#The options I was considering were centered around questions about what it means to be a monster hunter in a world

[chronurgy]

Every so often I think about the ways I thought wyll's quest was going to go at the end of act 1/early act 2

[a-d-nox]

web of wyrd: top most number, your higher self / crown chakra

the number we are focusing on today is based on the MONTH you were born (ex: i was born in october as you see above that my topmost number is 10 because october is the 10th month of the year).

but what does this number mean?

this number represents your highest self. i sense you are reading that like "really, a.d., this is like sun sign astrology *insert eyeroll* - there are only 12 options and all of us have the same 12 types of higher selves??" in theory, yes. it's a question of whether you can achieve your most actualized self though. the middle, vertical line of the web is your chakra insight for this life time (7 chakras (they follow the color pattern as well), 7 numbers (excluding that center most one that we will discuss later on)). the topmost number in question today is the crown chakra. this chakra links to all the chakras below it, thus it takes a lot of energy to get them all balanced and to achieve enlightenment. when enlightenment is achieved, we know what our purpose is and how to better connect with the divine. what blocks your crown chakra and thus you from reaching your highest self is often stubbornness and/or skepticism.

so let's talk about some examples:

6 - the lovers / 15 (1+5=6) - the devil

the lovers (the card that represents gemini) are depicted by rider waite smith as two nude (they appear comfortable with vulnerability they present to each other) people - one male (facing the woman - ignoring the angels message) and one female (looking up to the angel - listening to the angel). a mountain scape (soon to appear in the hermit's journey) is in the background. an apple tree with a snake (again represents the bodily / earthly like we saw in the magician card) around it's truck appears behind the woman (alluding to the biblical eve and her temptation towards the fruit on the tree of knowledge). a burning tree (likely alluding to the tree of life; 12 flames - 12 zodiacs, flames allude to the suit of wands which is about passion and ambition) appears behind the man. between them is an angel (staring at the reader - meant to confront us) with red (passion of will - the will of passions) wings hovering in front of the sun (enthusiasm and clarity). from the angels head comes leaves meant to obscure the sun which may indicate the message from the angel is to not give in to enthusiastic wonder or instant gratification but instead to explore divine will regarding passion. balance the earthly tree of knowledge / feminine with the divine tree of life / masculine.

the devil (the card that represents capricorn) is also considered the darker side to the lovers card. instead of an angel between the nude male and female this time rider waite smith depicts a devil (he frowns at the viewer - confronting us to do some self-reflection and accept our faults) sits between them. the pentagram (which has various meanings aside from being linked to satanism - the golden ratio, protection, humanity, etc) appears between his down turned horns, his wings are so large they disappear beyond the frame, and his lower half appears monstrous meaning to represent the things we fear and demonize. the woman and man are chained to the demon's perch / seat. the woman has a tail of fruit (the fruit from the lovers card) and the man has a tail of fire (the flames from the tree of life on the lovers card). the torch of the devil flares up to his arm hoping to rid the image of the monstrous being while also immuniating the sins of the two humans (likely adam (the flames are on the man's side, who is looking down - this is meant to indicate he is not accepting his wrongdoings) and eve (not lit on fire, stares at the viewer unapologetic - she accepts her situation)).

enlightened 6s have an androgyny about them; they balance both the feminine and the masculine. they are vulnerable and trust those around them. their purpose is to give divine love to those around them without demanding reciprocity, to give mutual respect and healthy communication within all relationships. they do not fear confronting their self-destructive tendencies - they recognize unhealthy habits that they continue to do. they accept self-sabatoge and take on responsibility. they abandon previously toxic situations and beliefs to better connect with the divine.

blocked 6s are codependent they rely on other to fulfill there needs for passion and knowledge. they have unrealistic exceptions for themselves and for those around them. they struggle to look inward to see what is the true source of their discontent with life. they tend to be in denial that they are unhappy in life; they may even dismiss their own feeling of discontent in front of others. they rely on the material to bring them happiness and seek instant gratification in all manners of life. they struggle with being vulnerable with themselves and others. they maintain toxic and unhealthy beliefs and often chose to stay in situations that are not the best from them. they avoid breaking patterns and making unpopular decisions.

10 - wheel of fortune / 19 (1+9=10) - sun

rider waite smith's the wheel of fortune (the card that represents jupiter) contains various occultic symbols meaning to illuminate the mysterious and invisible influences of life. the wheel floats in the air showing that the physical (the wheel) is linked to the spiritual (everything else in the image). all four fixed (stable, determined, motivated, etc) zodiac images and thus the elements are present in the corners of the card: ganymede (aquarius / air - top left corner), the pheonix (the final stage of scorpio / water - top right corner), the bull (the first stage of taurus / earth - bottom left corner), and the lion (the first stage of leo / fire - bottom right corner). this stable winged creatures will the earthly wheel into the air where the spiritual realm lies. they are aided by anubis (staring at the viewer - confronting them about how they live life), the egyptian god of the dead, a sphinx (the symbol of the diversity of life / power of knowledge - staring at the viewer), and snake (the symbol of earthly temptations and challenges). the wheel itself spins the letters T-A-R-O are inscribed on it - the meaning changes depending on the spin the image on the card: TARO (clockwise starting at the noon / midnight postion) indicates the word tarot, also while being TORA (going counter-clockwise starting at the noon / midnight position) indicates the word Torah - hence the Hebrew characters (which are thought to be used to spell the name of God) found on the wheel itself. the alchemic symbols for mercury, sulfur, water, and salt are found on the inner circle of the wheel - these are the heavenly substances of alchemy, further emphasizing the connection to the earthly and the divine.

a nude child (staring at the viewer - asking if we too are free and innocent) rides in on a white horse holding a red banner on rider waite smith the sun (the card that represents the sun) card. their arms are open wide with their back to the face of the sun (which stares at the viewer - asking if we are accepting of who we are). the red banner flies passionately and colorfully among the sunflowers (which represent power, hope, positivity, etc). the child rides beyond the wall, reminding us that we are beyond what has previously vexed and impaired us.

enlightened 10s have strong spiritual practices that they use to ease negative moments and to enjoy pleasant ones. they understand the cycles of life and carry a great deal of strength and resilence. to better connect to the divine they must focus on what can be controlled by themselves and releasing everything else as it is in the universes hands (they must trust the divine will give them only what they can handle). their purpose is to find peace in uncertainty and accept change, embrace their inner child, and to become understanding of all situations.

blocked 10s they try to control the universe - they experience controlling impulses even in the great cosmic uncertainty (chaos, for them) of the world. they struggle with endings and often resist growth (kind of like a chick that doesn't wish to hatch or a caterpillar that wishes to stay in its chrysalis). they are uncomfortable with change to say the least. they don't see things as temporary but as permanent. they can't recognize change and/or wish to see immediate results - they are prone to pessimism.

12 - the hanged man

attached to a T-post upside-down in the rider waite smith tarot deck is the hanged man (the card that represents neptune). suspended one-leggedly by the ankle. his hands are tied behind his back and his free leg is crossed behind the bound one (the symbol of a cross roads). he stares at the viewer in a relaxed manner despite his distressing situation. the yellow beam around his head suggests that his relaxed state is due to the fact that he is enlightened by his new found perspective in his dangling situation.

enlightened 12s see things from all angles and are willing to hear new perspectives on situations and circumstances. their purpose is to find curiosity in all things, no matter how plain or "boring" the object or situation is. they are patient despite how uncomfortable the wait is. they find that they aren't bored, but they are rather at peace with the world and are excited for change to come (no matter how long the wait may be).

blocked 12s fight against their circumstances; they are unwilling to relax and accept the state of thing. they often force forward movement without listening to what other may have to say, in terms of advice. they may have a "one-track" mind that is rather dangerous. they get annoyed by delays and are unwilling to wait. they hate silence and are in constant need for entertainment from external sources.

that's all for today. the next number we will be looking at is the number between this one and the leftmost number we examined last time.

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[reduxulousoctopus]

X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).

I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.

Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.

--

“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.

Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”

No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.

Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.

When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”

Morph winces.

“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”

“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”

From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”

“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”

“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”

The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”

“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”

To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.

Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.

Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.

How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?

Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.

“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.

He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.

“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”

Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.

“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”

Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”

“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.

“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”

Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.

“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”

The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.

“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”

Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”

“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”

“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.

“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”

“Who else knows?”

“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”

At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.

“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.

Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.

“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.

Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.

“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”

Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.

He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.

Badum-tch.

Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.

Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.

Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?

“Morph. Look at me.”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.

“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”

From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.

It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.

Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.

One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.

The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?

Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.

Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.

If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.

Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.

The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.

But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.

He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”

As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.

“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”

Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…

He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.

That’s real enough for him.

[ghostofaboy]

Inter-Agency Cooperation

Summary: Jack runs into another agent on a mission and figures out a new way for them both to get what they want.

Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels/Javier Peña Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only | Word Count: 2633

Warnings: Frottage, anal sex, public sex, Jack is his own warning

Note: This as not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay/bi characters. Please make sure you've read the warnings. Header by @beskarandblasters

Of all the places Jack thought he'd find himself today, a dive bar in the middle of butt fuck nowhere watching a cage fight wasn't even on his list. Silly, really, considering all the strange places his Statesman missions took him. All around him, large drunken men in plaid shirts jeered and shouted at the two half naked men in the cage. The entire bar stank of stale beer and sweat, which made Jack long for the heady woody smells of the Statesman barrel room, but he couldn't argue with the view.

In the cage, a massive slapdash metal structure that dominated the center of the rundown establishment, were two young men. Neither could have been older than twenty-five, both striped to the waist in just their jeans, and both covered in blood and sweat. It was the most homoerotic shit Jack had ever seen in such a painfully hetero bar. He had to stifle a laugh whenever he thought about it.

Taking another sip of his shitty beer, Jack glanced over to his mark, only to find him in the exact same spot since the last time he checked. Fast asleep in a corner booth, drooling into his thick, bushy beard. Another quick look around the bar confirmed that no one else was paying either of them any attention; except for one man.

Sat at a table, set off to the corner with a view of Jack, his mark and the cage, was a broody looking motherfucker. Sporting a well-worn leather jacket, a mustache similar to his own and a casual air that oozed practiced confidence, the other man had definitely made him. Everything about this guy said agent, the only question was what kind.

Jack's money was on CIA considering the dealings his sleepy mark was into, but FBI was also a possibility. There was only one way to find out, and considering Jack didn't feel like competing with another agent for the mark, working together was the better option for them both. Eying the other man, Jack could see he was also nursing what passed for beer in this shithole. There was his opening.

Sliding off his barstool, Jack glanced over at the two young men now slumping against each other, gasping for breath, the sweat rolling off them. Swaggering over to the stranger's table, Jack was met with a single raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head.

"Evenin'." Jack tipped his hat, before leaning down slightly closer to the other man. "Enjoyin' the entertainment?"

"Not my usual kind of thing." The other man smirked and Jack could just pick out the hints of a Texan accent. "But when in Rome or whatever."

"I agree." Jack gave a chuckle. "Almost makes up for the terrible beer. Do you mind if I join you?" Jack gestured to the free chair next to the stranger.

The other man didn't respond beyond a small nod, but his eyes watched Jack intently as he slid into the seat. 

“I don’t know about you,” Jack leaned in conspiratorially, “but I usually prefer somethin’ a little stronger. Now, I’m a whiskey man myself. How about you?”

“I’m a cut the bullshit kinda man.” The stranger sat up a little straighter, locking eyes with Jack with a steadiness that could only come from years of experience in the field. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and tell me who you are and what you want.”

“To the point, I respect that.” Jack nodded. “All right. I’m Agent Jack Daniels, and I’m here keepin’ an eye on that fella over there. Reckon you know who I mean, seein’ as you’ve also got eyes on him. I need him alive as part of an investigation, and I get the feelin’ you do too.”

“You CIA?”

“No.” Jack carefully pulled his fake DIA badge from his jacket, flashing it under the table at the stranger. “You?”

“DEA.” The stranger mimicked Jack, carefully and covertly showing his badge. “Javier Peña. Our guy has links to a new player in the narcotics trade.”

“Indeed he does.” Jack nodded again, glancing around to make sure no one was watching or listening to them. “Amongst other things. Peña, huh? Weren’t you part of the team that took down Escobar?”

Javier shifted in his seat. “That was a long time ago. So what do you want to do? I’m here tonight to see who he meets up with.”

“He ain’t meetin’ up with anyone tonight. He was meant to, but I’ve already made sure that ain’t happenin’.” Jack leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting over to the cage fighters who were rolling around on the floor trading punches. “The dumb fuck’ll stay here, so I was gonna wait until the mornin’ and tail him back to wherever he’s holed up. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jack watched as Javier’s sharp eyes assessed him thoroughly. Jack could feel those dark eyes taking in every detail of him and knew that on some level Javier wasn’t buying his story. But was it enough for him to leave?

“Fine.” Javier scowled, taking a swig of beer, pulling a face at the taste. “I guess we just wait then.”

“At least there’s a show.” Jack gestured to the cage, scooting his chair back slightly so he was parallel to Javier at the table. “Who’s your money on? The fuckin’ twink blond or the other one?”

“At least that one can grow facial hair.” Javier let out a harsh laugh as he watched the two fighters. 

The crowd was getting impatient now, roaring and booing for the two young men to hurry up and finish. The blond responded by lunging at the darker haired man, who stepped back to avoid the attack. Grabbing hold of each other by the jeans, the two men fell to the floor of the cage again, tussling back and forth, much to the pleasure of the crowd. 

A loud whoop came from one section of the gathered men and as Jack craned his neck to look he could see that the blond had managed to pull down the other man’s jeans, exposing his ass. As the fighters rolled, grabbed and tugged at each other, the jeans worked their way further down until the man’s cock and balls were free. By this point, he was pinned under the blond, who had straddled his back, causing the other man’s legs to kick wildly. The result was a fantastic view of his asshole bared for the crowd, with his heavy dick and balls swinging back and forth. 

Much of the crowd was cheering now, clearly enjoying what they were seeing, as the blond fighter rolled the other man onto his back, yanking his jeans completely off victoriously. Now stark naked, bruised and bloodied, the other fighter slowly climbed to his feet before quickly barrelling into the blond. 

Jack could feel his cock stirring as he watched the younger fighter’s naked body in front of him. He wasn’t alone, and Jack could spot more than a few tented pants in the audience. The blond was grabbing the other fighter’s ass and pulling his cheeks open, giving everyone a good view of a tight puckered hole, and Jack could feel his cheeks heating up as he stared. Pulling his eyes away to grab his hip flask from his belt, Jack’s eye flickered over to Javier. 

The other man was leaning back casually in his chair, giving the impression to anyone that he was completely disinterested in what he was watching. Taking a mouthful of whiskey, Jack let his eyes drift lower, his curiosity getting the better of him, and to Jack’s delight he could see the very obvious outline of an erection in those ridiculously tight jeans.

Holding his flask out to Javier, Jack couldn’t stop himself smirking as the other man jumped slightly, dropping the veneer of coolness for a moment, before taking the flask. Letting his eyes drop back down to the bulge in Javier’s jeans, Jack made sure to let the other man catch him looking as the flask was returned to him. 

“Good show, am I right?” Jack’s voice was a husky whisper as he leaned over to Javier. 

“Uh, sure.” Javier’s cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced around, looking everywhere in the bar except at the two young men glistening with sweat as the naked fighter ripped open the blond’s jeans as he swung him against the cage. His body clattering against the metal, his long cock squashed against the bars.

Jack waiting patiently until Javier’s eyes returned to him before gesturing discreetly at his hard on. “Wanna fuck?”

/////

Crashing around the back of the bar, lips clumsily found lips as teeth clashed and hands roamed. Slamming Jack up against the wall of the building, Javier’s mouth forcefully met his as the two men grunted and moaned in the cold night.

Venturing his hands lower, Jack cupped Javier’s erection through the denim, making the other man buck into his palm as he forced his tongue past Jack’s lips. It had been a long time since Jack had been with someone so aggressively dominant, and it was going straight to his cock, which strained against its confines.

Tugging open Javier’s fly, Jack reached inside, stroking the hard length, feeling it twitch in his hand as Javier’s finger’s tangled into Jack’s hair under his hat. Freeing his own cock, Jack pulled Javier in closer, bringing their erections together, as he began to steadily pump them with his hands. 

