#to be fair Moon is probably doing his thing very deliberately too

[tsuruyasonozaki]

I enjoy the idea of like...hypothetically, if Sunny and Mooncake didn’t have artificial sensors from the very beginning and then one day they were given them, Sunny gets very excited about the ticklish feelings and “casually” (very deliberately) does things to get people to tickle him, and then you have Moon who keeps getting mercilessly attacked because he keeps refusing to admit he’s ticklish even while he’s getting tickled And ya they just never grew out of it so they’re still doing it

#sundrop #moondrop #lee!sundrop #lee!moondrop #lee!mooncake #this is really short but I wanted to post something cute #to be fair Moon is probably doing his thing very deliberately too

[katyspersonal]

Do you think that there are characters who stand for absolute justice or absolute evil in bb？🤔

This is a hard question! Almost everyone in Bloodborne is morally grey in terms of motivation, I'd say! In terms of intention. For example, Alfred is a religious fanatic that beats Annalise into a bloody mess in """righteous""" quest, but in his head he is doing a "good" thing as he is convinced Vilebloods are just bad and it is "not fair" that Logarius has to suffer because of one instead of being buried. Micolash has done uncountable amount of horrible things, but in his head humanity was "not worth it" anyway and evolution and knowledge is worthy of any sacrifice. In fact, it is actually a reasonable assumption considering the setting and all the cosmic horrors Byrgenwerth scholars have learned! Suspicious Beggar is literally just trying to survive, trapped between being not a full human neither a no-longer-sapien, "innocent" beast. You can see why this is so complicated...

The bad guys

I'd say Valtr is the closest to being 'absolute evil'! Vermin is something that could only be seen during keeping his rune burnt into mind, but every Hunter defeated with Impurity in mind + every boss defeated with a League confederate drops Vermin. We thus could assume that virtually everyone has Vermin... or does not, because lore calls it an "illusion". But regardless of interpretation, Valtr is an absolute madman that keeps pulling people into a crazy cultish activity to exterminate all life. But even then, it is closer to 'May Chaos take the world' issue than to simply revelling in relentless murder. Even Valtr tries to help the world, albeit by cleansing it from the life itself sdhfhds Fromsoft is very good at writing insanity, which by definition can't be true evil.

Amelia is a good candidate for being true evil person - maybe long after Laurence's corruption and death, the head clerics willingly exist on borrowed time! They know the blood is not as efficient as it is preached, they know they are not helping Yharnam's citizens, they know they're feeding on what the decaying city still has to offer, they know their end will come sooner or later but they choose to be selfish and use it up while they can. But even then, how can we be sure Amelia was not indoctrinated and brainwashed since childhood and is not stuck in the idea that such existence is "honorable" and DOES something? How can we know whether she has a successor? In my headcanons, she actually became aware and deliberately did not leave a successor (and ate the superiors that pulled her into all this, actually!). So the corrupt system ends on her!

And, of course, Flora / Moon Presence. The one who benefits from the vicious cycle of blood and hunt, yet also somehow from people that attempt evolution through cosmic knowledge. It is just hard to judge a deity from the standpoint of human morals.... But she is more or less a leech on humanity, especially on its suffering, despair and blood. I think I'll count her too... I guess.

The good guys

This one is so much more simple! We have the little girls and their mother Viola, who are easily just a simple family that wants to live! Gascoigne might be more complicated, especially since he's falling for blood-drunkness and paranoia. He announces he won't take any chances with people even if they are not beasts yet! Gilbert, Lonely Old Dear and Arianna also are probably just good people that want to live and do their thing. (Narrow-Minded Man not so much because he is a judgemental asshole that will poison people's daily lives outside of the hunt xd)

Simon certainly stands for justice. He wants the truth to be uncovered, and for the Nightmare to lose its fuel so people do not have to suffer for generations for the sins of their ancestors! I think Henriett is a good girl too - her items and boss summons imply that she used to work with the Healing Church but detracted. However, she is still a hunter, fashioning herself as one of the old ones (this is what 'default' Hunter set is). And she only kills Amelia after she becomes a beast despite her gripe with the Healing Church, right?

And, of course....

According to Miyazaki, Iosefka and especially the Imposter are good and heroic! I can absolutely see the intention. Iosefka is simply a good doctor that tries her best, and she also notably cleans the blood she gives from the blood cells. I've had a theory on how it is useful and very responsible, but additionally, since she is a white doctor, meddling with the holy blood this way should be... heretical? Iosefka disobeys dogmas of her own institution because "cleansed" blood will be better and with less side effects. Fauxsefka, on the other hand, is turning people into Kin so they physically can't become beasts instead. Her kind of good, again, deals with insanity. For an average person, what she's doing makes no sense and she appears to be evil doctor experimenting on poor people... But in the bigger scheme of lore in its entirety, she has a good point. Beasthood stems from humanity... Remove the humanity from humans - and they are safe! She even says this herself, that "we should transcend our stupidity" or something. Think of Micolash, but... kinder? Or even Valtr, but kinder. xd Miyazaki was right that what makes her a hero and not a villain is hard to understand, but I do!

Thanks for the ask! It was interesting to think about! I love philosophy!

#bloodborne #imposter iosefka #moon presence #valtr master of the league #i dunno whether to tag other characters they're less of a focal point tbh #ask replies #bloodborne headcanons

[roxyteal]

Hi Idk what possessed me to write this (probably that Sailor Moon gif earlier) but uh here goes I guess??? It's kinda. Uh. L o r e - type of content. Based on WTTW.

---

MEDITERRANEAN SEA, SOUTH OF ITALY

Out of everything Robertas "Bob" Lė expected to find in the hatch, it certainly wasn't this. But to be fair, he wasn’t sure what he should’ve expected - it just didn’t seem feasible for the lid to be knocked open by complete chance. The force required to turn the wheel was very deliberate.

And on his way there, after volunteering to investigate, he’d begun to second guess why.

Until now.

The interior was already drained before he approached the door at its landing. From a strange onset of paranoia, he held his pistol from behind his back. What for? Pirates?! The idea was laughable.

It was probably nothing. A false alarm. Or…

A merchild. They were real.

The creature in question was quite small, no larger than a tuna. Whether they were male or female was unknown. Pale blue skin, with fins on their singular arm, their back, and a pair residing where their ears would. Their hair and eyes were much more vibrant in hue, but their tail was the showstopper: cyan with a raspberry-pink tip.

As they struggled to climb the ladder, and failed several times, it became clear that they were also malnourished, judging by how visible their ribcage was. Poor thing probably hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks.

Bob put the gun away.

He didn’t have much to offer, aside from a tin of canned sardines (which, funnily enough, he was the only one aboard who cared for the things). Though, maybe this starving merchild won’t mind.

Tin in hand, he slowly bent down to their level, opening it. “Hey,” He asked softly, “Do you want some?”

The new sounds got the blue creature’s attention, staring at Bob, then the tin.

“I’ll just set them here for you, alright?” He did as he said, then backed away to give some space. The merchild watched him leave. Then, bravely crawled over to the tin, smelling it curiously.

And stuffed their face into the hole, devouring every last sardine.

The next look Bob was given was pleading. “Sorry, I do not have more. I would have to go all the way to the food storage, and… Well.” He was sure the crew, and especially the captain, wouldn’t be too keen on him supplying their backup rations to what could potentially be a wild animal. No matter how begrudging they were about those little fish.

After all, it was Bob who carefully calculated it for the long journey ahead. An additional mouth to feed would be catastrophic.

“Anyway,” He continued, donning one of the few diving suits near the hatch, “Let’s get you back out where you belong.” Their family surely must be worried. … If familial bonds were part of their culture, that is.

Once out in the open water, the merchild had sped off, not daring to look back. And soon after, for whatever reason, Bob missed them.

Just as he finished up and went to leave the hatch’s landing, someone stood in the doorway.

Captain Gonzalo. A traveler from Spain, who came to Lithuania specifically to seek him out for this… Admittedly crazy scheme, to begin with. A submarine capable of sailing all the way to Australia.

“Why don’t you just fly there?” Bob had asked.

“What? You joking? I’ve done that everywhere else! It's so boring!” He’d laughed at the idea. ”But the sea… It calls my name. And if you do this for me, I am prepared to pay you handsomely!” It was enough to put Billy through college, to afford all the materials necessary to upgrade him through every stage of life until adulthood, where he could then take such matters into his own hands.

The plan was inane. But the price he was willing to pay tipped the scales.

But at this moment, Gonzalo looked upon him with a smirk. “So, what was that, Shipwright?”

“Oh, just a lost fish, Captain. Nothing to worry about.” Half true, but if Bob had been completely honest, he wouldn’t have been believed.

“I see!” The captain’s expression didn’t change, as if seeing through the bluff. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t happen again!”

“Indeed.” But Bob didn’t waver either, hoping his commitment helped to conceal things.

A few days later, however, it did happen again. This time, it wasn’t an accident.

#baldis basics #BBAU #WTTW #fanfic #l o r e #bob II #denied #gonzalo #billy mentioned #(though to clarify: bob didn't just build a son. it was to keep him alive)

[wythedumpstercat]

Wy Finds His Motivation

The preparations for the expedition back into the Underdark was nearing complete. Today was the last full day in Nelrindenvane, and a stern mood had befallen the castle. Amreth had held a little speech at the breakfast table about the importance of the expedition and his hopes for the future. He probably said some other things as well, but Wy hadn't been paying attention.

Wy...Wy didn't know if he wanted to go. Back to the Underdark. Nobody had asked him if he was joining. It had seemingly become a foregone conclusion. Wy hadn't thought about it. Deliberately not put any energy into thinking about it. It had been all too easy to just play around instead; here where procuring the next meal and housing for the night wasn't a constant nagging need, and playmates were aplenty.

But now. Now he couldn't keep avoiding it anymore.

He lets his fingertips brush against the pale pink petals of a peach tree, eyes trailing leisurely over the rest of the flowering grove inside the Royal Gardens. The peaches would probably be ripe in a few moons time...Would they get back in time to taste them?

"Oh, there you are."

Wy startles. Whirling around, he finds Ayal in one of his simpler 'commoner' outfits. "Hi." Wy lifts his hand in greeting.

"Hi." Ayal smiles a slow grin, glancing Wy up and down. "You're harder to spot in those clothes. I actually had to come rather close to discern if it truly were you."

Wy fiddles with the strap of the braces on his arm. "We put that tailor through quite a lot, it'd be a shame not to use them."

"Just admit you like them. I've felt the fabric. I know they're comfortable." Ayal snickers at him and Wy pouts back. He steps lightly over to Wy, joining him in admiring the blossoms. "Something on your mind?"

Wy hesitates. Nods. Hesitates again. "Tomorrow..."

"Ah." Ayal bites his lip.

Wy sighs as the silence stretches. Finding the right words was such a chore.

Beside him, Ayal pulls a sharp breath, psyching himself up. Maybe he was just as uncomfortable with the important words as Wy was. Giving him his full attention would only be fair.

"Watch…watch my brother's back, will you? While you're down there?"

Wy gives him a look that says 'He's more than capable of taking care of himself.'

Ayal smiles a lopsided smile. "He is my brother. One of my very last and closest kin. I…I've lost him once already…and I...I worry for him. Walking into danger as you will be."

Wy considers it seriously. He does know the feeling. He's just never…worried like Ayal does. Having had as many siblings as he had, living the life they were, casualties and losses were inevitable. A fact of life. Sure losses hurt, but you never asked outsiders for assistance.

That wasn't so for Ayal. The loss of Amreth had been devastating. Debilitatingly so. As baffling as it is to Wy, that is also a fact. He had seen it. Seen the stark difference in his demeanor since Amreth's return; the gaunt and defeated look that he had when the party first arrived in Nelrindenvane, now replaced by his current barely restrained delighted laughs over the absolutely smallest things.

"Alright." Wy aquiesses. "I'll...do what I can."

The smile that unfolds on Ayal's face is absolutely worth the trouble. And it will be trouble. But maybe. Maybe he'll get to come back, and maybe he'll get to see more of these smiles then.

A single flower petal lands in Ayal's hair. It suits him. Wy doesn't say it. Instead he looks at the grove again, the expanse of gardens beyond, and the castle towering nearby. All the greenery.

A spell comes to mind.

"A good harvest takes time, but it is possible to give nature a bit of help." An old voice. A familiar voice. "If you put in the time, you'll reap the rewards in the end."

When Ayal leaves for his midday lessons, Wy settles down crosslegged at the edge of the grove. He digs his fingers into the soil, and breathes the words. The spell swirls in a spiral outwards with the mellow spring breeze, caressing each leaf, each branch, each petal. Hours tick by, and curious squirrels come investigating, but looses interest when there is no food to be stolen.

When Wy finally gets up again, he glances around, then nods with satisfaction.

In a month, any plant that can bear flowers are flowering. In three, the fruit trees are sagging with their heavy load. In six, Nelrindenvane and it's nearby farms finds themselves with a burgeoning harvest, and Ilyra is most confused when she finds Ayal reading in the rafters of a pavilion, nibbling on a carrot. The stem broken off and lying haphazardly beside him on the beam. When she asks incredulously if he has pulled that up from the gardens himself, Ayal simply smiles a noncommittal smile and shrugs. The dirt underneath his nails tells it all.

#dnd #out of the abyss #oc #wy: the written saga #I just gave myself FEELS????

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

@taznovembercelebration day 8: dilemma, delicious

Angus paces the aisles of Fantasy Costco, the familiar jingle on seemingly endless repeat. It’s severely interrupting his deliberation. He glances up at all the items in the aisle before continuing his pacing.

Angus is a good kid. He thinks he is, anyway. Sometimes his family thought he was too nosy for his own good. And to be fair, they weren’t entirely wrong. After all, being nosy’s how he finds himself on the moon now.

But that doesn’t make him a bad kid. Right?

And the Director seems to like him. She’s a good judge of character, Angus assumes. He thinks someone would have to be a good judge of character to run an organization like this one.

Taako and Magnus at least seem to tolerate him. Merle less so, but he’s hoping to change that one day. Maybe. And a lot of the other members don’t mind him hanging around them. Even Johann, who doesn’t seem to like having anyone hang around him. That means he’s probably a good kid, he thinks.

But if he’s such a good kid, why’s he having such a hard time with this decision? It should be an easy choice; there’s a clear right and a clear wrong. He should do the right thing.

He shouldn’t be tempted by the wrong thing.

He should just leave Fantasy Costco. Besides, he has a lesson with Taako coming up in a little bit. He really should review what he learned week.

But all his nervous energy has collected in his toes and he’s certain he’s going to end up floating away like a parade balloon.

As he paces into another aisle, he’s a little disappointed to see how empty the store is today. Doesn’t make this much easier.

But just as luck would have it, while deep in his ruminations, he runs smack into one of the only other people in the store.

“Oh! Sorry Miss Carey!” Angus says, scooting back from her.

