#and none of these stories are inherently dangerous for it alone.

[happy-beeeps]

Hi love! Could I request a Rex X reader where reader can’t sleep so he stays and talks with her?

Hi lovie!!! Tysm for the request! It makes me so happy to answer these especially when they're about Rex. I actually struggle with insomnia so this is like a very real occurrence for me, so I hope you love it!! Also the way i'm posting this at night aw it's like a bedtime story this has so many layers

Bed Time

pairing: Rex x jedi!reader

Summary: You have a hard time finding sleep, so Rex finds you instead

Warnings: None, this is tooth rotting fluff for my sleepy girlies (gn)

WC: 1.2k

* * *

You’re a monster when you’re low on sleep, according to everyone in the Jedi Council and most of the GAR. For being a Jedi, you’d think you’d be well equipped to handle low sleep, but to you, sleep is currency. There’s a running gag of all the places you’ve dozed off when trying to catch up on lost hours (the current favorites being Master Yoda’s council chair, at Kix’s med station, and inside the youngling’s training room.) You’re bristle and groggy when you’re low on energy, and everyone jokes of the time Anakin had proposed one of his haphazard “plans,” and you had looked at him, eyes sullen, and placed a hand over his mouth. “I’m going to need you to stop talking.” You grumbled.

He got over it. Eventually.

This lack of sleep is how you find yourself here, padding through the jungles of Felucia in nothing but your sleep shorts and tunic. When sleep struggles to find you, you’ve found it best to seek a quiet spot away from your bed and do something, anything, to calm your mind. Meditate, read, once you have even scrubbed the entirety of the 501st’s gear. So now, you settle on a quiet spot overlooking a valley, out of sight from where you’ve all made camp, but not too far that you’re in any inherent danger. It’s hard to focus here, the air is thick and soupy and you swear if you swung your arms down fast enough you’d catch water droplets on them. Still, the quiet hum of wildlife around you allows you to ground yourself in the moment, to pretend you’re not at war. It’s calm, peaceful even. Of course, until the peace is corrupted by the crunch of footfall, and you spin around to face the intruder, though your gaze softens as it lands on him.

Rex walks in through the bushes, holding a canteen and a scrap of fabric in one hand, and his bucket in another. He’s dressed only on the bottom, opting to just wear his blacks across his broad chest. “Fancy seeing you here,” he smirks, then moves to settle next to you, offering you the canteen of crisp water.

You graciously accept it, drinking as much as you can muster in one breath, hoping to replace everything you’ve just sweated out. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

“You know, some might even say I was made for you.”

You roll your eyes at the quip, sending your shoulders gently into his. He takes the movement as an invitation to open his arm, and you happily settle your weight on his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck.

“What are you doing here,” he murmurs against your hair, and you make a movement that resembles a shrug.

“Dunno. Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

He laughs, and you can feel the rumble down your spine, “Right, so we’ll be paying for that in the morning.”

You look up at his smirk and stick out your tongue at him, and he responds by pressing a warm kiss on the back of your cheek near your ear, swinging his arms around you to hold you firmly across your chest. “How can I make it better?”

“Master Yoda would say by leaving me alone,” you joke, and you know he gets your jest, as he only holds you tighter. “Can we just talk? I don’t know why I’m so unsettled right now.”

“Of course, about what?”

You shrug again and nudge your feet outwards, kicking Rex’s helmet as you move. “What are your marks for again? Tell me about them.”

“Those?” he gestures his head towards the helmet, “For missions I’ve successfully completed. Course, I’ve had to start counting by fives.”

Your eyes land on the newest cluster scrawled on his forehead and you count seven dashes. 35 battles won. You don’t know why that fact impresses you, considering you’ve been at probably half of them at least, not to mention the other missions you’ve completed. Then again, everything Rex does impresses you.

“You ever think about what you’d do without it all, the war, the missions? When it’s all over?”

He hums, pulling you in closer, “Nah, not much use in it. I’m not meant to know anything but war.”

You swat at his chest, “Don’t say that, you know I don’t like it." There’s a blissful silence that falls around the two of you after that. Not quite enough for you to get sleepy, but enough for you to melt into his arms a little bit more, to meditate a touch and use his breathing as an anchor. After a few minutes of this, you start up again. “I know what I’d do.”

“Oh really, General? I’m all ears.”

“First, I think I’d rescue this one dashingly handsome clone captain I worked with, if he’d have me,”

“He would, always, but go on,” and he trails kisses up and down the back of your neck, wherever he can reach.

“Then I think I’d settle on a system somewhere warm, with a beach maybe.”

“Like Naboo?”

“Sure, we can go to Naboo. Then, I think I’d be a teacher.”

“Like a Jedi Master?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’d teach all the kids in our town and then I’d come home to my captain.”

“I’m sure he’d be very happy to see you.” And he is. Rex pulls your chin in for a kiss, not fueled by lust or urgency, but a slow, easy kiss that’s meant to put you at ease. “Do you mean it?” he asks, eyes searching yours for any deception.

You yawn. “When it comes to you, always.”

He grips you tighter, and sleep threatens to overtake you now. “Mesh’la,” he murmurs, running his fingers up and down the sides of your arms, sprouting chill bumps in his wake. “Put this on.” And he passes you the black fabric resting beside him.

You unfurl it and open it to reveal one of his black undershirts. “Rex,”

“I just washed it, it’s clean. It’s designed to wick sweat so it’ll keep you cool,” he nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck now, “sides, it’ll be like I’m sleeping with ‘ya.”

“Won’t that look suspicious? What if Anakin says something-”

“I can guarantee you that he won’t.”

You do as you're told, and settle into the warmth of his chest once more, surrounded by him and his scent. You must drift off in a matter of minutes, and Rex scoops you up carefully, holding you with both arms and carefully bending down to pick up your lightsaber. He walks the short distance back to camp, and meets a smirking General Skywalker at the flap of your tent. The Jedi puts his hand up before Rex can say anything, “Whatcha got there?” he smirks, opening the flap for Rex to place you at your bedroll, you still fast asleep. He ducks back out to face Anakin, who just gives him a knowing look before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Goodnight, you two.”

Rex rolls his eyes but grins at his General, before turning back to face your tent. “Goodnight cyarika.” He murmurs, the sound quick and fleeting, floating away on the warm, Felucian air.

[cosmicjoke]

I was flipping through "No Regrets" again today, and it really astonishes me how much Levi cared about the well being of these people who he just met and who, initially, treated him, Furlan and Isabel like they were trash.

Like, the story opens up with Levi leading Erwin and Mike away from the other two, a high speed chase ensuing through the streets of the Underground in which he has to make numerous, dangerous maneuvers to try and shake them off his tail, and when he thinks he's finally lost them, he looks back and comments aloud "That got a little crazy. I hope none of them crashed." These are two people that, as far as Levi knows, mean him nothing but ill intent, at the very least to arrest him and his family, and he's worried about them getting hurt. That's crazy. I literally don't know how anyone can see moments like this from Levi and not understand how innately kind and compassionate he is.

Or how he later saves another soldier from impaling himself on one of the dummy titans of the obstacle course, this directly after this same soldier put Levi's own life at risk by purposefully cutting him off mid-flight, out of nothing but petty jealousy for being better than him on the ODM gear.

Or how later, Erwin tells Levi that with him around, the other soldiers must feel safer, and Levi responds with the admission that the only reason he was able to take out his first titan was because he was able to watch how it moved while it ate another soldier. Levi obviously feels guilty about this, he feels bad about having needed to let another person die in order to figure out how to fight against titans. He feels like he failed, even though, through that observation and subsequent taking down of the titan, he doubtless saved many more lives. There's no pride there, no feeling of accomplishment. He's focused instead on the guilt he feels in being unable to save everyone. And we have to remember, these are people that Levi doesn't even know and who, again, for the most part have treated him and his family horribly up to this point. He has no reason other than his own, innate compassion to feel bad about this.

There's also Levi's statement to Furlan about why he doesn't want to teach anyone any of his skills, because he doesn't want to be "responsible for any more lives", which tells us of course that Levi already feel responsible, already he's weighed down by a sense of obligation and guilt at not being able to protect all of them, and the reason he doesn't want to teach anyone anything is because he's afraid it will just lead to further failure on his part to adequately do so.

And finally, Levi's genuine concern and consideration toward Flagon and the other Scouts safety before he separates from Furlan and Isabel to go after Erwin. Again, Flagon in particular had been nothing but nasty toward Levi, but Levi weighs his life as much as anything when determining whether to take his friends with him, or go alone.

I really don't think people consider these things enough when judging Levi's own, initial reasoning for joining the SC. This inherent sense of obligation he's always had toward others, toward using his strength to help others. We see it in how he took both Furlan and Isabel under his wing and cared for them; in how he tried to make their dreams come true, that being the initial reason he went along with Furlan's plans, despite his own ambivalence. But we also see it in the way he cares about the lives of men and women he barely knows, who are, essentially, strangers to him, and ones who aren't particularly welcoming toward him either. We see this same behavior from Levi later in the main story of AoT, when the citizens of Trost are harassing and ragging on him and the SC for not doing anything for them, and in the midst of this harassment, Levi saves one of the men's lives when he kicks him out of the way of an oncoming carriage, and later goes so far out of his way to help all of them by propositioning Deemo Reeves. Levi didn't personally owe these people anything, but he saw their suffering, and he couldn't abide it. This really is just an innate quality of Levi's, the need to protect and help others, displayed in what amounts to a natural, knee-jerk reaction when someone is in some sort of peril, no matter how they've previously treated him.

I think this goes back to that quote from Isayama which I made a post about before, about the reason Levi came to the surface. It's because he was seeking a way to help others. Once he realized he could, that he could use his strength to others benefit, he was always looking for ways to do so, and that manifests in Levi's efforts and feelings toward a group of soldiers whom he barely knows and who have treated him poorly. He's got no cause to want to help these people, and in fact starts out with plenty of reasons to hate them, and yet, he helps them anyway. To me, that says everything about Levi's character, about how, even if he didn't initially join the Survey Corps with the intent to "fight for humanity", he still joined because of a natural inclination toward wanting to help others. Furlan and Isabel, yes, but everyone else too. Even in his attempts to distance himself and not care, he simply couldn't help it. That's really the definition, in my book, of genuine, inner kindness. Someone who makes no conscious effort to be good, or kind, or helpful, but just simply is. Levi isn't like this, and doesn't do these things, to make himself feel good. In fact, his desire to help others very often leads to his own inner grief and turmoil, actively causing him pain. He doesn't do it out of some desire to seek glory or recognition, or to tout his virtue. He doesn't do it out of a need to settle any sort of debt, or because he owes anyone anything, or even for the goal of some altruistic concept like saving humanity. He does it because he just, genuinely cares. The obligation he feels to helps others is just a part of his personality.

And I think it's important too, to understand what Levi knew of the SC before being pressed into its service, and how that also needs to be taken into consideration when analyzing Levi's motivations in coming to the surface. Though his initial reason for going into the SC was to help his friends, and not specifically for the cause of saving humanity, (though Levi's reason for joining the SC was precisely to save humanity, when Erwin asks him to stay and do just that) I don't think that at all disproves or undermines the altruistic quality of Levi's intentions, nor does it say anything about Levi's desire to help others in general. I think Levi's natural response toward the other soldiers in the SC, after he first joined, is plenty proof enough that, consciously or not, he always wanted to help as many people as he could.

One has to remember also that Levi's relationship and understanding of the military up to the time before he was pulled from the Underground was a purely negative one. His only experience with the military was with that of the Military Police, a group of corrupt law enforcers who regularly harassed and terrorized the people of the Underground, or any person deemed to be on the wrong side of the King's dictates. Levi knew nothing of what the Survey Corps stood for, then, what their motivation was, what their goal was. He knew they fought titans, but even so, he had no real context for understanding what that meant. He didn't really even know what a titan was. In Levi's mind, the members of the SC would have been interchangeable with the MPs. The military was corrupt, and it attracted people who were corrupt and even sadistic.

