife but the only ones you’d found were hand in hand with their parents. So you were on your own.

You were hidden down the side of a building, in the shadows and away from prying eyes. Or so you thought until you caught the flash of a grin out the corner of your eye.

Pero Tovar was mirroring your position on the other side of the marketplace, the wealthy man in the middle of you both. Pero moved his gaze to said man and it was then you knew he was after your mark.

It had been only a couple of nights since he took all your money at the tavern and you’d be damned if you were going to let him swindle you of even more coin. You had to get to the mark before Pero did, by any means necessary.

You tried to plead with him, subtly shaking your head but all Pero did was lean against the wall and offer you a warning glare.

The mark was buying a trinket from a stool, handing his purchase over to the guard to carry and looking around for where to go next. This was your only chance.

You untied the string at the top of your tunic, letting it open up to display your chest more than you would usually allow. But you needed a distraction and a way of getting close to the man without suspicion. You pulled out the small scissors from your boot and held them comfortably in your dominant hand, shaking down your sleeve to keep them out of sight.

You tried to ignore Pero but as soon as you slipped out of the alley he did the same, heading directly for the wealthy man.

Unfortunately whilst you were gaining speed through jogging movements, Pero’s purposeful strides were larger than yours, meaning you both reached the man at the same time.

“Sir, could I offer my services-“

“You seem too respectable to want the services of a harlot-“

“Harlot? Excuse me, I am so sorry, this ruffian-“

“Ruffian! You should show some respect-“

Your attempts to get close enough to grab the purse were scuppered by Pero subtly pulling you away with a hand around your waist. And as much as you tried to pry him off you, he was strong and stubborn, rendering your scam completely useless. The wealthy man’s guard dragged him away with a growl in your direction to stop you from pursuing them.

“What was that!?” Those words had been on the tip of your tongue but Pero spoke them first. You looked at him with a confused frown.

“What?”

“What were you thinking? That guard could have killed you.”

“Oh do not pretend you care for my health, you wanted that purse to yourself.”

“I did, but when I saw you were going to get yourself in serious trouble I had to come and save you instead of getting the coins for myself. You are welcome, idiota.”

You stared at Pero in disbelief. Was he expecting gratefulness? You couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“I have been doing this for years and I haven’t gotten caught once. I would appreciate it if you didn’t save me again,” you huffed, tying up the strings of your shirt before stomping away from him.

If you never saw Pero Tovar again it would be too soon.

You were mad. But you were mad that Pero was right more than you were mad at your actual predicament.

You had been playing a simple card trick on an unsuspecting traveller, one that you’d played hundreds of times, it had never gone wrong. Somehow the extra card up your sleeve (the one you used to cheat with) had slipped out and fallen to the floor and a guard that had been watching had spotted it and arrested you before you could run.

So that was how you found yourself in the stocks all morning, set in the middle of the courtyard of the castle grounds for everyone to laugh at. A few delighted children had thrown various rotten vegetables in your face, most adults had taken pity on you and walked on by. Your back was hurting from being hunched over, your feet were aching on the hard, stone ground. But none of that compared to the pain of seeing your foe being dragged towards you.

“Please, I beg you, this is punishment enough, do not put that man anywhere near me.”

“Anyone would think you hated me,” Pero grumbled, humor in his voice despite being guided towards his punishment.

You felt the top half of the stocks lifting off the back of your neck, a second of relief, as the guards situated Pero next to you. His hand was so close to yours you could touch him, not that you wanted to. The stocks were dropped down and locked in place and the guards left you alone.

“You bring me nothing but bad luck,” you mumbled, huffing as you shifted on your feet.

“Because I was not there to save you this time?” You could hear the smirk in his voice which irritated you.

“Because I have never been caught, and then you start showing up everywhere I go and I am caught, and to make things worse, I have to be punished next to you!” You laughed humorlessly, narrowly dodging a handful of what smells like horse manure. You shoot a glare over to the man who threw it.

“Carino,” Pero clicked his tongue and you felt his hand sweep against yours, “these rotten potatoes are preferable to your whining.”

You gasped and tried to flick at his hand but it only hurt your bruising wrists.

“When I get out of here I am going to find the biggest vegetable, fresh from the ground, and throw it at you.”

Pero laughed a large, belly rumbling laugh that surprised you.

“Why are you laughing?” you asked, baffled at his sudden turn of emotions, but it didn’t deter him from laughing more.

It was the second plop of manure hitting the top of your head that had you joining in with Pero. The ridiculousness of the situation, the bickering between you, and your damn hand kept knocking into his. It was all so silly.

You spent the rest of the morning in fits of giggles with the man you thought you hated.