She lets out a little laugh and readjusts her grasp on her shopping basket. It’s filled with some shiny daggers and some Fantasy Cosmic Brownies. “No worries, little dude! Whatcha searching for today?”

“Uh, nothing, just kinda…looking around,” Angus says noncommittally. He puts his hands in his pockets and tries to look like he isn’t on the brink of a moral dilemma.

She doesn’t say anything. She instead just gives Angus a look, as if to say go on.

Oh man, he can’t lie to Miss Carey. Angus lets out a sigh and pulls his hands from his pockets to wring them nervously. “Okay, I was just looking around but I saw that Garfield put out some free samples of a new cookie and I got one and it was really really good and you know how the food in the cafeteria hasn’t been the greatest lately. It was delicious, Miss Carey. And I really want another one but the sign says ‘please take one’ and I already took one! But Garfield went to the back room a little bit ago and I know I shouldn’t take another but I haven’t been able to make myself leave,” Angus recounts breathlessly. He looks down, not wanting to see the look of disappointment that’s certainly on Miss Carey’s face.

He isn’t expecting to hear laughter. He looks back up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Kid, you can just take another. It’s not stealing. And even if it was, Garfield’s not a cop, he can’t arrest you or anything,” she says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“But the sign says to only take one!” Angus protests. If everyone stopped obeying signs, he has a feeling the world could get dicey very quickly.

Miss Carey opens her mouth to say something but stops herself. Instead, she leaves the aisle and returns moments later, a small plastic cup in her hand. She investigates the cookie contained inside it for a moment.

Angus looks from the cookie to Miss Carey and back to the cookie. She smacks an open palm to her forehead. “Oh man, Angus, is there flour in here?”

Angus nods uncertainly. “I think so, ma’am.”

She shrugs and holds the cup out to Angus. “I can’t eat it, gluten fucks me up. You wanna eat my sample for me?” She holds a hand up as Angus opens his mouth to argue. “I can’t put it back, it’s not sanitary. Listen, you don’t have to eat it but it feels like a waste to just throw it away.”

Angus hesitates for a moment before taking the cookie from Miss Carey. He takes a bite and grins at her. She gives him a conspiratorial wink before leaving the aisle to finish her shopping.

#i love these two sm #taz #taz nc #taz november celebration #the adventure zone #taz balance #angus mcdonald #carey fangbattle #reese writes

[davidmann95]

So… that Superman and the Authority preview. Thoughts?

Grant Morrison: Superman's genuinely made the world a little better, right?

Grant Morrison, writing Superman and The Authority: lol as fuckin' if you chump

Grant Morrison, continuing to write Superman and The Authority: ...okay but what if he COULD still tho

* First note past the OOF of that caption: Ben Day dots! The typically most cliché signifier of 'hey this is like old comics' transformed by being made so near-invisibly small by Jordie Bellaire that they're texturing the page.

* Clearly a product of the original 5G plans, I'd assumed the new explanation for Superman meeting with Kennedy would be the post-Death Metal "everyone remembers everything, it all counts!" idea, but between Superman maybe operating in secret in 1963 depending on how you read that first line and the moon landing seemingly happening earlier this looks to be a full on alt-history. Between that and Superman on October's cover of Action rocking his conventional look alongside the Authority this does seem to be an alternate version of Superman after all rather than the mainline even if it'll tie directly in; I'm fine with that since it'll help this stand on its own as a perennial. Oh god though, is this the Linearverse? Was that Generations book one last mediocre Morrison tie-in setup?

* The both earnest and tragic connotations are clear but I'm simply happy for Superman's good nickname to see some use.

* Anonymous asked: So, I'm NOT an American, but seeing the preview for SatA, I kinda roll my eyes at JFK there. I understand in America there is this mythology about him being so radical and going bring better tomorrow until he was denied to you, which doesn't really match the reality, where he was a cold warrior with reportedly little interest in domestic policy who's sucessor was actually very similar and consistent with his politics (more civil rights, more troops Vietnam). What do you think?

Fair, but besides Morrison's comments in the interview and the ways the Cold War shaped their childhood (as a non-American) as evidence that we're not meant to take this at face value as 'Aw, everything would've been perfect if not for that one thing going wrong', that comment on the JSA is charged. The President waxing rhapsodic about "mak(ing) a difference where the law couldn't" feels just as pointed as "Those poor, poor rich people" in their and Burnham's Detective #26.

* "I want you to stand tall, to end war itself and take us to the stars." "I'll see what I can do, sir." MORRISON PLEASE IGNORE YOUR BEST INSTINCTS AND NEVER STOP WRITING CAPE COMICS

* That this so effortlessly and profoundly captures everything Jupiter's Legacy tried and failed to in three pages - the great patriotic caped champion seemingly on the edge of a new Camelot when we know better, the story from there going into how they deal with the fallout of their failures - would be so embarrassing if it wasn't hilarious to see Morrison outclass the old kid sidekick yet again. Speaking of some Millar-ness, kudos to Janin for pulling off a celebrity likeness that doesn't look like a horrifying other-dimensional freak next to the other characters, that's not something that can always be said for his peers.

* While Janin draws his regular Superman face here, the red-and-yellow S shield on the cape, the pronounced barrel chest, and even the hair a bit (and then seeing him on TV in black and white) make me wonder if Superman's supposed to be visually evoking George Reeves just a bit here. An American golden boy with a tumultuous private life who died on the cusp of the 60s of a gunshot wound to the head, with a quick and tidy official explanation but conspiracy theories haunting his memory forever after, the Kennedy comparisons are obvious; I wonder if I'm not reading too much into it and this is all deliberate, or if this is an inadvertent synchronicity of the sort Morrison would conceive of in magical terms.

* Janin killing it with the assassination page, real Department of Truth vibes and managing to make it sudden and horrific without the gloriously obscene detail Quitely got into with the similar scene in Pax Americana.

* The astronauts doing hurdles on the moon is actually a reference to Superman's Mission for President Kennedy! as he gets kids interested in JFK's physical fitness program in the most roundabout fashions available to him, 'roundabout' being his foremost guiding principle at the time:

* The New Frontier and DKR parallels/evocations are obvious, but to me the big point of comparison is Pax Americana with the Hero-King President marshalling the capes in name of a better tomorrow for his nation only to find death and social impotence, the dream exposed as naïve PR in the end.

* Not exactly new information, but seeing this laid out does reinforce to me how much this book covers the sweep of the development of the superheroic idea through the lens of Superman, from the vigilantes (both the JSA and Superman returning to short sleeves) to the triumphant American science royalty to the post-traumatic superfolks trying to make good on all those lost promises and, at the beginning of this, a generation that has essentially failed (not only Superman, but clearly in his half of the preview Manchester Black isn't exactly the force he once was, and apparently Midnighter and Apollo at the beginning of this are semi-retired and think they've wasted their lives after the original Authority failed to make a difference) and what comes now after that failure. That Morrison can tackle this directly with Superman is probably corporately allowed with Jon being there as a more 'ideal' iconic model, and for Morrison personally because they can do their own purified take on the archetype with Klaus, so they can get into the muck of things here in a way they couldn't when trying to do a platonic vision or a new-and-improved model.

#Superman and The Authority #Superman #Grant Morrison #Mikel Janin #Jordie Bellaire #Opinion

[zosonils-art]

ohhh can we hear more about sweet woman 🥺

we totally can!! infodump about this gaslighting gatekeeping girlboss is under the cut as always

sweet woman was commissioned by a super classy french dessert restaurant called the orgueilleux pâtisserie [orgueilleux being very poorly google translated french for elitist/snobbish lmao], acting as both a chef and a mascot! the gimmick worked wonders for the restaurant's popularity, with rich people coming in droves to experience the novelty of food prepared with a robot master's help, and she was quickly promoted to social media manager as well as her original duties. despite her cutesy demeanour, she's much smarter than she looks, and is equipped with an in-depth understanding of chemical reactions and inhumanly accurate sense of timing and spatial awareness. she knows hundreds of recipes and most of them cost several hundred dollars to make

her personality is more deliberately engineered than most robot masters, designed to fit her appearance and be marketable. she's unwaveringly cheerful, incredibly extroverted, and just silly enough that it's cute rather than grating. she plays these traits up a lot for the cameras, exaggerating her energy and playing dumb when it'll appeal to the masses, but even when she doesn't have her public image to consider she's a bubbly and energetic goof. she's a stubborn optimist, and if she can't find a bright side to look on she'll take out a flashlight and make one. her optimisim makes for a good workplace morale boost and an even better social media presence, although when combined with her ditziness and being a bit out of touch from almost exclusively interacting with the 1% it often makes her come across as insensitive

since she's in the spotlight a lot, most of sweet's hobbies and interests outside of work are still carefully selected to match her public image and look good on an instagram post. she has a passing interest in shopping and fashion, and enjoys going to parties and gatherings and what have you to meet new people. she also loves to experiment with cooking and come up with new recipes, some of which end up on the orgueilleux menu. she does, however, have a private interest in chemistry! as mentioned earlier she knows a fair bit about it already, since cooking is just chemistry with a restricted set of substances, and in her own time she ended up getting curious and reading into the sort of reactions that arise from chemicals she doesn't work with. she rarely mentions this interest herself, but she gets super excited if someone brings it up or gives her the excuse to talk about it, and it's probably listed as super secret trivia about her on the pâtisserie website

unlike other robot masters, sweet has an acute sense of both smell and taste! [since robots seem to only use e-tanks for fuel, there's not much benefit to smelling or tasting things, so i personally believe that most of them don't have those senses unless it'd directly benefit their job.] being able to actually taste the food she cooks makes it much easier to tell if she's doing it right, especially if she's trying to come up with something new. she's also capable of replenishing her energy by eating - it's less efficient than e-tanks, but she thinks they taste gross so she always opts for actual food. fittingly, she has a massive sweet tooth, but she's accustomed to only the highest-class dining and dislikes cheaper or less 'refined' tastes

her magical girl vibe, brought to you by someone who has watched maybe 4 episodes of anime that weren't sonic x, is entirely an aesthetic and marketing gimmick rather than serving any functional purpose. she'll play it up for promotional videos and photoshoots, twirling her fork-trident thing and striking dramatic poses and calling out thematically appropriate attack names like 'sparkling sugar swirl' and 'cinnamon whirlwind' whenever she does anything, but it's mostly for show. while she genuinely enjoys the shouting and posing and twirling, she massively tones it down when she's not performing, maybe occasionally saying an attack name at a reasonable volume while she works. her fork-trident thing isn't even a real weapon, magical or otherwise. it's just styrofoam with metallic paint on it

sweet's weakness to harpoon shot was decided before i figured out exactly what tide man's weapon would be, going on the idea that getting food wet tends to make it sad and gross. this logic doesn't quite carry over with harpoon shot being, well, a harpoon rather than something specifically water-based, but i imagine shooting a cake with a harpoon would also be a very one-sided battle so this weapon wheel makes sense i promise. i guess you could also make the argument that it's because sweet is only experienced with a fake pronged weapon made of foam and would be completely blindsided by a real one? maybe it's that tide is so staunchly anticapitalist that his weapon inherently vibe checks her? i'm grasping at straws a bit over here but listen, if mega man 5 can insist that water is elementally weak to trains, i can insist that it's elementally strong against the french

i think her stage could be some kind of factory! lots of conveyer belts definitely, maybe some crushing hazards, definitely a few mets. the idea there is that she's seized a major food processing plant and is using that position to wreck the regional supply chain. even when she's evil, she basically keeps the exact same personality she shows to the public with only a noticable capitalism upgrade. she has pretty much no combat abilities on her own, but at her own suggestion she was upgraded to shoot a specially formulated icing that's acidic enough to burn through thin metal, finally putting her interest in chemistry to use. her fork-trident, on the other hand, was not changed in the slightest. still just styrofoam. i think it'd be pretty good if she opened her battle with it but even if it hits mega man it only deals one point of damage and the second it touches something it snaps in half and she never pulls out a new one

designing sweet was pretty fun because she's pretty different from my usual taste in character design! my experience with the magical girl genre is that i read about half of sailor moon when i was 12 and absorbed everything else through pop culture osmosis and tv tropes pages, so it was definitely fun to draw what i think a magical girl might look like. i also don't use oranges and yellows much, so picking out her colours made for an agonising exciting challenge! she didn't change too much from the initial microsoft paint sketch, although she lost a skirt layer along the way because i didn't feel like figuring out how to draw another one, and her weapon was originally just a big fork that probably would have been a ksjfjhkjhfillion times less cumbersome to draw. oh well. live and learn [HANGIN ON THE EDGE OF TOMORROW]

that about wraps it up for sweet woman, i think - thank you so much for asking about her!! here's the transparent art and the version without 15 different filters on it to make it look kinda like an 80s anime screenshot

#this was agonising to draw BUT I REALLY LIKE HOW IT TURNED OUT SO!!!!! WINNING #zos draws #mega man #mega man oc #robot master oc #sweet woman #zos talks #zos answers #zoriginal characters #anon

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Baileys Hot Chocolate

Dwayne x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,195

Warning: contains physical intimacy and mature language

Summary: It’s date night with Dwayne and you make sure to pack everything you may need, including some adult hot chocolate. 

You heard scratching at your bedroom window and immediately knew who it was. Speeding over and yanking up the old, heavy window, Dwayne swung into your room legs first.

“How many times do I have to remind you to use the front door?”

Your boyfriend smiled and pulled you in close, resting his forehead against yours. “It’s more fun this way, angel.”

You shook your head resignedly and gave him a peck on the lips. Once he decided something, he could be very stubborn. “Alright, Mr. Adrenaline. Have it your way. But you’re going to give my neighbors a heart attack one of these days.”

Dismissing your concerns, he merely asked, “Ready to go?”

You went back to the backpack sitting on your bed and added a few more things. The last thing you added was a smooth metal thermos full of hot chocolate in the side pouch. Zipping the pack shut, you grabbed a warm jacket and put it on.

You slid your arms through the backpack’s straps and told Dwayne you were ready.

He tested the straps to make sure they were tight enough and once he had adjusted them to his liking, he stepped back and nodded. “Ready.”

You closed the window and locked it before exiting through the front door, excited for date night. It was an especially beautiful winter night, the air crisp and cold. And the sky! It was nice and clear, perfect for what you two had planned.

Dwayne reached his bike first and placed a black and silver helmet carefully over your head which you pouted about. Despite being a daring man himself, Dwayne was all about caution when it came to you, especially when you rode with him.

He trusted his own driving; it was other reckless, people on the road that he didn’t and as a human you were much more fragile than him, or Laddie who was at least half vampire.

He stroked your chin with his thumbs as he clicked the clasp closed. “It’s unnegotiable if you want to ride,” he said quiet and sure.

You knew that he had the best intentions when it came to you, and that he was right, so you never pushed back too hard even though you were one of the only residents in Santa Carla who bothered to wear one. It would be nice to ride carefree, like the vampires, but the truth was that some things were different for you.