Further solidifying this impression in him would have been his treatment at their hands when he, Furlan and Isabel were first caught. Erwin treated Levi inhumanely, and forced all of them into service under the threat of arrest and possibly torture and death at the hands of the Military Police. Erwin also had his underlings hold their swords to Furlan's and Isabel's necks, clearly threatening their lives, telling Levi the inhumane treatment would be applied to his friends if he didn't cooperate. So this notion that Levi not initially joining the Survey Corps to save humanity is some sort of proof that he had no real aspirations to help others when he first joined makes little sense to me. He couldn't have joined the SC at that time out of a desire to save humanity, or to help others, because he had no way of knowing at the time that's what the SC endeavored toward. No matter his personal desire to use his strength to help others, it would never have crossed his mind that joining the Survey Corps would be an option for realizing that goal.

Further, Levi was living in the Underground, was a permanent resident of the Underground, and very much what one would deem a second class citizen, trapped in a place of little to no opportunity for bettering ones situation, let alone the situation of others. There was no avenue open to him of joining any government organization, for any reason. He literally had no rights in this regard. He wasn't recruited, and he didn't volunteer. He was pressed into service under threat of imprisonment, torture and death. So, again, to say that Levi's initial reasoning for joining the SC is somehow evidence of him not at first wanting to help others is, in my view, a false sentiment. Levi wanted to help others, he just didn't have a whole lot of options for doing so, and the Suvery Corps, to him, at the time, was just another corrupt branch of the government looking to exploit poor people. Not what anyone coming from his perspective would deem a worthy organization for lending his strength to.

He only came to that belief later, only began to view the Survey Corps as a worthy cause for him to lend his strength and efforts to after Erwin gives him his whole, grand speech about fighting for humanity and giving meaning to the deaths of Furlan and Isabel in the process.

Again, I think it's important to acknowledge this in particular in order to understand Levi's psychology here. It's not that he didn't care about helping people when he first joined the SC, (again, there's plenty of evidence from his actions and behavior in "No Regrets" to prove otherwise) it's that he simply didn't ever consider the SC as a viable option for doing so. He never dreamed of "saving humanity" because it was all he could do, while living in the Underground, to simply care for the two people he had under his protection. He later came to think otherwise because of Erwin, of course, and that's when he officially joined, with the intent to use his strength toward that cause, when he began to believe he could use his strength to benefit numerous people, and so that's what he did, a natural extension of his innate compassion.

Anyway, Jesus, that got long like all of my posts, lol. I was just planning on writing a little about this, but as usual, I got carried away.

[lav-endermoon]

i think i speak for all of us when i say that i am mentally and emotionally exhausted. aside from many reblogs, i've held off on posting about the wilbur situation for the sole reason that it is difficult for me to cope with. to be clear, i will no longer be posting in support of cc!wilbur or lovejoy, nor will i be interacting with those who continue to. time will tell if i continue posting about his characters - i've been drifting away from dsmp for a while now, and at the moment i feel very uncomfortable associating with anything related to wilbur.

i'm going to take some time off tumblr to process all of this (seriously, if you see me on here, please yell at me), but before i go i want to say that we should thank shelby for exposing the truth, being vulnerable, and opening up conversations that needed to be had. deplatforming wilbur and spreading the word of his actions is important, but our energy also needs to be directed to supporting her.

i hope that after a long series of mcyt scandals (<- for lack of a better word - feels a bit reductive), this is a wakeup call for people to stop putting their emotional stability in the hands of public figures and realize that anything they show us not only could be, but most likely is, a facade. i say "public figures" because this is not an mcyt problem - it's a problem within content creator circles in general. recent situations have displayed what happens when parasociality/idolization becomes dangerous. the amount of people in these communities who resort to downplaying and dismissing victims or blatantly upholding abusers, all in the name of keeping their fave on a pedestal, is disturbing. this is a conversation that needs to continue, for the sake of victims and those who fall into unhealthy patterns of idolization. we need to change the way our communities treat victims, and we need to think critically when engaging with CCs who we will never know personally.

none of this is to say that anyone's feelings of grief are invalid. this is a hard thing to come to terms with. it's hitting me that i was deceived by the person who influenced me to become a songwriter, whose music found me at the most relevant time, who wrote a character who i could connect with during a time where i felt deeply alone, who wrote a story that brought me so much joy and comfort at my darkest hour and inspired so many creative projects. i feel hurt and betrayed. even though all the time and love i devoted to his content was voluntary, i still feel like something has been taken from me. like i've been taken advantage of - not just by him, but by the entire industry that he is a part of. i feel manipulated, threatened, and unsafe, and those feelings have been an undercurrent throughout my time in this fandom.

your attention is quite literally currency, and you should assume that creators will try to exploit it. our brains are hardwired to trust others, not to tell the difference between real human connection and a streamer broadcasting their personal life + showing affection to their audience. don't blame yourself for the effects of an inherently parasocial type of content. don't blame yourself for having an emotional attachment to someone or something that once brought you comfort. be gentle with yourself right now, and going forward, examine how the content you consume makes you feel. how does it make you act? how does it change your thoughts? what biases do you have? these forms of content can be deeply manipulative and putting up a mental boundary is important - and, like shelby said, listen to your gut. we need to remember that they are profiting off of us and learn how to keep ourselves safe psychologically. this is another conversation that needs to continue.

take care of yourselves.

[honeybeezx]

Armor -Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 8

Authors Note: haha ✨surprise✨ I t’s been forever since an update, i honestly kinda fell out of writing for a while. But I rewatched game of Thrones recently and knew I had to finish this. I will try my best to be more consistant with this because I love the characters and I have a plan for this story. Thank you for sticking with this story and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Summary: Silver Hawk’s first night in Dorne

Word Count: 5k

Trigger Warnings: none

—————————————————————————

“You seem distracted.” Ellaria teased, pulling you out of your state as you both rode your horses into the city.

“Just in awe.” You clarified as your eyes danced across the bright colored buildings and the jubilant people welcoming back their prince. “Your homeland…it’s beautiful.”

Ellaria smiled softly, a smile that would have looked out of place on someone with a razor tongue. But you knew her, and you hoped she would always smile at you like that.

“For as much as Oberyn and I love to travel, Dorne will always be my favorite place. Sunspear agrees with you.”

You couldn’t argue with that. It was as if the land itself had opened up to you.

But you saw the people among the streets, saw them whisper as they looked at you. You normally did not care about the judgement of others, but whispers could be dangerous to a foreigner. If word of an assassin sworn to obey the command of Tyrion Lannister, the Martell’s sworn enemy reached the ears of the people, you knew your presence would create an uncomfortable situation for House Martell.

“Don’t worry. The people simply do not know you, but they will.” Ellaria assured confidently.

“I hope you’re right.”

It wasn’t long before you reached the palace. You dismounted your horses and walked up the luscious water gardens until you were inside the palace. It was as if the palace had built by the very sand that it rested upon. The many columns and archways were more impressive than they were foreboding, unlike the Red Keep.

You thought you were being received in a throne room, only to find Doran Martell waiting comfortable in a small parlor, a man behind him which you could only assume was his guard judging by the size of him. You imagined most people thought of Dorne’s ruler as weak and feeble given his condition, but Doran seemed every bit as stoic and strong as a king should be.

“This is my brother, Doran, Prince of Dorne and head of House Martell.” Oberyn introduced, like he was proud to be by your side, proud to introduce you to his brother.

You hoped you were worthy of all that.

“Welcome to Dorne, Silver Hawk. I’ve heard many a great stories about you.” Doran greeted warmly. Strong, stoic…and incredibly kind.

“It is an honor, your grace. I am very fortunate to be received by such a beautiful land and by such a kind family.”

“A land that has only been made more beautiful by your presence.”

Were all the Martells just inherently charming?

“Be careful, brother. I had my eyes on her long before you and even then she did not take so kindly to my…compliments.” Oberyn teased, making you roll your eyes.

“Your grace, it was a much more complicated situation.” You defended before flashing Oberyn a look that was anything but pleased.

But Doran simply chuckled. “Nothing with my brother is anything less than complicated. As I said before you are very welcome here. Should you need anything during your stay do not hesitate to ask it of us.”

You smiled softly. When was the last time you liked someone so quickly?

“Your grace is too kind. Thank you for your generosity. I will do what I can to repay you for it.”

Doran shook his head. “Not necessary. You are a guest, I demand nothing. Please, simply enjoy your stay. You are welcome to join the rest of the family for dinner, however, if you are overwhelmed by your travels and prefer to be alone we will happily send some to bring you food.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary.” You quickly intervened. Most of the time you hunted your own food, food being prepared for you was strange let alone having being brought to you. “I’d be happy to join everyone at dinner. Oberyn and Ellaria have spoken so highly of their family and I’m eager to meet them.”

“Wonderful. I will see you this evening then.” And with that, Doran was assisted out of the parlor and out into the water gardens.

“He liked you almost as quickly as I did. Though you were much friendlier and obliging than you were upon our first meeting.” Oberyn teased, almost like he was wounded. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you prefer my brother.”

“I don’t prefer anyone.” You retorted sharply, glaring at him disapprovingly. “However, your brother never asked if I would consider fucking him.”

Ellaria didn’t even try holding back her laughter.

Oberyn smiled devilishly. “I simply made our desires known litse riñe.”

“Litse riñe?”

Oberyn smirked, but didn’t elaborate. “Come, we will show you to your quarters.”

You looked to Ellaria, hoping she would explain the meaning of her lover’s words, but she simply cupped your cheek gently and smiled before following Oberyn.

The room was better than you could have imagined. A huge open archway allowed sunlight into your room, and led to a small balcony that overlooked the city. But doors were attached, she you could close them at night and keep yourself safe, or to at least feel protected. The bed was huge, it encompassed the middle of the room, yet there was still space for more things. The wall opposite the balcony was lined with books, maps, and scrolls that you were sure would be well-read by the time you left this place.

“This is too much. Would you rather save this space for an honored guest? I’m perfectly fine in a-“

“You are an honored guest.” Ellaria cut off. “And you should be more than just comfortable. Who knows how long it will be until you are able to return to Tyrion? This place should feel like home, even if it’s just for a little while.” She chided, but somehow you got the feeling she wouldn’t mind this being your room permanently.

“It’s just so…big.” You had never had anything this nice, not even in the Red Keep.

“If you don’t like it we can-“

“No!” You cut off Oberyn quickly before calming yourself. “I mean, if you need this room for another guest or for any reason at all I should be happy in a smaller quarters. But this room is perfect. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful…I’m just not used to such….luxury.”

Because that’s what this was, a luxury that you weren’t quite sure you deserved, or even knew what to do with.

Oberyn chuckled and glanced around the room. “You should join me in the library sometime if you wish to see true luxury.”

“Or our bedroom.”

Both you and Oberyn shot Ellaria a surprised look, both of you thinking talk like that was out of the question, especially since you had made your feelings of discomfort known when it came to flirting.

But Ellaria was far more observant than her lover. You let Oberyn call you a sweet name without too much questioning, even though you could easily get the explanation out of him. You let Ellaria touch your cheek without even flinching.

And you had kissed their knuckles aboard the ship. A simple gesture that should have seemed like nothing, but was everything to the three of you.

“As soon as I am settled I’d love to see everything.”

“We hope to see you there soon. Until then, get settled and join us for dinner. I will send Syrene in to help you unpack.”

“Thank you….both of you.” You said simply, though you knew there were not any words you knew of that could have expressed your gratitude.

They both simply smiled at you before taking their leave. You began to unpack, which really just meant you took off your sheath of arrows. The rest of it was already there. A large dresser was already full with pretty gowns that you were sure you would never wear. But Ellaria and Oberyn knew you better than that. In the lower drawers were cotton pants and loose shirts. Different from the heavy woolen shirts you wore under your armor in the North, even different from the tight under-armor you wore in the capital. Still, Dorne was a blistering hot country, and although the clothes still didn’t exactly suit your tastes, they were certainly the most logical for the climate.

But you didn’t have the slightest clue what to wear to dinner. Normally you wouldn’t care, but you’ve never been a guest of a great house before, especially not as just another assassin. Did they expect you to dress nicely? Or did they expect you as you always were, with arrows strapped to your back and armor covering your body.