You were thrown down the steps of the dungeons, your knees hitting the hard, dirty floor before you were hauled back to your feet to be taken to the cell that would be yours for the night.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” was the voice that greeted you. You saw him sitting in the corner of the cell, a growing bruise on his jaw and stripped of his leather outer garments. He looked softer in just a shirt and breeches, more vulnerable but also kinder. Like any ordinary man, not the pain in the ass you knew him to be. You chuckled at the sight of him.

“Your life would be boring without me,” you teased, but Pero nodded his agreement. You plopped down next to him with a sigh, stretching out your legs and feeling the soreness of your knees as you rested them. You rubbed at the tenderness over your skirts.

“Are you hurt?”

“Some scrapes, that is all,” you assured him, but his eyes lingered where you were soothing your burning knees, “how did you end up in here?”

“Not my fault,” you raised a sceptical eyebrow, “a drunkard started a fight with me.”

“And where is this drunkard?” you asked suspiciously, looking through the bars into the other cells, all of which were empty.

“He passed out. The guards did not want to drag his useless body in here.”

You hummed, clearly not believing his tale. He rolled his eyes at you, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing.

“And you?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you end up in here?”

You sighed, remembering what had happened.

“A noblewoman thought I was going to steal her purse.”

“You were not going to steal her purse?”

“No!” You feigned looking scandalised at the mere suggestion, before dropping the act, “I was going to steal her dog.”

Pero guffawed, not expecting you to say such a thing.

“Her dog?”

“It would have been worth more than the coins in her purse.”

Pero rubbed at his tired eyes. You listened to the sounds around you; the guards gossiping outside the dungeon door, a rat squeaking somewhere nearby, the rhythm of Pero’s breathing. It was the first bit of peace you’d had in a long time.

“If we get caught again they will not simply throw us in the dungeons,” Pero whispered ominously.

You couldn’t disagree with him, but there weren’t many other options for people like the two of you. You were wanderers and loners. You had no money, no home, no family. What choice did you have?

You glanced at Pero who was already looking at you. He looked defeated, with dark bags under his eyes and his lips turned ever so slightly downwards, he looked how you felt. Hopeless and alone.

“We keep running into each other. That must mean something,” you claimed, feeling stupid as soon as the words came out. You quickly looked away and waited for him to mock you.

“You think this is God’s will?”

You shrugged and began picking at the dirt on your skirts.

“Perhaps we should do something about it.”

“Like what?” you asked, allowing your tone to lift in hope.

“If we are meant to be, maybe we should get out of this town and find another.”

“Together?”

“Why not?”

You looked at Pero then. There was no teasing in his eyes or smirk on his lips, he was being deadly serious. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of sticking with Pero from now on. However, you couldn’t make it too easy for him.

“Well for one, I’d be stuck with your ugly mug.”

Pero grinned and let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“I would wager my ugly face is better than the hangman's noose.”

The room became sombre once more as you realised what your options were. You had to leave town, but you could either do that alone or with the man whose company you were beginning to enjoy.

You felt Pero nudge your side and you saw he was holding a single daisy up to you.

“Do you carry flowers at all times?”

“No, idiota, they are growing in the walls,” with an amused shake of his head he carefully placed the small flower behind your ear and leaned back to admire his work.

After your initial shock you smiled your thanks and he smiled back.

“Bonita,” Pero muttered and leaned his shoulder against yours as he settled back against the cold, damp wall.

You think you could get used to sticking by his side.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @computeringturtle

#Floriography Series #Pero Tovar #Pero #Tovar #Pero Tovar x Reader #Pero x Reader #Tovar x Reader #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal

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jjba-hell · 3 years

Text

Repaid

Day 3 and its time for some spaghetti western shenanigans.

Listen... I don’t like Westerns but I did have way too much fun writing this so do with it what you may.

Reader stays gender neutral in this house, no real warnings save for some guns and violence. Enjoy.

The dull ache in your right eye socket is really starting to get you. You’d figured you could sleep it off if not for the scratchy material of the tavern sheets under your skin.

Wait.

How did you get to the tavern again? Last time you checked Miles was a few days behind you and he had the money. The plan was to camp.

Camp... camp... oh right camp! You sat up to look for anyone else awake- someone should be on watch but there’s no dying campfire beside you. There was nothing beside you, not even a horse to say you’d been left behind. All that stretched around you was an infinite amount of desert sand painted pale blue by the full moon above you.

“Shit.” You hiss out between your teeth as you push yourself up on your feet. Not even so much as a sleeping mat was underneath you and god this stupid eye of yours was foggy. Must be some sand caught in your eye- wouldn’t it scratch though?