You draped yourself over Dwayne’s leather covered back and he started the bike, the engine sending vibrations through the seat and up your legs. The only warning you got was that he patted your thigh, then he was roaring down your street.

How the neighbors never raised a stink about the frequent rumbling of Dwayne’s bike during all hours of the night, you’d never known. Some vampire mischief might have been at play there.

Once the boardwalk was behind you, Dwayne eased up on the throttle to take a softer turn onto a wooded, dirt path. The ride was bumpier from then on out, since you were off-roading, so Dwayne kept the speed in check for the rest of the drive.

It was times like those that made you glad your boyfriend was a supernatural creature of the night. No regular human would’ve been able to drive in the dense foliage at night.

As it was, Dwayne was perfectly fine. After all, he was used to going much faster and attempting riskier moves when he drove with the other boys.

The engine petered out to a stop and he extended his long legs so he could walk the bike to a full stop. “This is it,” he softly said as you both stood up.

You spun in a circle, taking it in with awe. He brought you to a small clearing where the trees gave way to an enclosed patch of dry grass, an impressive sky overhead. Being far enough away from city limits, there were no lights to dilute how luminous the moon was or how bright the stars shone.

“I’m glad you like it. You’re the first one I thought of when I found it last week.”

You heard his voice but it was difficult to see him given that everything around was dark and shadowy to your eyes. Unzipping the backpack, the flashlight was what you took out first so you could see where you were walking. It wasn’t need for long because Dwayne thought ahead and had bonfire materials waiting so he could get a fire going.

He messed with some lighter fluid to get it to grow faster and when it was stable enough to provide light, you took a out a blanket to sit on. That way you wouldn’t have to sit directly on the grass. Dwayne took one end, you the other and you worked together to extend it. Once that was settled, you grabbed another blanket to cuddle with, as well as the thermos.

Dwayne was quick to join you and you gave up some of your blanket cloak so that you would both be covered. He wasn’t affected by cold temperatures like you were, but it allowed him to cuddle close, always a win in his view. Plus, the blanket was super soft to the touch.

Everything was peaceful and serene.

There were no loud noises or overwhelming smells out there. Nothing but the flickering glow of the flames, a gorgeous view, and two people content to hold each other in silent bliss.

Neither Dwayne nor you spoke for a long time, laying tangled together while stargazing. You were proud to say you were proficient enough to find basic constellations on your own without him having to point them out for you, although he still did so with more obscure ones. And when there were no more stars to identify, the full moon held you in thrall with its reflection.

But the spell finally broke when you shivered.

Dwayne lifted onto his elbows and petted your hair. “Cold?”

Not wanting to seem weak, you did not reply. He merely reached over to your forgotten thermos and pushed it into your hands. “Drink,” he insisted.

Well... you couldn’t say no to hot chocolate, especially when Dwayne was the one offering.

You popped the lid off and satisfyingly warm steam caressed your face. Taking a big sip, you passed it to Dwayne who took a swig. He stared at the thermos and then looked at you, like he was trying to figure something out. You were rewarded with a smile when he got it.

“You spiked it.”

“Yep,” you said emphasizing the ‘p’ with a pronounced pop. “I was in a Baileys hot chocolate mood. Besides, I don’t have to worry about driving.”

“I see. You trust me to get you back safe.”

You replied without hesitation. “Always.”

Dwayne’s dark, serious eyes locked onto you as he took another swig. Crawling over you, he eased your lips open and pushed some of the hot chocolate into your mouth.

Surprised, you moaned a little. His thumbs stroked down your neck and you couldn’t help but swallow.

He pulled back enough that lips no longer touched, but close enough that you still shared the same breath. You nodded once. Deliberate and slow. That was all the consent Dwayne needed and in the split second it took to blink, he had you splayed out on the blanket.

His lips moved intensely which contrasted nicely with the languid way he ground his hips against you. You started to heat up. Fast. Cold long forgotten. And the heat flared even higher when he started to nip at you with his fangs.

In reaction, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, causing him to growl. He knew that his fangs were a turn-on; it was only fair that you went for his kinks, too, hair pulling being one of them.

You fought to keep your eyes open and when you managed, you saw his transformed face, like you suspected that you would. Ready for more he touched and nuzzled his way down your body until he reached your pants. He sat back on his knees and expertly ripped open the top button, and removed the pants and your underwear in one quick motion.

He moved so that your legs were hanging over his shoulders, you back coming off of the ground. He squeezed your thighs in his large hands and put his mouth on the most private part of you.

His blazing eyes stared you down the entire time and you were unable to break his gaze. The rhythmic sucking had your head falling back with a muted thunk. And when his tongue glided upwards, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped.

Fangs grazed your tender flesh without ever digging in painfully or puncturing skin. It was common for Dwayne’s face to transform when he was sexually riled up, but always maintained incredible control when it came to biting. Not once in all the night you spent together did he ever make you bleed by accident. Not even a tiny nick.

A particularly sharp movement with his tongue left you dizzy in pure pleasure. Dwayne noticed your legs tightening around him and made it a point to hit that spot again. Over and over and over. To the point where you were clawing the blanket in attempt to keep yourself anchored.

It all began to be too much—his wicked mouth, his breath on your opening—and you felt yourself start to climb to its peak. When it hit your eyes snapped closed and it felt cosmic, to release like that with the whole universe seeming to loom above you and within you.

And then he sank his fangs into your flesh, at last. Being bitten was never without some pain, but when it happened on the cusp of an orgasm, the pleasure and pain mixed deliciously. He took his time drinking from you as you came back into yourself.

He eased off, gently laving at the open puncture marks. You both laid on your sides and faced each other. Your fingers ran down his stubbled cheek and he closed his eyes as he savored the touch. “You are so beautiful,” he said quietly.

His words made your heart throb, loudly enough that he probably heard it. You laid there in bliss until you realized a crucial detail that you missed earlier in the midst of all the pleasure.

“Wait,” you blurted, “Dwayne, what about you?!”

Panic flooded you and he had to stop you from getting up. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Do you really think I’d leave you hanging?” you argued.

He looked down and in the dim light from the fire you noticed he’d open his pants to let his cock out at some point and the slightest sheen glistened on his crotch.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeated.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice you needed, uh, assistance.”

“Seriously. Don’t worry about it. Take it as a compliment,” he suggested with a twinkle in his eye. “You’re so beautiful, all I needed was the visual.”

“Jesus, Dwayne,” you laughed hoping to hide the heat in your face. “Maybe we can plan something like this again though. That way I can return the favor.”

He remained silent but you knew him well enough to read his interest. Reaching into his pocket he removed the Soviet flag and set out cleaning you up. He took extra care cleaning the dried blood around his bite mark. When he was finished with you, he wiped himself down.

“You better wash that,” you said as he tossed it at the bike. “I mean it! And don’t tell the boys what’s on it, if they ask.”

“Honestly, they’ll figure it out on their own. Blood and sex are strong scents.”

“Just don’t confirm it for them, hmm? Especially not Laddie,” you pleaded, mortified, but knowing he was right.

In a valiant effort to distract you from the anxiety, he waved the thermos in front of your face. “The sugar in this is really good for you right now.”

You accepted it and Dwayne swaddled you in the cuddle blanket, leaving himself uncovered that time. His thoughtfulness was appreciated because the crisp air started to chill you again, more so because you weren’t wearing anything below the waist. The blanket helped though.

The comfortable silence from when you first arrived returned and the moon caught your attention. Soon, your eyes started to droop, heavy with tiredness. You tried your best to stay awake. If you fell asleep and Dwayne woke you up, you’d be cranky. It was better to just stay awake.

Dwayne nuzzled the back of your neck. “It’s okay, angel. Sleep.”

“But the ride home…”

“I can fly you home and come back for the bike later. Sleep.”

With his deep voice in your ear, you didn’t stand a chance, mind already halfway to unconsciousness. One of your last thoughts was that the night had been perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Then Dwayne pulled you in tight, littering you with small, innocent kisses, and you were lost.

_______________

My best attempt at a steamy fic featuring Dwayne in honor of Valentine’s Day.  I think Dwayne takes pride in caring for his s/o and gets off on it. And the flag made an appearance! Much love to you readers :) 

And yes, there is a bottle of Baileys in the film--check out the lower right. Whose is it? I have no clue 😂. 

#the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys x reader #imagines #rated m for mature #14 days of valentines

[paper-cloud]

i. the crushing weight of what happens next

part of "(there will be a) tomorrow"

fandom: prospect (2018) characters: ezra, cee rating: T words count: ~3K context: post-canon general warnings/tags: see series masterlist warnings/tags for this chapter: ezra's pov. angst. not graphic descriptions of wounds, blood and amputated limbs. mentions of minor characters' death. (probably very) inaccurate but anyways vague descriptions of medical treatments and post-anesthesia symptoms. taglist: @ravensmutty @buttercup--bee @thegreenkid (again, thank you all for your interest and encouragement! :3) @krissology @ezrasarm @bonktime (please forgive my nerve, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you'll explicitly ask me to! just thought about someone else who might be interested and you guys are AMAZINGLY talented and inspiring "prospect"/ezra writers. it's not my intention to waste precious moments of your time! 🤡

[SERIES MASTERLIST] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

He'd have thought it was almost ironic – opening his eyes to the light only to see nothing. To feel pain.

He'd have laughed about it, most likely. A bit later, he'd have acknowledged it was a reasonably fair compromise; for him and any other wretch that'd ever dared play dice with darkness and miraculously made it out alive.

And in the very end he'd come to laugh at himself, too.

He knows the drill. Someone who trades their own life with the contract of the highest bidder doesn't see the universe in black and white, let alone is in a position to draw the hypothetical line between the two of them.

Must be an even more wicked universe than he's ever cared about, then.

At least, that's where the struggle of opening his eyes made him stumble upon; when a blade of light thrust through that hint of a gap he'd pushed himself to create in the middle, resonating through the dark coils of unconsciousness like a harsh, unforgiving bell.

A skilled mariner over silky rivers of natural redundancy and rapids of professional edges, Ezra is a man who can appreciate a sharp wit when he recognizes one.

That was too much even for him.

Floundering in between a blinding whiteness and a black hole that wasn't even completely black, but permeated by a thick, suffocating haze that filled every ghost haunting his mind with its stench. With the color of diabolically lush leaves.

Forest— spores— poison— death.

It hadn't been enough to let him dangle in apnea above a roaring vortex of lifeless emerald; take him away from the grey flow whose elusiveness he'd come to appreciate more than he'd ever hated to endure its chaos— from the bubble built on the routine series of one last jobs that, in the end, never really were.

There'd been a moment when, from the higher parts of the room, his pupils tumbled down, tripping over a patch of green discreetly lurking in a corner.

He almost threw up.

It had taken him a while to clear out the misty grit clotted in his corneas— focus on white walls, light wood paneling... a harmless seedling in a pot.

He'd breathed heavily, deeply. He sure hadn't got much relief from it. Still, he'd been able to hear its sound, louder than he'd ever heard it before, the musical, cooling mesh of oxygen particles in and out of his lungs almost begging his fingers to be touched.

Oxygen.

Fresh air.

Had he been less sore – less convinced it was just the residual effects of anesthesia pulling pranks on him –, he would have burst out laughing. Even more so if some poor soul of the medical staff nearby would have called for reinforcements from the other side of the space station before storming into his room.

He'd be laughing now, too. The best he can manage is sitting on his bed, leaning his back on the headboard – which is what he's struggling to do right now— and well, sometimes the room lighting still slightly bothers him. Of course, with all the painkillers and antibiotics they've given him, he wouldn't feel like the wound on his stomach is swallowing the entire arsenal of stitches and bandages.

He just wouldn't like her to get the wrong idea.

He blinks several times, like a man who no longer trusts his eyes. How can he, when they're burning like that, in such a different fire from the one from days before – damp and flickering? For reasons he can imagine, she seems to be faltering. Totally beyond his comprehension, he could swear she's smiling at him. Something inside his ribcage creaks oddly, while the curve of his chest arches upward.

"Birdie."

It's just a huff of breath, weak and hoarse, yet scratches his throat all the same, in a way that its walls feel studded with rock spurs. Actually, Ezra doesn't remember talking since they left the Green behind – which, being him, is saying something – and it's like an eternity has passed since their pod docked up there.

The nurse who let her into his room has just left and Cee sinks her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She's still smiling— just the faded shadow of a smile, now that he takes a better look at her.

"How's your wound?"

It sounds a lot less plain than he expected.

She hasn't moved towards him any further, and for now she's not showing any hints at wanting to. In her irises, Ezra recognizes thumping stars and cerulean clouds, all clustered in the black circle cut by the large porthole next to his bed. All before catching the thin mist veiling them. As if she did want to reach those stars, let herself get carried away by those streams of bluish dust, but she had no idea how or what to do there.

He looks down, the borders of the bandages over his abdomen slightly raised under his black short-sleeved tee. He clears his throat.

"S'healin' nicely", he says, with a deliberate lightheartedness that costs him a sharp, bizarre inflection in his voice. He closes his eyes soon after, tilting his head condescendingly. "That's how the nurse feels about it, anyway... S'not like I can feel much more right now."

This reminds him of those vacuous moments between brief, chaotic waking states and delirious dreams. When he'd managed to reconnect some essential key points scattered around in the talks of surgeons and nurses; the weariness he felt from simply gathering he was on a space station due to enter the orbit of Mesos in three cycles and something standard hours. All while his only solid reference point – the only indisputable proof he was still alive – was the sequence of beeps chirped by the medical monitor perched nearby. Constant, not monotonous. Friendly, even. Sometimes, he actually comes to miss it.

"A trust fall to the extreme, I'd guess", he snorts, a sly laugh as weak and heavy as the words trudging out of his mouth. As the whole rest of him.

Whatever answer she's considering, Cee freezes it in a quick purse of her lips – maybe a nod, but for his own good he'd rather be doubtful. Then she starts looking around.

There's a chair under the board firmly anchored to the opposite wall – probably a desk or something he's never needed to test, whatsoever. She grabs it and puts it next to his bed. She sits down, bringing her legs to her chest, squeezing them in her arms.

Waiting for what, Ezra has no idea, and he's afraid she doesn't have any, either.

He doesn't speak, though, nor does he encourage her to do the same. Her pearly gaze roams steadily but unhurriedly from him to somewhere beyond him, her nose buried in the gap between her knees. He studies her carefully, two purple crescents above her cheeks, a few hair strands swinging down her face without her wiping them out. The nights she's slept through haven't been any more peaceful than his.

Trust, he recalls in the meantime.

It sure brings an odd taste to his mouth. Something close to sweaty spacesuits, grimy paths and gone-off ration bars. A single word for two human beings forced to share the same air filter for days; that, and the image of a dead body left to rot miles behind and the desperate commitment not to end up in the same way.

His gaze just happens to trip over his right side, taking in the deflated sleeve over the emptiness that saved his life. When he lifts it back to the girl, meeting her eyes just before they can flutter away, he realizes they were both looking at the same spot. And he realizes something else— something he's already understood, yet not quite.