As if she heard your thoughts, Syrene knocked at your door.

“I’m so glad Oberyn and Ellaria sent you. What am I expected to wear to dinner.”

Syrene thought for a moment. “Well…you aren’t on duty as a guard or anything now, and you have no reason to wear your armor, so…” she opened your drawers, luckily the ones that weren’t full of dresses.

“Here.” He laid out a…you weren’t quite sure what it was.

“How do I get in it?”

Syrene laughed. “You step in it, silly. It’s all one piece so it somewhat gives the appearance of a dress, but still gives you the freedom to move as you do in trousers.”

It wasn’t the worse thing you had ever seen. It was a brown color, but it had orange hues that matched the Dornish colors. In the middle was a think brown belt that would easily let you hide your dagger (not that you knew how to use it well, or that you even thought you needed it, but you could never be too careful). Your arms would be exposed, but you supposed you could deal with that for tonight, especially in such a hot climate.

If you were being honest with yourself, you actually really liked the design.

“Thank you, this is perfect.” You knew you would be indebted to your friend by the end of your stay in Sunspear

“Do not mention it. Would you like me to do you hair?” She offered kindly.

Your hair, when was the last time you ever cared about your hair?

“No, I think I will just put it up in a simple braid, but thank you.” You could change your ways a little in a new land, but somethings you wanted to control. Your hair was always up or in some sort of braid, you didn’t want to change that now.

“Certainly.” Syrene smiled. “Are you nervous about dining with them? I mean, the Martell’s are a good family, but I think I would be scared to dine with such highborn people.” She admitted.

But you simply shrugged.

“They’re just people. I don’t believe in people being born higher or lower than others, just those who were born into better circumstances. The Martells have flaws, they will live and they will die as everyone else will.” Goodness, you did not expect to reveal so much of your thoughts to her, you made a note to keep them in check. Syrene was a friend, but she was still someone you barely knew. “Like you said, they are good people. I’m not afraid of good people.”

Syrene smiled. “If I were half as intimidating as you I don’t think I could be afraid of anyone.”

You shrugged. You had always known what people thought and expected of you, but it wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded. Sure, you could be a threat to those that challenged you, but sometimes…you just wanted friends. Tyrion had befriended you easily, but he saw through you, better than most. Not everyone was as clever as him, even Bronn and Shae had trouble trusting and connecting with you. You hadn’t blamed them, it was just…difficult.

You made a mental note to work on that.

When you were fully changed, you were shocked by the image in the mirror. It wasn’t often you were without your armor, and even now the idea of it made your heart race. What were you thinking? This was a strange land, and although you trusted the Martell’s, you couldn’t expect the whole land to be fine with an ex-guard for one of the Lannisters roaming about their homeland. If word got out quick enough, you knew there could be a bounty on your head.

You can never relax, can you?

Even when he was away Tyrion was a nagging voice in your head.

“Do you like it?” Your new acquaintance asked as she adjusted the necklace she added.

It was a hard question. Truthfully, you would always feel on edge without your armor. But otherwise….it was comfortable.

“It’s perfect.” You settled on, not wanting to hurt Syrene’s feelings nor make a big deal out of something as trivial as clothing. You could deal with being armorless for one night.

The dining hall was impressive, much larger than you expected. The the table stretched the length of the room, but everyone was gathered at one side and close together to allow easier conversation. Oberyn, Ellaria, and Doran were there, but then…four younger girls that no one could have doubted to be Oberyn’s daughters.

But when you entered, all eyes fell on you.

“Who’s the pretty lady?” A girl, you had to guess was only slightly older than the little girl next to Oberyn, asked so sweetly it could have turned even you soft.

Ellaria smiled and booped her daughter’s nose. “The pretty lady is The Silver Hawk your father and I were talking about.”

“But where’s her armor?”

“Take a good look, because this might be the only time you see me without it on.” You laughed while Oberyn stood to pull out a chair for you. “You’ll have to see me when I’m out shooting sometime. It’s better to see in the sunlight anyways.”

“Can you really shoot apples off people’s heads?” Asked another, slightly older than the other.

“Don’t be stupid, no one is that good.”

“Girls.” Oberyn cut off sharply. “Elia, that wasn’t kind, apologize to your sister.”

“But-“

“Elia.”

The girl groaned, but did as her father instructed.

“I apologize on behalf of my daughters. They have curious minds and I’ve been telling them about you in my letters. I’m afraid the tales of your talents have reach their ears and there’s no quelling their interest.”

You never did care for all the far-fetched stories about your talents, but somehow you didn’t mind Oberyn telling his girls. In truth, it was sweet. You flashed a quick smile to Oberyn before smiling softly at the little girl next to you. “I can shoot an apple off of someone’s head. I did it in King’s Landing, your mother and father saw it.”

“It’s true.” Ellaria interceded. “She saved his life too. Won a whole archery competition in front of the queen regent and the king. We have a true talent in Sunspear.”

While it was true, you didn’t know if you wanted so much attention on yourself. “All this talk about me, and I don’t even know any of your names!”

“I’m Dorea!”

You smiled, already liking the little girl who had called you pretty first thing when you walked in.

“My name is Obella. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

She was very articulate for so young a girl. She looked sharp, smart and clever as her father, but beautiful like her mother, showing more of her mother’s features than her sisters did. “The pleasure is all mine.”

The oldest of the four was quiet, crossing her arms in defiance. Both Oberyn and Ellaria shot her a glare, and the girl knew she wouldn’t be getting out of this.

“Elia.” She replies curtly.

“A beautiful name.” You tried complimenting, remembering that it was Oberyn’s late sister’s name.

But the girl was not so easily charmed, she remained quiet.

You didn’t know what you did to her, but you didn’t press. Even then, you liked her. You didn’t like very many people upon first meeting them either.

So this is what Oberyn and Ellaria felt like when they first met me….

Oberyn nudged the little girl sitting between you and him. She was the cutest little girl you had ever seen, but you could tell she was still shy.

“It’s your turn little one, can you tell our guest your name?” Oberyn asked, giving his little girl an encouraging nudge. But the little girl just hid her face in her father’s arm and cuddled close to him.

“She’s shy.” He mouthed to you over her little shoulder.

“You have a very pretty dress.” You complimented, hoping to get the little girl to look at you. “Very fitting for such a beautiful princess.”

The girl eventually did peek back at you, but then quickly turned back to her father. “Is she a princess?”

You weren’t even wearing a gown, so the girl’s assumption took you by surprise, but you were flattered all the same, even made you laugh a little.

“No, but she certainly looks like she could be, doesn’t she?” Oberyn smiled, ruffling her curls before lifting his head to smile at you. “I’m sure she would still love to know your name, little one.”

“I would.” You agreed.

The girl barely peeked back at you. “Loreza.”

And suddenly you liked children.

You didn’t think you had before, but your heart was already melting at all these sweet girls. Elia still needed some encouragement, but even then you liked her spunk. You had never really seen what a good, healthy, relatively normal family structure looked like, you had chosen your family after your father died, and even then it’s was just the two of you. But here were four girls lucky enough to have two parents and a luxurious home…you thought they would be entitled rich kids…only to find that Ellaria and Oberyn were the best parents you had ever seen.

And it made you softer than you would ever admit.

————————

Dinner passed by quickly, it was mostly filled with tales of your misadventures with Tyrion and the others, even some of the trouble you got up to by yourself. The girl’s hung on your every word, even Elia seemed interested, though she hid her enthusiasm far better than her little sisters.

But soon enough, Lorena gave a few quiet yawns, signaling the girl’s bed time. You smiled softly, ready to excuse yourself to let the parents tuck in their children before you felt a tug on your pants.

The little girl didn’t say anything, just lifted her hands in the air, like picking her up and carrying her was expected of you. It made you smile, but you looked to her parents for permission. They nodded and you didn’t even hesitate to scoop her up once they both gave encouraging nods. You could already see her eyes getting heavy as you let her head rest on your shoulder.

“You two will have to show me the way, I’d get lost trying to find my way by myself in this place.” You joked.

“Come on girls, I’ll tuck you in while your father and our guest take care of your sisters.” Ellaria chided, taking Elia and Obella while Oberyn scooped up Dorea.

“Good night girls, it was a pleasure meeting you both.” You smiled. Elia still seemed unimpressed, but Obella gave a sleepy wave goodbye before following her mother. You’d take the small win, even if you were determined to convince Elia that the two of you could at least be acquaintances.

A mission for another time.

Right now you needed to get the sack of potatoes in your arms to bed.

“Follow me.” Oberyn whispered, Dorea already out in his arms as quickly as Loreza fell asleep in yours.

You took quiet steps to reach their shared room. You placed the sleeping girl in her tiny bed and brushed away a few of her raven curls from her face. It was a sweet scene, almost instinctively you wanted to give both girls a goodnight kiss on the forehead, but thought better if it. They weren’t your daughters after all…

“Thank you for entertaining their imagination. My girls are strong, they have dreams of becoming warriors like their older sisters. It’s exciting for them to hear of other female warriors outside of their homeland, makes it feel all the more possible for them to achieve their dreams if they have other women to look up to.”

Look up to?

You had never thought of yourself as someone people would look up to. You didn’t do what you thought was right, you always did what you did to keep yourself alive. Their own sisters were more of an appropriate roll model, strong women who fought for their country, not for themselves.

“I’m not quite sure ‘warrior’ is the word, and I’m not sure I can inspire them as much as their own sisters probably already do, but I’d do anything to encourage them to learn how to at least protect and defend themselves. They’re strong girls, they get that from their parents.” You complimented with a small smile towards the girls’s father.

“That’s all a father can hope for. I want everything for them, I want them to be able to do anything they put their minds to. I’d do anything to help them with that.” Oberyn spoke as if you weren’t there, he was focused on Dorea, brushing her hair back from her face with careful fingers. You didn’t mind being forgotten, it was sweet. You still felt like you didn’t know everything about Oberyn, but the one thing you could be certain on was that he was a fantastic father.

He pulled himself out of his musings and returned to you. “Forgive me, I’m afraid my daughters can make me rather sentimental.”

You shook you head. “Never feel like you have to apologize for loving your daughters. I’ve never seen a man feel so blessed to have daughters, most men want sons.”

Oberyn shrugged. “Perhaps I had wondered what it would have been like to have a son, but I wouldn’t change anything, not for the world. I am too content with my daughters to change anything. Happiness is a rarity, when you have it, don’t wish to change any part of it.” He smiled before coming to stand next to you and kiss Loreza’s head as well.

And then…he was so close to you.

So close that you saw the specks of amber in his deep brown eyes, and the way his hair was much curlier near the nape of his neck, the way his chest heavily rose and fell with every steady breath.

So close that you could have touched him.

But you didn’t.

“I hope that you will find happiness here, even if it is for a brief time. I know your happiness lies with your chosen family but-“

“It’s not.” You interceded, to both of your surprise, but you had meant it all the same.

“Tyrion, Shae, Bronn, they make me feel safe, they are my family, but they’re not what makes me happy…or at least not the happiest.”

Oberyn looked at you with narrowed eyes and you just realized how cold and unfeeling you sounded. “I had a life before all of them, and I knew happiness before them. I found happiness in the trees…in using my arrows to defend myself, but to also provide for myself, whether it be from offering my services or hunting for food. I found happiness in choosing my own path. I’m not a princess or a lady, I don’t have luxury, but I also don’t have to prepare for ruling a kingdom or building one. I just…live. And nothing in the word makes me happier than that.”

And you didn’t even realize how much you were telling him. You supposed you had nothing to lose now. Your family was already in harms way and there’s was nothing you could do about it, you were in a strange land, and he was the only person you knew other than Ellaria. In truth, it was amazing that he didn’t know more about you, you felt at his mercy.

But Oberyn just looked interested in all this. You couldn’t even be surprised. You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell him about your father aboard the ship and here you were telling him your secret to happiness. Of course he would be interested, this was the most you had given him in months.

“You value freedom.” Oberyn nodded. “As do I, I just supposed I always had it. There are certain expectations as Prince, but not as many if I had been named king. It is fortunate that I was not named so.” He laughed, and while you liked Oberyn, you knew he would be a terrible king.