Javier moaned into Jack’s mouth an incomprehensible stream of English and Spanish as he trapped Jack against the wall, pinning him with his body as he rolled his hips in time with Jack’s strokes. But it wasn’t enough. Jack needed more. There was something about this grumpy DEA agent that was filling his head with the most obscene thoughts, and damn it if Jack wasn’t going to try and fulfil some of them.

Pulling his head back slightly to break the frantic kiss, Jack nuzzled against Javier’s jaw as the other man growled and ground against him.

“You wanna fuck me?” Jack panted into Javier’s ear, stopping his hand and pulling it away from their cocks. “I got lube and condoms.”

“Yes.” Was the simple, growled response as Javier took a step back, glancing around as Jack fished a condom out of his jacket.

As Javier busied himself putting it on, Jack quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling his jeans and underwear down to his knees. Reaching behind him, Jack pushed a finger into his ass, hissing at the coldness of the lube, before adding a second finger. Satisfied at the lubrication, Jack handed the tube to Javier, who applied a couple of drops before returning it.

Turning round, Jack steadied himself on the wall with his forearms, planting his feet as far apart as he could and bend over slightly to give Javier access to his ass. He could feel a hand on his bare hip and the tip of Javier’s cock lining up with his entrance before, slowly, Javier began to enter Jack. 

Jack let his head drop down as he bit back a moan as Javier’s thick length steady began to fill him. Inch by inch, Javier sank into Jack's hot waiting hole, both hands now gripping Jack's hips as his cock disappeared into Jack's body. Then, once he was buried to the hilt, Javier paused. Jack could hear him muttering and breathing heavily behind him as Jack adjusted to the size.

"You good?" Javier eventually whispered, one hand idly stroking Jack's exposed skin.

"I'm good." Jack hissed back, his arousal fogging his head. "Gimme all you got."

Jack heard a soft chuckled before Javier began to move. Pulling almost completely out slowly, before suddenly slamming back into Jack's waiting ass. Jack bit back a yelp as Javier began to set a rough, unrelenting pace. Each thrust pounding into Jack, rocking him forward until his cheek was barely touching the cold stone of the building. Javier's hips snapped against him as the obscene sound of flesh against flesh filled the night air. 

But it still wasn't enough. Jack was sure at this pace Javier wasn't going to last long, and given their extremely public locale that might be for the best. But Jack needed more. Arching his back, Jack tilted his hips slightly and sure enough the next time Javier plunged into him a jolt of electricity coursed through Jack. That's what he needed.

Javier seemed to quickly pick up on what Jack wanted, grabbing his hip with one hand and his hair with another to keep Jack in the right position. Then, like a jackhammer, Javier began to brutally fuck Jack. 

Jack's skin prickled with heat as the tension building in him threatened to explode. All he could do was get out shaking moans, and Javier huffed and panted behind him. The pace was becoming more erratic now, with each strike of Javier's hips against his ass, Jack could feel the other man's grip on his control slipping. The hands holding him dug their fingers in deep as Javier's tempo faltered. 

Between his legs, Jack's cock swung with every thrust, adding to the tantalizing anticipation as he got closer and closer to the edge. Then with a grunt and a hard snap of his hips forward, Jack felt Javier come. For a few seconds, he stilled, as Jack felt the cock inside him twitching through its release. Then, without warning, Javier began to pounding into Jack again.

The hand on his hip moved, reaching under to gently pump Jack's cock in time with Javier's thrusts. That was enough.

Like falling off a cliff, Jack came, spilling himself onto the dirt as his trembled in Javier's grip. Shockwaves of ecstasy rocked him as Javier continued to roll his hips, hitting that sweet spot, making Jack's knees buckle.

Jack would have been content to rest there against the wall of the bar, Javier's cock still buried in him, as he allowed the high of his orgasm to ebb away for a little longer. But just as his head began to clear of static, he felt Javier tense behind him, then quickly pull his softening length from Jack's now gaping hole.

"Fuck." Javier hissed. "Someone's coming."

"Dammit." Jack muttered, his words slurring together as he fought to pull his jeans up. 

Voices drifted through the cold night air and Jack watched warily as two men stumbled their way towards a truck, laughing heartily as a third more sober looking friend brought up the rear. Turning back to Javier, who was in the process of disposing of the condom, Jack smirked.

"We're good. You wanna head back inside, or are you up for a second round somewhere a little more private?"

"Fuck." Javier chuckled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and after offering them to Jack, brought one to his lips and lit it. "Tempting. Very tempting, actually. But we have work to do."

"Ah, that dumb fuck'll still be asleep for a few hours yet." Jack waved a hand, but following as Javier started to make his way back round to the front door of the bar. "How about we wait till this place clears out some, then have round two in the men's room?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Javier stopped at the door, looking around thoughtfully. There were only a handful of patrons still in the bar now. As predicted, their mark was still sound asleep where they had left him. The fight was over, with the two young men now redressed and counting their winnings at a table in the corner. Leaning against the doorway, Javier turned back to Jack with a smirk.

"You wanna fuck me this time?"

/////

If you enjoy this please give it a reblog to share with other.

[ykiwrite]

i'm not in love

[bad] description: Wednesday pays you a visit in school

"And this is how you do differential equations guys. Any questions? Do i need to explain it again?" asked the professor of your beloved subject math, sarcastically of course.

"No, no we get it" shouted the entire class collectively already ready to leave in hopes of finishing earlier than intended despite understanding close to nothing before being interrupted by a gem amongst stones.

"Yes, actually can you repeat that part where…"

At that very moment you and every single being in that room let out a disappointed and annoyed sigh. Muffling out every noise surrounding you along with your vision going dark as you rested your head between folded arms acting as a pillow. Might as well take a rest since your phone died meaning no music, no music meaning no other options left except sleep to pass the time.

The bell rang and you were pretty sure everyone right now wished to be people speeding down the hallway heading out. 

"Guys, silence please. Listen to me for a minute, this is very important which i forgot to mention. We'll finish quickly and you got your break."

His rambling, although you were detached from everything could be present up until it got quiet out of the blue. Raising your head and adjusting your vision wondering what's the reason behind the silence until you spotted the reason and made eye contact with it.

Quite impossible to miss the one and only, from head to toe wrapped in black Wednesday, your Wednesday Addams.

"I am sorry for interruption sir, i considered since the bell rang the class is over therefore i may come in."

"Well uh, yes you can but i didn't finish my lecture yet."

"Would you mind if i were to take a seat in the back of the class until it's finally over? I planned on waiting for someone from this class in front of the school but your lectures allegedly prolonged."

"Yes of course, go ahead." said the man whose voice you swore was trembling at one point as he turned around to bring a lecture to an end. "Where were we?", hand hovering above the board pointlessly moving in circles in order to remember. Great, now she even confused him which will make this even longer.

As Wednesday made her way to you, swiftly moving in between rows of desks and chairs people kept turning around once they were out of her vision. Both peripheral and the center one, it's better to play it safe.

"I see how you pay attention in class." was her first words of the day spoken to you when she sat next to your empty seat. Looking at your as well empty white notebook page you couldn't defend yourself.

"Wow, not even a hi and how are you for your beloved girlfriend?" you said faking a disappointed flat tone. "Besides, what are you doing here? I can already see 90% of people in this class won't sleep tonight because of you. I can't afford to pay for therapy bills." 

"That's entirely not my problem. The reason i visited is because Enid told me you didn't answer her text messages." 

(That definitely was not the reason but you let it slide)

"You mean your text messages? I know when you use her phone, Enid doesn't use proper grammar. It screams 'Wednesday'. Also my phone died so that's why."

"Hmmm" she muttered looking you dead in the eye as if interrogating with hope you will break and confess. "I'll take that as an excuse."

"Okay but what about the real reason you're here?" You said giving her a playful smile.

"What are you implying?"

"Just say you wanted to see me so, oh so desperately. It's normal, nothing to be ashamed of. Couples do that in case this is your first time hearing about it." You gave her a wink knowing it will make her roll eyes.

"Dude, is this your friend?" ruined the moment by a guy sitting in front of you that was quiet up until now, unfortunately.

"I mean-"

"I'm the girlfriend. Why?" 

Seeing both of your sour faces he was brave enough to push forward "Listen, i always had a thing for like goth girls so i was wondering if you're free but since you two-"

"Alright guys, class is finally over. I apologize for making you stay longer, i'll make it up to you by shortening next class. See you tomorrow and have a good day."

All of the class shuffling drowned out his attempt for a small talk as both Wednesday and you thanked whatever is lurking out there for cutting it short. Wednesday was visibly close to falling apart from that interaction and it's for the best you leave as soon as possible to prevent any unwanted injuries. Clearly on behalf of the guy.   Eventually getting through the crowd and out in open felt like a wish come true.

"Looook, it's snowing right? The first one this year" you commented eagerly while looking around the sky that's getting darker and darker by each second.

"It's just snow." looking over to your side she feels like you shapeshifted into a child in those few seconds she looked away. She wasn't familiar with this type of werewolves but there's a first time for everything.

"It's also Wednesday today! It must be a sign." you claimed.

"Sign for what?" asked Wednesday completely clueless.

"Oh you know, the "first snow" traditions." quoting with your hands.

"The first snow traditions? If it's something coming from the things you read on the internet or you and Enids highly intelligent conversations-"

"No it's not! It says you're supposed to kiss the loved one on the first snowfall of the year." Looking back to her, asking you "Really?" just above a whisper. She was still wary but how could she not trust you. It's you after all.

Taking a deep breath in she turned to you fixing your winter hat and dusting of snow that has fallen, hands naturally finding their own path down to your face as she allowed herself to relax around you. 

"This better be true" merely an inches of space between two of you. In fact, she wouldn't mind if it weren't the truth.

time skip

"You lied."

"About what are we talking about?"

"About the snow tradition. I can't believe i had to hear it from Enid and her computer that there is no concrete evidence behind the snowfall and a kiss." said Wednesday bringing up your last weeks made up fact.

"And what are you complaining about exactly?" provided no answer. You won against Wednesday, congratulations. 

notes: for the sake of the story pretend you don't attend Nevermore and Wednesday can roam around freely (also no offense for math lovers)

fun fact also: i accidentally deleted this after writing it for hours i almost deleted the app

[orbital-obvious]

Anylasis of possible Jace interactions at the Vale/North (WARNING: long af)

I wish we had seen more of Jace at the Vale/North , and part of it is definetly self indulgent (I love the North and I always wish to see more of the Vale) but I've been thinking and it's like... This is both really important to the plot, overall themes, and characterization.

We've seen last season that noble houses wouldn't necessarily come for Rheanyra's cause for the sake of one vow they took 20+ years ago, so Jace DOES have some convincing to do. Also, it would be interesting to see Jace handling cultures not centered around his family and their dragons. AND Jeyne Arryn and Cregan Stark happen to be really interesting as characters.

There's a few points, and I'll probably forget most of them, so I'll just have a subject and see how both the Vale and the North would have approached the subject.

Why Rheanyra?

Choosing Rhaenyra is the more honorable option - maintaining the vows taken either by themselves (Jeyne) or by those who came before them (Cregan). But there are other concerns aside from one's own honor, other pros and cons, and I would expect a ruler to consider the good of their people before their own honor. With that-

Jeyne is an Arryn, who's motto is "As High As Honor", AND Rheanyra is her niece while she has no familial bonds to the greens, so, yeah, I'd say it's "in the bag" and it's really a question of what that support would entail.

As for the Starks, this show has this canon that they are also a very honor bound family which I don't really like, partly because it's really based on Ned (who must have gotten his ideas of honor, at least in part, from being fostered by Jon Arryn) and partly because it erases ideas like "the wolf's blood", the wild nature of the Starks, and more general cultural differences between the North and the South. Though, tbh, I don't think Cregan Stark would care to swear to the Greens - just because it will require him more involvement with Southren politics which I think that, at least at this point of the plot, is none of his business and none of his interest. I think actual loyalty to Rhaenyra could be fostered by his personal loyalty to Jace via the time they spent together.

What is the personal reaction?

How does Jeyne "as high as honor" Arryn would feel about treating with a bastard? Well, he is her blood, so how would other lords of the Vale, bound by Southern honor and virtue but not by the crown tight lip policy about Rhaenyra's children? You could even add a snide remark from the Royce, as siding with Rhaenyra is siding with Daemon, who they are certain killed their beloved Rhea.

Cregan and Jace are close of age and I think the show tried to echo somewhat the very strong connection they were said to have in the books. Weather you want it to be a romantic relationship or a brotherly one (leaning towards the second option myself but it's a matter of personal opinion) there are a lot to build and explore there. Also, I don't think the North heard the "rumors" about Jace being a bastard, let alone give a shit (due to cultural differences). Would Jace feel relief there? Would Jace connect to his father's First Men heritage - that he was never allowed to even acknowledge - in First Men majority North?

The Details - political gain:

Just becasue one is loyal to Rhaenyra does not mean this loyalty would come for free (and assuming so is a mistake, as we've seen with Luke in Storm's End). What is there to gain from this alliance?

As far as the Vale goes, I think we got a pretty good answer to that - they want a dragon. I doubt Jace would have given one so willy nilly, It would have been an interesting scene to see the give and take that led to that conclusion.

The North is more tricky. I know in the books there was the Pact of Ice and Fire which could have been connected to the whack prophecy storyline they try to push since season 1. Then again, considering the support the North currently dished out, I think "taking those men off your hands and let them die in battle before winter comes" is, in the mind of North culture, a good deal in itself.

The Details - army movement:

I know, I know, Rhaenyra is doing her best going to undercover missions to do peace gossip sessions with Alicent or whatever, but one should at least PREPARE to the option of war - including dragon war.

We sort of get that with Jeyne, requesting a dragon to protect the Eyrie (which is strong against ground attacks, but not against dragons). But what about the rest of the Vale? What are the main threats? I believe Jeyne's motive would be to keep war out of the Vale itself. How do you plan around that? Rhaenyra ended sending her youngest children (aka, potential heirs) there, which would make the Eyrie a target. Was this part of the negotiations? Was the inclusion of Rhaena?

The North, on the other hand, is probably not as concerned. It's not a worthy target for dragons - the North is big, but poor and faraway from location of importance (The Riverlands is the opposite btw and that's why I'm glad it was the focus of the season, more or less), so the Greens, without dragons to spare, would probably not send dragonriders to capture a difficult yet unworthy target. As far as more traditional means go, the North is also in a very good position: For an army to enter on foot they have to go past the Neck that has one entry point for armies which can easily be guarded, and any other entry point will require traversing the bogs and be at the mercy of the danger there, and either way the Crannogmen would bleed you dry (if you are lucky). Attack from the sea is not favorable as well, because the North is GIANT and would require transporting a lot of army on the ships and that is a waste of a good fleet if I've ever seen one, ESPECIALLY If the Vale is loyal to the Blacks and the Greens only option is to either pass the blockade + possibly the vale navy from the east or pass the ironborn from the west. All that for a bunch of frozen ground and trees with faces? fat chance. Which good for the North but a little bit bad for the Blacks, because "Rhaenyra will protect you from danger" is an important barging chip when gathering armies.

The Details - Other concerns:

The Dance is the main conflict of the show and what the Narrative should be centered about, but there are other concerns for both the Vale and the North that can be taken into account as the wardens of the East/North can use the treaty to secure help from the crown for their issues in the future, and Jace himself can talk about possible future solutions as a way to not only win their loyalty, but to prove his worth as the future ruler after his mother to both them and us, the audience.

I think the Vale's main concern is the upcoming war and weather or not an army or a dragon will come and ravage their lands, but aside from that there are other issues of clansman raidings, or maybe things related to trading with Essos (is Rhaenyra's blockade effecting this at alll?)

The North is in the opposite position: low chance of suffering from the Dance, but there are other, bigger problem. Same as it always was and always will be: Winter Is Coming. They actually touched that a bit in the show itself - more in the sense, I feel, of winter causing a higher activity of the white walkers and other matter of supernatural monstrosities; but there is also the very real issue of winter is death, as in - less food, harder weather conditions, etc etc. Cregan's concern should be first getting the North through Winter, and then whatever hissy fit the dragon family is having downstairs. I think bringing this up would cause an interesting challenge to Jace's worldview - for him and the south at large, the most dangerous thing in the world are dragons; for the North, it's winter.

Setting up other characters that would be important when the war will break out:

Not much to say about that, other than there are other characters very important to the Dance that could've been introduced in Vale and North segments. I know the show changes a lot from the books but I would hope they will at least keep their options open while mentioning certain characters and not just pull them out of thin air come season 3.