There is no tube binding them now.

"Why d'you do it?", he mumbles a split second later, almost like somehow the thread of his question has immediately knotted to the one of his previous thought.

He huffs. He shouldn't even have asked her, in all honesty. Seeing her like this, at least he should have put it in another way, danced around it, it's not like he’s never been good at stalling, after all—

"Comin' back", Ezra says instead, and when he swallows, he mainly does it to send his heart back down his throat. If he'd died without being given the last chance to be this straightforward on this matter, he would have probably kicked his ass all the way to the other side. 

This time, Cee doesn't avoid his gaze. He shouldn't be surprised by how collected she looks, given the calmness she handled his infected arm with and then told him about when she used to slip into Jata Bhalu carcasses. But he can't help it when he thinks she can't be much older now than what she was then.

He watches her breathing in, wobbling her pupils here and there, seemingly considering his words. She's not afraid, not any more than what she seemed to be when she walked into his room. Maybe she's just better than him at playing pretend – but this, he can't tell whether it's more of a good than a bad thing. Especially for her.

One thing he can tell is that she's not the same girl who pointed a trembling gun at him before running away into the woods. He knows she's not afraid.

He knows...

So is it the hunter's instinct he has to blame if he feels she is?

"Guess I've seen too much death on that forsaken moon to just... turn my back on one I can help– one I can do something about."

If he was standing in front of an entire mountain crumbling down into the ocean, he wouldn't hear its sound. ‘Wouldn't even be the worst he deserves. She did hesitate before adding the last few words, but Ezra refuses to believe she did that because she was afraid of hurting him. He may be a wretch, but not a fool.

Kevva, for a man who's always managed to untwist himself from far tougher situations with the tangles of his tongue alone, he's sure having a deal of trouble – and he wishes he could put all the blame on his current physical condition.

There is no word he doesn't have to weigh carefully now, to prevent it from taking too sharp edges once out of his lips. He may float around it forever. But once he's let her go without saying anything, he'll hardly find the courage to look within himself again, more than after any other job that hardened his hands with calluses and tarnished his eyes with blood.

He doesn't know for sure. In fact, everything he was sure to know – about the turning direction of the universe and the one of the wheels in his head – has already collapsed in front of him, tracing a flaming tail. An unforgiving meteor following a trajectory far beyond his grasp.

He just knows silence scares him, in a way that a wrong word will never do again. It terrifies him. More than as a talkative person, as a castaway on a hostile moon for too many cycles to keep their count – with the only company of a mute. Silence is green; the green of the most poisonous pollen, lethal in his brain just like toxic spores enveloped in his lungs. The green of snake scales ready to stand and scratch his flesh until liquid crimson pours out of it.

And at the end of the day, this is the only fucking thing he can tell himself to know without having his guts churning and chest heaving a beat later.

"Stop looking at me like that."

It's more of an exhausted prayer than an annoyed remark. Ezra blinks, stunned by the sudden return from the shapeless stream of his thoughts.

"Like what?"

"Like you're looking for the words to thank me", Cee settles back into her chair and this time she lets one leg touch the floor, "Tell me you owe me, and you– you're sorry about what you did."

Ezra sniffles. "Would it be bad?" 

"No, it—". She closes her eyes for a moment, clenching her jaw. "Just no good", she breathes out, calmer.

And the discordant note in those words conjures up ghosts not yet vague enough for Ezra to be able to tolerate them without something twinging inside him— like a violent flutter of wings. Voices groping their way up ravels of compromises. Damon, deep in the forest. Himself, with the mercenaries in the Queen's Lair. Cee, days before that. After he—

She's right— those words she hasn't said yet, but whose shadow he feels looming every time he catches her wetting her lips.

Some things just can't be split evenly.

"This is not the Green", she states, suddenly more confident but no less exhausted. "If you're going to hang around just because you need to, once we reach Mesos¹ you'd better be on your way."

Ezra doesn't interrupt her. A faded echo starts making its way into his ears. A former prospecting partner, many years ago. An easy job on a forgettable Fringe moon.

Gems don't have an expiration date. Deals do. Strike 'em if you need to, get rid of them as soon as you can. Unless you care to dig a quicker way to your grave.

He didn't pay attention to it, then. He'd thought it was just the empty rhetoric prospectors drop absentmindedly to fill the time between an unrewarding digging and the next. All the more so under the rickety advice of a couple too many.

His eyes still wide open, hands shaky, he merely reciprocated the awkward bottle lift of his partner, whom he didn't know more than the meanders of that quarry. A toast to a faceless future – a nothingness still more reassuring than what was all around and behind them. Not to the darkness of the cave, basically unbreakable if only for the red halo thrown by the twinkles of sharp, sinister Prystines². Not even to the two poor bastards that had set out with them, ending up skewered a few hundred paces behind – one by mistake, the other to return the favor of saving him from the clutches of a furious Aiu³.

Like an idiot.

Several contracts later preventing him from missing a beat in front of similar hiccups, the logic of that statement no longer sounds so absurd to Ezra. Luckily for him, Cee understood it long before him.

"I was just lookin' for the words to tell ya you'll be better off without me—"

Half a truth. Half a heartbeat. After all, she isn't the only one of them who knows how to sell it.

He leans his head back against the headboard, eyes half-closed, a sly grin baring a couple of his upper teeth. It would almost be intimidating, except that the glint hitting them doesn't quite match the dying one in his eyes.

"—But you beat me to it", he finishes, and he sounds like he's about to fall asleep.

He slowly turns his head away, looks through the porthole. His gaze clutches to the passing asteroids outside, distant nebulae spraying the sidereal black with hues of purple, blue, red— then green, again. A climbing plant squeezing him from the inside, discomfort starts creeping on him an inch of his body – what's left of it – at a time.

He doesn't want her to think he's angry at her, and it's the only concrete foothold emerging from the fluid, magmatic chaos in his mind.

How could he be, when she came back to get him?

She didn't have to.

She doesn't have to be here, either...

"I'm sorry", she suddenly blurts out.

He meets her eyes again, a mix of bewilderment and disapproval shading his own. He shakes his head.

"Don't."

"I just—". She starts fiddling with the extra fabric created by the folds of her sweatpants. Then she sighs deeply. "I have no idea what I'm gonna do now."

He snorts. "Not that it's s'pposed to make you feel any better, but... neither do I."

He doesn't have a hazy helmet choking the glimmer in his eyes, an air filter breaking some frequencies in his voice— maybe just those making him sound sincere, while saving those trapping him into the swamp of self-loathing.

He was nothing but honest when he told her the rules of the game on the Green. When he openly admitted he was a killer, and when he assured her he wouldn't trade her for the Sater's Aurelac. And she's always seemed to believe him, maybe for that kind of desperate inertia that washes over people when they need something to cling to. Whatever the case, Ezra can only hope she wants to believe him now. But she doesn't speak, and for a moment his fear of not saying enough overcomes that of crossing her boundaries.

"But w—", he immediately bites his tongue, "—you still have three cycles to figure things out. Someone up here will be able to help you. Even so, please know you'll always have my most sincere gratitude."

The effort of lining up all those words and so few pauses to catch his breath casts a thick fog over his ears. His eyes suddenly hurt again and he finds himself squinting.

What happens next, he just records it, hardly managing to follow each cause-effect relationship. A series of events softly raining on him without making a noise, while he can quite imagine them to be way more prolonged in time. Cee leaning towards the lighting panel on the wall, sliding her finger counterclockwise, and the white coating the walls turning less painfully bright; her getting up, walking away, dwelling just before the door. "I'll come to check on you tomorrow", she says, sniffling.

She tilts her head, holding his gaze in her watery one for an agonizingly slow while – Please, don't ask me why.

He blinks once – Of course.

Then, the automatic door is once again engulfed by the wall, closing behind her with a metallic rustle.

Tomorrow.

His heart is taken by a spiraling jolt that leaves an empty cave behind. When it falls back into place, Ezra finds something has tripped in there, shapeless and quivering like the nucleus of a newborn star.

Hope, terror and everything that lies in between. 

___________________

NOTES:

1) Mesos — Invented planet. Its only raison d'être is that "mésos" in Greek means "middle" and my intent was to frame this story in a moment of transition (after those of movies) for both Ezra and Cee. 2) Prystines — Invented kind of crystals. They're implied to be huge, red and very sharp, thus endangering the path through the cave. 3) Aiu — Invented predator, ideally a big feline.

A/N:

Yeah, uhm... at this point, if someone was ever to give me any kind of feedback, constructive criticism or random thought, I think I'd just melt into a puddle for the attention alone. And to all those who came all the way down here, your bravery shall not be forgotten. ♥️✨

In my defense, it's (almost) all P**** P*****'s fault & of his habit of taking orphans under his wing from one planet to another.

I know people in the fandom generally tend to make Ezra and Cee go along straight away after the movie, so this will be a slightly different take on things, I guess... But even if I don't know if I'll keep this series going atm (life & maturity exam suck), a final reconciliation is definitely on the way. ;)

Oh, and any beta reader that should feel like helping me out for when I'll have the next chapters ready is warmly welcomed! My DMs are always open and I swear I don't bite! :3

#prospect (2018) #prospect movie #ezra (prospect) #cee (prospect) #pedro pascal #sophie thatcher #my writing ☁️ #geez what tf did i write this so long for? #it's all sadness and insecurities and introspections #hopefully i'll fit more dialogues in for the next ones... #which means kevva help me when i'll have to put my hands on that verbose space rascal's dialogues #i already know i'll ruin him but i really don't want to but he's so fucking intimidating but— #*goes hiding in her cave*

[henlex]

Onlyoneof Compatibility: Junrie

Suns

Rie: Scorpio I'll try to be unbiased I swear

Mysterious, driven, water sign so driven by emotions. Fixed sign so stubborn. They love power and can be very strategic about getting it (you might even realize because it can be really subtle) They love to investigate things, get to the bottom of things, basically find the truth or deeper meaning. Don't shy away fr confrontation, not easily intimidated. They can be pretty secretive, they don't easily open up but would love to hear you talk about yourself and learn everything about you.

Junji: Aries. Fire, very driven, energetic, can be a bit childish. They're straightforward and want everyone to be as well. Naturally athletic, or at least meant to move their bodies (main dancer yesss) They tend to live in the now, don't think things through too long because they want to get moving. They know what they want and go get it, they can be very brave because they don't let anything stand in their way. They enjoy a challenge.

Moons

Rie: virgo, earth. They like stability and enjoy taking care of the little things in life like running errands. But they can also nag a lot😂 But if you show them appreciation they'll happily help you too. They really like feeling needed and helping, they'll probably be the first to jump in if someone needs help. They really like living simple, unassuming lives. They can be easily overwhelmed and worry a lot. They thrive on routine. They can get restless and nervous but love to analyze and are detail oriented. They shy away from new people, can be stiff about affection, but show their affection through small gestures. Reliable, good for advice. They can be quite shy in love. Very interested in others problems and can be skeptical.

Junji: leo, fire again. Often not outgoing but like being the center of attention with those they're close to. They like to organize and be in control of their group. Very creative but can be bossy. Jshfjsnjf they need a lot of love and care to function😭😭 (is this why he's so cuddly) They can be very dramatic if hurt, with big displays. Very proud and don't like being controlled. Not easy to change their mind or their plans. Strong sense of fairness and justice. Apparently these are cuddly mfs

Mercury

Rie: scorpio am I reading myself I'll be unbiased I swear😂😂

So they really love finding answers, getting to the deep truths, constantly learning. But it goes to places other don't dare go or haven't even thought of. VERY observant. They hate anything and anyone superficial and tend to see right through it. They can be suspicious and pessimistic. Great communicators, but can be prone to lecturing, but are passionate about giving advice. They are best at judging when they aren't personally involved. The secretive scorpio nature likes to keep their own secrets hidden. It's Very hard to win an argument against them. But when they aren't emotionally involved they are very lucid. VERY protective of those they care about, and will defend them with anything they've got. Prone to jealousy, they tend to expect the worst from others. They love mysteries and challenges.

Junji: Aries, is this whole man fire!?!?!

Quick decisions, they don't like mulling things over because they don't have the patience and need instant gratification. Very direct communication...again. Rip this boy is Not subtle. Can be agressive-fire- especially when they are opposed. Childlike. They can be sensitive and defensive. Not detail oriented. Truthful and direct but innocent and enthusiastic. Idealistic/ optimistics. They love new things: opportunities, ideas, challenges. But they might drop old things for something more exciting. Motivating and fun with infectious enthusiasm.

Venus

Rie: Libra: air, a big change.

This boy is so soft oml. Will try to impress you with their kindess😭 They can be very gentle and exact which can come off as insincere. They always go for the middle ground and expect to be treated fairly. They will make concessions to make the relationship work. Any imbalance will make them unhappy and slowly wear them down. They could express this is underhanded ways.

Junji: Aqua, Air another big switch. Open minded, unique, and rebellious and want everyone to know, especially the object of their affections. They really like being recognized as being different. They like unconventional relationships which can mean a lot of things depending on their circumstances and culture. They don't like any restrictions, don't follow anyone's path. They really want to break the mold even in shocking ways, but they can also come off as cold or stand-offish. They want their lover to also be their friend. They also want someone to appreciate their mind and ideas. They need room to be themselves and they'll give you the same.

Mars

Rie: Virgo: earth, productive, goal oriented. They like to do a lot of things, can be stubborn or particular about the way they do things. Not one to anger but when pushed they can nag A Lot. Sensitive. They can be nervous and restless. They need to be busy or they really struggle. Shy and humble especially when they don't feel knowledgeable enough, but they are curious and will want to learn everything they can.

*Sex- healthy views of sex. Simple and sweet. Attracted to people who have gone unnoticed. Like a person's imperfections. Very attentive. Like to care of the other. Sub. Very curious.

Junji: Aries...wow junji just🔥🔥🔥🔥 Ok so lives in the present, can be quick to anger but it's quick to pass. Impulsive. They go in and out of crushes fast😂 "they feel alive when they have someone to desire" good lord. Spontaneous as always, quick decisions, hardly deliberates on anything. They don't like when life is predictable so they're always going and trying new things. Relationships with them are exciting but hard to keep. Very impulsive. Again they're very direct and hate when others are anything but that.

Sex: spontaneous. Like an innocent/ pure partner 💆🏼‍♀️ Agressive, love a conquest. It literally says they like their hair messed with EYE

Bonus: north nodes

Rie: libra rip it's me again. So he needs to learn cooperation and trusting others. He's comfortable in Aries, aka being independent and doing everything for himself. He can be selfish but he's meant to be in relationships. That will make him feel whole.

Junji: virgo. So he's basically supposed to get his head out of the clouds and not only follow his inner voice. He's comfortable in the dreamy pisces but he has to learn how to keep his feet on he ground and observe. Can be sensitive to the world.