“You would have had a powerful queen at your side, she would have helped you…but then you would have never had the pleasure of having me threaten you in a brothel.” You teased.

“Truly the highlight of my life.”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally.”

You both chuckled before Oberyn ushered you out the door, not wanting your laughter to wake his sleepy daughters.

“Thank you for helping me get them to bed. Trying to carry both of them would have been nearly impossible and I know one of them would have been upset about trying to walk. Loreaza is shy, but she doesn’t let just anyone pick her up. She likes you, even if she doesn’t know how to say so.” Oberyn deciphered, leading you back to your room.

“I’m not sure Elia feels the same.” You laughed. Oberyn looked back to you with concern, but you shook your head. “I’m not offended, I’m the last person who had any right to be offended. I don’t like anyone I meet the first time either…except your daughters.” You added as an afterthought, realizing you took to them quicker than anyone else.

Oberyn smiled softly at the ground. “It warms my heart to hear it. Elia will come around. She is difficult at times, but she’s a smart girl. She knows more about the world than her sisters so she’s more guarded, but she will come around with time.”

You nodded, but somehow you wondered if Oberyn was making the task of winning her favor seem easier than it really was. “I’m not worried, I think she’s right to have her guard up. An archer who was previously employed by the Lannisters, marching into Dorne, their greatest enemy…I think the bigger problem will be preventing someone outside the palace from murdering me.” You tried laughing it off, but the people of Dorne were fierce people, they felt everything strongly. If there seemed to be a threat in their homeland, they would do something about it.

“Then we will have to show them that you are not our enemy.” Oberyn was apparently king of confidence. Everything seemed so simple to him, he had more faith in you than you had in yourself.

“And how do you purpose we do that?” You asked, because things were not so simple to you.

Oberyn stopped, and before you even realized it you were back at your door. He looked deep in thought, his strong brow furrowed. “I don’t know…but we will find a way. I will talk to Ellaria tonight as well. These people will not hate you. I know them as if they were of my own blood. You have too much goodness in you for them to dislike you.”

It were as if his words stole the air from your lungs. What were you to say to that? Goodness? When had anyone ever called you good? You were an assassin for hire, your job was to kill. Your goodness was a lie that not even Tyrion could pass off.

“I think you think too highly of me, Prince Oberyn.”

“I don’t think I do.”

Was he getting closer? His eyes never left yours, they burned a hole right through you. You wondered how it could suddenly feel even hotter in this desert, but the warmth flooding your cheeks was proof of the change.

Then his eyes moved to your lips.

You parted them.

Then he took your hand and placed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Good night, Silver Hawk.”

You wanted to say something, anything, but everything felt like too much; his eyes, his warmth, his sweet kiss. You looked to him to try and convey some sense of a reply, but it seemed impossible. You scrambled into your room, only having enough control to not slam the door in his face. He had seen it, your cheeks and the look in your eye.

For the first time he had seen you look truly afraid.

Because you wanted to kiss him, but something told you you couldn’t.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[fyngrot]

ga'hoole fics masterpost

links to various ga'hoole fics i've written under the cut, includes published + WIP

i will always be here

-WC: 3,158

-status: complete

-summary: coryn is troubled by a great many things, and after reading the legends of hoole, one passage in particular causes him to question his reliance on his uncle—his main support in these new and confusing times. soren, of course, has a solution.

-notes: reread to be a king and thought a lot about that part where grank asks hoole not to call him "uncle", and how coryn would probably freak out a little (a lot) over that after projecting it onto his own situation. i personally hc that soren formally becomes an adoptive father to coryn so this is an exploration of that!

who i am today

-WC: 2,296

-status: complete

-summary: soren, while getting to know his nephew, discusses regrets of the past with coryn—as they prepare to turn towards the future.

-notes: basically just my take on why soren and eglantine weren't directly involved in the events of the hatchling/outcast, the guilt soren feels for not taking action, and resulting emotional moment between soren and coryn. owl family lives rent free in my mind

none but the forge

-WC: 618

-status: complete

-summary: a rogue smith is meant to be alone. gwyndor is no exception.

-notes: i love gwyndor and i love the depth gwynneth's existence in wotb adds to his character. what's his deal? how did he become a rogue smith? how did gwynneth I die? why'd he basically abandon his daughter with thora? just a short little headcanon backstory that answers these questions and explores gwyndor's emotional baggage.

blood moon lullaby (AU series)

WIP lutta lives AU turned alternate ending to ga'hoole. after a meeting with the spirit of hoole himself, coryn learns of great danger to come. the key to protecting owlkind lies within a hidden fourth volume of the legends, detailing the survival of lutta and diving further into her history, including her youth alongside her 'sister', kreeth's final creation. once he learns the rest of her story, the ancient spirit of lutta awakens to guide coryn, but she is not the only one who returns...

this AU is a huge passion project of mine since i'm a firm believer that lutta deserved a much better ending than she got! it involves an expansion on lutta's character arc and dynamics with other characters, canon-based original character, recharacterization of hagsfiends and their role in the plot (no more of that inherently evil bs), in-depth exploration of coryn and nyra's hagsfiend ancestry, and a completely new ending to ga'hoole itself.

there are/will be 4 fics in this series but only one is published thus far. progress is pretty slow but i'm always chipping away at it and hope to have more posted soon!

by the light of the ember (prologue)

-WC: 2,538

-status: complete

-summary: coryn has retrieved the ember of hoole—but with proof of his noble spirit comes the inheritance of an ancient legacy he has yet to understand. in a place where time’s flow stands still, a fated meeting with the first king himself reveals a great catastrophe to come.

of darkness and light (part 1)

-status: WIP

-summary: coryn is granted a vision by the ember that leads him to a hidden fourth tome of legends.

struck down by strix strumajen, lutta is severely wounded—wounded, but alive. managing to escape, she tends to her injuries as nothing more than an outcast. rejected by owlkind, yet disavowing the brutal ways of hagsfiends, she turns towards the only other living being she believes would understand—kreeth’s final ‘experiment’—and in the process uncovers a part of her past she thought she left behind. but when things don’t go just as she had hoped, and the threat of a new battle looms on the horizon, she is thrown into a conflict she never wished to happen as she struggles to prove that she is more than she seems.

in the shadow of the eclipse (part 2)

-status: WIP

-summary: lutta's spirit has awakened in the present, and now coryn and lutta face a threat all too familiar to both of them. with war imminent, hagsfiends on the verge of revival, and nachtmagen seeping back into the world, they must prevent the ember of hoole from falling into the wrong talons. or so they think- before coryn realizes what he must do to change the world for the better.

to dream of stars (epilogue)

-status: WIP

-summary: with the war of the ember's end, a new era for the owl kingdoms begins.

i can't summarize much else here without spoiling the whole ending rip

other WIPs

the blacksmith's collier

-status: WIP

-summary: soren finds himself drawn to one of the owls that helped bring his nephew to him, in a way he isn’t quite sure he’s ever felt before.

-notes: my beloved soren/gwyndor gay owl romance, full of loneliness, past regrets, and new beginnings!

to be a guardian

-status: WIP

-summary: coryn's arrival to the great tree has been heralded and rejoiced beyond his belief. but when the young king finds himself having trouble fitting in, soren thinks up a way to help.

-notes: it's always seemed that by becoming king, coryn just starts being considered a guardian by default. i think he would want to go through training and take the guardian oath just like any other owl, and soren would agree- thus i started writing something short yet emotional about it. it's almost finished but i don't know when i'll ACTUALLY finish it so... eventually

wolfspeak

-status: WIP

-summary: on a trip to the beyond together, gwyndor and soren chance upon someone unexpected.

-notes: more gwyndor/soren stuff! i think gwyndor would want to introduce soren to his daughter (gwynneth) eventually, but isn't sure how to go about it and keeps avoiding the topic. what better way to solve that problem than running into her by accident! takes place at the beginning of book 15, because i thought it would be cool to retell gwyndor hearing namara's howling, but with soren and gwynneth there. gwyndor and gwynneth both understanding what it means (which also showcases the similarities between them, distant as they are) while soren stands there looking confused as all hell is beautiful to me

more to come!

[thefisherqueen]

Sherlock Holmes' The Hound of the Baskervilles: Chapter XIII - Fixing the nets

Watson and Holmes know who the murderer is! Let's see how they will legally corner him... without getting killed themselves, that is, hopefully

But supposing, for argument's sake, that we had him arrested to-night, what on earth the better off should we be for that? We could prove nothing against him. There's the devilish cunning of it! If he were acting through a human agent we could get some evidence, but if we were to drag this great dog to the light of day it would not help us in putting a rope round the neck of its master.” “Surely we have a case.” “Not a shadow of one—only surmise and conjecture. We should be laughed out of court if we came with such a story and such evidence." I think there's a tendency to view historic courts as inherently based on smoke and mirrors, but as often with historical takes, that just lacks nuance. The Hound of the Baskervilles started publishing over 120 years ago, and this casual mention shows so clearly that they cared about proof. They tried to have fair trails. Sure, some of what was considered credible proof was pretty terrible, and they did not have access yet to some technology like DNA, but much of what stands in the way of fair justice (if such a thing even can truly exist within unjust systems of society) very much still plays today: biases and prejudice, the unreliability of witness reports, confessions made under pressure, etc

No, my dear fellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the fact that we have no case at present, and that it is worth our while to run any risk in order to establish one.” Worth their wile to run any risk... dear me, I do not like that. Sounds like Holmes is planning to do something dangerous

“And how do you propose to do so?” “I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us when the position of affairs is made clear to her.  I assume this means that Holmes hopes she has good reasons to be spiteful to Stapleton now, and will be ready to give the letters she received from Stapleton to him (and there might be evidence to be found within them) “I've been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in the morning,” said the baronet. “I guess I should have some credit, for I have kept my promise. If I hadn't sworn not to go about alone I might have had a more lively evening, for I had a message from Stapleton asking me over there.” “I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening,” said Holmes drily. “By the way, I don't suppose you appreciate that we have been mourning over you as having broken your neck?” Holmes is having none of sir Henry's self-pity xD

I fear your servant who gave them to him may get into trouble with the police.” “That is unlikely. There was no mark on any of them, as far as I know.” “That's lucky for him—in fact, it's lucky for all of you, since you are all on the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am not sure that as a conscientious detective my first duty is not to arrest the whole household. Oof, Holmes really isn't pleased with this lord and his servants, and not afraid to show it

“If you will do this I think the chances are that our little problem will soon be solved. I have no doubt—” He stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into the air. The lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so still that it might have been that of a clear-cut classical statue, a personification of alertness and expectation. “What is it?” we both cried. I could see as he looked down that he was repressing some internal emotion. His features were still composed, but his eyes shone with amused exultation. “Excuse the admiration of a connoisseur,” said he as he waved his hand towards the line of portraits which covered the opposite wall. “Watson won't allow that I know anything of art, but that is mere jealousy, because our views upon the subject differ.” Holmes, who just had a mind-blowing realisation he doesn't want to talk about: quick, distract them - ah, I'll just say something mildly insulting about my dear Watson, that will do it

“Good heavens!” I cried, in amazement. The face of Stapleton had sprung out of the canvas. “Ha, you see it now. My eyes have been trained to examine faces and not their trimmings. It is the first quality of a criminal investigator that he should see through a disguise.” “But this is marvellous. It might be his portrait.” “Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, which appears to be both physical and spiritual. A study of family portraits is enough to convert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation. The fellow is a Baskerville—that is evident.” And here we have the motive for the murders, I guess. That was quite a dramatic reveal! A physical likeness to someone who lived hunderds of year ago would be totally worthless as proof of a family connection, of course - but that is not what's relevant here, it's the sudden insight

He burst into one of his rare fits of laughter as he turned away from the picture. I have not heard him laugh often, and it has always boded ill to somebody. Watson you lying liar who lies

I was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlier still, for I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive. “Yes, we should have a full day to-day,” he remarked, and he rubbed his hands with the joy of action. Holmes joyfully stimming is so cute “All right, then, I'll stay.” “One more direction! I wish you to drive to Merripit House. Send back your trap, however, and let them know that you intend to walk home.” “To walk across the moor?” “Yes.” “But that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned me not to do.” “This time you may do it with safety. If I had not every confidence in your nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but it is essential that you should do it.” Can't believe Holmes is going to use this poor man as live bait for his trap. What did he do to you, Holmes? Are you jealous of him because Watson fawned over him?