Reaction to the Green offer:

We know the Vale + North are taking the Black, so to say (not that kind of taking the black, Cregan, lower your swors none of us are deserters), but the Greens also sent for them. The Blacks have many riders so they sent their crown prince there, while the Greens only sent letters (I suspect also because they didn't really expect the Vale and the North to ralley to the cause). The show tells us those letters were left unanswered, but what was inside them? What would the Greens say to try and persuade them to their cause, and what would be the reaction?

Would Jeyne be angry at the Greens request to abandon her own niece?? and as a woman ruler, I'm sure she'll take offense in casting Rhaenyra aside for Aegon.

I kind of need a scene of a public reading and mockery of the Greens request in the North. Seems like something they would do.

Character foils and different points of leadership:

Jeyne Arryn is the head of house Arryn, Wardness of the East, and a WOMAN who does not live by the conventions of her time - she's a lesbian (well, in the book she was and I would hope the show won't erase that) who never married. She is, in many ways, what Rhaenyra aspires to be. How does she maintain her position? Rhaenyra, I feel, is too naive about people's support of her and the work she has to put in as a ruler - what about Jeyne, who probably clawed her way to the position? What is Jeyne, as woman ruler, opinion on the impact of Rhaenyra changing inherentce rules3 What can Jace learn from his great aunt?

Cregan Stark is much like Jace - forced to shoulder great responsibility at a young age. There are other parallels if you look at the book version - Cregan lost his younger brother and had a claim dispute with his uncle's side of the family. If you don't want to get into all o' that, you can also claim that if Jeyne is Rhaenyra's foil, Cregan is Aegon's - a very young man put as the head of a kingdom and forced to handle its issues at a difficult time. If we go by Wolf Blood ideology - how does Cregan's wildness compare to Aegon's? and, again, what can Jace learn from understanding the way Cregan handles his rule?

There's so much they could've done, and I don't think they could've (or even should've) looked into all of these, but touching on SOME points via Jace and character elaboration would have been nice.

[therentyoupay]

hiii kris! i am a long time fan and your fanfiction is probably the only fanfiction I still follow to this day because your right is just TEWWW GOOD. i wondered if you have ever envisaged what Astrid/Elsa meeting for the first time would be like? either modern AU or a crossover within their universes? i recently watched HTTYD 2 and noticed a lot of parallels and also a lot of differences between them - but ultimately thought - what would they even think of each other? how would they interact?

HI thank you so much. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🙏 ilu 💕💕💕💕 thank you so much for this super sweet ask and your SUPER SWEET WORDS.

also, GAH, i love this idea. i had definitely considered their potential interactions in the context of rotbtfd settings (and i briefly briefly played around with a modern/magical-realism/mermaid!au take on this in frosted sea glass, but as those who have read the story already know, elsa has a very complicated dynamic with the others, astrid included). but now that you've brought up this idea, with a specific focus on the two of them in particular...? how might a friendship begin? an alliance? i am intrigued, i am intrigued, thank you for this. 💕

I DID NOT MEAN TO WRITE ANOTHER FICLET/ONE-SHOT AHHHHHHHHHH

also, FULL DISCLOSURE, to be absolutely honest, if you’d asked me this question 4 days ago, i would have had a completely different vision/response. (maybe i’ll still write this other version one day???) however... 3 days ago, i reblogged a fanart of elsa with her own ice dragon, and it’s been living RENT FREEEE in my head ever since, so, therefore, my reply to this ask, in this moment, is HEAVILY INFLUENCED and very much inspired by this gorgeous fanart on twitter/X from @Kiddo_hah (which i found from a re-post shared by @humongoustreemoon). i, too, have reposted the fanart inside this ask for dramatic effect™ but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE be sure to GO TO THE twitter/x POST (linked again at the bottom of the ficlet too) and like, reply, and share this glorious creation, especially since i don’t have a twitter myself, thank you thank you 💕💕💕💕

//

only honor ;

//

“I know, I know!” Astrid urged Stormfly forward, patting her neck and gritting through the unnatural chill, the sharp-like blades of wind on the skin not protected by her armor. “Almost there!”

Stormfly cried out—willing, trusting, but cold, and she ain’t happy about it—charging forward, her powerful wings slicing through the frigid air as they neared the towering ice fortress.

Her eyes catalogued potential weaknesses, entry points, barriers. It’s not like Valka’s old hideaway… The structure loomed on the horizon, its crisp spires piercing the bright white sky. It’s so… unnatural… 

Unliked the Ice Beast’s jagged spikes, these constructions were symmetrical—crystalline. 

Hiccup—where are you!

Astrid decided on their entry point and swooped down to surge through the crevasse —for better or worse.  

The biting winds were replaced with a bone-deep chill, and with a screech, Stormfly instinctively slowed their pace to mitigate the burn. Astrid’s armor was not comfortable, but removing it was not an option. What is this place? The deeper they ventured into the glacier, the more Astrid’s breath crystallized in the air. Impossibly, the bright ice around them shifted and shimmered as they flew past—as though the ice itself was breathing. 

As if it were alive. 

“I know, I know,” Astrid soothed Stormfly, but they couldn’t leave, not yet. “Don’t you feel that?”

And she knew the Nadder could; there, at the center of the structure, a pulse of power—something ancient and formidable.

Another Ice King?

Stormfly slowed to nothing more than a glide as they slipped into what could only be the deep core. This far inside the glacier's cavernous heart, there was no wind, no sound; only eerie, imposing, suffocating silence… save for the occasional cracks and bending twangs of the glacier, in the haunting song that only ice sing.

“Hiccup!” Astrid called out, unable to bear it, but although her voice echoed through the ice tunnels, there was no response. Astrid carefully surveyed the walls, searching for breaks, for sign of weakness, but the ice was immovable, vast. Astrid swallowed down the fear, the instinct to stay quiet, lest the ice respond, and crack, and break.

Was this a mistake?

—no. You’re here now. 

Face it.

But what she found within the heart of the glacier was neither the hulking form of an ice beast nor the hollow emptiness she had feared.

What she found—was a face.

At the core of the glacier was a throne of ice upon a frozen dais, delicate yet commanding... atop which sat a figure draped in flowing robes as pale as the snow. Her garments were soft and flowing and light—better suited for autumn or spring, rather than the deepest core of a glacier. Astrid knew, beyond all doubt, that this creature… was not human.

Not human, not human, how, how, not human—

Stormfly drew back, screeching a warning, as Astrid's keen, analyzing, calculating gaze took in the sight of the woman—a monster in disguise?—at the center of this impossible fortress. The woman—this being—stared back.

Despite the Nadder’s every instinct, Stormfly followed Astrid’s formidable will and took them to the icy floor before the impossible throne. Without letting her nerves overwhelm her, before she had the chance to doubt, Astrid dismounted in a single fluid motion, her axe at the ready; this deep into the glacier’s core, the metal was already showing signs of burgeoning frost.

Although she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, exactly, she still hadn’t believed that the figure would rise from her throne. The woman lifted herself, her movements graceful yet commanding. Unnatural.

Astrid tightened her grip on her axe, ready to defend.

“You are lost,” said the woman. Her melodious, soft voice carried all throughout the cavern, against and through the reflective ice. All at once, the walls and floor seemed to shimmer with sunrise hues—glimmers of soft pinks, light blues, fresh lilacs. 

Her hair, as white as the frost itself, cascaded down her shoulders, crowned with intricate icicles that sparkled in the dim light. But it was her eyes—cool, piercing blue, as light as the glacial ice itself, and glowing with the same unnatural power—

“I am seeking someone,” Astrid announced loudly, fiercely, with more bravado than she felt. Not human, not human, not human— “A man, riding a black dragon. His trail led me here.”

The woman’s surprise seemed genuine, but Astrid wasn’t ready to trust.

(Who are you! What are you!)

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, with soft confusion, with (feigned?) sympathy. Astrid’s gloved hand, her cold and aching fingers, tightened over the wooden handle of her axe. The air was so cold, Astrid half-wondered if the metal blad might simply shatter at first contact. Stay calm, stay calm, not human, not human—

The woman's expression softened slightly, as if hearing Astrid’s very thoughts. 

“You are safe from me, warrior,” she promised, and Astrid carefully eyed the sympathetic slant of her brows, the reassuring tilt of her smile. Astrid inhaled, unsure, and exhaled, determined. “But you should not be here.”

“I’ll be on my way,” the words left Astrid’s throat before she could piece the puzzle together, “as soon as you explain who… and what… you are.”

The woman’s smile disappeared; the soft line of her mouth flattened into something stiff, her gaze hardening, sharpening. The air seemed colder.  

“You must leave,” said the woman, soft yet unmistakably a command. “Your friend is not here. Leave at once and forget this place. I shall not be here if you return.” 

Thousands of questions begged to spill from Astrid’s lips, but the woman—the queen?—turned her back on her—Astrid’s hackles instinctively raised at the slight, at the offense, at the dismissal—and she glided across the perfect, unmarred ice back to her throne. Astrid stepped forward, compelled into action, as the woman lowered herself on the seat with an unnatural, eerie grace. 

“Please!” Astrid’s face twisted with confusion, with indignation, with annoyance, and—although she’d never dare—perhaps a tiny bit of trepidation. “You may not have sensed him, but I know he’s here. We were—that is—our home is under attack.”

The woman—she must be a Queen, she must have been, she must be—looked on, her eyes widening, as Astrid dared move even closer, approaching the dais. Astrid hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But there was something in the Queen’s presence—a strange, cold purity of truth that persuaded her to speak. 

Her instincts had never steered her wrong… so far.

“The carnage led us north, where we found destruction all through the frozen lands… There was a sign of struggle, a great battle—we thought… we thought the damage was borne from an Alpha—an Ice King,” she admitted. 

The queen’s smile was faint but genuine—and a little bit sharp.

“I am no Alpha. And I am no King.”

Astrid was in no danger, but its prospect hovered in the air, tingling on her skin, threatening the possibility.

“Please,” Astrid insisted. “I’ll leave you be,” she declared, not knowing if it was a lie. “Tell me what you know of the battle that took place outside these walls—who you faced, and how—so that I can find him. I’ll never return.”

From the way the woman’s brow raised archly, it seemed both of them seemed to sense the mistruth in Astrid’s claim; the Queen’s chin raised, considering; her keen eyes, defiant. Sharp. Astute.

Damn. Only honesty, then. No trickery.

Only honor, and duty, and valor.

“I will tell you what I know,” said the ice Queen. “But you will not like what you hear.”

Astrid swallowed, brow furrowed, and nodded. Her armor was growing frost, and it was starting to sting.

“I am bound to the ice,” she declared, and her expression slipped into something cold, something aloof. “As I have been, for an age… I know nothing of your politics, your land disputes, and I no longer care for anything beyond these walls. But I can confirm that when unwanted visitors encroach upon that which is mine—I shall respond in kind.”

“So… it was you?”

Behind her, the air itself seemed to shimmer, and then crack—like a frozen lake underfoot. 

Astrid’s breath hitched as she watched the very essence of the ice condense, swirling like a storm gathering strength. 

From nothingness, a massive form began to materialize— 

Astrid gasped escaped her, as Stormfly shrieked, as the unnatural surge of power took shape, coalescing into the distinct outline of a dragon.

Its form—its body?—a thing of haunting beauty, shimmering with unnatural, almost ethereal light as it slinked forward. The dragon's head was massive and menacing, its piercing eyes glowing with an intense, cold light. 

Its mouth was filled with sharp, ice-like teeth, lined within a jaw no doubt capable of unleashing a blizzard with a single breath. The ice demon of a dragon let out a piercing, shrieking warning call—to Astrid, to Stormfly, who was furiously cowering and spitting at the stranger’s might, unable to summon flames in so deep a cold—but from its horrible, beautiful maw, the ice dragon spat frost like sparks.

Astrid breathed hard, trying to keep her heartbeat steady as it leered forward, curling itself protectively around the throne and the woman upon it, its mighty claws never once gauged the perfect ice beneath. The beast's wings expanded, curling about the dais, each membrane almost translucent, laced with veins of ice.

Astrid was highly aware of Stormfly’s extreme displeasure, of Stormfly’s fright and distrust, even with her confidence in Astrid’s steady presence.

Look, Stormfly, look, she willed silently to the Nadder behind her, as she stared at the ice dragon's scales—a deep, frigid blue, glistening like frozen crystals in the pale light, rolling from deep indigos to pale lavenders. Don’t you see? Maybe this is what we were looking for—maybe she’s…

The ice around her rippled with power and, Astrid realized, in that moment—

She was the ice.

The ice dragon—is her!

Astrid’s heart raced. Is this—is she—an Alpha, after all? (A new, unknown species? Is she the dragon, or is it a part of her? An extension of her? The power emanating from this Queen and her dragon was unlike anything she had ever encountered. Hiccup! Did you see?

Were you here?

Do you know!)

“What are you? Who are you?” Astrid demanded, breath shaky, awed and alarmed as the ice dragon coiled more fully around the Ice Queen, radiating calm menace—and a deep, deep core of protection. Stormfly growled lowly, still clicking her displeasure, but fell briefly subdued when the veil of danger lessened... despite the ice dragon's dark, eerie presence. 

This is it! Astrid's mind whirled through the possibilities, the calculations. If they could convince her to join them—if Astrid could convince her that they should be allies—

The Queen’s gaze held hers, steady and calm, as she folded her hands delicately atop her lap, resting upon her knees. 

“I was once known as the Snow Queen,” she intoned, her voice steeped in quiet, ancient power, now impossible to ignore. “But those days are lost to time… and you, Dragon Warrior, stand in my domain. If you wish to find your friend, you must listen to the counsel, and the warning, I shall grant you.”

Ignoring her better judgments, yet heeding her instincts—

Astrid did.

//

please go like/repost/comment on, etc. this gorgeous fanart on twitter/X from @Kiddo_hah (which i found from a re-post shared by @humongoustreemoon). PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE be sure to GO TO THE twitter/x POST and engage and spread the love, especially since i don’t have a twitter account myself, thank you thank youuuu~💕🙏🙏🙏🙏✨

[wishcamper]

Gone Baby Gone: birth control and the ethics of risky sex

CW: abortion, sexual violence.

Creds: licensed counselor with expertise in addiction, trauma, and gay stuff. Experience with tx exclusively for pregnant people and young parents with addictions.

Okay class! Today we’ll be talking about abortion oh my god don’t run away I’ll make it worth your while I promise.

Firstly, a disclaimer: I’m not interested in debating whether abortion should be legal/allowed/is moral or immoral. The research bears out, unequivocally, that access to comprehensive reproductive and family planning options improves everyone’s lives (1). And again, not actively anti-SJM or any characters, just exploring themes and what they say about us.

It’s so funny to me that NO one liked the pregnancy plot line in ACOSF, whether they love or hate or are indifferent (me) to Rhysand. And I think that’s because we, the largely femme audience engaging with the material, recognize the strings of violence weaved into it, possibly not even consciously but on a deep, bodily, instinctual level.

The 2007 crime drama Gone Baby Gone centers on a conversation about motherhood, parenting fitness, and what society owes to children. Beneath that though, and I believe unintentionally, is another story about pregnancy-capable people’s autonomy and the cycle of oppression around reproductive rights.

I’m going to spoil the movie for you - I don’t want you to watch it because Casey Affleck is a creep, and it’s not that good anyway. There’s a whole mystery plot, but the basics are: drug addict Helene’s daughter Amanda is kidnapped, then later thought to be killed but they never find her body. Casey Affleck, Boy Detective uncovers a scheme by two rogue cops to fake Amanda’s death and kidnap her because they think Helene isn’t a good mom. And they’re kind of right; once Amanda comes home, Helene is an incredibly neglectful mother, and the movie wants you to go woahhh, maybe those murdering unethical cops were right after all!

Sure, Jan.

The movie ends with the lead character wondering if Helene, for whom he’s literally killed people to bring her child back, is even fit to raise Amanda in the first place, even interested. And here’s where I feel complicated, because on one hand - yes, this is your child, and she’s completely innocent in all this and doesn’t deserve abuse and neglect. AND what were this women’s other options? Does anyone ask? Living in deeply Catholic working class Boston, did she have access to birth control? Could she have gotten an abortion? Would her culture (and her internalization of it) even allow her to entertain that option? Could she perhaps be using substances because of the circumstances of her life over which she has no control? (See Nesta, Interrupted for more on that.)

So I ask myself: what does it mean in our culture, as a person who can become pregnant, to have sex with someone who can impregnate you? What happens when your body becomes the battlefield on which larger conflicts are played out?