You didn’t have much time to consider pondering as a shadow- that’s the best you could describe it- pushed its shoulder through you and continued a sluggish walk ahead of you to fuck knows where.

“Where are you going?” You found yourself asking with a voice much too hoarse to be your own. Not only was it hoarse but it brought awareness to just how dry and cracked your mouth and throat were. If you’d been out here since sundown or ever before that your throat was probably bleeding. Might explain the taste.

Without feeling like you had much choice you started walking after the shadow. The longer you walked the worse every annoying itch turned into an ache- the scratchiness in your throat only seemed to get worse the more you huffed a breath to continue walking. If you were following death, honestly you’d just laugh.

After what felt like hours you were no longer alone- a few other figures much like the one you were following seemed to join you in blindly walking after the leader. You couldn’t see much of them either, not that they were close enough to look at anyway. The town’s dull yellow lights seemed to brighten every step you took but it wasn’t enough to convince your body to cooperate. The closer you got, the heavier your limbs, the harder the steps until your knees gave out under you and your face acquainted itself with the dirt.

All you could remember after that was the feeling of hands clasping themselves under your arms and your feet dragging behind you.

“That’s the only memory I have of that night. I had no idea I even spoke to you.” You admitted to the man whose saddle you were slung over. “So unless you plan on selling yourselves out for a little bounty money I don’t see why this is fucking necessary.”

When you’d woken up from that night you found yourself more coddled than you’d ever been in your life- swaddled in soft sheets and even softer pajamas, wrapped up in bandages like you were a porcelain doll.

Didn’t last long and now you owed this gang money for your stay and a doctors visit. You promised you’d pay them back but you didn’t have a fucking penny on you. Their solution? Tying your hands in front of you and slinging you over the saddle of the one with the weird eyes.

“You admitted to being from the McRoys gang- that’s loyalty bonded by blood.” The gruff voice above you commented, not doing anything to qualm the painful pounding your stomach was getting from the horse’s steps.

“My sister married a McRoy for fuck’s sake, those fucks don’t mean shit to me!”

“Swear that on ya daddy’s grave?” Came the question after some audible hooves clambering to get closer to your head.

“I’ll do ya one better- I’ll put ‘em in his grave and THEN swear they ain’t mean shit to me.”

Their boss slowed down to a stop and you’ve never wanted to slide headfirst into the sand more than you did in that moment. “This the place?”

You were hauled off of the horse and onto shakey legs. True as hell you stood at the sign for the McRoy ranch and to even a bigger surprise your goddamn horse stood at the troth drinking water with your saddle on and all.

“Why you fucking- untie me right now.” You held your bound wrists at the giant man that had lifted you off.

He only gave an amused huff of air from his nose as he cut you free so you could stomp through the hot sand on bare feet.

“And you leave me? After hauling you out of your fucking mother all those years ago, I topple off you once and you fucking high-tail it?” You angrily grab the knapsack from its back to rummage through for some clothes- wasting no time to slip over your head and over your ass to replace the pajamas.

“Are you sure you were riding alone?” The brunette with the ponytails asked.

“Yeah. I don’t even remember why I toppled, let alone where or how..” You peered at the team once more. “My boots?”

They all seemed to share a laugh as the blonde coughed it up and you humiliatingly stepped straight in them.

“Right. So now that we’re all on equal footing... what do you really want from me?”

Being an outcast in any group was difficult, LaSquadra was no different. You’d have to risk your skin more than once to finally be able to earn even a bit of trust from their boss specifically and what you’d deem your cut was quickly snatched up by Formaggio for drinks until one day Risotto handed you your cut of coin and instead of quietly handing over the money, pulled a gun at Formaggio’s head- the first right move you’d pulled in weeks.

You’d soon learn each of them held a bounty over their heads- deciding to stick together instead of trying to haul each other’s asses to the nearest sheriff. And with your handiwork all over the McRoy ranch heist (clean as you’d tried to keep it), you’d find yourself with a bounty almost comparable to Risotto’s.

It was only when your place among them was solidified that you found yourself suggesting more and more outlandish schemes for a bigger cash grab.

“But we gotta start thinking logically about this- if we burn down every sheriff’s office there’d be no evidence to incriminate us.” You had jabbed at Illuso as you two ducked under an overturned table. One moment you were offering a stand off in the town square, the next thing you knew the bar was being blown sky high by some awfully desperate lawmen.

Risotto’s bullwhip slid across the shattered glass from the neighboring table and that what all signal you needed. “And all of this because ONE wanted poster showed you having a mole on your upper lip.”

“Did you not see the size of that thing??”

Risotto kicked the overturned table to slide into the crowd- leaving you enough of a gap to between the bullets to crack the whip into a couple hands- those viper venom soaked bone shards woven into the end was doing enough damage to the holder’s hand to knock ‘em out of the game for the count.