“And ask at the station office if there is a message for me.” The boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me. It ran: Wire received. Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrive five-forty. — Lestrade. Friend Lestrade is going to be there :)

“There is no connection.” “In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary one. But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection after all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. We regard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicate not only your friend Mr. Stapleton, but his wife as well.” The lady sprang from her chair. “His wife!” she cried. Holmes and his love of dramatics. You could have brought that news a little more kindly to her, my silly man

“His wife!” she said again. “His wife! He is not a married man.” Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders. “Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do so—!” The fierce flash of her eyes said more than any words. Her Spite Mode is activated! This is going to be fun :)

“I presume that the reason he gave was that you would receive help from Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with your divorce?” “Exactly.” “And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from keeping the appointment?” “He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other man should find the money for such an object, and that though he was a poor man himself he would devote his last penny to removing the obstacles which divided us.” I must say that this was most cleverly done. And also so very fucked up, to use her in this way

The London express came roaring into the station, and a small, wiry bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. We all three shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential way in which Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since the days when they had first worked together. I could well remember the scorn which the theories of the reasoner used then to excite in the practical man. Watson really never has forgiven Lestrade for not taking Holmes serious in the old days, hasn't he? 'a bulldog of a man' come ON Watson, that is a outrageously rude thing to say in a published work

“Anything good?” he asked. “The biggest thing for years,” said Holmes. “We have two hours before we need think of starting. I think we might employ it in getting some dinner and then, Lestrade, we will take the London fog out of your throat by giving you a breath of the pure night air of Dartmoor. Never been there? Ah, well, I don't suppose you will forget your first visit.” If I'd been Lestrade, I'd be so scared to hear Holmes say that

The grand finale of this book in the next chapter! It's already quite late but I can't stop now. Need to know how this ends!

[fe-fictions]

Hi!! Following onto what the last anon said, I can't find one of your Freddy stories! It was the one where Marc was kidnapped and Fred freaks out but Morgan saves her and is avoiding Fred because he thinks he blames him. Did you write that? I can't find it on your Ao3 and it was one of my favorites. :(

(I've got it right here!! It's one of my faves too ;; A ;; )

There was no reason for the battle to carry on as intensely as it did. But you were outnumbered. Morgan and Marc had taken to clearing out the battalion to the east, leaving you and Frederick to handle a skirmish in the northern part of the battlefield. 

The rest of the Shepherds were struggling, too. There was just too much happening, and everyone was on edge.

None so much as your husband, though. Ever since you had sent the siblings off to fight with their own group, he had been more worried than usual.

“Robin- we need to get back to them.” He said behind clenched teeth, fighting to keep his bearings while the great knights surrounding you started to close the circle tighter.

“They’ll be all right.” You assured him with a devastating blast of magic straight through the Vallites in front of you. “They’re strong, especially together!”

“I know that,” He threw an axe into the helmet of another, shattering bone and steel alike. “But Marc isn’t as strong as Morgan, and she’s still new to the battlefield. If I’m not with her-”

“Morgan can defend her. We need to focus on clearing the field!”

“But-”

“After the battle. I’m worried, too, but we need to prioritize- mrgh!!” You flung violent bolts of Thoron, disrupting the charging men. 

It allowed Frederick to draw himself back; of course you were worried, too. Those were both your babies, even if they weren’t from this timeline.

You didn’t like the idea of them fighting on their own.  You just didn’t have a choice, and made the difficult decision.

For once, Frederick thought to himself, he shouldn’t blame himself. This was what needed to be done. He dove in beside you, finishing off the enemy battalion after the bolts of lightning faded. 

It would be several minutes that dragged by before you were able to route the enemy. You flung up a signal flare, letting the others know that you and Frederick had succeeded in neutralizing your targets.

Another flare, to the west, followed after. Chrom and his group had succeeded. Then came Sumia, Cordelia’s and Miriel’s. All positive.

The battle was a resounding victory, it looked like.

Frederick looked to the northeast out of instinct; Morgan and Marc’s flare should be going up any moment. A positive signal.

You were right, after all; they were both very strong. He couldn’t be more proud of his son and daughter, as they were excellent nights.

So excellent, that he couldn’t allow himself to even consider the possibility that the flare shooting up was negative.

But the sky went dark, and a red flare shot into the sky. North-northeast.

Negative.

“Robin-”

“Go!!” You burst past him, running towards the flare as it dissipated into the sky. Frederick rushed after you and kicked Hebert into gear, galloping as fast as he could. His heart thundered in his chest, and an icy fear crept through his veins.

His children were the only ones to come back negative. It didn’t mean they were inherently in danger, but it did mean that they weren’t winning their battle. Possibly worse.

The forest gave way to a small clearing. You noticed the coat, first.

“Morgan!!”

“Gods-” Frederick tore from his horse and hit the ground, following you to the boy collapsed on the ground. 

Morgan’s armor was shattered, blood coating him from head to toe. He was gasping for air. The spear had been torn from his hands, splintered and broken off somewhere away from his body.

He was fighting to stay conscious. Worst of all, Frederick realized, was that his son was alone.

“Morgan, Morgan- can you hear me?!” Your voice was tense with fear, pulling him to your chest and cradling him tightly. “He’s covered in wounds, he’s- Frederick, what do we do?!”

“I have an elixir-” He stumbled and grabbed the vial from his pouch, taking his kerchief and pushing it into your hand. “We need to clean the wounds and patch them, quickly!”

You sent up an emergency flare. The voices of the Shepherds echoed in the trees, but they were all farther away than the two of you were. 

Frederick helped you pull Morgan’s coat off, working to get his tunic off and cutting away belts and anything else keeping you from the injuries. There were gashes all over him, an assault on your son that you never wanted to see.

“Wait-” You shoved your hand into his pouch, finding an emergency vulnerary. “This...this should be enough. We can at least get the bleeding to stop. But Marc…”

“I’ll find her. She must be close by.” 

She had to be.

Frederick returned to Hebert and swiftly steered around, galloping into the field in search of Marc.

He didn’t know where to start, only to search frantically for a mop of brown hair and another tactician’s coat.

She couldn’t have gone far from Morgan. The flare was sent up a short while ago...she had to be near him. They would never leave each other’s sides, especially not if you had directed them to stay together.

For minutes more Frederick searched, his voice hoarse as he called for his daughter. He had no reply. 

The search came to a sudden end. Hebert’s hoof clacked against something heavy on the ground, making the beast stumble. 

Frederick followed the object as it fumbled across the grass. It was a heavy tome. 

He dropped to the grass, unaware of how badly his hands were shaking when he retrieved it. An Arcwind tome. 

Marc’s tome.

His grip tightened on the book- the paralyzing fear overwhelmed him, realizing that its owner had yet to be found. She wasn’t anywhere. 

“Marc!!” He shouted for her, his chest heaving with breath that he couldn’t find. He was panicking. His daughter was missing. 

She had lost her weapon, her brother, she was gods knows where, and in what state-

The thought of her mangled body flashed across his mind, and for a moment, Frederick couldn’t breathe. The fear of his child being in danger, worse than anything he could possibly imagine, was overwhelming all of his senses.

It was the scream that snapped him from his thoughts.

“PAPA!!”

Frederick jolted when Marc’s voice ripped through the air. He whipped around, searching for its source.

“Marc?! Marc, I’m here!!”

“PAPA!!!”

Above.

Frederick stared into the sky, the sun suddenly blotted out by a hulking beast. A wyvern rider had taken to the air, a whole troupe of them alongside him. The battalion Morgan and Marc were tasked with clearing.

And in the dragon’s claws 

was Marc.

They had his daughter.

“NO!!” 

Marc was reaching for him, screaming after him. He had never seen such a look on her face, but what was worse was that she was getting further and further away from him.

They were taking his daughter right in front of his eyes.

He galloped after them. He poured on what speed he could. 

“No- no, Marc!! MARC!!”

He cried after her, reached for her- but Marc was too far gone.

He could only watch, helpless and afraid, as his daughter disappeared into the sky. 

“Marc…!!”

-------------------------

The healing tent was in a flurry. Morgan had been treated and brought back to a stable consciousness, but there was no relief in the room.

Everyone that was crowded inside knew of what happened.

You were helping Morgan to his feet when Frederick returned, his expression gaunt and dark with fear.

He clutched Marc’s tome to his chest. Numbly, he informed you of what he witnessed. 

The Valmese took her.

“It’s all my fault.” Morgan’s buried his face in his hands, “I-I wasn’t strong enough to fend them off, and when they got m-me out of the way, they…”

“Do you know why they took Marc?” Chrom questioned him, standing beside his sister who continued to heal him. Morgan shook his head, remorseful.

“They saw our coats. They knew whose children we were. But when I put up more of a fight, trying to keep them from Marc, they figured it’d be easier to get me out of the way. They o-overwhelmed me, and I told her to run, but…”

“They chased her down.” Chrom sighed heavily, “This doesn’t bode well. There are a number of places they could’ve taken her that are nearby- and we’re in no state to rush straight into another battle.”

“There doesn’t need to be another battle.” Frederick stepped in, hand on the hilt of his blade. “I will go. Whatever locations we deem likely as to her location, I’ll take them down on my own.”

“Frederick, you can’t be serious-”

“They have my daughter. I will not rest until she is safe. I never should have left her side to begin with.” There were thick layers of worry beneath his anger.

You touched his shoulder, trying to draw him back. “Let’s focus on finding the most viable location, first. Then we can discuss who goes.”

“I will not be kept from saving my child-”

“But you will not be going alone.” You cut him off curtly. The look on his face could melt steel. “We’ll discuss rescue logistics later. Right now we need to focus on actually finding her.”

The Shepherds could only watch as their fearless tactician stood up to their captain, a man who looked ready to tear through just about anything if it meant he’d get his way. They had never seen him when his family was in danger.

He was a protective man; which clearly meant he was a dangerous one.

Frederick silently took his leave, storming from the healer’s tent. You shared a glance with Morgan, who knew full well how his father could be.

“...I’m sorry, everyone. We need to get back to the matter at hand. Miriel, you had the maps for the northern regions, right?”

Morgan watched as you drew in the Shepherds to begin the planning, the feelings of guilt silently growing within him. He knew there was only so much he could have done, but Marc was with him when she was taken. It felt like his fault more than anyone else’s.

He made plans to convene with his father once the most likely location was found. He hoped the rest of his wounds would be patched up before the sun fell that day.

The sooner he was on his feet, the sooner Marc would be home.

-------------------------

Night had come long before you made it back to your tent. You were exhausted, but the need to sleep wasn’t there. You were too tired to focus properly, but too worried to risk falling asleep. 

You could see Frederick’s silhouette against the candlelight, pacing back and forth urgently. The poor man was falling apart at the seams. Considering the way he behaved in regards to his children, it was only natural he be so upset.

Tentatively you entered through the flap, Frederick’s back to you even as he heard you latching it shut. For several seconds neither of you spoke.

“Frederick?” You didn’t receive a response. His shoulders were tight and hunched forward, his entire body tense. “Darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shoot you down. I know you’re worried about Marc, as am I. If I could let you hunt down her captors and bring her home on your own, I would.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” You insisted, firmly, the response enough to finally draw his attention around to you.

His face was grim and unimpressed with the situation. But his anxiety betrayed the anger in his eyes.

“You know we can’t risk being so reckless. Throwing you to the Valmese, alone? While you’re compromised?”

“I am not compromised, I-” 

“You’re worried about our daughter and you want to jump head first into the enemy’s camp to bring her home.”

“And you don’t?” He snapped, “She never should’ve been taken in the first place! We don’t know what they’re going to do with her, what methods of torture they might be using- they could kill her before we get there! We can’t wait for a plan, we need to go!!”