I’ve been thinking on these question a lot recently because my IUD is about to expire and my doctor recommended a back up method while I wait to get a new one. This has prompted my husband and me go farther into the kids conversation and consider not just what it would mean for me to get pregnant on purpose or accidentally, but what it would mean for me to get pregnant here. Where we live, abortion is technically legal but functionally impossible to find. Even for a wanted pregnancy, if it became life-threatening I might have extremely limited options.

This makes any sex inherently risky for me. IUDs failure rates range from 0.3% to 2.3%, but that still means as few as 3 in 1000 and as many as 2-3 in 100 users still get pregnant. And IUDs significantly raise the likelihood of medically dangerous pregnancies if a fetus is conceived (2). The long odds are somewhat comforting, but if I were to have an ectopic or other life-threatening pregnancy complication, I can’t trust that my local doctors would be able to save my life, legally. 

And we have talked about how we both feel strongly: it’s my life first. My husband says he would rather have me, and he would rather any children of ours have me, too. And there’s this sort of sick sense of gratitude I feel, because that is, to me, the only answer, but it feels like such a kindness nonetheless.

So we get to ACOSF (you forgot this was about ACOTAR, right? Me too.). When they decided to start trying to get pregnant, Rhys had to know the risk was there. My boy, you are half Illyrian. Even without Feyre being Mystique, get out your punnet square and do the math. Your baby always had a 25% chance of having wings. Conception was always risky. I refuse to believe he didn’t know that, and it was irresponsible of him to not inform her, a person who only entered his world like two years ago.

Then they conceive a baby with wings that, as far as they know, she has no way of safely delivering. If that’s true, why couldn’t Feyre have an abortion? I’m serious. They found out very early the baby had wings. It’s not unlike an ectopic pregnancy, or even a very small person becoming pregnant. Adolescent mothers (age 10-19) (god it feels gross to type that) are at much higher risk for conditions like eclampsia, endometritis, and systemic infections, not to mention fetal complications (3). Regardless of the details, Feyre’s body is not equipped to handle this pregnancy, and yet they never seem to explore the option of terminating it.

Which begs the question: did Feyre even know abortion was an option? Is it an option in Prythian?

In my opinion, probably. If the fae have contraception (let’s not even get into STDs and the ’they have magical healing’ BS), they must have abortion. The first record of an induced abortion was on an Egyption Papyrus around 1600BC, though the practice likely well predates that. The Ancient Greeks drove a plant to extinction for its abortifacient properties (4). And even when banned, people find ways, because they have to. Reproductive health has long been of importance to pregnancy-capable people for reasons of safety, resources, and survival. 

At the end of the day, Feyre is allowed to carry a pregnancy to term that she knows will kill her. That’s her right to bodily autonomy being exercised freely, and I will never begrudge her that. But imagine if abortion were an open option for her, and she knew the birth would kill her, and then Rhys. Knowing that, what do you think she’d choose? To die, bringing her mate along with her, and leave her child parentless, if they even survive? I really struggle to see that. Feyre loves hard, and knows what it’s like to grow up with extreme neglect. I cannot imagine her condemning a child to the same circumstance she found so damaging. But Rhys doesn’t tell her, forbids anyone else to, and possibly robs her of the ability to terminate the pregnancy. And also Madja, I don’t forgive her either for glossing over it. Girl needs to retake her boards.

In the beginning of my career, I worked at an inpatient substance use treatment center that was specifically for pregnant people and mothers with young children. They were allowed to bring two kids under the age of 5. I could write a million words about the flaws in that place, but it was at least something. In working with these people, the same themes came up over and over:

They wanted to get jobs but couldn’t afford childcare. 

Caring for children kept them isolated from support networks and financially strapped.

The daily maintenance and self-focus of sobriety felt at odds with being responsible for children. Ironically, that neglect of self often created the perfect conditions for relapse.

Children kept them tethered, legally and/or personally to abusive partners.

They received extreme judgment, even while seeking help, for “doing this to their children”.

They did not have adequate access to reproductive autonomy, whether financially, from religious beliefs, or otherwise.

This evidence is purely anecdotal, but I do think it speaks to the larger cycle of covert violence and policing of women and pregnancy-capable people’s bodies. It is well-documented that lack of reproductive freedom has a direct negative effect on mental health and wellbeing of people of child -bearing age (5). There is also a much larger intersection to this conversation when it comes to race, class, and the systemic oppression of people of color via reproductive restriction, but Feyre is privileged in the ACOTAR world for the most part so this doesn’t touch her. She doesn’t have to wonder if she can afford a baby, or if her husband is going to be racially profiled and taken to jail or just straight up murdered by law enforcement. (and this is not to downplay the experiences Rhysand have, that Sarah doesn’t give us, being a mixed race man, more so that he is in an extreme position of power.)

I think it’s a shame we didn’t get to explore this in ACOSF with Cassian and Nesta. They jump in the sack even after learning Nesta’s body could not handle an Illyrian baby. No amount of ‘the monthly aid’ justifies not having an honest and thorough conversation about what having sex means before they sleep together. Cassian must feel real confident in the birth control options of Prythian to be spreading his soldiers around so willy nilly. And I just hope, for all their sakes, that he’s right.

Ibis Reproductive Health and Center for Reproductive Rights, “Evaluating Priorities: Measuring Women’s and Children’s Health and Well-being against Abortion Restrictions in the States,” (2017).

Kim SK, Romero R, Kusanovic JP, Erez O, Vaisbuch E, Mazaki-Tovi S, Gotsch F, Mittal P, Chaiworapongsa T, Pacora P, Oggé G, Gomez R, Yoon BH, Yeo L, Lamont RF, Hassan SS. The prognosis of pregnancy conceived despite the presence of an intrauterine device (IUD). J Perinat Med. 2010;38(1):45-53. doi: 10.1515/jpm.2009.133. PMID: 19650756; PMCID: PMC3418877.

World Health Organization: WHO. (2023, June 2). Adolescent pregnancy. https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/adolescent-pregnancy#:~:text=Adolescent%20mothers%20(aged%2010%E2%80%9319,birth%20and%20severe%20neonatal%20condition.

Muvs - Abtreibung in der Antike. (n.d.). https://muvs.org/en/topics/termination-of-pregnancy/abortion-in-antiquity-en/

Liu SY, Benny C, Grinshteyn E, Ehntholt A, Cook D, Pabayo R. The association between reproductive rights and access to abortion services and mental health among US women. SSM Popul Health. 2023 May 12;23:101428. doi: 10.1016/j.ssmph.2023.101428. PMID: 37215399; PMCID: PMC10199416.

[sweetbabymantykes]

urgent wuestion: mom bought me a sharpedo ive never trained pokemon before what do i do

Wait wait wait, time out. She...bought you a Sharpedo? As your first pokemon??? Has- has SHE ever had a pokemon before? Have you ever expressed interest in raising a Sharpedo? Where the hell did she go where they were just SELLING SHARPEDO???? I have so. So many questions. Anon, if she didn't get this pokemon from a certified breeder or a shelter, PLEASE look into the legality of wherever she got it from, there are VERY FEW places that will just sell fully-grown pokemon to someone, much less one as care-intensive as a Sharpedo.

That being said, it sounds like you want to make sure this pokemon is happy and healthy regardless, which is a good thing to want! There's a few basic standards of care to establish first- food, habitat, and trust.

Luckily, food is by far the easiest part of caring for a Sharpedo. Sharpedo, unlike their juvenile pre-evos, are obligate carnivores- which means they NEED to eat a diet of primarily meat in order to live. Outside of this requirement, though, they're some of the least picky eaters I know. You should keep them primarily on a seafood diet, and you can feed them any fish you want. There's standard water-type carnivore food they sell at the Pokemart, if you're able to get them fresh fish you can feed them almost anything, but in my experience their favorites are Lanturn, Veluza, Lumineon, Squirtle, and Wishiwashi fry- you don't even need to get stuff from an aquarist, you can just buy some fish at the store. Any seafood that's safe for a human is more than safe for a Pokemon. You can also feed them land meat, but most kinds tends to have much higher fat content than their natural diet of fish. Keep burgers and fried Combusken for occasional treats, rather than their main diet. Try not to let them eat wild pokemon, either. It may be tempting to let them just act on their instincts, but you cannot possibly know if that wild Lanturn it just ate had parasites or a communicable disease. If it eats one anyway, get it to a pokemon center asap to be screened.

For their habitat, you'll ideally want access to the ocean. If you're worried about them swimming off- don't be, they can go really fast, but only in short bursts. You should be able to keep up with them on foot. If that's not an option and they don't have a ball, consider getting them one, it'll make it a lot easier to train them. If you don't have access to the ocean, you will at LEAST need access to a clean body of water large enough for them to go full speed for a while- a quarter to a half mile long in either direction. They can zoom around on land too, but vastly prefer the water. That's just for enrichment, you won't be keeping them there while you're at home. If you have them in a ball there's a lot of habitat building you can gloss over, but as a matter of good husbandry you'll still need a saltwater tank for them to rest in. If they only swim in freshwater, they can swell up and get sick, if you keep them on land for more than 8 hours a day they'll shrivel up and get sick from dehydration. You'll need, minimally, a 500 gallon saltwater tank. Remember, this is a pokemon roughly the size of a grown adult, even if a lot of the height and width is just fins. You could maaaaaybe get away with 400 gallons, but it's gonna be tight. At the very least you won't need to worry about tank decoration. Aside from substrate/sand/gravel, you at least won't need to worry about decorating the tank. Sharpedo isn't that concerned with having hides or rock, they're more content to just swim around aimlessly. If you don't have the room or access to a tank like this, a lot of aquarists and aquariums have spaces for people to let their friends recharge in the water- but this is usually for people who are travelling and are away from their usual tank, not for people who live in the area and don't have a tank.

The hardest part, more difficult than finding the space for your Sharpedo, is building trust. The most common way trainers will build trust with their Sharpedo is by raising them from a Carvanha, but you unfortunately don't have that kind of luxury. And depending on where your mom got this pokemon, you could be at an even worse disadvantage, potentially having received a pokemon that has already learned to be wary of people. The first thing you'll need is a lot of patience. It takes a lot of time for even a wild Sharpedo to trust a human, but once you have that bond they're fiercely loyal. Despite their reputation as fearsome violent killers, they're generally a lot more curious or energetic than they are malicious. At the very least, their 'bloodlust' tends to be pretty well sated after a filling meal. I don't know how your Sharpedo will react to you, but here's my advice for getting it to trust you. Firstly: Don't touch it. I mean it, do not touch this pokemon unless you ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO, and if you DO have to, wear gloves, and do it fast. Sharpedo skin will absolutely tear your palms to shreds if you aren't wearing any protective gear, and getting your hands in biting range of an already-stressed predator is a very good way to lose your fingers. Actually building that trust is going to depend a lot on what your Sharpedo's personality is. More energetic and aggressive natures will want to spend a lot of time doing things- battle training, agility courses, learning tricks, whatever. The more quiet and contemplative ones will just need time, there's not much you can do there except calmly spend time in their vicinity, feed them, and regularly bring them places where they can zoom around in the water to their heart's content. My own Sharpedo didn't really see me as someone worth trusting until after I had already won two badges with them- not all Sharpedo will be like that, but most of the stories I've heard from other trainers have had that similar thread of taking a looooot of time and effort until they truly trust you enough to exhibit that loyalty and comfort.

I just dumped like eight paragraphs worth of advice here, but I'm barely scratching the surface. For sure take this Sharpedo to the pokemon center to make sure they're up to date on their innoculations and see if there's any medical issues to be aware of, bring your new friend to a local aquarist to get a one-on-one professional opinion, spend time with your Sharpedo as an individual and pay attention to their likes and dislikes. They're far from mindless killing machines, they're complex, intelligent creatures with a discerning eye and sharply honed instincts. If you find yourself unable to care for your Sharpedo and are unable to find a friend or trainer able and willing to care for it in your stead, make sure whatever shelter you bring it to IS prepared to care for it- though I do still encourage you to try caring for it, anywhere that will just...sell pokemon FOR MONEY without any real vetting process will probably not leave their pokemon with strong senses of trust or very good mental health. Please care for this Sharpedo as best you can, and see what in arceus' name your mom was THINKING when she picked this up, holy hell.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

BLACK TIE OPTIONAL: PART THREE

Summary: The last time we saw Vanessa, she was swooning over Dean’s lasting impression. Now, we fast-forward a year to see what she’s up to.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC Vanessa Martinelli, (eventual) Sam Winchester x OFC Emma Olsen

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, HBO RomCom bullshit, male modelin' sonsabitches, schmoop, "one thing about Dean Winchester is, if a Toddler handed him a toy phone, he'd answer it"

Words in this part: 3K

Author's notes: Follow-up to Plus One.

Thank you, @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for the read-throughs and greenlight.

Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Final Part

PART THREE

Her alarm goes off at 8:30 AM. As she blinks her eyes open and draws a deep breath, she acknowledges the unfamiliar signs of a good night’s sleep. She’s rested and ready for a day of bridesmaid duties in a way she’s never been.

Before she can focus on any single point in the dim room, her body instinctively burrows into the warm, solid figure curled around her back.

Dean mumbles behind her, tucking his hips against her and sliding a knee between her thighs. Vanessa’s eyelids flutter, and her breath stutters.

She’s never considered herself a cuddler. She likes her space and doesn’t like being restricted. She finds it hard to sleep soundly with another person in the same bed.  

But Dean is different.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, nuzzling the side of her neck and dragging his lips across one shoulder.

Vanessa clasps a hand over the one palming her belly. “How’d you sleep?” She reluctantly rolls to face him, not wanting to break the bubble of bliss, but loving the reward of his beautiful face.

“Good,” he mutters, rubbing one eye while keeping the other on her. “You snore. But like a cute li’l motor purr. Lulled me right to sleep.”

Vanessa scoffs. “What? No one’s ever told me that.”

Dean chuckles and reaches for her, and her insides flip. “Everybody snores, don't they?”

She gives up being offended or questioning what it means that she was snoring and lets him pull her close. He rolls to his back, dragging her across him, and her knees easily slot on either side of his hips. He gently smooths away the hairs that have escaped the hair tie before arching up to kiss her.

Vanessa doesn’t flinch from morning breath or the sticky heat striping the insides of her thighs. She revels in the feel of him strong and sound under her as his hands trail her shoulders and down her back to trace the seam and curve of her ass until he’s grasping the backs of her thighs. 

“Nice and snug,” he whispers against her ear.

Vanessa hums and rests her head in the center of his chest. Her eyes follow the tip of her finger as it outlines his tattoo, and she wonders if he’ll ever tell her how this occultist-looking symbol has anything to do with his family’s private investigation business. She wonders, not for the first time, how he got all his scars.

“What time you gotta be somewhere?” He drags his fingers up over her ass and back down, and his dick twitches hot at her slick opening. 

“Eleven. But Emma and I were talking about going down to the gym before we have to be at the salon.”

Dean grunts. “Might wanna check in with her first.”

Vanessa chuckles, pushing up to look him in the eye. “What d’you know?”

He smirks, gripping her hips to grind up against her. “Got up at four for some water, she was making all kindsa noise. Sammy, too.”

“Fucken-A, good for her.” She lets Dean roll her to her back and knee between her thighs, reaching down to guide himself inside her. They both groan and Vanessa lifts her knees to wrap her legs around his hips.

“Fucken-A, right, good for him, too.” Dean swivels his hips before giving her a heavy thrust and dropping his forehead to the pillow beside her head. “I love morning sex.”

“Me, too,” she whispers, nestling against his cheek before he rises up again to set that slow and steady pace she’s dreamed about for the last year without him.

--

“Gotta admit,” Emma pauses for the makeup artist to finish her lips with gloss, mumbling ‘thank you’ before continuing her confession to Vanessa. “I was unconvinced by your claims that Dean Winchester had somehow revolutionized the way you see other men and sex, but...”

She glances around the salon to the other bridesmaids before leaning into Vanessa.  

“If he’s anything like his brother, my god.”

Vanessa nods, thanking the woman putting the finishing touches on her own lips, then turns to Emma. “There’s something to be said about the fuck of your life, no lie.”

“No fuckin’ lie.” Emma settles back into her spa chair, reaching for the remote control to activate the massager. “His hands... size is officially a kink for me now. Hands, shoulders, his dick, Vanessa.”