You got enough of them down to give Ghiaccio the chance to fire a few shots and Melone to bust open the window where Pesci awaited with your way out.

Risotto slid in behind your table and handed the loaded pistol for your round of shots. Not that you missed half as much as the men your travelled with.

Your right eye never did stop being foggy- Melone suspected cataracts but you saw targets much too easy with your foggy eye to cover it up completely. Maybe you were taking “deadeye” too literally though.

After 5 out of 6 rounds now lodged firmly in some lawmen’s thighs you hopped out the window last and took off after the rest of your team.

“If we have to pay for one more bar’s repairs I swear to god I’ll turn myself in for a hanging.” Formaggio huffed as he dropped onto the dusty floor beside you- fingers outstretched for the bottle of moonshine you were only passing around- that shit was vile.

“They’ve been hot on our trail for a while now- you think the townspeople are sick of us?”

“Somehow I doubt they’re willing to take their chances with Ciocolatta’s cronies, must be something else.” Prosciutto lowered himself to your other side, offering a cigarette which you did accept. “You don’t think it’s the new governor?”

“That little blonde pipsqueak? No, there’s no way- he probably got that job from his daddy and doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, let alone getting lawmen to run us down this consistently. Illuso, you’re the one making people squeal when we stay in town, no rumors that could have sparked this?”

“Carne’s allegedly dead but he’s not big enough for the people to let their guards down now.”

“Well we might be finding out soon.” All your heads spun to Risotto as he walked back into camp from the first watch. “There’s someone coming this way.”

“I’m guessing you think we can take them?”

“Sick of running. Anyone who’d come this far after us at least deserves an audience.”

You’d packed everything up except the fire in the camp- if it was going to be a shootout, at least you’d be ready to leave. You were about to mount your horse when Risotto stopped you. “I’m gonna let you stand up front-“ he handed you his bullwhip and two more casings of ammo. “If anything goes south, you’re our best shot.”

So you nodded and led your horse to the front, the others waiting behind you as the group- matching your own in numbers- came to a stop.

“You calling the shots?” The one with long white hair cascading under the brim of his hat asked.

“Nah- just the front line. What you come out all this way for? The moonshine’s shit unfortunately.”

“Precaution. We’re not here for any arrests, though.” Mr Black Bob came to his partner’s defense- the rest only seemed to wait.

“No arrests? You say that with a lawman right next to you?” You gave a nod to Mr Moonhair.

The click of a pistol had the hairs on the back of your head stand up. You didn’t know from which side it came from but it was like a cascade of 13 other pistols pulling back their hammers.

“Perhaps we should talk before we jump to conclusions. Name’s Bucciarati.”

“Well Bucciarati it sounded like that pistol cock came from your side first. I don’t know if I can trust a bunch of snakes that lie to my face.”

It was surprisingly not Mr Moonhair that removed his revolver from its holster. It was the one with the bandana over his head.

Another cascade of metal slipping from leather as they all pointed at one another, save for you and Bucciarati. “Got some trigger-happy subordinates there, Bucci. Who do you work for?”

“The governor.” All charm had left his voice and now you were left to the stiff formalities of a man serving.

“Ah. So you ARE lawmen.”

“We have no idea what sinister grip you have over the townspeople but it will not continue like this. We’re here for an ultimatum. Disappear from your business and all bounties will drop- no lawman will arrest you and the warrant for your hangings will be dropped.”

“Mhm and if we’re caught doing our usual business?”

“Then all charges are doubled.”

You couldn’t help but give an earnest laugh as you broke the stare off between you and Bucciarati. You leisurely turned around and mounted your horse. Risotto gave you a knowing look as you did, stealing yourself to look into Bucciarati’s ocean blue eyes.

“Do yourselves a favor- go visit Reaverbrooke. Ask some questions... shit if anyone is still there... and get a feel for the service we provide. Make sure you report all of that to the little blonde boy’s boot you’re lickin’ and maybe then we can talk on ultimatums.”

The barrels lowered as you spoke, watching Bucciarati keep up his attempt at a death stare.

“But since you’re lucky, you’re dealing with the bleeding heart of this gang- we’ll lay low until you come back to us. Same time next week?”

Bucciarati wasn’t given much time to answer as you led your squad out of the camp. Once enough distance was put between you, Risotto came up beside you.

“You’re leading us to their base? What are you mad?”

“Someone’s gotta put that pipsqueak back into his place. Who better than us?”

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #la squadra #jojo part 5 #risotto nero #formaggio #prosciutto #illuso #Ghiaccio #pesci #lasquadraweek2021

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