*Messy thoughts and summary*

They both probably wake up early and enthusiastically take on the day, that's so cute.

They both love organizing and hate a change of plans 😂😂

They both love a good challenge

Rip Rie really likes to think things through while junji just goes. This could either drive them insane or they could balance either other. I think junji would understand ries thoughtful nature tho because of his leo moon  

So junji doesn't like being controlled and is care free and Rie isn't controlling but likes taking care of the day to day. It could be perfect. Junji can be free and rie can take care of things.

So Rie is very Very detailed and junji is not at all.... Which is complimentary if they don't try to change the other

Junji is that childlike optimist that Rie needs. Could really help him kind of unwind or just enjoy things/ have fun, be carefree. But also Rie could help ground junji.

They just seem like a perfect match....in bed

Rie's slower moving nature could drive junji insane but that's not a guarantee 😂

I'm emotional. Junji literally is meant to learn and become more like Rie. That's called fate.

Lads rie's soul is comfiest in junjis sun.... Hello. I wonder if he feels super comfy with him because he Understands him so deeply. But it's also a relationship and theyre learning all of these things from each other and they're genuinely Made to do that. I'm. Hahaha Soulmates wtf.

Rie overall is really just silently observes literally everything. He for sure knows everything about everyone and is just chilling, watching, learning.

#onlyoneof #kpop astrology #junji #rie #ships #junrie #astrology

[alionne]

5 | Deliberate (free write)

Sequel to Scale, because my brain really didn’t want to stop thinking about this. Spoilers for Stormblood. Cursing and flirting but no smut... yet. 3284 words.

He hears her coming, of course.

Estinien had heard her the first time, too, with the pugilist girl, one of the Scions he hadn’t met. Not that he needed to meet any more of them, mind you. The ones he’d encountered were bad enough.

‘Bad’ may not be the right word, he admits to himself, but he’d already helped them on this little trip, there was no need to start doling out compliments, too. 

If anything, the cannon had been a welcome challenge. He doesn’t miss killing dragons, nor the rage surging through him each time he fought, but… he is the Azure Dragoon. He has power, and though he’d been trying to direct that power in a peaceable direction, lately, it’s pleasing when problems can be solved with his lance alone.

Of course, the problem with power is that there are all too many parties with an interest in how you use it. The cannon was one thing—what was he supposed to do, just let them all get shot to death?—but linger too long and he’d soon be on the receiving end of a tedious speech about duty and the future of Eorzea, and then he’d have to watch Alphinaud’s disappointment when he turned him down. And then probably sit through another lecture, because the boy was stubborn as all hell.

No, Estinien had come to Gyr Abania for one thing—the eyes of Nidhogg, which were his responsibility, and had somehow floated up from below the Steps of Faith and ended up here. Somewhere.

So he was lying low. After dodging the Imperials’ bullets, he’d set for the highest landmark he could find—an ancient ship, whose origins he did not know. It was a passable hideout, particularly since some ancient guardian attacked him as he approached. Estinien had dispatched it easily enough, but it fought with a ferocity that suggested that commoners and soldiers alike would avoid this place.

But of course, not a day later, he’d heard someone climbing the cliff—his cliff, he’d thought, stubbornly. Whoever it was was talking too loudly to be searching for an errant dragoon, though. Tucked away behind the ruined vessel, he’d waited until it seemed they were facing away, then stole a look.

Of course it was her. Who else would turn up on the very rock Estinien was hiding if not the bloody Warrior of Light, accompanied by yet another Scion of the Seventh Dawn? Still, they weren’t looking for him. They’d probably come to inspect the Garlean outpost and figure out why it wasn’t firing at them. If Estinien stayed out of sight, they’d figure it out soon enough and leave him be.

He hadn’t chanced a second look. Alionne was too bloody perceptive, sometimes, and who knew what powers the other girl had. Still, he could hear snippets of their conversation, when the wind was right— or rather, he could hear the one girl’s chatter, and then the occasional pause, when Alionne was presumably nodding in response. 

She’d looked… quite lovely, he thought, mulling over his brief glance as he waited for them to leave. She’d exchanged her heavier Coerthan outfit for something more befitting the desert, and it revealed a great deal more of her form. She’d looked stronger, too, although mayhaps it was simply her outfit, exposing more muscle to admire. Still, even Estinien, who had been avoiding people for moons now, had heard of Doma’s miraculous rebellion. The whole thing reeked of Scion meddling, and where the Scions went, so too went the Warrior of Light, so she’d likely honed her skills on some far eastern magitek.

He’d love to examine her more… thoroughly. Certainly, their last dalliance suggested she’d be amenable, but a few conversations prior to his departure suggested that Aymeric had finally found his balls and was going to ask her out, properly. And while he was fairly sure he’d be welcome in that arrangement, it did mean she could lecture him on both the Scions’ and Ishgard’s behalf, and no potential dalliance was worth that mess.

It’s good to see her, though. Since leaving Ishgard, the only familiar face he’d seen was Hraesvaelgr's, and as… interesting as that encounter had been, there was a comfort in seeing his friends here, even if from a distance. Alphinaud, he’d spotted leaving the rubble of the tower, which was a relief, considering the carnage that had befallen it. And here is Alionne, equally uninjured. He’d done a good day’s work at Castrum Abania.

He hates to leave a job unfinished—that was what had led to him tramping all over Gyr Abania in the first place, unfinished business—so when the Scions finally leave Estinien’s rock, he lingers. No doubt, the imperials will be hard at work repairing their weapon. The Resistance seems savvy enough to press the advantage, but he’d like to see things ended for himself. Besides, if they successfully eliminate the outpost, the Resistance will claim the entire region, and Estinien will be able to leave more easily, dodging only one army, and a much less bloodthirsty one, at that.

So he keeps an eye to the south as he sets up a camp. Movement suggests repairs to the ceruleum pipeline are indeed underway, but the cannon barrel stays put. By mid-afternoon, Estinien is dozing slightly, which is why he’s caught off-guard when there’s suddenly a large hole in the glass window of the castrum’s command room. On instinct, he leaps to his feet, grabbing his lance, before he realizes that whatever’s happened, it’s hardly something he can leap off and address. He sits back down, watching the outpost more closely. 

In the next few minutes, the small dots moving to and from the broken pipeline suddenly cease. They’ve stopped repairing the pipeline, then. Well, that’s as sure a sign as any that the Resistance have done something. Pushed someone out a window, it seems.

No further activity comes from the castrum as night falls, and Estinien slowly relaxes. The cannon is dealt with, so he can resume his search for the Eyes. He doesn’t know how much aether remains in them after such a powerful summoning, but he’s confident he’ll recognize their signature, no matter how faint. He’d sensed nothing from the Resistance camps, so they were probably in the hands of the Garleans—besides, if the Eorzean Alliance had found the Eyes of Nidhogg, Aymeric himself would probably have arrived by now, bloody guilt complex the man carries.

So, East, then, to occupied territory, where the Resistance themselves are no doubt headed. And, assuming he finds the Eyes, perhaps further East, after that. No Eorzean had seen anything like the great dragon summoned over Baelsar’s Wall, but Estinien had found a tome of Far Eastern lore depicting such creatures. With Eorzea’s dragon troubles mostly-sorted, Estinien might be more useful in other parts of the world.

It would be a nice change, too, from this endless desert. Even Coerthas was more than snow, once you got far enough out. This… he’d never begrudge the Ala Mhigans their homeland, but it could do with a bit more color. And Estinien had heard that the hot springs in Kugane rivaled those of Ishgard.

He’s nearly drifted off, imagining it, when a familiar sound brings him to full alertness. The whistle of a rope, tossed over a hold, the scrape of shoes on stone. Someone is climbing his cliff, and a great deal more quietly than the Scions earlier.

Or… not that quietly, he amends, hearing a muttered curse. Not a stealth mission, then. Mayhaps the Resistance had sent a scout. Or a desperate Imperial was climbing to high ground, looking for intel.

Well. He was very good at hiding in the shadows. He would watch them from here. If it was a Resistance member, he’d stay out of sight, and they would never be the wiser. If it was an Imperial… well, they wouldn’t see him, or anything else, for that matter.

Silently, Estinien tucks his few belongings away, glad he hadn’t started a fire—there will be no trace of his presence if he leaps away. He hefts his lance, eyeing the cliff’s edge. The moon was near-full, so whoever it was hadn’t needed a torch. Or they knew the cliff well. Or they were desperate.

Or… a hand grasps the edge of the cliff, and Estinien stares at it a moment, trying to figure out why he recognizes a hand and, Halone’s swiving teats, it’s the Warrior of Light, of course it is, because Alionne is too lucky, or persistent, or something for her own good.

Estinien is frozen in indecision. Is she here for him? The imperials knew their cannon had been destroyed by just one man, and the Resistance likely had spies among them, given the lack of an all-out assault on the castrum. There weren’t many men who could single-handedly cause that much damage, and as much pride as that brings Estinien, the Scions might have guessed his presence. Although that didn’t explain why she knew he’d be here, on this particular rock… it could be another reason. She’d been here before, perhaps she was scouting something. He could jump away, while she wasn’t looking, and she’d never know he was here. He could do it now, in fact…

Which is fair strange, because he’s been staring at her unmoving fingers for far longer than it should have taken for her to climb up over the edge. What is she doing? What kind of person climbs a cliff (my cliff, Estinien thinks mutinously), just to stop, right at the end? Is she hurt? Is she daft?

He’s taken a few steps towards her before he even notices, and that, more than anything, makes the decision for him. He’d been granted a second chance at life, and he’d vowed, upon waking, to make the most of it. For some reason, Alionne Bloody Ralnara is climbing his cliff in the middle of the night. Might as well see why.

In three strides, he’s at the edge, and he reaches down and grabs her—a little rougher than he means to, but maybe it will shake free whatever daydream has left her hanging from a cliff, like an idiot.

“Only a fool would climb a cliffside like this at night,” he grumbles as he pulls her up. 

Irritatingly, his gruffness seems to calm her. “And only a fool would be waiting at the top,” she informs him, and he lets go of her wrist immediately.

They stare at each other, taking in the changes of the last few moons. Alionne eyes his new armor, and Estinien admires how fetchingly her dress sits atop her collarbones. Still, he’s suspicious, and that isn’t helped by the satisfied look she’s giving him.

When she doesn’t speak, he folds his arms. “Well? Out with it, then.” 

Alionne gives him a curious look, and Estinien huffs. He hates this conversation already. She’s far too good at making him do the talking.

“You must have come all this way for something,” he points out. “Come to plead your case for the Resistance, then?”

Her gaze sharpens in disapproval. “No, actually,” she retorts. “I just missed you.”

Estinien’s traitor heart flares up beneath his breastplate, and he has no idea what to do with the feeling. “You climbed up a hundred-yalm cliff—which you shouldn’t have known I was on, mind you—because you missed me.” And now they’re glaring at each other, which doesn’t make any sense, she just got here.

“I saw you, from Castrum Abania,” Alionne informs him coldly. “Or, I thought I did. And I thought I might see if my friend, the one who might have destroyed an entire cannon for us, was still here.”

Ascending cliffs on the chance that friends might be present is not logical behavior, in Estinien’s opinion, but he also doubts arguing the point will get them anywhere. Which is why he hates talking.

“You let me find you,” adds Alionne, “so clearly, you missed me too.” And… gods, how had she read him so easily? He hadn’t realized it himself, until she’d said it, but something in him had warmed just because she was here.

And just like that, she’s won their conversation, and Estinien never had any chance, did he? She could ask him to assassinate Lord Zenos now, and he’d be too outmaneuvered to refuse. 

“How did you become an expert in my emotions?” Estinien grumbles. It’s a concession more than a question, so he’s surprised when she answers him honestly.

"Oh, Aymeric told me,” she says, flashing him a smile, and Estinien is not qualified to interpret whatever feeling thrums in him at that revelation. “Estinien's fast,” she quotes, “so if you catch him, it’s because he’s let you. He said it’s how you show affection.”

It’s maddeningly accurate, and of course Aymeric is the one to have figured that out, he’d chased after Estinien often enough in their youth. But what has Estinien wanting to fling himself off the cliff edge is that he’s never noticed. Self-reflection has never been his strongest suit, but he’d thought he’d improved at it, lately, and yet, here Aymeric is, slicing him open from half a continent away.

“Alionne,” says Estinien, wearily. “Please stop telling me things about myself.”

She drops the subject (and why wouldn’t she, she’s already won) and looks over his shoulder curiously. “Where have you made camp, then? I thought I might join you.”

A suggestive remark sits on Estinien’s tongue, but he’s off-balance, and isn’t sure he wants to make it. “Pick wherever you like,” he sighs, instead. 

And so, he finds himself helping the Warrior of Light set up a much more elaborate camp than he’d planned. He’s not sure when he went from leaning against the ship, arms crossed, to arranging rocks that will protect a small fire from the wind. “If there are any imperials left, we’ll draw them straight to us,” he complains. 

Alionne raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to point out how ridiculous he sounds, and he scowls. Just because he’s lost doesn’t mean he has to lose gracefully.

“Have you had the chance to sample any of the local fare?” Alionne asks, ignoring his complaint. She pulls a tin from her bags, and sets it atop the fire to warm. “The bread is a little tough, but the stews are hearty, and the Resistance cooks seem to find ample herbs to spice them with, no matter where we camp.”

“I have not.” Where is she heading with this?

“Well, I have enough for two,” she says, smiling, and just like that, he’s out of patience for playing house, or whatever they’re doing.

“Alionne,” he bites out. “Why are you here.”

Her eyes search his face, more calculating than angry, and then she fixes him with a serious look. “I told you. I missed you, and I thought you might be here. So I came to see.”

Which doesn’t answer the real question in the slightest. “And now that you’ve seen me.”

“Now, I’d like to see what you think of this stew. And if you like, I can tell you about my time in Doma. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to thank you for destroying that cannon, because you saved a great many lives.”

She’s open, and honest, and there’s no way it can be that simple. “Do you have. Questions.”

She seems to genuinely consider it before shaking her head. “You seem to be dreading anything I could ask, so, no. I will hear anything you wish to share, but I will not ask anything of you.”

He catches her phrasing. Not, I will not ask you anything, but, I will not ask anything of you. No expectations. No requests, from well-intentioned Scions or Resistance leaders or… Aymerics. The tension drains from him, and he is only slightly annoyed at how quickly he’s trusted her.

Not that he hadn’t before. But before, he’d trusted her to watch his back, and to not make things too awkward if they ever had a falling-out. Now, he knows she won’t push, where it’s not welcome. That she’ll respect his choices, whatever they may be.

Shite, he trusts her with his heart, as awkward and starry-eyed as that sounds. He’ll be mooning over her, next. Or mayhaps he already is, since he’s been silent for far too long, now, and Alionne’s still looking at him intently, as though the longer she stares, the more he’ll believe her declaration of good faith.