Vanessa laughs out loud, handing her a fresh bottle of water. “Hydrate. And pace yourself. If you recall, I was in a fucking daze for weeks after my last encounter with Dean.”

Emma accepts the bottle with a tilt of her head. She snaps the cap open, studying her friend as she scrolls her phone and waits for the next professional beautifier to start on their pedicures, recalling those weeks with clarity.

She’s known Vanessa since college. They were in a sorority together with Nicole, Katie, and Toni. She and Vanessa went to nursing school after college, and for the last five years, she’s spent every Happy Hour, brunch, and birthday party with her. Vanessa’s always been even-tempered, consistent, and predictable. Emma’s never known her to get hung up on much of anything. 

Then, last summer, after one night with Dean, she spent the next six weeks distracted and disorganized. Emma and Katie talked about confronting her, but Nicole and Toni said they should give her space. She finally got back to her old self, but Emma definitely wouldn’t forget those weeks.

“How was your night?” she asks, slightly changing the subject.

“Good.” Vanessa’s head bobs. “Chill, ya know, pacing myself.” 

Underneath the 16-hour make-up, Emma can see her cheeks flush with emotion. She doesn’t want to pry, so she takes a sip of water and leaves what Vanessa isn’t saying to filter in the air.

“Good. Chill’s good. Anyway, not to be dramatic, but it’s not just big. OK?”

Vanessa snorts and busts into a fit of giggles, and Emma’s happy to oblige.

“Just big could be a potential disaster. Remember that Croatian I took home from Tao two summers ago? What a dolt. I was sore for a week and not in a good way. But Sam can do anything with that thing. I could just sit and admire it for hours and be in tears.” 

Vanessa cackles. “Paint still life art.”

“Still life art!” Emma hollers.

“Jesus Christ, you two are traumatizing the entire city block,” Nicole hisses from across the room.

Emma and Vanessa roll their eyes, and Katie chuckles beside Nicole, patting her arm.

“What’s the matter, Nic, not gettin’ the good dick lately?” Toni mutters from the main chair before wincing painfully. “Ow! Why did I agree to an updo?”

“Because you liked my wedding hair, Tenderhead, but I warned you,” Nicole answers.

Emma snorts, comfortably warmed by the easy camaraderie of her circle of friends. When she glances sideways at Vanessa, the best of the bunch, Vanessa’s staring dreamily at her phone.

“What’s Hottie #1 up to?” Emma asks.

Vanessa squirms a little and bites her lip, and Emma feels that swoon in the depths of her soul.

“They went to DMK for burgers.” She turns the phone to show Emma a picture of Dean, looking like Shaggy Rogers with a double triple-decker sandwich and a mile-wide grin. “Dork.”

Emma chuckles. “Cute and funny on top of looking like that and being a gentleman? Dangerous.” 

Vanessa tenses before placing her phone face down on the side table. “He’s pretty great.” She focuses on the nail technician as he takes a seat in front of the foot bath, chewing the inside of her lip with a furrowed brow.

Emma’s quiet for a while. She really doesn’t want to pry, but she also can’t stand to watch her friend deny herself the possibility of something amazing out of fear. Another pedicurist sits at Emma’s feet, and once they’re each into their work, she tries a new tactic.

“Do you remember that guy Nico from freshman year in the dorms? Before we rushed?”

Vanessa turns her furrowed brow to her friend. “I think so. He worked in the fitness center, right?”

Emma nodded. “We went out once.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Nobody did.” Emma shrugged, looking down at the man quietly trimming her toenails. “I never told anyone.”

“Why not?”

“At the time I thought it was because I was embarrassed that he was so rough or whatever. Like he was all tatted up with that mohawk, but like...” She looks back at her friend and shakes her head. “The way he made me feel scared the shit outta me.”

Vanessa blinks then slides her gaze to the man working on her feet. 

“Then I told myself I wasn’t ready, then I met Josh.” She shrugs. “I sound like some old maid tryna distill my wisdom to you, but I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Vanessa sighs and rolls her neck one way then the other. “He’s 10 years older than me, Em. And I don’t even know what he does for a job. We barely know each other.”

“Bullshit. He knows you better than you’re willing to admit. Who cares what the family business is?”

Vanessa arches a brow in her direction.

“Yeah, Sam has the same tattoo. Plus, Van, he’s like 37.”

“How do you know that?”

“I ask questions and can do basic math.”

Vanessa shakes her head, and her phone vibrates again. She picks it up and swipes it open to look at the new image she received. When she shows Emma her phone screen, she’s treated to an image of Sam taking a large bite of kale and chicken salad with Dean’s thumb pointed down in the foreground.

Emma makes a mock pout. “Oh, Sam — the burdens of maintaining that beautiful body.”

Vanessa laughs again as she turns her camera to snap a shot of herself and Emma to send back to Dean.

“What if they’re in the mafia or something?”

“Like we’ve never dated anyone related to the mafia, please.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “That’s my point. But I’m kidding, I don’t get that vibe from them, but what’s with all the scars?”

Emma shrugs. “Sam has ‘em, too. I dunno, but have you ever felt so safe with a guy?”

Vanessa shakes her head. “That’s what I mean. I don’t get the possessive tough guy vibe, just... badass. Kind, generous, gorgeous badass.”

“Right. So do you really wanna let him walk away again?”

Vanessa sighs, dropping her head against the backrest before playfully glaring at her friend. “Why can’t you be a bad friend for once?”

“Not in my nature.” 

They both laugh.

--

After Vanessa and Emma left the hotel for their spa appointment, Dean couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. He doesn’t know what happened in Vanessa’s past to convince her that he’d reject her so easily, but if things were different for Dean, he’d do the exact opposite and hold her close.

The night they met, she asked him to make a scene, and he did. He wants to do it again, but in a different kind of way because she deserves everything she wants.

“Sammy!” Dean adjusts his tie and pockets his wallet. “Meet ya downstairs; gotta get Baby from valet.”

“Be there in five,” Sam calls from his and Emma’s room.

Dean holsters his Colt inside his waistband at his back. They haven’t seen any trouble since they arrived yesterday, but he isn’t taking any chances. Before he walks out the door, he slides into his suit jacket and settles his shades in place.

He and Sam arrive at the church a respectable 30 minutes before the ceremony, dressed to the nines. They hang around outside with the rest of the guests until the doors are opened. Several guests stare at them, and it makes Sam uncomfortable.

“What’re these people staring at?”  He fidgets and tries to make himself smaller.

“We’re a coupla handsome sonsabitches, Sammy. They can’t help themselves.” Dean drags his attention from his phone after checking messages. “Still no news, by the way, so I guess we can relax.”

“Is that why you brought your .45?”

Before Dean can answer his cranky baby brother, the doors to the church open and the guests begin filing inside.

“Can never be too careful, now, shut up and get inside.”

In the foyer of the church, the wedding party is greeting the guests. Dean spots her within a second and stops in his tracks, pulling his sunglasses off to get a better look at her. She’s wearing a full-length, dark brown silk gown. It’s sleeveless with a high neck and a low, open back. She’s laughing, and Dean’s heart picks up its pace.

Emma appears at her side, also in a long silk gown of a different color, and Vanessa scans the crowd. When her eyes land on Dean, they go wide, and her jaw drops. Emma turns to see what Vanessa’s looking at and soon her expression is matching.

Dean impatiently waits for the other guests to get out of his way so he can get his hands on her.  

“Wow.” Vanessa shakes her head in awe once Dean is in front of her. “You look—”

“Nah.” Dean hooks an arm around her waist to pull her in for a quick kiss. “I’m just tryna keep up with you.”

Vanessa murmurs, “If I had even five extra minutes, I’d take you to the nearest closet and be on my knees.”

“Mmm, careful, Nessa, I gotta go sit in a church pew for the next 45 to an hour.”

“Break it up.” Emma smirks, looping her arm through Vanessa’s to untangle her from Dean’s arms. “Time to line up, Van.” 

Vanessa whines and practically stomps her foot, and Dean chuckles, watching Vanessa and Emma hurry to catch up with the rest of the party. 

“Damn,” he mutters as they disappear down the stairs of the church. 

“No kidding,” Sam agrees. “Talk about a couple of good-looking people.”

“Did you hear what she said to me?”

“I didn’t. But it couldn’t have been better than what Emma said to me.”

Dean shoots his brother a look of surprise. “Well, look at you, little brother.”

--

“This day has been filled with the longest stretches of time we’ve been still in... ever.”

After the very long, sobering ceremony, Dean and Sam are waiting outside for their dates. It takes longer than they expected, but Dean doesn’t mind the downtime. 

“Yeah, I kinda like it.”

“Since when? You rarely even sleep more than four hours a night.”

“I dunno, man, since Amara, maybe? I just... I could get used to this normal shit once in a while is all I’m sayin’.”

Sam puzzles over his brother’s assertion until he spots Emma and Vanessa descending the stairs toward them. He’s taken aback once again by how beautiful Emma is and how she makes him feel normal. That realization is a bit of an a-ha moment for him regarding what Dean just said.

“Hey,” he greets his date with a smile.

“So,” Emma begins, twisting her fingers in the lapels of Sam’s jacket and pulling herself into him. “We can either follow the limo on a bar crawl, or you can take me back to the room right now, and—”

“What a lovely ceremony!” An older lady appears at Vanessa’s side, holding the hand of the flower girl, interrupting Emma’s most certainly obscene proposition. “Wasn’t that lovely?” 

“Silvia, how are you?” Vanessa greets the woman and then crouches down to address the little girl. “Oh, my goodness, Ari, you did such a good job with the flowers! How old are you now?”

“Four,” the little girl answers, awkwardly showing Vanessa four little fingers before peeking up at the man behind Vanessa. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, umm,” Vanessa follows Ari’s line of sight to see Dean squatting down beside her.

“Hi, Ari. I’m Dean.” He extends his open hand to her as an introduction, and Ari drops her plump little fist into his palm. Dean smiles, gently curling his hand around hers to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” she says, blushing and twirling where she stands, and holding onto his hand. “Do you like my dress?”

Dean fixes his expression with affected surprise. “‘Course, I do! It’s bright and beautiful, just like you.”

Vanessa is captivated by the ease with which he interacts with a preschooler. Just like the night before after her slip-up with Toni’s mom, he takes it all in stride.

“What do you say, Ari?” Silvia asks.

“Thank you,” the little girl mumbles before turning and hiding in her grandmother’s skirt.

Dean chuckles, and he and Vanessa rise to stand. He wraps an arm around her waist as Silvia explains the reason she has Ari to herself is because her son had to work unexpectedly.

“So, no Daddy-daughter practice dance for Ari tonight. Well, we better get going, Ari. We need to get you something to eat. We’ll see you all at the reception, huh?”

Silvia says her goodbyes and walks away. 

“Where’s her mom?” he asks, watching the woman and her granddaughter cross the street to the parking lot.

“She left right after Ari was born. No one’s seen her since.”

Dean winces. “Poor kid.”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Nicole sighs as she saunters toward them, looking anything but contrite. “Antonia wants the entire wedding party to be on this pub crawl, so no hotel room quickie or whatever you had planned during the cocktail hour.” 

She somehow succeeds in side-eying Vanessa, Dean, Emma, and Sam all at the same time. 

“Of course, that doesn’t preclude any of you from hand jobs in the Batmobile.”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles as she turns on her heel to the limo where Zach is waiting for her. He waves over her head at the four of them and calls out.

“We’ll wait for ya to pull around behind us and follow!”

Dean nods back before sliding his shades on. “Alright, kids, let’s hit it.”

He offers his elbow to Vanessa, and Sam does the same for Emma before they follow in Silvia’s footsteps to the parking lot. 

Final Part

Series master list | Dean Winchester Masterlist | SPN Masterlist | All Fic Masterlist

[chronurgy]

I made a post earlier talking about three directions I thought wyll's quest might take in at the end of act 1/early act 2 and I wanted to elaborate on it a little bit. The three directions I considered were a focus on monster hunting and what that meant, a focus on his disdain for politics, and a focus on his relationship with his father. I didn't particularly consider any one more likely than the other, they all just sort of arose out of what I saw as "points of tension" in wyll's character. I'm also not trying to say that these are the only options or the best options, I'm just laying out what I personally thought might happen and how it was going to work.

Focusing on the monster hunter thing - was karlach the first innocent person he had been sent to hunt? What does it mean to be a monster hunter in a world where many monsters have human intelligence? Especially because of what happened with Karlach, I thought this might become a throughline in his quest and tie further into the ways devils twist words and contracts to use and manipulate people. What they call a "bloodthirsty rampaging monster" might have understandable reasons for attacking a village that had, say, stolen its eggs to sell as spell ingredients. Or even if they didn't have such a sympathetic reason, it's absolutely possible that they could be reasoned with and asked to stop. With wyll's already existing sympathy for karlach and astarion, I thought that creating sympathy for less human looking "monsters" might be the next step.

I actually still think this would have been a pretty interesting questline. His act two quest could have centered around a monster he'd been sent to kill at the edge of the shadow-cursed lands, returning to that area and meeting there a mate, sibling, or child that had possibly changed its ways (great durge parallel here!). There could be a lot of questions about whether or not someone can change their nature, about what redemption means, about who is afforded second chances, all of that. I think by nature Wyll would lean towards letting them live, but a player character could push him down a darker path (a la Shadowheart). This would also feed well into Wyll making choices about his pact with mizora - if he kills the mate or sibling, leaning into the monster hunter and no hope of redemption thing then he would choose to keep his pact, saying that it gives him the power to protect people from monsters while perhaps also believing that there's no way for him to be saved, but if he chooses to let them live and broadens his mind and understanding he would choose to break his pact with mizora, citing the fact that she's lied to him repeatedly and how he doesn't want to bring more harm on innocents.

Focusing on the politics thing - wyll's comment about how "a Duke shakes hands with more monsters than he slays" is really fascinating because Duke is a political job and the "monsters" he's talking about are people. He was the son of a grand duke and was intended to follow in his footsteps, but this is the view he has of politics? That's kinda wild to me! I assumed we'd get some sort of politically involved quest once we got to the city where Wyll would have to get over his distaste for politics and challenge his view of other people as monsters and overall examine what it means to run a city or something along those lines.

Like I said, I assumed any quest line would focus on a situation where Wyll would either overcome his distaste for politics and learn to appreciate the difficulties of running a city when your opponents are people you can't just kill when they get in your way or have a "bad end" where he decided that he didn't care and was happy to use force on political opponents. (interestingly I think you can see some potential remnants of this in his speech about becoming grand duke where he says something along the lines of "no one could stand against him")

Focusing on his father - I felt like there was obviously a lot going on in that relationship and that it had to come back up! Wyll acted so sanguine and understanding about the whole banishment thing even though it seemed obvious (to me at least) that he was deeply hurt by it and in denial about it. I thought for sure that would come to a confrontation where Wyll would accept that he was actually hurt by this and that his father had done him wrong. This was further reinforced through act 1 and 2 by the repeated references to how terrible the flaming fist were and how they weren't what they used to be. Since Ulder was their commamder, I assumed that this was also meant to be a reflection on him and that he wasn't the perfect and heroic man Wyll idealized him as. Act 3 actually reinforced this for me with its constant examples of just how corrupt and incompetent the fist were. I really thought we were going to see some emotional payoff and reckoning here right up until we actually rescued ulder and it didn't happen.

I wasn't really sure what form this quest would take but I was very convinced it would happen. Like I said, all the comments about the fist in acts 1 and 2 had me convinced! There's so clearly tension there, with ulder having been unwilling to show any sense of understanding to his 17 year old son. I assumed that the quest might involve puncturing the "myth" of Ulder for Wyll and him starting to see his father as a human with flaws instead of idolizing him. I also really thought that there would be a dramatic confrontation!

So there we have it - places I thought Wyll's quest might go based on what I'd seen in act 1 and early act 2. I was very wrong indeed - two of the three things I thought might be main drivers never came up at all, and one of them ended up being straight up ignored. Ah well!