“It’s too dangerous, and we don’t even know where to start! What if you choose the wrong location? What if you inadvertently notify the enemy that you’re looking for her, and then they take her somewhere farther away? What if they kill her because they find out you’re coming?”

“None of this would’ve happened at all if I had been with her!”

“Frederick, that’s not true.” You argued when he whipped around, his glare sharp and unforgiving.

“If I was with Marc I could’ve protected her. I could’ve taken her place, or-”

“You really think that I would prefer you be stolen instead of Marc? You think that would make this any easier?”

“If my children are safe then they can flay me alive, for all I care!! Marc needed to be with me, not Morgan. She never should’ve left my side!!”

“You cannot blame Morgan for this.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Frederick exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What I am saying is that Marc’s safety is my priority, above all else. She is not strong enough to fight with anyone else, yet. Her training is not complete. If I was with her, I could've done something different. At the very least, I could've stalled long enough for her to get back!”

“They were up against wyvern riders- if I knew there’d be so many of them, I wouldn’t have let them take that battalion on. Besides, you couldn’t have handled them- Morgan’s still a cavalier, and his armor is lighter than yours. He’s able to maneuver around those axes, but you would've fallen harder than he did. You saw him! You think you could’ve survived that assault?”

“If only long enough to protect my daughter.” He glowered, “But I wasn’t there, and I couldn’t, and now…”

“Frederick, we’re going to find her.” You closed the distance between you, “There’s no point in arguing like this. Just don’t be angry with Morgan, or yourself. Be angry with me. I was the one who sent them off.” 

“I’m not...I’m not angry at you or Morgan. I’m angry that I couldn’t protect my own blood.”

“I know.” You sank down onto the cot beside him, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t bear it if we lost her, Robin. She’s not even from our own timeline, but I cannot imagine our lives without her.” He confessed, his voice muffled weakly into your shoulder. You squeezed him close, willing back tears of your own.

Marc had only been in your lives for a short time. But it was clear that she was her father’s daughter. 

He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

You both knew this. But you weren’t the only ones. There was a boy wearing your coat and wrapped in bandages that heard it all, waiting silently outside the tent. He knew what he needed to do.

You could stop his father. He wasn’t the one who needed to rescue Marc.

Morgan was.

-------------------------

You woke up before Frederick did. The bags under his eyes were dark, clearly restless from the anxieties that poured out that night.

You let him stay in bed a while longer. He needed it; you could handle the start of the search. At least, that’s what you thought.

“Robin!!”

“Lissa?”

The princess stood in the entrance of your tent, shifting from foot to foot with sheer panic on her face. 

“Morgan’s gone!!”

Your heart plummeted. “What?!”

“He left a note in his tent- Lucina went to check on him when he didn’t come to the medics, and found this!”

You skimmed the hastily scrawled note with trembling hands. Morgan was hunting down the men who took Marc. He would bring her back, it promised. No matter what.

You didn’t realize Frederick was awake until his hand covered yours to take the note for himself. His face was unreadable, but you watched the color drain as he paled with realization.

“Morgan-”

“We have to go.”

You took Frederick’s hand and you were racing across camp. It didn’t take long for the panic to grow into a borderline riot; the tactician’s children were both gone, and it was only a matter of time before someone showed up hurt or worse.

They didn’t have any time left to try and form a proper strategy.

You discovered maps were missing, but there was enough to go on that you could feasibly track down the locations you needed.

The problem was that it was taking too long. You were starting to understand why Frederick was so anxious, before. Now that both your children were in danger, the patience and time for rational thought was quickly dissipating.

It wouldn’t be until sundown that you found an answer.

“We’ve got it!!” Henry leapt from the table, his hands glowing with dark magic. “The tracking spell’s active. If we go this way, towards the northwest, they’ll be there! Then we can rip everyone in there to shreds, nya ha!!”

“Northwest.” Frederick repeated and turned on his heel, striding for the barracks. He had been in a full suit of armor all day, and had a number of weapons at the ready. 

The Shepherds followed suit, all of them ready to lay into the Valmese and raze their forts. They weren’t going to get away with what they’d done.

You were hot on Frederick’s heels the entire time, prepping your strongest tomes. You were working in tandem, handing each other what you needed and directing orders to the others that were flurrying about in preparation for battle.

“You think we’ll be able to find them in time?” Frederick asked you with that pinch of uncertainty in his voice. You nodded, tightening your gauntlets.

“We have to. If the tracking spell is working, that means they’re both still alive. It tracks the subject’s life force. So long as Henry’s spell is active, we can save them.”

“It wouldn’t detail if anyone is injured, would it?”

“Unfortunately not. But injured is better than dead.” You reminded him, “They’re going to come home.”

“There is no doubt.” Frederick shifted his chest plate, keeping it firm and making sure it was ready to take a few good blows. He’d be raging through the Valmese, after all. A few hits were going to make it through his defenses. 

He glanced out the window on a whim, watching the sun begin its descent behind the mountains.

“We will need to embark soon. At this rate we won’t be there until tomorrow morning, even if we use wyverns to-”

A silhouette captured Frederick’s attention in the distance. You were busying yourself with your sword, unaware he was distracted.

“Henry mentioned a spell we can use to speed up our travel time. It’ll take a lot of mana, so it’s best we assign it to a mage that can stay back and build magic. If spare Miriel for the first half of battle we can...uh, Frederick..?”

You trailed off when your husband brushed past you, starting out the door. You stared at him, confused. He was completely focused on the outskirts of camp.

Brow furrowed, you followed him, calling after your husband.

“Frederick? What What’s wrong? What are you-”

You gasped.

There, in the distance, your coat flapped in the dusk breeze. The figure staggered towards camp, in tatters and littered with more cuts and bruises than you’d ever seen on a person.

Morgan had come back.

And he was carrying Marc in his arms.

“Morgan!!” Your cry echoed across camp, drawing the boy’s eyes up. He saw the two of you running towards him and he smiled, albeit weakly.

“Mother...Father…” 

“Oh my gods, Morgan-!! You...you f-found...w-why did you-!” You couldn’t form a sentence.

Frederick had yet to try.

His eyes were locked on the fragile girl in Morgan’s arms, who was unconscious. She was in desperate need of care.

Morgan, sensing his father’s anxiety, held her out for Frederick to take. 

“She’s alive. Just...needs help.”

Frederick was unable to  speak. His mouth opened, but closed again, taking the delicate girl into his arms. The child he had to watch disappear before his eyes, powerless to help her. 

But she was here. 

You held Morgan to you when Frederick took his sister. He fell heavy against you, prompting calls for a healer. 

“I’m...so proud of you, son.” You whispered, tears in your eyes. “But why would you be so reckless? We were so worried about you...”

“I know what Dad thought...that if he’d been there instead of me, she wouldn’t have…” Morgan sucked in a shaking breath, “It was my fault, so I wanted to fix it.”

“Oh, but Morgan, he didn’t mean-” You choked up when you saw the sadness in his eyes, overwhelmed only by the exhaustion of his journey. 

 -------------------------

The air of calm around the Shepherd’s camp was beautiful and most welcome. The Chief Tactician’s children had returned, both in one piece, both alive. Frederick had glued himself to his daughter’s side while she slept, waiting impatiently for her eyes to open.

You stayed with Morgan as much as you could, while you worked between Chrom and the others to find and destroy the next closest fortresses.

They already assembled and set up a strategy for those who had kidnapped his daughter...why not put it into action and make a statement?

Of course there was something that bothered you, which was Morgan’s words when he came back. 

And it was something you needed to speak with your husband about. So while Morgan was sleeping one afternoon, and you were finally free of your responsibilities, you headed to the healer’s tent.

Frederick was dutifully seated by Marc’s cot, gently brushing her hair. 

You smiled softly; how he loved and doted on his sweet girl. It made your heart twist just slightly, knowing he had yet to speak with his son. It had already been a few days.

“Freddybear…” You called to him as you came to his side, earning a tired smile. The worry lines were deep in his forehead, and his eyes were heavy; clearly he had yet to get a good night’s sleep, even with Marc safely returned.

You ran your fingers over his forehead, pausing his brushing as he leaned into your touch. Your hand fell to his cheek.

“You haven’t slept well.”

“I don’t want to miss Marc waking up.” He murmured, “I have waited this long...Libra said she could awaken any day, now.”

“But you won’t be able to welcome her properly if you’re out of sorts. Besides, there are still things you need to do. I’m afraid you can’t stay right next to her forever.”

“I have already cleared my schedule and reassigned tasks to Cordelia and Lord Chrom, who was gracious enough to suggest I remain with Marc. I am not sure what other duties you would be referring to.”

“You haven’t seen Morgan since he returned.” 

That seemed to give him pause. His brow furrowed, a serious frown on his lips as he thought back. “That’s not true. I’ve seen him-”

“You’ve been here the whole time. Since he brought Marc back, you’ve been in the healing tent. You haven’t even come back to bed with me in the last three days. Which I understand, and I have no problem with. But when it pertains to Morgan, I think it’s a little different.”

“I didn’t realize I…” He trailed off, looking back to his daughter. 

“You need to talk to him. Morgan’s under the impression that he had to be the one to rescue Marc.”

“What? Why on earth would he think such a thing?”

“He heard what you said, about how it should have been you with Marc and not Morgan. He thinks it was his fault that Marc was taken, because he wasn’t strong enough to protect her. That you should have been with her, not Morgan.”

“That’s not what I- Morgan is not to blame in any of this!” He protested, the worry lines returning full force. “I could not be more proud of my son for what he has done. I was blaming myself for not being there, not Morgan-!”

“Then you need to tell him that. Because he’s not sure that’s what you meant, and he’s convinced he’s done something terribly wrong.”

“I…” He looked to Marc, conflicted, if only for a moment.

This was his baby boy they were talking about.

Finally he stood from his chair, stiffly, but resolved to reconcile with his child. “I will be back shortly. Please fetch me if she wakes.”

“I will.” You promised, and he pressed the brush into your hands, and kissed your cheek.

“Thank you for being patient with me. I know...I have not been easy to deal with the last several days.”

“It’s all right.” You assured him, and squeezed his hands. “I know you’ll make it right.”

“Without a doubt.”

Frederick strode across camp to find his son’s tent, which was quiet and flickered with a sole candle in the far corner. When he stepped in, he found Morgan at his desk, bandaged from head to toe and looking quite worse for wear.

When he saw his father lingering in the opening, though, Frederick was greeted with a bright smile and a surprised laugh.

“Well, hello, Father! I was beginning to forget what you looked like.”

“Morgan…” He trailed off, staring at his boy who stood from the desk with a stretch and a hum, as cheerful as ever.

“How is Marc doing? I know you’ve been worried about her. Is she awake yet, or is she- oomph!”

Morgan was silenced by his father crushing him to his chest, Frederick hugging his sweet boy as tight as he could.

“Ah, Father-”

“I’m so sorry.”

Morgan paused when Frederick whispered those three little words. Cautiously his hands came around his father, somewhat confused.

“What do you...w-why are you apologizing?” 

“You did everything you could to protect Marc. If it had been me in your place, I would have lost her twice as fast. I may have died trying to protect her. But you survived, and you b-brought her home, and I...I cannot express how proud of you I am.”

Tears filled Morgan’s eyes, but he swallowed them down, shaking his head to dismiss them. 

“If I was strong enough to protect her, she wouldn’t have been taken. You were right, it was my fault she was kidnapped in the first place. It was my duty to bring her home.”

“No, Morgan. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was wrong for saying what I did. Worse still that you heard it. I failed you. I cannot express to you how truly grateful I am that you are my son; that you are the cunning, strong and excellent man you are.”

“Dad…”

“I hope you will forgive my impertinence.” Frederick sighed, pulling back to place his hands on Morgan’s shoulders. “I understand if you are angry with me. But I-”

Morgan launched back into his father’s arms before another word could be spoken. He buried his face in Frederick’s chest, squeezing him as tight as he could.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Frederick would not be able to deny the tears that welled in his eyes, nor could Morgan. But it was clear without a shadow of the doubt that they loved each other very much. There was no such thing as favorites; only Frederick the Wary being overprotective of his children.