“...Thank you,” he manages, stumbling only slightly, and her gentle smile warms him all the way through. And mayhaps this conversation was never one to be won, or lost.

Well, if that’s the case, he’s been an unsociable bastard. Estinien stares at the fire until he feels capable of stringing sentences together and being... well, not charming, but maybe— civil. “In light of your promise, this request is markedly unfair, but may I ask you questions?”

Alionne, who has been politely giving him space, suddenly beams. “I would be delighted.”

“In that case,” says Estinien, allowing himself to smirk at her. “Would you share your stew with me, then, and tell me of your time in Doma?”

The stew is remarkably flavorful, and tender, compared to the dried foodstuffs and hastily-roasted meats he’s been eating, lately. Though it is no doubt enhanced by the company, as Alionne tells him of pirates and shinobi, of underwater villages and nomadic warrior tribes. She keeps the tale light, even though Estinien knows it must have been far more difficult for the Scions than she lets on. He’s thankful—he doesn’t think he has the stomach for serious conversation, not unless she’s brought some spirits to accompany the stew. Besides, because it’s not important that he focus on the details, he can admire the way Alionne’s eyes flicker in the firelight.

Eventually, they’ve eaten their fill, and a comfortable silence stretches between them. When Estinien thinks of what he’d expected to do this night (very little), a deep thrum of satisfaction curls in his belly, powerful enough to take him by surprise. Until these last few moons, Estinien has never been indulgent, too focused on vengeance and discipline. His recent ventures have been instructive, and this night most of all.

“May I ask another question?” he asks her.

“If I haven’t been clear enough,” says Alionne, playfully exasperated, “you may ask me anything you like, Estinien, and I will do my best to answer it.”

For a moment, Estinien considers asking something embarrassing, but he quickly discards the impulse. There’s only one question he really wants to ask, anyway. 

He gestures to their campground. “Did you come here just to talk?”

Alionne sends him another calculating look. Estinien returns it, confidently. He’d made his choice when he’d grabbed her wrist. “That depends on whether there’s more on offer,” she says, eventually, and Estinien can feel the space between them narrowing.

Wait. First things first. He leans backward, not breaking the mood, but prolonging it. “Have you and Aymeric talked, yet?”

Alionne’s gaze goes distant, and softer, which answers Estinien’s question before she speaks. “We’ve talked a great deal, yes. As you suspect, some of it was about you. Neither of us is promised to the other exclusively, if that is your meaning.” 

Something about her tone suggests that Aymeric and Alionne have been uncomfortably forthright about their feelings, in a way that Estinien can’t consider right now without bolting, but luckily, Alionne’s body language suggests she won’t mind cutting the conversation short.

Good. He may be a poor conversationalist, but Estinien is confident he will have the upper hand in this.

#*shrugs and goes straight for that ot3 content* #aymeric's not even here but he's in my brain alright #overuse of italics #there's like a 50-50 chance I write a smutty sequel eventually #and like a 99% chance I start fleshing out this timeline with HW-era stuff #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #ali writes #Estinien x WoL #aymeric x estinien x wol

[itsclydebitches]

Right, we’ve talked about the Garden scene to death but I’m here to talk about it even more. 

There’s something about Crowley’s tone and topic choice in that scene that’s bugged me since I first watched it. Their meeting doesn’t function like a normal conversation and for a while I was writing that off with, “Well duh because they’re not normal and they’re awkward and this is a comedy. This is about form, not realism.” And yeah, fair. Except there’s still something about Tennant’s delivery that stood out to me and I think I may have finally hit on it today. 

Crowley looks and sounds like he’s spoiling for a fight. Or at least he’s acting like he’s expecting one. 

You’re a demon. You’ve been a demon for a while now. Any interactions you’ve had with the host are probably similar to what we see 6,000 years later: you’re the Enemy and the opposition is only considered Good under the rules of an already corrupt system. Crowley has, to our knowledge, no reason to think this angel of the eastern gate is any different from the Gabriels out there. So he doesn’t pull any punches when they first meet. Why should he? He’s already been judged. 

Slither up in your demon snake form and transform right there, flaunting who you are. Open with a currently nonsensical comment (“Well that went down like a lead balloon.”) that makes it sound like you know more than this angel. Immediately segue into the very thing that caused your fall in the first place: asking lots of dangerous questions. Isn’t God being unreasonable? Why’s it matter if they know the difference between good and evil? Shouldn’t She have just stuck the tree on the moon or something? Didn’t you have a sword? You did. Huh. Allow me to subtly insult you, an angel, by assuming you lost it. Crowley comes across as decently friendly here because I think he’s just like that, but compared to what we see later he’s downright cold and even a little combative. He’s positively screaming, “I’M AN EVIL DEMON DOING ALL THE WRONG THINGS RIGHT NOW” and waiting for the inevitable response. We know Crowley self-punishes in a number of ways and I can easily imagine him deliberately setting up a situation where another holy being gives him exactly what he ‘deserves.’ 

Problem is, Aziraphale doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t even realize there is bait because he’s legitimately good. Snake form? A little surprised, but I won’t comment on it. Lead balloon? Yeah, again, I’ll just be polite and let my confusion slide. Aziraphale isn’t jumping at the chance to fight/smite/drive off Crowley simply because he’s there and he’s flaunting his differences. So we dive into Big Forbidden Questions instead and yeah, Aziraphale repeats what he’s supposed to, but there’s no real passion behind it. Very bland, generic answers. So Crowley pushes even more. The whole scene (again, comedy) is quick and lighthearted, but his question about the sword is huge. Were you, an angel, so incompetent that you lost the sword given to you by God Herself in so little time? And yes I, a demon, am calling you out on this. That would have incensed any other angel. 

But instead we get that amazing exchange. 

Crowley: “You what?” 

Aziraphale: “I gave it away!” 

This is the moment where we see Crowley become Crowley. The demon we’re familiar with, much more open and genuinely friendly. Everyone else has talked at length about how this is the moment where Crowley fell for Aziraphale, when he realized he was unique, and yes, absolutely---but the lead up is just as important. Crowley’s surprise here banks on him having a very different expectation for how this conversation will go down and I think the first half of their talk demonstrates that beautifully. 

Crowley started with confusing commentary, dangerous questions, and subtle insults. Immediately after this he’s going, “Oh you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing” which they both know is a BLATANT lie. Crowley was an angel! He did a wrong thing! But Aziraphale likes the assumptions he’s been taught---living with a bit of denial---and is reassured by the words. Crowley picked up on that and is suddenly eager to sooth him rather than push him. (That’s something we’ll see up until the bandstand. Crowley often uses their respective roles to reassure Aziraphale in other ways, such as reframing their godfather duties as an angel thwarting a demon. It’s only when the world is literally ending that he denies Aziraphale these comforting fictions.) He just becomes so soft as soon as he has concrete proof that Aziraphale is different; a little like him. 

Let me reassure you. 

Let me make you laugh. 

Let me share that I have fears about my choices too. 

Let me stand under your wing. 

The change is really extraordinary and I too am supremely soft. 

#good omens #long post #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #mymetas

[pilot-boi]

Ocean Eyes and Wilted Roses

Weiss got rejected and was forced to attend the dance alone. That was fine, wasn’t like she was upset about that or anything. Nora didn’t like it when her friends were sad, and Weiss was probably her friend, and she was definitely sad, so it was up to Nora to change that.

(Same AU as Blooming, you DON’T have to read that first, but it would be appreciated if you did)

AO3 LINK

Everybody needs friends, but sometimes it’s difficult to accept when you have them. Birthday present for @harmonylight :D

Girls in brightly coloured gowns and boys in dark suits twirled their way across the dance floor. Candles sparkled in the glass chandeliers hanging above the dancing throng. Tall windows lined the walls of the hall, with the doors at the base opened so the overflowing and chattering crowd could spill out onto the lawn to get fresh air.

Everyone was laughing and talking and having a good time. Some dancing, some hanging half-way over the balconies above, some loitering by the punch bowl, but all basking in the warm glow of companionship.

All except Weiss.

From her spot on the sidelines, she had a clear view of all her friends. Ruby and Yang on a balcony above, just quietly enjoying each other’s companionship as they watched the dancers. Nora holding a bemused looking Ren by both hands as she spun them both around, her exuberance cutting a wide swath through the crowd.

It seemed like everyone was too worried to get close for fear of injury.

Weiss had seen Jaune and Pyrrha duck out of the dance hall a few minutes ago, the boy in his dress pulling a furiously blushing Pyrrha after him. The dress was a surprise, as was the lack of pining over her all night. But from the lovestruck grin on his face that she recognized from the too many times it had been directed at her, Weiss wondered if his days of hopelessly flirting with her were over.

But she suspected they’d been over since Jaune asked her for flower advice. That boy was a hopeless romantic no matter who he was pining over.

Her gaze shifted over the crowd, spotting Penny dancing with one of her guards, the General waltzing calmly with Professor Goodwitch, and the Headmaster keeping an eye on everyone, all with that mysterious smile of his on his face. She spotted Blake watching with fond amusement as Sun and Neptune argued animatedly.

Weiss was glad that Yang had somehow convinced Blake to take a break from her frenzied and exhaustive search, but she couldn’t deny the twinge of upset she felt in the pit of her stomach when Neptune flashed Sun a particularly brilliant smile.He’d come and talked to her for a bit, explaining what his hang-ups had been. Weiss was more than a little surprised that Jaune of all people had been the driving force to change his mind.

But then Sun had called him away for something. And with a shouted over-the-shoulder apology, Neptune had left.

It was fine. She crossed her arms, a sour expression on her face as she deliberately turned away. She was fine.

“Weiiiissss!!!!” called an over exuberant voice, jerking her out of her sulking for a moment. Her head jerked up to see a furiously waving and pink-cheeked Nora rushing over to her. Ren was nowhere to be seen, which was troubling. A Nora without supervision was a Nora who was likely to start breaking things.

“Hello Nora,” Weiss said placidly, eyeing Nora as the bubblegum-pink girl came to a halt in front of her. She hadn’t expected anyone to come over and say hi, not when there was dancing to do and friends to laugh with. She wasn’t bitter.

“Why’re you over here all by yourself?” Nora asked, bouncing on her feet to the beat of the music.

Weiss bristled for a moment, instinctually thinking that Nora was making fun of her, the great Weiss Schnee, for not having a date to the dance. But upon further examination, Weiss found only honest curiosity in Nora’s clear blue eyes. She should’ve known better, the redhead didn’t have an insincere bone in her entire body.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Weiss commented, once again glancing at the crowd to see if she could spot Nora’s missing partner. “Has Ren run off somewhere?”

Nora shrugged, sitting down in the empty seat beside her without asking if she could. Weiss didn’t know if she would’ve said no regardless. “He’s getting drinks for us,” Nora grinned, legs still kicking in rhythm. “Guess all the dancing must’ve worn him out.”

Now that Weiss could believe. Even sitting here, Nora was still moving, she could only imagine how tiring dancing with her must be. Weiss sometimes wondered whether Nora ever lost the energy she got from her Semblance, or if this was just natural.

“But that’s not important,” Nora waved off Weiss’s comments. “You never answered my question!”

Weiss avoided Nora’s curious gaze, choosing to stare determinedly at the crowd rather than at the redhead. She didn’t have to answer if she didn’t want to. Nora wasn’t her father, nothing was mandatory here unless she wanted it to be. It was just her luck that her gaze happened to fall on Neptune’s little trio at that moment, and Weiss stiffened.

“Oh…” Nora murmured, softly enough that she could scarcely be heard over the crowd and the pounding bass of the music. “That makes sense.”

Weiss tore her eyes away from Neptune to glare at Nora reproachfully. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” she snapped. The redhead was just smiling softly at the distant trio, and then turned a too-knowing look on Weiss. The heiress’s heart sank.

Oh. That’s what that was supposed to mean. She averted her gaze.

The music overhead shifted, changing from whatever the bassy energetic pop had been to something more slow and calm. The more boisterous dancers meandered off the floor, making way for blushing couples as the tempo slowed.

“Do you wanna dance?” Nora offered. Weiss startled, staring at Nora like she’d dropped from the moon.

“W-What?!” Weiss spluttered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks, and silently hating how casual Nora seemed.

Nora shrugged, her usual sharp grin smoothing to something softer. “It’s not fair that you’re just sitting over here all alone,” she reminded Weiss, leaning towards her slightly as if this was confidential information. “So I thought I’d offer.”

Weiss was nonplussed. “But… what about Ren?” Ren was Nora’s date. Ren was getting drinks for the two of them. Ren should be dancing with Nora.

Nora once again waved off Weiss’s comments. “He won’t mind, trust me,” Nora reassured her, and Weiss was faintly surprised when she realized she did trust her. When had that happened? “So-” Nora clambered to her feet, brushing down her floaty pink dress with one hand and holding out the other one to Weiss. “-what d’ya say?”

“I…” She hesitated, one hand lifted to take Nora’s outstretched one, the other one curled tightly in her lap. Weiss found her gaze flickering between Nora’s hand and her face. Chipped pink nail polish, of course. Freckles in a constellation across her faintly flushed cheeks. Warmth and trust and friendship in ocean-clear eyes.

Weiss found her gaze connecting with Yang’s purple-eyed one over Nora’s shoulder. The blonde was still up on the balcony, and was watching her intently. Yang had convinced Blake to take a break.

Oh what the heck.

“I would love to.” At her words, Nora grinned widely, grabbing her hand and pulling her upright. Weiss was tugged to her feet more quickly than she’d been ready for, and she distantly remembered that oh yeah, Nora Valkyrie could bench press five of me.

Over Nora’s shoulder, Yang grinned broadly.

Chattering excitedly, Nora led Weiss out onto the dance floor. Other couples were swaying there, some awkwardly, most blushing intensely. Weiss thanked her lucky stars that it was a slow song, maybe this way Nora wouldn’t kill her.

The two of them swayed together, rotating slightly. Nora’s hands at Weiss’s waist, Weiss’s on Nora’s shoulders. Nora talked about anything and everything, from school, to flowers, to candy, to friends. Weiss found herself grateful that she didn’t need to chime in too much, Nora seemed perfectly happy to keep up a running commentary all on her own.

She spotted a newly returned Jaune and Pyrrha across the dancefloor. Pyrrha had flowers in her hair, and Jaune was blushing like the sun, but they were holding hands and spinning slightly just as she and Nora were. Progress was slow, but it was happening, thank the gods.

“This is okay, right?” Weiss glanced back at Nora. The redhead was watching her intently, ocean eyes wide and discerning.

When had she learned to trust those eyes?

“This is great,” Weiss replied, smiling more sincerely than she thought she was capable of. She felt an unbidden surge of warmth when Nora’s grin returned, and Weiss very suddenly realized that maybe tonight wasn’t a total loss.

#rwby #weiss schnee #nora valkyrie #nordic winter #blooming #mine #my writing #harmonylight

[sillyandtwisted]

Chengning story thoughts: WN is starting to lose his emotions. JC unknowingly is helping them resurface.