[visd3stele]

Corioleanus Snow is one of the best written, extremely interesting and complex characters and he's not developing at all during his book. no growth arc, nor the opposite, no change of values or principles.

at his core, he's a scared little boy. the truest self we see of him is in the arena, when it's bombed and he grips Lucy Gray's skirt whitout a second thought, going back to the times of vulnerability and fear from his childhood. usually when he feels fear, he's ashamed, but then he's too caught in time to reeber to feel anything but fright.

sometimes i even got the feeling he's amoral, no real distinction between good acts and bad deeds. the only thing he can see, understand, can matter to him is his survival and what stands in his way.

which is natural, after so many years of war. he has feelings, he has a skewed perception of the districts from before and during the war when they were the lower class enemy. he was raised to have the world at his little finger and it was taken from him, so he feels wronged by life itself. he saw his neighbours eating people and, besides the moral superiority it gave him, he also gained a whole lot of paranoia. he learned from a young age the world is cruel and, worse, unstable. at any moment, without warning, he can find himself back in the days of war, starving, not knowing if he'll see the dawns of a new say. so he seeks stability, control, safety. it's all that matters.

he learned to think like that, using everything, from social interactions and appearances to working underneath the surface with betrayel and secrets to "land on top".

he's also ashamed, which stems from fear. fear of being seen as less than, when his name alone once guaranteed respect all around the city. securing a bright future is all he can do to honor it and trully make himself feel at peace.

BUT he has moments when it's clear that he has a sense of justice, a moral compass and the potential to change its bigoted views on the districts. they're not exactly rare, but they're shadowed by other things posing a threat to his – and his family's, by extansion – life.

so Snow doesn't say a word about Clemmie's fate in the hospital, even though he's aahamed of not helping. fear of dr. gaul won, fear of becoming like her or being made lost by the head of Games won. he recognize his biasis and questions them, in regards of Lucy Gray mostly, but theese are always only fleeting thoughts. somethings he can think, but not feel in his core. maybe he could reach that, if he put someone else first (and that someone can be even granma'am or Tigris). but everything is always about him.

because he's still a scared little boy in need of safety and control of his life. he may have grown and have a sharp, intelligent beyond his age mind, but that was neccessarly to survive. his empathy, his feelings, everything regarding the heart and soul, remained frozen in time at those war years.

and when time comes, he doesn't consider other options, no matter if he feels sorry or not for what he's doing. betraying Sejeanus, betraying Lucy Gray. it's not patriotism, he's not a nationalist. he feels respect towards the Capitol as long as it can make him look good, be in the center of everyone's approving, loving attention and mantain the ilussion of control and safety he wrapped around himself. no, Snow does everything he does, taking these decisions with a cold, calculated mind, only for himself. his family is a second thought, yes, but primarely it's all about himself.

he doesn't know how to love, how to be compasionate. he needs and asks for everything around himself, like a little child, without giving in return. because he didn't develop the means to. he shut down – first time, during the war, unconscious, then he chose to – everything that could put itself in its way toward his goal. which isn't something villainy and evil, like taking over the world. it's having control over his life and others ( to make sure no one can hurt him ) because it's the only way he can understand safety. and safety he craves thoroughly.

and, HE DOESN'T WANT TO LEARN. he complies with his surroundings and what they make of him. change is not even a mere thought in his sleep depraived mind. he seeks to make the best out of everything thrown at him, but never considers changing the board entirely, changing himself. may be a trauma response or simply a lack on his part, too focused on winning playing by familiar, yet still foreign rules he needs to master. but what it surely isn't is crazyness. Snow's the bad guy fair and square, but not because he's out of it. on the contrary, what makes him so compeling and scary is: he has all means to be different and takes the conscious decisions to disregard it and become "just like his father" (with a cold, hateful look in his eyes).

his choice, thus, become even more tragic. because he actually could, he had the means to, make a different one. be good. be a rebel. help people, for he knows pain himself.

we follow a scared child playing in the snakes' den and CHOOSING to become like them to not be attacked and ostricized. no matter how beautiful the songbird sings, it can't keep him alive, fed and safe.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Yandere!Lee Know x F!Reader TW : yandere behavior ; hinting at pregnancy but it's never actually stated or established ; Minho trying his absolute best but in a manipulative, underhanded kind of way ; Word Count : 4.7k

There was a silence that filled the air as you laid in bed beside him, sprinkles of dust fluttering in the beam of light that shone through the curtains that had been carelessly pulled shut, leaving a gap in the center that allowed the light to shine through. Soft snores filled your ears as he pulled you closer to him, even his subconscious mind always wanted you as close as possible. 

“It’s too hot…” You grumbled, trying to shimmy out of his hold much to his disdain, his arm only tightening around you. He grumbled incoherently, his face nuzzling into your neck as lazy morning kisses were pressed against your skin. “Minho~~” You whined, but at the same time, your whining would only make him snuggle closer to you, whining right back at you about how he needs to be close to you like this. 

“I can turn on the fan.” He murmured, his voice sending vibrations through your skin that his lips were still connected to. His response only had you rolling your eyes though, kicking your feet out of the end of the blanket, hoping that the air that hit the soles would cool the rest of your body down as well. 

“You’re relentless, you know that?” You mused, letting yourself sink back into the bed, knowing that you wouldn’t be getting out of it anytime soon, not with Minho there. He nodded in response, and you could feel his lips turn up at the corners. Of course he was smiling. “So what are you doing today?” 

The sound of him thinking, a quiet humming sound that built in his chest. “Don’t you mean ‘what are we doing today’? It’s me and you, love… It always is.” He still hadn’t even lifted his head, his words muffled in the crook of your neck. It’s not that he was too lazy to get up, that word and Minho didn’t even go together. He was just hell bent on clinging to your side, which inevitably was a pain in the ass considering you enjoyed your alone time, especially after everything that went down after the award show. Coincidentally, it was after the award show that he got even more clingy with you. 

“I already know what I’m doing. I do that same thing every single day.” You retorted, and he knew exactly what you meant. After what had happened with Changbins coat, which you still didn’t see as a big deal, after the entire argument, he had decided that it would be best if you just stayed in the house, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing since he brought it up. “So, again… What are you doing today?” 

His hand ran over your stomach, a soft sigh leaving him as he did. “How are you feeling today, my love?” He cooed, changing the subject blatantly as he rubbed circles over your ever swelling stomach. “Are you comfortable?” 

Of course you weren’t. You had just told him that it was too hot and he was still holding onto you, his own body heat felt like a furnace next to you and you couldn’t even shake him off. “Mmhm…” You lied, rolling your shoulders in another attempt to try to move him. “I’m feeling thirsty though, I need to get a drink.” You said, hoping that those words would finally have him moving, freeing you of his hold. 

Luckily, he would literally do anything for you, and as soon as those words left your mouth he was rolling off of you and getting out of the bed. “What would you like? Water? Coffee? Tea? Hmm?” The options left his mouth in rapid fire progression and you were so focused on the feeling of your arm waking up after being laid on for so long that you weren’t even paying attention to him until the question was asked again, the options being offered out more slowly now. 

“Just water for now, thank you.” You rolled your shoulders and finally sat up as he hurried out of the room, the sound of the cup cabinet squeaking open let you know that he was in a rush to get you what you wanted. You’d say he was a people pleaser, but he genuinely didn’t care much about anyone else, he was a you pleaser, everything he did was done for you and he’s said it many times before. 

Rushed footsteps brought him back into the room, so fast that he had almost tripped over the quartet of cats that hovered around the bedroom door. “Aish… Sorry… Shit, I spilled some.” He mumbled as he did a quick sidestep, holding the cup out for you. “Are you alright? Are you still tired?” Another round of questions, and while this time of your life should be one that was filled with excitement, his over protectiveness and hovering was overbearing and you couldn’t find the time to be excited at all, his constant worrying was contagious. 

“I’m alright, Minho. You haven’t answered my question yet though…” His eyes narrowed slightly, in deep thought of what question he might have missed. “What are you doing today? Are you going to work? I just need to know how much time I have to get dinner prepared and the house clean, that’s all.” He snorted loudly, dropping down onto the edge of the bed as his hand held onto yours, his thumb brushing along the engagement ring that still housed the memory of the harsh words and empty threats that he threw around that night. 

“I don’t want you to overwork yourself, lovey. You don’t have to worry about cleaning the house. I can handle that when I get back.” The house was already practically spotless anyway considering you spent every single day cleaning it. The floors sparkled from how many times you mopped them, the carpet in the living area had permanent vacuum lines. The only thing that you had to consistently keep up on was the laundry, and even that was down to such a small pile that it would have been a waste of detergent to even throw them in the washer. “You just relax today. I won’t be out long, I have to talk to the managers and the guys for a bit, and then I’ll be back home.” 

Minho hated leaving you home alone, especially when it wasn’t exactly a work day. It was Saturday, and weekends were meant to be spent with you and only you, continuing to make up for the outburst that you still haven’t completely forgiven him for having. He was doing his best though, and this was just another attempt at possibly healing the emotional wound he had given you. 

It wasn’t just that though, this was more than him trying to get you to love him, it was his way of showing the guys, showing the world, and showing you that you were his only, that you belonged to him, that no one would ever separate the two of you from each other. He hated the amount of red tape that he had to go through just to get an agreement from his managers, he hated that he had to go through them at all, but he had finally gotten the ok, and he was more than ready to tell you, his left leg bouncing against the floor of the car, his excitement through the roof as he thought about how you’d react. 

“A wedding?” You questioned when he had burst through the front door, his eyes gleaming. “We’re not even married. The fans will go wild… I don’t have a dress, and it’s not like I’d be able to look good in one of the really pretty ones right now anyway… So why now?” He had expected the same amount or maybe more excitement from you… But all he got was a load of questions, and a bunch of talk that made it seem like you didn’t want a wedding at all, like you didn’t want to get married to him at all. 

“Why… Why now?” He repeated your question, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at you. It was hard not to get upset with the way you were talking, but he was trying his best to hold back his anger. “Because I love you, that’s why. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He took a deep breath, holding in his lungs the frustration that was slowly building inside of him. “I know that you’re still upset about what happened… But, I think something like this would really help us both. It would be reassuring for me…” 

A soft hum was whispered through your lips, followed by a sarcastic chuckle as you turned around to continue washing the small amount of dishes that had accumulated in the sink. “Right… Because you need reassurance. After everything that you said to me that night, after everything you did, the way you acted… You’re the one that needs to be reassured. Makes a whole lot of sense.” It was quite clear that he had touched on a sore subject, and while he wished that you’d just move on from it, he knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. “Just another ring to add on and you can threaten to break my fingers around that one too, just in case I get a little out of line.” 

He doesn’t remember you mouthing off so much, maybe you had before and he just looked past it because he was in the first stages of love. Now it was becoming a hassle, and he hated that you continued to throw in his face the very thing that he was trying to move past. You were making it impossible. It’s like you didn’t want to forget it, like you wanted to be able to use it as a constant excuse to not love him. 

“I’m not ready for a wedding… I’m not ready to be married to you yet.” You said flatly, gnawing on your bottom lip nervously, your fingers tightening around the glass plate that you were holding. “I’m not saying that it’ll never happen… I just need time. Some things are harder to forget than others… I hope that you can respect that.” 

He had to swallow his pride, there was no use in pushing the matter anymore than he already had. You weren’t ready, and while it was upsetting to think that you didn’t want to marry him just yet, it wasn’t as upsetting as if you had just flatly told him no. There was a time that would come, and you’d agree to the wedding, you’d agree to be solely his, and that was enough for him to back down. “I can… I will, love.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek as his arms wrapped around you from behind. “Take a break now, I’ll finish up the dishes and start dinner, okay?” 

The next three months were spent trying his best to prove to you that marrying him would be the best option, that it would be better for you and him. He’d sneakily bring up in conversations where you’d love to go, one place you wish that you could go for vacation, and he’d jot down everything you said in a mini notebook late at night after you’ve already fallen asleep. You weren’t aware of it, but he was already planning the wedding, the honeymoon, he was getting everything ready so that when the day finally came that you’d say yes, all that would need to be done was for you to get the dress. 

He really was trying and he could tell that even you were surprised by just how much he was doing to try to get on your good side. It was working though, and that made it all worth it. At the end of the day, it would all lead up to him having you completely. Sure, he had to let go of some of his control in order to get what he truly wanted, but it wouldn’t be long until he got that control back, and it would be just as good, if not better then. 

“Do you want to go with me to work today?” He asked casually over breakfast, and you did a double take, as if you didn’t hear him correctly the first time. Your reaction had him chuckling as he eyed you expectantly. “Is that a yes? It’s just not good for you to be cooped up in the house for so long, you need to get out more.” Which he knew was highly hypocritical of him to say considering he was the reason you were kept in the house, but you didn’t say anything about it, so he didn’t have to say anything either. 

Your head nodded quickly as a smile spread across your face and there was a bounce in your step as you went into the bedroom to change. The idea of you being in the same room as Changbin was unsettling, even though he knew that nothing would ever happen between the two of you, he just didn’t like the thought of you being around the one person who, in his mind, caused the worst argument that the two of you have ever had. 

There was some good that would come out of it though, and that was the fact that there was a bridal shop a little ways away from the building, and he was planning on dropping by there to look around with you. He’d say it was a spur of the moment thing, just for fun, but it would get you thinking, and he knew that you’d be in such a good mood after being let out of the house that you wouldn’t even say no. It would get him one step closer to the wedding, to being married to you. 

“Are you sure?” You questioned as you stepped out of the bedroom, already dressed and your hair already done. “I don’t want to distract you or the guys while you’re trying to practice, that wouldn’t be right.” He knew that there was a deeper concern, one that you refused to voice out of fear of what might happen, what it might stir up, so you had gone with the safer option. “I could just stay here while you work, and then later, maybe you and I can go out for dinner… That might be easier…” 

He pretended to consider your offer before shaking his head, pushing himself away from the table and walking over to you to grab your hands. “You won’t be a distraction, love. I want you to be there, I want you to tell me how I did after I practiced.” Your mouth opened to protest, but he leaned in to kiss you, hushing you before a single syllable to was uttered. “And then we can go out to eat afterwards. How about that?” 

You were thrown for a loop, he had never willingly offered to keep you out of the house for any longer than what he deemed necessary, yet here he was now, allowing you to stay out for almost the whole day. “O-Okay… Yeah… That’ll work. That sounds great.” 

It was a wonderful idea, he loved seeing you so happy, and you even held his hand in the car on the way to the building. It was fucking fantastic, until… well… Until it just wasn’t. The guys ran over to you as soon as you entered the practice room like a pack of dogs that had just been shown a new toy and they were surrounding you and bombarding you with questions and greetings and he didn’t know how you felt, but it was completely overwhelming for him. 

“Yah! Y/N! Do you remember me?!” Changbin called as he tried to move to the front of the circle that had wrapped around you, his hands grabbing yours and Minho swore he saw red at the sight of another man touching you. It didn’t matter if it was another one of his members. All that mattered was the fact that you were his and all of them should respect that, should respect the obvious boundaries that are set. 

You awkwardly pulled your hands away with a sheepish smile, looking at Minho and he could see the worry in your eyes, although he was sure that the only thing you were worried about right now was a repeat of the night after the awards. “Y-Yeah… I remember you… It’s nice to see you all again.” You said nervously, folding your hands behind your back and he could only see that as a way for you to avoid having them grabbed by someone else. 

“Let’s get started on practice, shouldn’t we?” He spoke up, getting the guys attention off of you for a moment and onto him. “She’ll be here to watch us practice, so don’t disappoint her.” Although he was sure you’d be staring at him the whole time, at least, you better be looking at him the whole time. There’s no reason why your eyes should wander. 

There was a chair, undoubtedly one that had been brought in from the recording room, pushed up against the far wall so that there was no chance of any of them tripping over you, but it was put in just the right spot so that you’d be able to see Minho, and he’d be able to keep his eyes on you the entire time. 

You still seemed nervous though, your eyes safely downcast, staring at your lap or the wood grain of the floor beneath your feet. It was the better route to take, at least you wouldn’t be caught accidentally looking at anyone other than Minho. You weren’t the problem though, of course you wouldn’t be, you were smart, but other people, or better yet, one other person didn’t seem to have the same smarts that you did. 

Changbins eyes were glued to you the entire time, and although Minho shouldn’t be able to feel the stare of someone that wasn’t looking directly at him, he could tell immediately when someone was looking at you. His steps would be just slightly out of sync, just enough for Minho to notice, and then he’d follow Changbins line of sight and find that you were the target of his gaze. It was uncalled for, and to be quite honest, downright disrespectful. 

It’s not like the guys weren’t fully aware that you were his, and they had all been called in for the meeting three months ago about the marriage that he was still working towards. The marriage alone was the only reason Minho wasn’t calling Changbin out right now. He had to keep his composure, keep his cool, but it was getting harder and harder the longer he watched Changbin stare at you. 