They eventually found the strength to gather their emotions and pull apart, but not before he tousled his son’s hair and assured him all was well. 

The pair opted to return to the healer’s tent together, so that you could see both your boys vastly improved and happier. They were mere meters from the entrance when you suddenly tore the flaps open, eyes bright with glee.

“Frederick- she’s awake.”

He sprinted the last few steps. Sure enough, they entered the tent to find Marc stirring in her cot, her expression shifting and twisting with effort as she woke up for the first time in days.

Frederick barely made it back to his seat beside her when her eyes fluttered open, squinting up at him in an attempt to gather her surroundings.

“Marc?” He called to her softly, his hands floating over her as though unsure where they belonged. She stared up at him for several seconds, as if processing what she was looking at.

Then the tears silently spilled down her cheeks.

“...Pa-” She swallowed thickly, reaching shakily out for him, “P-Papa…”

He had her in his arms, cradling her to his chest in seconds. He cupped her head tenderly, pressing her into him and hugging his fragile daughter for all he was worth.

“It’s all right. I’m here, Marc. You’re safe.”

She was so very small, enveloped in her father’s arms. She turned into him from the cot, the tears flowing freely. She sobbed against him not even realizing there were tears in his eyes, too.

You placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, smiling at your son. Everyone was misty-eyed, but above all, your family was happy.

Together, again.

Of course the waterworks only continued when Marc was able to separate herself from Frederick, if only so she could hug her brother who saved her life, and hug her mother who she was convinced she’d never get to see again.

The healing tent was just a mess of emotions, but it was filled with plenty of love. And, of course, Morgan having to swear up and down that he’d never do something so reckless ever again.

Which, once his father was satisfied with Morgan’s promise, proceeded to receive countless hugs from all of his family members.

A proper reward, indeed.

[starleska]

Zundapp anon here: maybe a Zündapp x car!Reader one or make ‘em both human. Aaaa I can’t choose lol

hahaha fantastic!! 🔥

tell you what, how about we split the difference? let's make an originally human Reader who has, by some impossible plot point i will not discern, become a car...and is not coping with it well. i'm not sure anyone would 😂

Professor Zündapp x Originally Human, now Car!Reader headcanons

🚘 when first confronted with you - a so-called 'human', unable to come to terms with your new form, Professor Zündapp is exasperated. it isn't that he doesn't believe your story: a vehicle of his intelligence has long contemplated the possibility of a world inhabited by creatures quite unlike the cars and trucks and planes he knows so well. it's that you are new territory: a scared, vulnerable creature who barely knows how to operate their windshield wipers, let alone serve a purpose in his grandiose schemes. Professor Zündapp agrees to house you, sheltering you from the outside world and allowing you access to a variety of books, journals and documentaries to bring you up to speed on a car-dominated world. in those early days, he takes to calling you, "Einfaltspinsel," - the delightfully German way of calling you a simpleton. it isn't until you bite back with a, "Spaßbremse," - technically killjoy, but literally, 'fun-brake' - that the Professor realises you are not as dense as you seem...and you have a wicked sense of humour.

🚘 against his better judgement, it doesn't take long for Professor Zündapp to become attached. as you learn about his world and your car-body (or would that be chassis?), you draw crude diagrams of your human self with a pen clutched between your new, metallic 'lips'. the Professor observes your tenacity and resolve, and admires it quietly - how, despite your being thrust into this impossible situation, you have jumped into action, ready to learn and problem-solve. in time, the Professor is presented with a fascinating conundrum: although you may not be from this world, you will be a Lemon in the eyes of all who know the truth about your origins. outside of Professor Zündapp's bubble of protection, you would be helpless - left to the whims of able-bodied cars who may or may not decide you pose a threat to international security, and not least because you have unwittingly become involved with a wanted weapons designer. not only does Zündapp want to protect you - he feels it's his responsibility to protect you.

🚘 in no time at all, you are elevated from a burden, to Professor Zündapp's protégé. you start by asking questions about Zündapp's plans, and realise his ideals align with yours: he's fighting against an inequality inherent in this society, using force where necessary. at first you just listen - but then, you end up providing suggestions to his schematics. you are a fast learner, and it turns out that having a human perspective on car-built weaponry provides Zündapp's designs with a new, unexpected edge. whilst as a human your knowledge of weaponry, international politics and espionage was slim to none, you have a talent for spotting design flaws and developing theoretical covert operations. Professor Zündapp is floored when you identify a dangerous fault in the chamber of a gun to be hidden in a Lemon operative's number plate. "Du bist sehr intelligent," Zündapp chuckles. "Perhaps I shall have some use for you after all."

i hope this was what you were looking for, anon - i certainly had fun writing it! 🙈💖 honestly, this should be a full fic...👀

[insurrection-if]

so when i read the factions section of your story, HAWKS has the same vibes (kinda) like the game “Sigma Theory” , if you have played it or know of it, you’d understand hehe (´∀`)

also, ocean bases?!?!! please elaborate more on that (* 0 *)

im also curious regarding the inmates that WINGS have, hmm how powerful or dangerous are their powers…

and uh hehe, if it isnot spoiler, who is the leader of WINGS ? (^^ゞ

Ah, this prompted me to look up Sigma Theory and, whoa, it looks beautiful! ( ✧Д✧) Strategy-based games run the risk of overwhelming / stressing me out (and my skill at them is . . . questionable), but I'm somewhat tempted to use up the last of my Christmas Steam gift cards on this game, haha! （　´ ∀｀）Plus, it's absolutely suited to my brother's tastes!

All in all, I'm very flattered by the vibe comparison and can see some of it myself, haha! (・ω・)♡

This may or may not breach a bit into "spoiler" territory, and I'm unsure if I've stated this outright before, but Akil's elder brother used to serve within those particular bases. (´･∀･`;) Hm, well, they're certainly unpleasant places to be. The MC might experience their environment firsthand as a visitor, and from there can form their own opinions on the existence of these institutions. But, as for the bases themselves, their existence remains unknown to the general public, and their locations are undisclosed to those within WINGS who are not necessitated to have such knowledge. For the bases themselves, containment is an ever-essential feature. Within their walls lies the deep impression of hatred and despair, old reminders of violence and retribution staining its surface in the forms of breakage and blood. The sounds of screams, curses, and cries may never reach past their impenetrable walls - and neither do the soft whispers of hope and longing seep out to their intended ears. No precautions are spared in the company of its captured inhabitants, and their guards find themselves nearly as confined as their wards to this never-ending nightmare that is their regiment.

Access is limited, possible ways of entrance are heavily surveilled, and escorts of their respective RAVENS and CROWS into missions requires a significant amount of hands on-deck to authorize and execute. Only one soul has ever escaped the chains of their maximum-security, and none may ever think to do so again.

The most potent danger with the Inmates, generally speaking, lies within their psychology more so than their gifts themselves. That is not to say their gifts are anything to sneeze at, but it’s more so how they wield their powers which makes them so deadly. Those that hold little value towards any life other than their own, others with barely any control over the manifestations of their Gift, or perhaps those with inherently violent, aggressive temperaments . . . these are the sorts of individuals you'll find within these bases.

Like, for example, if the CARDINALS were ever to be captured by WINGS, then their categorization into HAWKS vs. CROWS / RAVENS would likely be broken down as such:

HAWKS: Retriever, Curadora, Kalyna, Scales, Hopscotch, Lempo

CROWS: Boar, Bones, Dearil

RAVENS: Uriel, Fyodor

That is not to say that some would have, and might be, confined among the RAVENS and CROWS simply because of the devastating potential their gift holds. Truly, Gifted like Dearil will always be predisposed to assignment in these bases rather than the comparative "liberty / luxury" of the HAWKS regardless of their behavior / psychology. It's hard to justify absolute freedom of movement for someone who may kill anyone around them with a mere touch alone, or who wield the potential for serious harm with little more than a graze or their fingertips.

Fyodor, too, would be a RAVEN both in consideration of his past history (especially in relation to the usage of his Gift) and his lack of control over its unprecedented potential . . . and some unique factors would qualify him for the slightly more protected status as a RAVEN due to what he suspectedly might know about the Gifted community. Boar would be a CROW on temperament alone, likely to attack with the intent to kill anyone who would dare to confine her as though she were some tool or animal. (Additionally, she cares little for the loss of life that might occur in consequence to how she utilizes her Gift, which makes her ineffective for the HAWKS.) Bones would be a mixture of both, harboring deadly sentiments against his captors while possessing a Gift capable of inciting extensive (lethal) casualties upon those around him.

Yet, on the other hand, those such as Kalyna, Curadora, and Retriever would be willing to comply with the order and command of the HAWKS for the sake of either / both the protection of their loved ones and / or for the sake of at least contributing some sense of good (by their definition) while in captivity. Scales, Lempo, and Hopscotch, on the other hand, would simply choose compliance for the sake of their own personal comforts, not wishing to bear the torment of the RAVENS and CROWS . . . or, perhaps, betting in escape being easier as a HAWK than anything otherwise. ╮(╯ω╰)╭

Gifted such as Mutya, Sigmund, Elouan, and Jae could easily find themselves in the RAVENS and CROWS due to the lethal risk they could pose to those around them if they so choose. And yet, they have proven capable of compliance and self-control due to the threat WINGS possesses against the safety and livelihoods of their loved ones (as well as the personal, internal motivations of these particular Agents). Try to blackmail / force someone like Dearil into obedience while still offering certain liberties and comforts, however . . . ah, he still won't be so inclined to still play friendly and nice. Thus, more forceful and questionable methods are employed against Gifted such as him to keep them contained, harmless (against those WINGS doesn't want harmed), and controlled - methods used within these bases of the RAVENS and CROWS operatives.

I'll keep the central leader of WINGS unnamed to readers at the moment, but I can disclose some details about him. Born into prominent wealth and influence, he’s well-known as an affable man, good-humored and considerate to those around him. Humility is more so a courtesy rather than a natural trait in him, and he would not think to ever compromise his position of authority for the sake of another’s appeasement. Few feel close to him, and fewer are considered close to him in his mind, and he lives by his desire to keep his enemies closer than his friends. Thus, to most, his thoughts may come across like those of an enigma as only a select number of his acquaintances can guess as to why his actions, his words, and his philosophy don't always seem to so neatly or consistently align.

Outside of his official position, he likes to think of himself as a family man (in recent years, at least) and subtle romantic, but rarely does he have time to visit his loved ones . . . and so the ‘void of his absence’ is replaced with generous allowances and liberty. He, himself, prefers to live modestly, not wishing to draw unnecessary attention to himself in public or professional environments— an attitude perhaps encouraged by the handful of super humans who would gladly wish him dead. （◔ᴗ◔；）

In his mind, the Gifted cannot be trusted with their own free will. Their potential for destruction and, equally important, for good can never be safe in their hands as a sole individual— an individual who might come to develop their gift, and moral sense towards when and how to use it, as a mere child in the guardianship, in an environment, or under circumstance less than ideal to that development (like, say, a violent upbringing or taught perception of ‘godliness’ above all the rest of mankind throughout their upbringing which warps their conventional moral thought). Yet, reformed and cultivated within an environment both controlled and supervised with the proper elements for a healthy and proper mind, heart, and body . . . he has faith that the Gifted can be akin to a blessing for humanity as a whole.

He believes the Gifted have the potential to be heroes but will not concede to the possibility of them as heroes without a leash . . . and, yet, he also does not wish for that leash to ever be a single nation, identity, or cause. WINGS, unbound to one sole worldly faction as an independent and international organization with a broad spread of responsibility and oversight over select Gifted, is the best modernly conceived and implemented model for the Gifted, or so he believes.

And, most importantly but unknowingly to him, he cherishes the personal relationship he holds with one of the main cast of Gifted characters.

Thank you for the ask! ( ˙ ω˙)ノ

[depizan]

There's a Top 3 controversial SW:TOR opinions ask going around. It hasn't come to me, but I think I'll give my answers anyway. (None of which are going to be surprises for my mutuals.)