Wen Ning never approved in coming back to life. He had hated it. He had hated the looks of fear and disgust. He had hated having strength that he would forever have to be cautious to use. Hated that his sense of touch and taste had dulled.

But he couldn’t hate the people who brought him back. The ones that loved him so much they defied the odds to bring his consciousness back. He should be grateful, he knows and he is, but it’s getting harder to even feel let alone emote his feelings.

He once thought he was just maturing, becoming more sure of himself, but now he’s realizing his emotions are just leaving him. He doesn’t feel happiness, sadness, or even hatred as he used to. He doesn’t stutter, fidget or even unconsciously move anymore either.

This is worse than being dead, but he still doesn’t want to die.

He’s not quite sure why he even wants to continue living in such a state. Lan Yuan and Lan Jingyi don’t really need him on their night hunts anymore even if they assured him they enjoy his company and help. Wei Wuxian had made it clear he wanted him to find his own path and had even forbidden him from calling him Master Wei. Second Master Lan seemed to also find his presence uncomfortable? Mildly inconvenient? He wasn’t quite sure where he stood with him even now. Not to mention his run-ins with Sect Leader Jiang.

Sect Leader Jiang, the hot tempered leader of Lotus Pier, still hates him and makes sure he knows it. He’s not quite sure how they keep running into each other, outside of night hunts, but every time they do he was sure to get berated by the man. From his appearance to his methods Sect Leader Jiang always has a harsh comment to make.

It stirred something in him.

He wasn’t quite certain what it was, but he wanted to hold on to anything that caused him to feel more.

Maybe that’s why he’s currently tailing the junior quartet again. He knows wherever young master Jin is his overly protective uncle wouldn’t be too far behind. Hiding in the shadows waiting for anything to go wrong and then to swoop in with Zidian and Sandu to destroy the threat.

However, lately he’s been confined to the sidelines as the juniors have become more confident and capable in their abilities. They now easily cover each others weak points and strategize more effectively then when they all first started night hunting together.

Now it’s only once every so often that he and Sect Leader Jiang intervene and it seems this night wouldn’t be one that they do.

“Come down from there they don’t need us this time.”

He was perched up on a branch and gave a quick glance down to the noticeably impatient man, before returning to examine the battle.

“Things could still go wrong Sect Leader Jiang.”

He knows that will get a rise out of him, but he was also still worried for the juniors safety.

“Are you questioning my judgement Ghost General? Or are you that doubtful of your little Lans abilities?”

Wen Ning felt a tingle of amusement. His little Lans? Well he guessed he was unofficially one of their guardians.

“No, just being cautious Sect Leader Jiang. Thank you for your faith in the the Lan juniors abilities.”

He forced his face muscles to give a smile to show he meant what he said.

He heard a straggled noise before he felt Zidian wrap around him and pull him down.

Now he wasn’t sure what he did to offend Sect Leader Jiang so much so to feel the sting of Zidian, but he didn’t quite mind. He could have easily dodged, but he wanted the shocks from the spiritual weapon go through him. It relieved him to be able to still feel something even if it was unpleasant.

“You should be careful with the faces you make.”

He jolted himself back from his thoughts to look up. Maybe he’s also losing his sight, because he swears he sees a faint blush marking Sect Leader Jiangs face that’s being illuminated by the light of the moon.

“I was only trying to smile for you Sect Leader Jiang.”

Yes, he’s certain his sight is going awry as he sees the blush getting darker and the tips of the ears go red.

He also feels a slight pang in his head of another emotion that he can’t identify. Perhaps it was from the fall and the shocks.

“That’s not necessary.”

Harsh as always.

“Forgive me, I will not smile anymore to you if it offends.”

Maybe it really did offend him. It would be unnerving to have a corpse smile at you in hindsight.

“That’s not what I meant! I mean you... you can smile at me if you like, but don’t force yourself if it’s not something you want to do.”

Oh.

“I can’t smile naturally anymore Sect Leader Jiang. I have to will myself to do so as such I am always deliberate when I do.”

Maybe he should have kept quite, because now the dark blush has turned to a full face flush and something really weird is going through him.

Oh.

Oh no.

He certainly hadn’t felt this in a very long time.

“Sect Leader-“

“Wanyin.”

“Pardon?”

“You...you can...you are allowed to call me Jiang Wanyin, Ghost General.” He huffed as the red in his face increased.

If Wen Ning could blush himself he probably would have been just as red.

“I see. Then you are allowed to call me Wen Qionglin, Jiang Wanyin.”

A courtesy name for a courtesy name that is only fair. He saw Jiang Wanyin bristle at the permission and then he began to snicker.

“I am honored to be allowed to address you as such, Wen Qionglin.”

Sarcastic jerk, but he doesn’t remember his courtesy name ever sounding so nice before. It was as if Jiang Wanyin took care in saying it.

“As am I, Jiang Wanyin.”

Oh, he certainly looked better without a scowl.

He is still on the ground with Zidian wrapped around him and Jiang Wanyins face bright red with a look he has never seen before being directed towards himself.

It felt like time had stopped with them just staring at each other, before Zidian returned to its master who then offered a hand for Wen Ning to pull himself up.

That wasn’t necessary, but he took the offered hand and if he might have lingered a bit before letting go for being able to enjoy the warmth and slight smile Jiang Wanyin was giving him nobody needed to know.

#chengning #ningcheng #the intimacy of calling each other names few are allowed to #side note:juniors saw this exchange happen #yes Lan Jingyi began teasing Jin Ling that he should be prepared add a new Uncle to the list #Ouyang Zizhen is living for this potential romance and Lan Sizhui is politely internally screaming

[elliemarchetti]

The Most Beautiful and Golden of the Cages

Nobody cares, but I like it, so bear with me and accept this fourth chapter of my Haldir x half-elf fem!OC fic.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Words: 2677

For the first time since they had left Rivendell, her rest wasn’t disturbed by dreams or noises, and she opened her eyes again only the next morning, when Gimli knocked on the door to make sure she was okay. The days passed almost all the same, each moment illuminated by a clear sun, except when a drizzle fell, leaving everything fresh and clean. The air was sweet and mild, as if it was tender spring, yet everyone felt around them the deep and thoughtful stillness of winter. Even the attentions of Haldir, who at the behest of the Lady hadn’t returned to his usual task, gave her the same feeling: his smile was mild and his actions sweet, but his deep eyes let it be seen that something was troubling the quiet in his thoughts, and even while they ate and drank there was no lightheartedness in his gestures, as if only among the trees and the constant danger he really felt at home. Elva decided it was time to face the conversation in the only moment they had alone, that was before going to rest.

“If you wish to go back to your brothers and mansion, we can sleep with the rest of the Fellowship, there is no need for you to stay any longer in a house you certainly don’t love.”

Her words seemed to take him by surprise, and for a moment she feared he would take refuge in his room without giving any answer.

“To be your guide, even now we’re within the city walls, is a great honour, especially when your mission is so noble,” he replied, always with tender courtesy. He had praise and beautiful words to dedicate to her, but his gaze never rested too long on her figure, nor did their hands touched after they entered the gates.

“Yet you don’t seem satisfied,” she insisted, hoping not to be too intrusive, even though her mere presence within the talan told another story.

“Maybe I'm just unaccustomed to city life: I’ve lived in the woods for a long time now, and although I’m the only one in the family who travels to distant lands, I don’t like to sleep in a soft bed when my brothers face great risks every day,” he admitted, finally, and the subject was no longer brought up, but the next evening, as they were walking together in the cool twilight, silence fell again. They had both felt restless for the whole afternoon, unable to face the shadow of parting, but Elva knew it was something they had to address, mostly because they were going to give up each other’s reassurance for probably a violent fate.

“It’s wonderfully quiet here,” she commented, determined not to start too brutally. “Nothing seems to be going on, and nobody seems to want it to.”

“It’s the Lady’s magic,” he explained, in a neutral tone. “You can’t touch it, but I’m sure you can see and feel it everywhere.”

He was right, but the thing that struck her most was the latent intolerance he expressed toward the land he swore to protect, for which he could also have died at the hands of an Orc while patrolling, or perhaps it was directed to those who commanded it, but Elva didn’t dare to ask, mindful of Legolas’ words about Mirkwood. It’s the most beautiful and golden of the cages, but in the end, it still remains a cage, he said, during a full moon night, to explain to her what drove him to continually piss off his father and get away from his duties as heir to the throne. Even the excessive beauty of Lothlorien reminded her of home, where the benevolence shown hid the trap of a cunning king.

“I don’t think you can do much more to help us, magic or not,” she finally admitted, for the first time aloud. Until that moment, she had kept it in her thoughts, fearing it might become real, but now she knew she must accept it and go on.

“Before you go, you’ll have to see the Lady one more time,” he explained, and as if she had heard him, Galadriel appeared from a lawn, tall, white and fair, silently beckoning them to follow her toward the southern slopes of Caras Galadhon’s hill, where, crossing a green hedge, they entered a garden without trees, which opened to the clear sky where the first stars, glowing with white fire on the western woods, could be seen. The Lady descended a long staircase that led into a deep hollow, crossed by the murmuring stream that gushed from the fountain on the hill, creating a low and shallow silver basin, next to which was a silver jug. With water from the stream, Galadriel filled to the brim a tub with a pedestal carved like a leafy tree.

“This is my Mirror,” she said, in that distant, ancient voice. “I brought you here so you can look at yourself, if you wish.”

“What do I have to look for?” Elva asked, watching full of wonder the pale elf. She wasn’t deluded, probably that place would be or had already been shown to all the other travellers, but at the moment she felt important, as if the Mirror could reveal to her something it had kept silent even to its owner.

“What you wish to see, if that’s what you desire,” replied the Lady. “But the Mirror can also spontaneously show images of things that were, are and still must be, which are often strange and useful. Do you want to watch?”

The half-elf didn’t answer right away: she would’ve liked to know what was happening at home, to her friends and her king, but she was afraid she would only see the reflection of the stars, or something she wouldn’t be able to understand.

“Remember, the Mirror is a dangerous guide, as it shows many things and not all of them have already occurred, while some will never happen, if only who saw didn’t abandon their way to prevent them,” Galadriel warned her.

“I don’t think you’re advising me to look, but rather to see something,” Elva replied. No one in Mirkwood spoke in riddles, but Haldir’s ignorance about the High Elves harbours and all the ceremoniousness of their meeting with the Lord and the Lady led her to assume those elves were no more like them than the dwarves for the hobbits.

“Seeing is at the same time good and dangerous, yet I believe you have guts and wisdom enough to take the risk, otherwise you wouldn’t have revealed to your guide what my spouse and I have been hiding from our people for a long time,” replied the woman, but without any trace of the annoyance or anger she might’ve expected facing the topic. Of course it wasn’t necessary to ask her how she knew, but was she telling that her words had a positive influence on Haldir? She didn’t have the courage to turn to look at her companion’s face to find out, yet, she felt like she needed to dodge even the powerful woman’s gaze, who didn’t need to read her mind anyway to know what she was thinking.

“So, do you wish to look?” she insisted, when faced only with silence.

The marchwarden hadn’t spoke a word for the whole time, and although Elva would’ve preferred for him, who knew the Lady more thoroughly, to advise her, she decided on her own to have a peep, even if it seemed unsafe to be too close to Galadriel’s magic. Without touching the dark water, she leaned over the basin, and as if a veil had been instantly withdrawn, the Mirror grew grey and then clear, to show her the sun shining and trees branches waving and tossing in the wind, golden leaf falling way sooner than the spring buds blossom. Before she could make up her mind, the autumn light faded, and she saw Haldir, dying in her arms with many of his race around him. They were both covered in red and black blood, and she almost thought she could smell the stench of death in her nostrils, mixed with something that reminded her of wet soil, sweat and leather. His lips barely moved, but he told her to go ahead, and take care of his brothers. Without thinking, she looked away to meet his blue eyes, full of concern but at the same time as attractive as a clear sea on a hot summer day. As in a dream, she returned to his side, but everything was too strange and unreal to resist the urge she felt of touching him, a light peck on his hand just to be sure what was happening wasn’t yet another one of Galadriel’s mental games. His skin was warm, not dry with sweat as in the Mirror’s vision, but as soon as she reached out, he held her tightly, as if afraid she might fly away in the stagnant air and never come back. Obviously, the Lady hadn’t missed the whole scene, and when she asked her subject if he wanted to look too, the tone of her words had changed slightly, although Elva couldn’t understand if for the better or the worse.

“Do you advise me to do so?” he asked, but the woman answered with the umpteenth riddle, and the decision became only his. Very slowly, she felt the grip on her hand loosen, and for a moment, everything was suspended, superfluous, their barely touching fingers the only important thing. The separation was almost painful, and it seemed to Elva that between her and the elf, gazing so skilfully into the Mirror’s depth she supposed he had already done it, there were whole kingdoms and not just a dozen steps. If Lorien was apparently frozen in time, that place, like everything surrounding the Lady, seemed suspended above the laws of nature, beautiful and at the same time terrifying. Over time, she had learned that under too much perfection there was always something corrupt, something rotten, a secret to hide, perhaps in the shape of a chain mail sneaked under a tunic, or a ring delicately mixed with other shiny jewellery, slipped on a pale, slender finger. No description could ever match the wonder of seeing Nenya in person. The Ring of Adamant glittered like polished gold overlaid with silver light, and its white stone twinkled as if Earendil, the Evening Star, most beloved of the Elves, had come down to rest upon the bearer’s hand, making her suspicions therefore correct: the Galadhrim had deliberately and conveniently avoided mentioning that Galadriel was the keeper of one of the three elven rings, hence they couldn’t be trusted.

“Let what has to happen, happen,” the Lady murmured when Haldir finished his dose of horrors too, so softly that Elva almost feared she had imagined it. “You’re not responsible for Lorien’s fate, but only for the fulfilment of your mission.”

“You’re wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,” he answered, but before Elva could turn to look at her, and inquire what she meant by those words, she found only the marchwarden, the lights dying quickly and the magic of that place  drained by the elf’s absence. Unable to confront with someone, for fear that the woman and her spouse might find out, she decided to remain silent and act as if nothing had happened, even though she was dying to pester Haldir with questions about both Lothlorien’s ruler and his attitude towards them, reverential and accommodating but far from the spell the couple seemed to cast on the rest of their subject, and what he had seen in the Mirror. The Lady hadn’t in itself forbidden them to tell each other what the Mirror had decided to reveal, but even just touching the question would’ve led her guest to ask her what she had glimpsed in its depths, and she wasn’t sure she could admit that he, and his death, were the backbone of the longest, and simplest to interpret, if it could be said, of the two narratives, of which there would be no time to speak anyway, as the Fellowship was again summoned to the chamber of Celeborn, where the Lord and Lady greeted them with kind words. At length they spoke of the departure and Galadriel confirmed that they all intended to continue, providing them with boats, which would allow the crossing of the Great River.