“Alright, breaktime. My love is probably bored, aren’t you?” Minho said, turning off the song mid-practice, much to everyone’s confusion. It had become too much for him to just sit by and watch. His stomach was turning and he could barely focus on his own dancing. You glanced up from your hands, your fingers had been fidgeting with your ring, but your eyes went wide when he accused you of being bored. 

“N-No, I’m not bored… Just tired is all…” You stammered, a sense of urgency in your tone to try to defend why you weren’t paying attention at all. The other guys would probably be reading into why you sounded the way you did, and most of them would probably be worried for you, they just didn’t understand though. They didn’t understand the love that he had for you, they simply couldn’t comprehend what it was like to love someone so much. “Really… I’m not bored…” You repeated, your eyes wide and stuck to him as he walked over to where you were sitting. 

It was quite obvious to everyone that Minho practically owned you, but there was an uneasiness that filled the room when they watched him lean over your chair, caging you in with his hands resting on the armrests. “It’s alright, love.” He cooed, his face mere inches from your own as his eyes seemed to look right through you. “I won’t make you sit in here longer than you have to. We can go now.” You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips were quickly against yours, much to the disgust and disdain of the men watching from behind. “We’ll be leaving now. Hopefully you can actually focus on getting the moves right this time around.” The comment was vague, but the person that it was towards knew, especially when Minho glared in Changbins direction on his way out the door with you. 

Minho thought that after getting you out of the house that you’d be easier to talk to, easier to get through to, but he was wrong… He hated being wrong. You were still standoffish, and maybe it was because of what happened in the practice room, the sudden rush to get you out of there, to get you away from the guys. Maybe you had caught on to the reason behind it, or maybe you had just been uncomfortable around the very person that had caused his previous tantrum. Whatever it was, you were silent, and while your hand was still held firmly in his own, there seemed to be a distance that you tried to keep between the two of you as you walked down the street. 

“Are you thirsty? Hungry? Is there anything that you need, love?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your knuckles in an attempt to get your attention, but you simply shook your head. The excitement that you seemed to have prior to leaving the house had all but vanished and it was beginning to seem like it had never been there at all. “Oh, come on. We’re out of the house together, I can take you anywhere that you want to go. Is there anything that you want to do?” His attempts at making you happy felt more like a life or death situation, and maybe that’s because, to him, it truly meant life or death. If he didn’t get to have you all to himself, he surely wouldn’t allow anyone else to have you either, and he’d make sure of that by any means possible. 

“I just haven’t been out in so long… It’s a little nerve wracking… Trying to take it all in…” You murmured, your voice barely audible over the sounds of the busy streets and the mass amount of people walking down the sidewalks. He wished that he could just pause the world for a moment, maybe everyone but you and himself disappear so he didn’t have to worry, so he didn’t have to deal with that fear of you leaving him or someone else taking you away. “I’m sorry if I made it awkward for you back there…” 

He pulled you closer to his side, his hand squeezing yours tightly before letting it go and wrapping his arm around your waist. “Nothing about you being there made anything awkward… I love having you there, I love having you with me. The only place I want you to ever be is beside me, whether it’s while I’m working, or while I’m sleeping, or when I wake up in the morning. You’re the only person I want to see. You make it easier to relax, easier to breathe… I need you with me, love.” In a strange way, his response to your apology had sounded a lot more like vows than he had thought they would, be he could see a glistening in your eyes that looked almost like tears when you looked up at him. “What’s wrong?” He pondered, moving you off to the side with him so you weren’t in the middle of the busy sidewalks, his free hand moving up to cup your cheek. “Did someone bump into you?” He questioned rather roughly when you didn’t answer, but your head quickly shook. 

“I don’t know… Sometimes… Sometimes it’s scary to think how much you love me…” You whispered, leaning into his touch, but his eyebrows lowered in confusion at your words and the way your actions seemed to relay a completely different message. “What if one day you stop loving me… What if one day it’s just… Gone?” You gulped loudly, but that fear that you vocalized to him set him into motion, leading you down the street to where he had initially wanted to take you, the final stop. 

White gowns on fancy mannequins lined the storefront window and your eyes bugged at the sight of them, your mouth going agape as you stared up at him. “I told you before that I wanted to marry you, right?” He questioned when he saw your reaction, trying to hold back his laughter at the animated expression on your face. “You said that you needed time, and I’ve given you that time, but you’re scared that I’m going to stop… Which would never happen… But just so that you know for sure that I’m always going to love you… I want to marry you, I want to have a wedding where I can show you off, show the world that you’re the only person I want to love forever and ever and a day.” 

Your lips were drawn into a straight thin line as you continued staring at the dresses, or maybe you were just staring at his and your reflection in the window, watching as he brushed away the stray tear that trickled down your cheek before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “What if… What if they say I’m not good enough for you…? What if they don’t like me?” They were valid concerns, but he wanted nothing more than to rid your mind of them all together. It shouldn’t matter what the rest of the world thought, what they said, because at the end of the day you were the one that made his heart feel full, you were the one that made it so that he was able to go on every single day and wake up with a smile on his face. You were the reason behind everything that he was able to do. You were his strength. Anyone that had anything negative to say about you was nothing to him, and they were nothing to you too. 

“We don’t listen to them… I don’t want you to ever listen to those kinds of people. Now come… I want to see you try on the dresses.” His own excitement was palpable as he tugged you into the store, the bell ringing above your heads as you both walked in. Your hands felt clammy in his own, but it didn’t bother him at all as he led you over to the woman behind the counter. “My fiancee needs a wedding dress. Doesn’t matter the price, I just want her to be comfortable. Can you do that?” The woman nodded quickly, stepping out from behind the counter to stand beside you. “I’ll be right outside the dressing room, love. If you need anything, just call for me, okay?” 

You nodded sheepishly as you let the woman usher you towards a one of the racks of dresses, and while you seemed nervous, he could tell just in the way you walked that you were easing up, and when you turned around to look at him, there was a smile on your face, a genuine smile. He sank down in the armchair, his legs outstretched as he watched you brush your fingers along one of the dresses, talking quietly to the woman beside you who seemed to approve or agree with whatever you had said. 

He was finally able to relax, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as a beautiful grin graced his features. All you needed to know was that he loved you, that he’d always love you, and that wouldn’t be too hard to prove or show you considering his whole life felt like it was being lived just for you. Even still, he’d do everything he had to just to prove to you that his heart was yours entirely, and this wedding, it would be just another step in the right direction. You’d always be with him, and the only thing that would solidify that thought more than anything else would be seeing you walk down the aisle in the dress you picked out today. 

[borom1r]

saw your essays about the rohirrim as a culture centered around their ancestors/the dead and wondered what your thoughts are about eomer loaning the horses of their fallen to aragorn, legolas and gimli in that one scene considering the horses of fallen riders would most likely traditionally have a lot of significance? (idk if the way i framed this question makes sense lol)

YE ok short answer: i think it was the best option considering the circumstances

long answer: this opens a lot of fun doorways actually and i've been meaning to touch on Horse Significance for a while skjdfhksjd SO.

th first thing that i think really needs to be tackled is the difference between horses and Mearas. bc Hasufel and Arod are both explicitly regular ass horses— which makes sense! Mearas would only let Kings or Princes of the Mark ride them (and also Gandalf and Aragorn sjkdfhksjd) according to The Canon Lore. but anyways Mearas are explicitly a distinct race of horses who are Exceptional. The Best Of The Best! Mearas are not going to be sacrificed or gifted to anyone, least of all someone who is NOT Rohirric.

(again Mearas lore is not. the most defined, so i tend to interpret it as Mearas choose their riders. Shadowfax chose Gandalf and Brego, after Théodred's death, chose Aragorn. prior to that, Mearas only chose riders within the line of kings)

having established that Hasufel and Arod are Just Plain Horses, quite honestly I'm not surprised Éomer gifted them! considering his circumstances, there's no way for him to get them safely back to Meduseld and he's technically exiled from. The Entirety of Rohan so he also can't really stop and chill in one place. his best bet is to keep moving with his Éored and hunt as many Orcs as possible without attracting too much attention.

quite honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the plan prior to the three hunters showing up was sacrificing the horses

and this gets into like. grave rites and cultural beliefs around the dead and the multi-part soul again but we really don't see much of Théodred's funeral. we see him carried into the barrow and that's it— we don't see any of the preparation or any grave goods that might be in there. extrapolating from iron-age Norse culture, it was veeeeeeeeery common for horses to be sacrificed for noble burials, especially since horses were especially sacred to Óðinn who was most widely worshipped by nobility (Óðinn's horse, Sleipnir, was also said to be able to cross the boundaries between life and death and was sometimes loaned to other gods when they needed to travel to Helheim— something of note when considering horses and death here)

all this to say, I would expect to find a sacrificial horse in Théodred's barrow, along with more weapons, hunting dogs or falcons, his barding for Brego, and any other significant items. the soul doesn't simply vanish in death, and the physical body, the Lik, is part of the soul— you also wouldn't separate a rider from his horse. now, obviously you'd never sacrifice a Mearas, so Brego is off the list, but another riderless horse could very easily be killed so that Théodred's soul would have a steed on the other side.

pivoting back to Hasufel and Arod, obviously common Rohirrim aren't gonna be left in barrows, least of all when they're following Éomer into exile. Gárulf and whoever the hell rode Arod were most likely burned. this practice of burning would hold true for most common Rohirrim anyways— the dead would generally be buried for a week or two, then dug up and burned (or "graverobbers" would pillage the grave goods and return them to the family, so valuable weapons/tools weren't lost. you can't exactly afford to lose your best sword when you're broke). the Lik is kind of the glue that holds the soul together, in my interpretation— it's the vessel; too much of the soul hanging around in one place is how you wind up with restless dead, draugr.

so, you've got two burned bodies and two horses with no riders who 1) don't have the living significance of Mearas and 2) are only going to be a burden on the living. had the three hunters not shown up, and had they found no way to house the horses safely, again— I would expect they would have been sacrificed. that way their souls might join their owners' and they might take the road to the afterlife together. (and this would be more of a practice for Riders in the capital-R sense, alongside nobility, not your everyday Rohirric farmer)

since the bodies of their owners had already (presumably) been burned and Éomer and his men are exiled, gifting Hasufel and Arod was, again, the best option available. especially since Aragorn had named himself a friend of Théoden (and a hunter of Uruk-Hai) — and even if they had been brought back to Meduseld, considering what we know of old Norse burial culture and how closely Rohirric culture aligns, I would not have been particularly surprised if Hasufel or Arod had wound up sacrificed anyways

on the flip side, had it been the HORSES who died in battle and not their riders, I would expect that their bodies would have been honored as warriors and they would have been burned alongside any men. with the multi-part soul, you have the Fylgja, a sort of guardian spirit that takes the form of an animal— for Rohirric culture in my own writings, I've extrapolated that as a shared part of the soul between steed and rider, a way of explaining the bond that forms between a Rider and their warhorse. as such, a horse who died in battle would be so honored with the explicit hope that their soul might return as the Fylgja of their Rider's child

(you also get into fun stories like þorsteinn Ox-foot who'd been raised apart from his birth family, and was identified when his granfather Saw his Fylgja and recognized it as related to þorsteinn's true family— a Rider's Fylgja therefore might take the shape of their own steed, but have some distinct marking shared by their bloodline, making them identifiable to those who can see Fylgjur. there's also the idea that Fylgjur can serve as portents of somebody's death; if your Fylgja is a goat and you see a dead goat that nobody else can see, well...... <- if you see your horse, dead, but nobody else can see it.......)

i hope this like. Made Sense???? but yea Mearas would not be touched ceremonially but regular ass horses are open to sacrifice and I think once the Fylgja-connection is severed there's no issue at all w/ Hasufel and Arod being gifted to others. very uncommon for those Others to be non-Rohirrim, but strange times and all that

[nervousladytraveler]

Why would Poldark tv series writer DH have Ross say to Eliz S1Ep8 that Dem is the "love of his life" (not in WG books) when she is ill, then afterwards still have him pine and lust after Eliz constantly in series. Is it to show Ross as a duplicitous cad? Was it just to show his blind foolhardy idealization and obsession about Eliz because he was denied her. Don't get why she had Ross say that about Dem if it wasn't genuine and truly heartfelt. Why put it in? Doesn't make sense. What's your take?

Thanks for the ask, @anonymous. I’ve been giving this some thought (and will try to be succinct in my reply). Short answer: screen writers can have short memories. I remember feeling this frustration even as a kid watching something happen in one episode of a beloved show (Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries? Remington Steele?) that was conveniently left behind for plot purposes moving forward. And I’d shout at my TV, “Did they think we wouldn’t remember?!”

Or…perhaps it's not that simple. 

Maybe it was just easy for Ross to throw out the phrase “love of his life” because the situation was so dire. Nothing makes us love a person more than when we fear death, ours or theirs. (There’s a really lovely and sort of funny Mary Oliver poem on this very subject but I can’t remember the title). I don’t actually believe that he didn't really mean it, by the way, just offering it as an option.

Or maybe Debbie H. deliberately used that line to show us how complicated Ross and his feelings were. Sure he loved Elizabeth in one way but Demelza was the real deal. And it was really necessary in that moment in S1.8 for the audience to see a declaration of love for Demelza, so we could get through all the other horrible, painfully sad bits of that episode. It was the only saving grace, really.

If that’s the case, did DH have a memory lapse or a change of heart/direction moving forward? I mean she had to have known all the stuff Winston Graham mapped out for S2 when she wrote that line for S1. Does this make Ross a hypocrite or was she trying to show us how he lost sight of his true feelings for Demelza in S2 since we already knew she was the “love of his life” from S1?

Or were there some other lines written for S2 or even S3 that were edited out that would have helped us reconcile this inconsistency? I just read that the original scripts for S2.10 had Ross openly declaring his love for Demelza at the Trenwith riot in front of George and Elizabeth but that it was cut (not sure if it was filmed then edited out or edited out of the script before it was even filmed).

That said, considering the wildly inconsistent ride we had in S3, I can also see DH just playing around with lines, ignoring what had been established because she had somewhere else she wanted to go. And she did push Elizabeth to the center of the story far longer than WG did, so that pesky “love of my life” line she created must have proven very inconvenient for her!

Also, I have to admit, I hate the phrase “love of my life” as much as I don't dig the concept of "soulmate". I think they are really limiting and I think it is possible to love different people in different ways at different times as you grow and become a different person yourself. Sometimes you are lucky and can keep that one great love with you for years and years and sometimes you lose a great love. But I do think you can move on and find another, different, love. Ok--that's not the question you asked me.

Lastly, I wonder if the phrase is a bit anachronistic? I haven’t been able to find the origins of it but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it used in 18th/19th c. dialogue.  Totally possible that I’m wrong and it's even some old expression that can be traced back to Roman Latin poetry. Or maybe it's a relatively modern take? Anyone with intel on that, I’m all ears.

Thanks for asking (and so much for being succinct).

[scintillating-galaxias]

dream

this story is about freefall and overkill, two neutral bounty hunters who needed to make a living during the war while simultaneously not being forced apart through the various means of either ‘side.’ they aren’t the best at their job, and it was tough scraping enough together, but some weeks after they finally manage it, the two bump into an old friend of theirs, who was thought to have perished in the bombing that destroyed old gygax...

(@exchangeyourexperience so i heard you liked adina writing,, i dug up and polished an older piece for you, though it’s more centered around a couple other ocs of mine. still, adina plays a large part, and i feel it does a good job at summarizing the sort of effect she has on people :,)) (also oh No the tag broke, sorry if you see this twice ;0;)

3.7k, OC / OC, rough take on an idw continuity.

x

“Babe!” Freefall hollered. “Come check this out!”

Overkill glanced up from the holoboard advertising a new sweets shop that had opened up a couple blocks down to the sight of Freefall waving her arm unnecessarily enthusiastically—she was taller than a majority of the startled mechs around her, Overkill could see her just fine, seriously—and pointed at a quaint little building. She wandered over, taking Freefall’s hand in hers. And then she blinked when she saw what was sitting pretty in the display window.

“Conjunx ritus designs?” she said, slightly incredulous. Then she grinned. “Aw, Freefall, are you trying to tell me something?”

The blue of Freefall’s visor deepened into a familiar, embarrassed hue. “I—No, I wasn’t trying to—C’mooon, that’s not fair, I just wanted to show you it! You already know I wanna make you my conjunx. My connie. My wittle junxy-wunxy—”

“That’s enough out of you,” Overkill said, dutifully ignoring the pinkening of her own white faceplates. Freefall merely laughed. “Slagger,” she muttered fondly.

“I just wanna look inside,” Freefall continued after a very mature appearance of her tongue from her mouth. “Y’know, to consider our options. I’m not proposing right now or anything, I wouldn’t surprise you like that—.”

“I know, I know, I was messing with you. You just want to be ready when the time’s finally right.”

Freefall huffed a puff of steam from her vents. “Damn right I do! We’re gonna have a slagging great ritus, and we’re gonna have it done right.” She dropped a firm kiss on her crown and started tugging her towards the entryway, opening the door and dramatically sweeping her arm to gesture for her to pass first. Overkill chuffed with a smile and did so, Freefall quickly following her in.

A quiet chime gently played overhead as the doors slid shut behind them. The inside was just as picturesque as the outside, with its tasteful decorations and its light creams and pastel pinks. Overkill almost felt like she should apologize to the receptionist and step out to take a quick shower at the least. A little bit off from the small lobby was a much larger open, round room. Stuck to the walls were dozens of samples of metal plates etched and painted with a variety of intricate designs and colors. They were organized into neat columns by city, and there were five tiers of them from what Overkill could see to account for mechs of different heights.

Overkill and Freefall looped their arms together again and stepped in further. The receptionist, a small mech with a teal and gold-accented paint job, glanced up from a small stack of datapad on the desk.

“Hello,” he said warmly. “Do you have an appointment with us today?”

“Nah, we’re just checking it out for now,” said Freefall. The clerk nodded politely.

“Of course, go ahead. I’m sure you’ll find something you enjoy. If you have any questions, the artist of these lovely pieces will be out shortly.”

“Alright, thank you.”

Wings twitching excitedly, Freefall strode for the round room, visor glittering away as she made a beeline for the section of wall dedicated to Simfur. Overkill followed a bit more slowly, taking in

“Oh, wow, look at these!” Freefall whispered in her best mockery of ‘quiet.’ “You’d look amazing in this!”

“You think so?” Overkill murmured, smoothing a hand down Freefall’s back to keep her fluttering wings from clocking an attendant over the head.

“Frag yeah! The gold’s like… I dunno, it just works with you! Gold ‘nd pink look good, gold nd’ brown, and white, it all looks good!”

A pleased flush darkened Overkill’s cheeks. But as she went to answer, a soft, warm voice called from behind her, “Hello there!”

Overkill paused. A memory flickered in the back of her processor, an old light that sputtered with age. Frowning, she turned around to the plod of heavy footsteps approaching from behind her. “Are you two lovelies finding anything you like…” The mech, a massive rose-gold tank, stopped in her tracks. Then her eyes spiraled out to the size of dinner plates. “Freefall? Overkill?”

“‘Dina?” Overkill gasped.

Adina squealed and threw her arms open. Overkill only barely managed to stop herself from leaping straight into her—she noticed the cane looped over her wrist at the last second and instead rushed straight into Adina’s waist.

“I thought you were dead!” she whisper-shrieked, clinging to Adina with everything she had. “Gygax—I didn’t know if—” Adina sank carefully to her knees and shifted Overkill over to pull her tight against her thick neck. Overkill shrilled delightedly, burrowing her face in to hide her tears.

“Starlight, am I dreaming? Starlight, are you real?”

“Yes, oh my God—!”

“You would’ve slapped me silly, I couldn’t stop crying—Oh, who am I kidding, I still cried for ages afterward—”

Adina sniffled, and then clung to Overkill all over again. Wave after wave of pure relief and joy washed over her, doubled by Freefall’s own bewildered, overjoyed blubbering. Adina hurriedly shifted Overkill to her other arm then, before leaning forward to wrap the other tightly around Freefall.

“I haven’t forgotten you, Freefall, sweetspark, my goodness, it’s so good to see you!”

“We wanted to come look for ya,” Freefall explained shakily as she looped her arms around Adina’s waist and buried her face into Adina’s chest so closely, it was as though she were trying to hide beneath her pink armor. “We really did, ‘Dina, but all we cared about after Gygax blew was getting the hell out of dodge. By the time we even remembered everyone else—you, Tango’s crew, you know—we were already getting trained up by the Autobots. We didn’t even know where to start looking.”

“I don’t blame you one bit,” murmured Adina, bumping her cheek against the top of Freefall’s head and giving her a tiny kiss on the crown of her head. God, Adina’s hugs were just as heavenly as ever, just the perfect amount of squish and closeness without it being suffocating, and there was her hand cupping the back of Overkill’s head, pressing her close. They stayed like that for a long few moments, whispering and clutching each other as though they might vanish if they did not.

Primus, was this a dream? But, Adina’s armor did not pass through her fingers, she did not awaken clung tightly to Freefall—

Thank you, she thought mindlessly to whatever stupid thing above them sat back with its ridiculous opera glasses to watch the shitshow fly, thank you for sparing her, too.

Eventually, Adina shuddered in another breath before patting them both “Come, come. We must catch up. I don’t have any appointments until this evening, so we won’t be interrupted. Though—ah—my spark certainly isn’t what it used to be, so I can’t be up late.”

Adina’s earlier desperate question echoed as Overkill and Freefall got to their feet. Was this a dream? Watching the slow sway and drift of her gauzy shawl fluttering behind her, the steady and slow way she seemed to glide through the halls with her cane regally and dutifully at her side. Overkill’s visor furrowed in thought as Adina swept the two of them behind a small curtain to go to her office. It could have almost been chalked up to memory’s error. The Adina she knew two million years ago moved with springs in her feet, animated gestures, bubbling smiles. While grace suited Adina as perfectly as her paint, Overkill had to wonder—What happened?

Adina tapped in a short code to a door on the right and motioned them inside her office. Quaintly decorated in light colors like the rest of the place, cozily filled with organic plants and a variety of art pieces. A series of tablets with schedules and what appeared to be commissions lay neatly stacked on her desk. She gestured to a couple of comfortable-looking chairs before reaching behind her desk and pulling the chair behind it around to the front.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” she said with a sunny smile as she opened a cabinet in the wall and pulled down a jar of shiny silver metal. “Freefall, do you still like zinc flakes?”

“Aw, you remember!” Freefall said jovially.

Adina chuckled. “Of course,” she said. “You regularly poured three containers of zinc into your energon because you liked the way it ‘thickened it up.’ How could I forget that?”

Overkill feigned a gag. “I wish I could forget about it. She still does it.”

“Aw, you love it.”

“And you, Overkill, still a fan of Siebenaler?”

“You have that here?” she gasped, transgressions against Freefall immediately forgotten. “I haven’t been able to get my hands on any in eons!”

“It was a gift from one of my clients. Odd one, that one is,” Adina mused.

“Oh?” Overkill curled her fists under her chin with a coy smile. “Someone holds you in high regard if they’re willing to go out of the way for it.”

Adina laughed again, but it took a noticeably bitter note—sharp, compared to her usual sweet timbre. The warm, bubbling pool of her field rapidly cooled. “It’s nothing like that,” she said, meeting neither of their gazes as she poured their drinks. “I’m not seeking out anyone at the moment, anyway.”

Freefall grunted. “Where’s Bravo anyway? I haven’t seen him around.”

Crunch.

The pieces of the cube in Adina’s hands tinkled to the ground. Dread twisted Overkill’s tubes into a crumpled scrap ball. Not Adina. Anyone but Adina.

“Oh,” said Freefall, shoulders hunching. “I’m… Sorry, I didn’t realize. Erm.”

“You’re forgiven. You didn’t know,” Adina murmured as she rapidly shuttered her eyes. She gently set down her bottle of energon. “He… We didn’t break our bond or anything. Primus, no. I love him more than I love life itself. He was killed during the siege. A Decepticon recruiter tried to coerce us into joining, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter who did it, does it?” She burst out a shivery vent. “I couldn’t protect him. I tried to, I really did, but I—I failed.” She thumbed some spot over her chest, and the grip on her cane grew tighter. “I paid quite the price.”

Overkill scooted over and leaned her body against Adina’s arm, while Freefall tucked herself up against Adina’s other side. Adina fell silent, and they sat there for a long few moments, waiting for the cold to thaw just the slightest before speaking again.

“I don’t think he’d blame you,” Overkill said softly. Blame was a very difficult concept to grasp these days. It wore a variety of names and could switch forms at the same time it took a spark to pulse. But with her? With Adina? Blame could never take her soft, rosen chassis.

Freefall hummed. “Yeah. I’m real sorry, ‘Dina.”

“It’s… Not fine, of course, I miss him every day, but”—Adina straightened and handed them both their drinks—“I can’t keep identifying with his passing.”

“You’re a strong mech,” said Overkill. “You’ll figure out how to carry that weight someday.”

“Thank you.” Adina wiped her eyes and let a short huff. They sat there quietly for a few more moments until Adina drew in a wobbly breath. “Today’s meant to be a happy day,” she said, shaking her head with a roll of her shoulders. “You’re here! We have plenty of time to mourn him properly another time. I’d first like a chance to be nosy, if you’ll grant me it.”

“Go for it,” Freefall said into her cube as she threw her head back to swallow it down.

Adina neatly slid a coaster beneath Freefall’s cube a second before it made contact with her table. “You two came in here together, of course,” she prompted. Overkill ducked her head and smiled into her glass.

Freefall smacked her lips. “Yeup.”

“And you were looking at my conjunx ritus etchings?” Her cannon was slowly rising up out of her backpack again to peep over her head like a nosy neighbor craning their head over the fence. So she still hadn’t chased away that particular giveaway to her poker-face. Cute.

“Those’re yours? Hot damn. Anyway, uh, yeah, we were.”

Adina’s watery gaze turned wide. “Does that mean you two…?”

“Hitched our trailers and hit the road?” Freefall snorted. “Naw, not yet. But soon.”

“I mean this in the kindest, most loving way possible, but—” Adina politely laced her hands together and gave them both a strained smile. “It’s been millions of years! How have you two still managed to avoid the question?”

“We were going to before the war,” explained Overkill as she took a far more modest sip from her glass. The Siebenaler sat perfectly glossy on her tongue, just the right mix of tangy and sweet. It’s like she was backstage accepting free handouts all over again. “Mm, that’s good,” she muttered, lifting the cube to peer approvingly at the liquid swirling within. “Anyway, obviously we didn’t get around to it in time, and neither of us wanted to have a super private, low-budget event in the middle of the war. But we do really want something special to celebrate when we can put down our guns for good. So we decided to wait until the war was finally done before getting around to anything.”

“I admire your patience,” said Adina. “I suppose you two ended up staying with the Autobots, then?”

“Nah, we’re neutral now. We just”—Overkill kicked her in the shin—“Ow! Um. Filled in for either side. Sometimes. But we’re done with that too, now.”

Adina’s gaze narrowed. Overkill took a long draw from her cube.

“We’ve all had to do things we’d rather not do,” she said. Her tone never changed from that slow, steady sweetness, but Overkill couldn’t help the guilty worms squirming in her fuel tank. Adina… sounded like she knew, somehow. How dirty they’d gotten their hands. And now here they were, tracking their mud and filth into her quiet, clean space. They weren’t fit for the presence of someone like Adina anymore. “But I digress. You’re keeping busy in the meantime?”

“Traveling, mostly,” said Overkill, leaping on the conversation change like a scraplet to a dying mech. The air slowly cleared as they chatted, from that awful, dense brine to something light and airy. Soon, it was like they hadn’t even spent the last couple million years apart. God, she’s missed this. Neither her nor Freefall had a lot of close friends due to the nature of their work, and that meant they saw a whole lot of each other. That was fine, of course, but it didn’t stop being able to talk to new people in new ways from being any less refreshing.

So she sat back and soaked it in, swirling her cube and listening to the sound of Adina’s breathy laugh as Freefall recounted one of the more bizarre things they’d seen off-planet. Adina had been a sculptor before everything went to the Pits. She’d never stopped creating, but after her injury, labor and standing for days on end like that simply wasn’t possible anymore. So she’d turned to smaller works—her conjunx ritus designs. And on top of that, to Overkill’s surprise, massage work.

“There’s enough discomfort and misery going around,” explained Adina. “I might as well find some way to lighten that load, however little or temporary. Besides, you know I like working with my hands. It seemed reasonable to me.”

Hours slipped by like that, passing stories around the same one does a cup of energon, until a ping from Adina’s computer had her standing up out of surprise.

“My, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed,” she said with a frown. “I hate to cut this short, but I’m afraid I simply cannot keep my energy up as long as I used to.”

“It’s no problem,” said Overkill as she and Freefall stood. “Don’t worry about it, we can hang out some other time. Grab a bite or something.”

“I’d like that. I’m not scheduled for anything in a couple of days, so. I suppose your comm-line changed? I couldn’t reach you when I first tried.”

“Yeah, we had to change ours a few times. I’ll just send our new ones over.” She does so, and it brings her an absolutely bizarre amount of joy to see that read receipt under Adina’s designation again. She’d tried before, but given up after hundreds of tries. Adina wouldn’t have been able to respond if she was in a coma, of course, but how was she supposed to know? “So we’ll be seeing you around?” “Absolutely!” Adina swept them both into another hug. “Ohh, it was so good to see you both again! Stay safe out there, won’t you?” “No promises,” chortled Freefall. Adina pursed her lips. “Alright, alright. Promise we’ll try.”

“Thank you.” Adina released them and followed them towards the door, where she leaned out as the pair of them made their way back down the hall. “Come back anytime! Friends and family get a discount,” she added with a twinkle in her golden eyes. “You’re considered both.” “Shucks,” said Freefall, bashful.

“We’ll take you up on that,” Overkill called over her shoulder as she looped her arm through Freefall’s. “See ya around!”

“Tah tah, my dears!”

Freefall shimmied a little as they walked back out of the parlor, bell chiming cheerily behind them. “‘My dears.’ I like it when she calls me that. It feels nice.”

“Me, too.” Overkill sighed and bumped her head against Freefall’s arm. “Primus. I’m just—I’m glad she made it.”

“Same,” murmured Freefall. “‘S nice to know at least someone made it.”

Overkill glanced up at Freefall’s souring face. “Thinking about your team again?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. Now that I know she’s—well, not okay, but alive, all it does is make me wonder evenmore. I just… I hate not knowing.”

“I know, babe. Maybe once we’re settled down, we can try getting some leads on them.”

Freefall’s jaw tightened. “I—I thought about that. Still am, thinking about that, to be honest, but I don’t… I don’t want to wreck what we finally have. It took so long. And I know I’m probably not gonna like what I find.”

Overkill worried her lip. She knew, of course, what Freefall meant. Millions of years of scraping together what they had, having bank accounts randomly closed, emergency visits to the medics, accidents, the horrific inflation of the average Cybertronian credit to just about everywhere else in the galaxy—saving up for a home had nearly killed them both. But…

 “You need the closure. And it’s not a bounty we’re collecting. It won’t be half as dangerous. Now that the war’s done, there’s been a ton of time to get the names and a headcount of everyone who died.” She nudged her shoulder. “And given how anal Panzer is about getting his labels in place,” she added, “it’s happening fast. I bet we’ll barely even have to head off-planet. We’ll just be breaking our backs over in an archive for days on end.”

That got a short laugh out of her. “I guess.”

“Freefall.”

Freefall’s wings sank in a silent sigh. She faced Freefall with a sad, restrained hope swimming in her gaze. “…You’re sure?”

“Of course. You deserve to know what happened to them so you can either celebrate, or grieve, properly. You can’t stay in limbo forever.”

Finally, Freefall broke into a broad grin. “I love you so damn much,” she said, yanking Overkill into a tight hug and planting a kiss firmly on her head. “I got dinner tonight. We’ll get lunch with ‘Dina, get settled in and then… I guess we head out again.”

“We never were very good at staying in one place,” Overkill smiled. “Adina’s right though. “We really need to get a move on.”

“Think she’ll do our ritus designs for us?”

“Well, now that I know she’s around and in the business, I don’t want anyone else.”

“Same. They were damn gorgeous. When d’ya think she picked those up?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m glad we’re in agreement.” Overkill leaned her head back to let the light of New Gygax touch her smile. “Let’s get home.”

“Home,” Freefall hummed. “Haven’t been able to use that word in a minute now.”

“And it’s all ours to use.” Overkill kissed Freefall on the cheek and laced her arm through hers. “Let’s not wear it out. Shall we?”

“We shall,” said Freefall. “We shall.”