"Even if you haven't decided your path yet, Haldir will take you wherever you want, as he’s a skilled captain and we can do nothing more to help," the woman concluded, casting a long look at Elva, weighing her reaction. For she was a good diplomat, the half-elf tried to keep her expression neutral, but Gimli’s curiosity about that silent exchange was of no help, while Aragorn was luckily too distracted by the gift to care.

“All shall be prepared at the haven before noon tomorrow,” added Celeborn. “I’ll send my people in the morning to help you make ready for the journey, but now we’ll wish you all a fair night and untroubled sleep.”

The whole Fellowship, plus its temporary new member, took their leave and returned to the pavilion to take counsel together; for a long time they debated what they should do, and how it would be best to attempt the fulfilling of their purpose with the Ring, but they came to no decision, even if it was plain that most of them desired to go first to Minas Tirith, and to escape at least for a while from the terror of the Enemy. Some would’ve been willing to follow a leader over the River and into the shadow of Mordor, but Frodo spoke no word, and Aragorn was still divided in his mind, therefore Elva remained neutral, as she seemed to understand Gandalf wished before his early death. Admitting that he would never return still gave a strange feeling, above all because an inestimable number of mysteries would remain unsolved, and so many questions would remain unanswered, but by now she believed she had accepted it, the emptiness in her heart slowly filling up with a new and different feeling, which she had neither the time nor the energy to analyze, mostly because it would’ve been of no use, since, although she couldn’t yet know when, Haldir would still have to turn his back on them to return to the patrols in the woods with his brothers.

“I shall go to Minas Tirith, alone if need be, for it is my duty,” said Boromir, and after that he was silent for a while, sitting with his eyes fixed on Frodo, as if he was trying to read the Halfling’s thoughts like the Lady had done in their first meeting. Only at length he spoke again, so softly he was probably debating with himself: “If you wish only to destroy the Ring, then there’s little use in war and weapons, and the Men of Minas Tirith cannot help, but if you wish to destroy the armed might of the Dark Lord, then it is folly to go without force into his domain, and folly to throw away,” he said, before pausing suddenly, as if he had become aware that he was speaking his thoughts aloud.

“It would be folly to throw lives away, I mean,” he added. “It’s a choice between defending a strong place and walking openly into the arms of death, or at least, that’s how I see it.”

Elva hardly heard the last justification, too busy reliving a memory of the council, during which he had already expressed a thought of that kind. She looked at Haldir, but the elf  seemed deep in his own thought and made no sign that he had heeded Boromir’s words, so their debate ended and those who would have slept in the talan took their leave for the last time, while the night grew old and dark on Caras Galadhon, maybe darker than ever.

#haldir x fem oc #lotr fic #haldir of lothlorien #galadriel #gimli son of gloin #celeborn #aragorn #legolas greenleaf #gandalf the grey #boromir #frodo baggins #half elf oc

[selkiewife]

Another perspective of the Sansa and Sweetrobin Dynamic

cw: contains mentions of rape, abuse, and sexual assault

@rhaenyra-snow I said I would tag you when I got my thoughts together. I am responding to your meta but also some of the comments and discourse I saw surrounding it. So if I get something wrong, let me know. But like I said, a large part of this is a response to the general discourse about Sansa and Sweetrobin. Obviously, you don’t have to read this, if it doesn’t interest you. It did get kind of long lol. And it’s primarily a Sansa meta. But I wanted to tag you, since you wrote the meta I am referring to. I am honestly not here to stir up any more drama, just offer another perspective of Sansa’s arc in regards to motherhood and her relationship with Sweetrobin.

First off, I completely unequivocally agree that Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne exhibit excellent maternal skills and I loved the parts of the meta that described those scenes. They were so lovely and I agree that it is a deconstruction of the typical “gnc character who isn’t maternal” trope. And I am totally here for that! For Arya specifically, as she is so compassionate and sweet and mature in the books!

And while I do think that it would be perfectly fine- and even very interesting for Sansa not to be maternal, I think it is too soon to tell that because of her age, the abusive situation she is in, and because I actually think that GRRM is doing something different in Sansa’s arc with motherhood than he is doing with Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne’s arcs. 

I think that Sansa’s situation with Sweetrobin is arguably more fucked up than the situations with Arya, Daenerys, and Pod- not their entire arcs (those are incredibly fucked up, poor children!)- just the specific “tasked with caring for a child” situation. Because even though Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne have been sexually assaulted or threatened with sexual assault, Sansa is still currently being sexually assaulted by Baelish while trying to care for her cousin, who she was almost betrothed to, who was breastfed until eight years old by Sansa’s Aunt, who Baelish murdered because she was trying to throw Sansa through the moon door... there are just a lot of fucked up levels to deal with here. There is a lot to unpack.

That being said, I am not blaming Sweetrobin at all for that. I agree that he is also dealing with PTSD. However, in real life, I would never expect a thirteen year old who is currently being sexually assaulted and groomed to be able to competently care for another child who is also dealing with PTSD, grief, etc. And I wouldn’t expect Arya, Daenerys, or Brienne to deal with it well either. If they do, that’s wonderful, but again, I wouldn’t expect it.    

The way I read it, the reason she doesn’t want Sweetrobin in her bed is because he nuzzles her breasts, trying to breastfeed- which is not his fault of course, he is seeking comfort after the death of his mother- but Sansa has a specific trigger because that is where she was groped on her forced wedding night. In the discourse, some fans were saying that Arya would let Sweetrobin sleep with her without any problems. That might be true. But whether or not Arya would allow Sweetrobin to nuzzle her in the same way isn’t really a fair measure of maternal capability because, though she is also an abuse survivor, she may have different triggers than Sansa. Recovery is different for everyone and I would never expect one abuse victim to be okay with a situation just because another abuse victim is.

That being said, I saw in a lot of the comments that people thought Sansa defenders were trying to sexualize breastfeeding. I don’t think that is true. They were saying that Sansa is being triggered. Sexual assault victims can be triggered by things that were not intended to be sexual assault. That’s what sucks about PTSD- it doesn’t care about intent. In fact, even though statistically many mothers who are survivors of molestation and sexual abuse do want to breastfeed in larger numbers than those who don’t- it still can be incredibly difficult and there are support groups and lactation therapy interventions set up specifically to offer support with this issue. That being said, she still allowed him in her room for many nights until she couldn’t take it anymore. And that is because she is compassionate to his situation. 

But even if she did not have that specific trigger, everyone has the right not to be touched if they don’t want to be- even if it is to make another person feel better. I know most people agreed with that. However, even though most fans agree with that, a lot of people were critical of the way Sansa handled getting away from her trigger- saying the way she handled the situation is proof that she is not maternal. 

I also saw people saying that Sansa was being deliberately cruel to Sweetrobin when she had his door locked. I am not going to try to defend that choice. I don’t think it was the right thing to do objectively. However, I can totally empathize with the fact that she is completely out of her depth here and does not know how to handle the situation. And like most people her age, I do not think she thought it through completely. And even then, she does let him back in her room after this incident and he sleeps with her multiple times afterwards:

He cuddled close and laid his head between her breasts. "Alayne? Are you my mother now?""I suppose I am," she said. If a lie was kindly meant, there was no harm in it.

Would Arya have made the same mistake? I agree that she would probably have been more direct. But like I said, I do think that Sweetrobin is a more difficult situation that Weasel, Missandei, or Pod. I can’t imagine any of those three children wanting to be breastfed by Arya, Daenerys, or Brienne. I also don’t remember anything described about them having horrible temper tantrums where they throw porridge bowls at people or threaten to execute people by throwing them down the moon door. I’m not saying that it is Sweetrobin’s fault- it is a result of how he was raised and how frightened and grief stricken he is- But that does make it a bit more difficult for Sansa to do the perfect motherly thing all the time in this situation. It would be hard for an adult woman to be perfect as well. Even though it is more difficult to care for Sweetrobin (through no fault of his own) Sansa is the only person that is able to do it- and people call on her to do so all the time when they can’t manage him- which I think does show that she is maternal:

"If m'lady can talk him out of bed nice," the knight said, "I won't have to drag him out." We can't have that, she told herself. 

and

"Be careful," Alayne told her. "He can hurt you, flailing. You wouldn't think so, but he can." They found a place for him, a cleft in the rock to keep him out of the cold wind. Alayne tended him until the shaking passed, whilst Mya went back to help the others cross.

This shows that she has compassion and understands that it is not his fault he has seizures. It shows that she is willing to stay and tend to him when others back off. She is also able to get him down the mountain when he is understandably terrified. 

He is afraid, she thought, and with good reason. Since his lady mother had fallen, the boy would not even stand upon a balcony, and the way from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon was perilous enough to daunt anyone.

"Mya will keep the mules from biting," Alayne said, "and I'll be riding just behind you. I'm only a girl, not as brave or strong as you. If I can do it, I know you can, Sweetrobin."

Alayne took Robert’s gloved hand in her own to stop his shaking.

“Sweetrobin,” she said, “I’m scared. Hold my hand, and help me get across. I know you’re not afraid.”

He looked at her, his pupils small dark pinpricks in eyes as big and white as eggs. “I’m not?”

“Not you. You’re my winged knight, Ser Sweetrobin.”

“The Winged Knight could fly,” Robert whispered. 

“Higher than the mountains.” She gave his hand a squeeze.

She makes him feel safe and she makes him feel capable. This in and of itself is an example of good mothering skills.

I said before that I think GRRM is doing something different with the maternal motifs in Arya, Daenerys, and Brienne versus Sansa. I think that in Arya, Daenerys and Brienne’s chapters the motherhood themes are there to reveal their characters- to show the readers how compassionate they are and establish them as protectors- on this we completely agree. 

I think where we disagree is that I don’t think that the motherhood theme in Sansa’s chapters are there to deconstruct her mothering skills as an individual but more to deconstruct mothering itself. Sansa is a learning character- her arc has a lot to do with unlearning the patriarchal lies she has been raised with while also learning how to survive within those constraints. She fantasized about knights and princes. So she learns the hard way that knights are not always virtuous, that handsome princes can be horrifically cruel, etc. She also fantasized about motherhood. And now she is learning that motherhood is harder than she thought. Yes mothering instinct is one thing- and Sansa’s instinct is to be compassionate to Sweetrobin. But what happens when the child is dealing with grief or has special needs, or you have no real help or you are dealing with traumatic stress yourself? Motherhood is hard as hell even for adult women who chose it, not to mention how hard it must be for girls who are Arya and Sansa’s ages. In spite of that, I do think that Sansa is rising to the occasion- not as immediately as Arya, Daenerys, or Brienne perhaps. But steadily- and I think that fits her arc since her motherhood themes are character development ones instead of character illuminating ones.

Because of this, it kind of reminds me of when people wrongly call Daenerys a bad ruler based on her ruling of Mereen. That pisses me off so much! Because Daenerys is given the most difficult ruling arc in the series. I agree wholeheartedly with the metas I have read that she is the answer to GRRM’s original question about the knitty grittiness of ruling instead of “and he ruled wisely and well.” She is an excellent ruler but her chapters are showing that ruling is fucking hard, even when you are excellent. Just as Daenerys is the answer to “he ruled wisely and well,” I think Sansa and Sweetrobin is the answer to, “she took the child under her wing and was a perfect mother to him.” Given the incredibly difficult circumstances, she is learning to be a truly excellent caretaker of him.

And look, I am not saying that Sansa is perfect! I’m not saying she is not mean spirited or petty at times. I’m also not saying that locking Sweetrobin in his room was the correct way to deal with the situation. I’m not saying any of those things. But what is compelling to me (and what I personally love about Sansa) is that she has done mean spirited things, but also extremely kind things. She is capable of sass and meanness and also true compassion. I’m genuinely not trying to erase her flaws. I know some fans do that. But fans do that with literally all the characters. I personally love her, flaws and all. I mean, I am a Theon fan first and foremost so... it doesn’t bother me when I read about her frustrations with Sweetrobin. I think it’s a realistic reaction and understandable.

And we do see that she is frustrated as hell with Sweetrobin at times, but she never lets it show- she is always sweet and soothing to him after Lysa dies. Real mothers also get extremely frustrated with their children sometimes and they strive to keep the same kind of patience that Sansa does. 

Perhaps we should view her locking him in his room as a thirteen year old abuse victim’s way of dealing with the fact that she didn’t trust herself to be sweet while voicing her frustrations with him. It was the wrong move, but she’s thirteen. Perhaps one of the actual adults in the situation could have stepped in at that point. But they don’t. And in spite of that incident, she does let him sleep with her again. She puts her own feelings aside for his. Which means that she lets him nuzzle her, even though it triggers her. It also means she gets up at night after he has a seizure to change the bed and to clean him up. This shows me that she is striving to overcome her own feelings in order to help this defenseless child. She even says here:

Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave.

This shows that she is continuing to let him sleep with her and also thinking about ways to protect him and give him a sense of security after he has fallen asleep. Which is incredibly maternal. Sansa is truly rising to the occasion of being motherly to Sweetrobin in spite of her triggers and her own current traumatic stress. But what is so heartbreaking is- she shouldn’t have to! And neither should Arya. They are both abused children that desperately need their own mother. So when they make mistakes with child care, I think we can view those mistakes with compassion. 

Now, I know that all I just wrote might sound ridiculous if you believe that Sansa is knowingly poisoning Sweetrobin. I personally do not take that view. I think it is just as unfounded as people who think that Daenerys will burn Kings Landing. 

I actually think that Sansa is going to eventually break out from Baelish’s manipulation and abuse and save Sweetrobin or at least try to. I think that Little Finger constantly making her an accomplice is similar to Theon with Ramsay and how he eventually saves Jeyne- but that is another meta for another time (which I do intend to write lol) and this has gotten way too long already.

Now, I could be totally wrong about all of this. As I said, this is just my interpretation- but who knows when it comes to GRRM? My faith in him has been significantly shaken based on the end of the TV series and the way he writes the sexual scenes in the books... Perhaps he is trying to say that Sansa is not maternal because she reacts the way she does to being triggered as a thirteen year old, while living in the same household as one of her abusers. But if that is the case, it is deeply misogynistic of him. 

It’s also odd that we even have to have this discussion about children caring for other children as if they were adults. Is it really fair to judge any of these characters about their maternal instincts or how they rise to the occasion of being motherly when they are all children themselves and put in such horrible situations that would be daunting for adult women? This seems to be largely on GRRM’s writing. Also the fact that we never debate how “fatherly” Jon, Robb, Theon, or Bran are, which again, possibly has to do with the writing itself. So perhaps instead of fighting each other over whose interpretation is more misogynistic, we should take a hard look at how misogynistic the writing is in and of itself. Hopefully GRRM can tie this up so that it is not as misogynistic as I fear it might be. (I truly hope so.) But that is a larger conversation to be had. 

#sansa stark #sweetrobin #arya stark #daenerys targaryen #brienne of tarth #asoaif #tw rape #tw abuse