I don't like the expansions. They're a bit like the Star Wars sequel trilogy--there are some interesting characters, maybe even a few ideas that could be good, but the execution just doesn't work for me. There's an element of the story being awkwardly stapled onto vanilla SW:TOR for all of them, the stakes and plotlines feel wrong for an MMO (as opposed to a single player game with an actual ending), and by KOFEET it's just painfully obvious that they're writing for the Jedi Knight/Sith Warrior alone. The fandom has done cool stuff with the characters and even the stories, but as far as what's there in canon, I hates it, my precious. (The game play in the expansions has also tended to be punishingly unfun as well.)

The base game should have kept the galaxy in a state of cold war. Not only was that an unusual world (galactic?) state both for a Star Wars and for an MMO, but it provided an inherent tension that it rarely exploited as it could have. Build up the danger of a return to war, damn it. Have that threat hanging over everyone's head, with NPCs both pushing for it and trying to avoid it. Use it for the stakes it had the potential to give everyone's missions. It just had so much potential that it never quite lived up to, and was more interesting than the inevitable return to open war that we got.

The base game and KOFEET make opposite but equally frustrating bad decisions regarding the companion characters. Having the companions permanently stapled to the player characters no matter what in the base game cramped the story-telling. Being able to abandon/kill companions and having them potentially abandoning your character would've kept them as more consistent characters and avoided some moments that threw a lot of people out of the story regarding what their character would have done. Conversely, KOFEET making it possible to kill characters left and right, with that meaning that content for any killable character disappears after that choice, also cramped the storytelling. If you're going to make the companion characters be as integrated with the main story as KOFEET wanted them to be, then you need to continue content for them past the point at which other people might not have them any more. In the base game, the companions and their stories were self contained enough that they could be removed at various points and have it feel organic with the story. In KOFEET, it makes the only sensible canon be one in which all killable characters are dead.

[cold-b-writing]

Thanatophobia: Chapter 28

The sun was slowly setting as the day itself was coming to an end. Despite that, almost no one would be resting in their beds tonight. There was too much to do, too many bodies to move, too many stragglers of the undead, too much damage to repair.

There was always this innate desire to rest during the night. Not just because of the natural function of people, but also because it was also psychological too. People, especially in the earlier stages of life, would rather spend the night resting rather than wandering around aimlessly. It mostly had to do with an inherent fear that has been built up from centuries of survival.

It was a rather familiar fear for most people. The fear of the unknown. Most people aren’t afraid of the shadows and the darkness by themselves. It is rather a fear of the possibility that something might be lurking within that darkness, and they do not know it is there.

It is easy for anyone to hide in the shadows. With that, anything could be nearby. People not being able to see what was in front of them, not being aware of their surroundings. It would put them on edge, especially if they were wandering anywhere in the night.

Not only that, but there would also always be stories that the most dangerous creatures out there. They would come out when the sun was gone and that would be when they would hunt their prey. That prey included normal, everyday people as well.

That is why many people would seek shelter by nightfall. By the time the sun would set, and the darkness would envelope the world, the people would have familiar surroundings. If they are somewhere that is familiar, a home, a tent, a camp, an environment where there is familiarity. That is what got people to not be so afraid.

After all, when the surroundings are familiar to everyone, they would be able to tell when there is a sudden change to that environment. There, they could detect if something was wrong and then act accordingly.

With this strategy, the unknown would become known and there would not be any fear anymore. That was the hope that many people would desperately cling to when the night would come. Not only that, but the people would also surround themselves with familiar company.

If they were surrounded by people they trusted, there would be no fear. Even if something was going wrong and there was something that was lurking in the darkness, the people would not be alone. They would have each other, and they would depend on their numbers to fight off any foe that was looking to hunt them down in the dead of night.

None of that even mattered anymore to the people of Loudwater. They no longer cared about what was lurking about in the middle of the night. They no longer cared about the possibility that they were one their own. They were no longer afraid of the unknown. As if there was one thing that they could be sure of, it was that they never understood what was happening around them.

They no longer cared about whether or not something was out there hunting them. They had already faced everything that the world could throw at them by this point. That by no means that they were hardened people.

In fact, they were the opposite of hardened, they were getting exponentially weaker as the evil of the world would come after all of them. They were no longer afraid of what was lurking in the darkness because of all the horrors coming out in broad daylight. They could not depend on each other, for they were heavily outnumbered from the start. With every casualty, that would only add to the ranks of the monsters that were hunting them. They were far from safe in their own homes. In fact, it would have been better for them to flee and leave their homes behind, it would prevent them from being trapped and it would stop the horde from congregating into one place.

Just when the people needed their heroes to step in and save them the most, those heroes were bickering amongst themselves. Worse than that, they were all throwing accusations at each other, killing each other.

The only thing that would have stopped both the Greyhawks from being completely ostracized was that many of the surviving townsfolk witnessed the members of that group taking out huge portions of the undead.

Despite all of the efforts the Greyhawks put in to saving as many people as possible, this would not change the fact that a good majority of the town was lost in the attack. That would not be able to bring many of those lost back to life.

At this point, any kind of resurrection spell would be the last thing anyone wanted as far as Loudwater was concerned. That was the pressure the Greyhawks were now going to have to face when returning to the town.

Breonna and Kayla were both escorting Kelrac back into town. He had not bothered with trying to fight back. The black Dragonborn failed to keep the promise he had made, he had nothing left to fight for. There was nothing left, not even his own strength was able to save his brother. The hulking brute had just decided to stay silent and let whatever was coming happen to him. At this point, even he felt that he deserved it.

Aryanna and Pil were both helping Urenakk with moving Morqen back into town. Aryanna had cast a levitation spell just so that neither of the boys would struggle with hauling the body on the way back into town. Urenakk was pushing the body along, right along where the elf’s head was. The monk’s astral form had disappeared at this point. Pil was gently pulling onto the feet as it floated across the ground. Despite that, his mind was miles away, as he was thinking about all of the possibilities in his mind about what could have happened. Vedetta was just walking along with her bow out. Just in case if there were stragglers nearby, she could easily pick them off.

As far as the wizard was concerned, the Greyhawks were lucky to still be alive. He had recognized who that entity was. If Pil would never have to see the Blood Lord ever again in his life, that would still be too soon. At this point, it was fairly obvious who Nayola was worshipping, and who Ancal’s patron was. However, despite all of that, there were still some things that did not add up in the wizard’s mind. If the Roaring Banner were really responsible for the undead horde marching into town, then why didn’t they call the undead to help them wipe out his group? It would be an easy enough story to cover up, the Roaring Banner would just have to kill them and then say they couldn’t save the Greyhawks in time. Why was it that the undead were making larger appearances in certain districts, while hardly any would visit the richer districts in town? Wouldn’t it make sense to have the horde just mindlessly overrun the entire town? While the wizard was contemplating the possibilities, his spell book was dangling loosely on his satchel. It was bouncing up and down so much that it had fallen off the buckle and hit the ground.

The wizard turned his head when he realized what happened. Before he could bend down to pick it up, Aryanna had already reached down and held it up for him. “You need to be more careful with your things, darling…” the warlock smiled sadly at him.

“Thanks…” Pil smiled sadly while taking it back. He went back to moving Morqen back into town. “Where should we take him?” the wizard muttered to the others.

“Perhaps, the best place would be the church…” Vedetta shrugged as she peaked around every corner. She was anticipating for a zombie to jump out of hiding and start charging at the group. “If those priests survived all of this, I’m sure they’ll have a better idea with what to do…”

“Do you think one of them could bring him back?” Urenakk stammered, a glint of hope entered his expression. All only to disappear almost immediately as he turned to see Breonna shaking her head.

“I don’t think so…” The fighter sighed as she looked back at the carnage they were all leaving behind. “There was only ever one person who I saw that was capable of such a feat, and we killed her…”

“Sorry Urenakk…” Kayla sighed. “That church, while it is exempt from our taxes, they don’t exactly have their pockets filled with coin. I doubt they would have any diamonds on them, let alone be able to afford any…”

“Right…” the monk started to hang his head low in response. He simply looked down at his late friend, already thinking about all of the good times the two of them had together. Now all of those memories were the only thing he had left of the elven rogue.

“We’ll make sure that he is given the proper rites that he deserves…” Aryanna tried to reassure the Gith, but she didn’t seem to confident in that response. She didn’t even know if the priests they were heading to were still alive, and if they were in a state where they could perform a ritual such as this.

“I think there’s a better way of handling this…” Urenakk sighed. “Just had to do the same thing for his mother not too long ago as you’ll all remember…” The monk looked off into the distance behind him, as if trying to find a very specific spot out in the woods. “We didn’t really end up burying his mother. Coffins are very expensive and we didn’t have enough gold to get a proper one for the poor woman. Instead, we had to go with cremating her and putting her ashes in an urn. The priest said his rights and Morqen wanted to take her outside of town…” he turned around and pointed out the closest mountain in the distance. “Perhaps after everything is done at the church, we can take him there.”

“It only makes sense…” Breonna shrugged as she kept moving the hulking brute along. “Now for the other issue…” It wasn’t long until they were back in town and one of the remaining guards saw them. He approached them rather confused at the sight before him.

“You’re back…” the guard said. “And…why do you have him in custody? He’s with the Roaring Banner…”

“The Roaring Banner fought with us…” Breonna struggled to gather her thoughts. She wondered how she should word this, but it seemed to her that a few minutes ago, this would have been much easier. “We fought them outside of the town because they were the ones behind the attack…”

“That’s a rather heavy accusation…” the guard crossed his arms. “I hope you have the proof to back it up.” He sighed and shook his head. “I hope you understand, you might think they’re responsible but-“

“Trust me, we understand…” Kayla sighed. “Innocent until proven guilty. But I would just like to point out that the leader Ancal, we all witnessed him performing dark magic rituals and making contact with evil entities.”

“I can’t just take you for your word…” The guard sighed. “I’m going to need some kind of evidence…”

“We’ll get it for you…” Kayla stepped forward and looked the guard in his eyes. He paused for a moment, as if in shock, like he had seen a ghost. “We have the evidence we need to convict them…” the woman repeated.

“A…Alright…” The guard nodded his head. “I hope to see it by the end of the day…”

“You will…” Kayla nodded her head. Breonna turned to the others in the group, not directly speaking, but moving her lips to ask what she had just seen.

The other Greyhawks were just as perplexed as she was. First one moment, the guard wasn’t quite ready to believe the group and was all for providing the hulking brute with a fair trial. Then, Kayla shot the man a look and all of a sudden, he was fine with going along with her requests.

Perhaps it was the influence House Trenton had over the town of Loudwater. It would not surprise any of the Greyhawks if that influence extended to the town guard. After all, Kayla was still cloaked up, to the point where she was covered up almost everywhere and it would be hard to recognize her.

It seems that Kayla just had to reveal herself for a moment to the guard and his tune changed once he realized who he was dealing with. That was at least, the only plausible explanation for what the hawks had just witnessed and it was good enough for them to just write it off as a weird interaction.

Soon enough, the fighter and the blonde woman followed the guard over to an all too familiar place for most of the group. The guard held the door open for the entire group. Kelrac still did not put up any kind of fight as Kayla and Breonna were leading him inside.

There was no doubt that the hulking brute was also familiar with the place. But he seemed to still be staring off into space. As if his mind was distant, far away from where he currently was. It was not out of the realm of possibility. It was also possible that he just simply did not care anymore about what happened to him.

The guards followed the three warriors down towards where all of the other prisoners were kept. Making their way past most of the prisoners, who had survived the attack as they were relatively safe behind the metal bars unlike the rest of the population. Not only that, but the prison was also kept in a small corner of the town out of the way of most of the accommodations that Loudwater had for the populace.

Of course, most of the prisoners would either just ignore what was happening in front of them. Others would throw all kinds of innuendos at the women who were escorting the black Dragonborn inside. Once again, the guard stepped ahead of the three fighters, looking through his belt for a set of keys. Once he had found them, he unlocked the largest prison cell within and held the entrance open for the two women.

Once again, the women hardly had to struggle at all aside from making the spice to move along the edges of the cell as they escorted Kelrac inside. The two women left the cell and turned around to see how the new prisoner was doing at this point.

The hulking brute was looking in their direction, but he wasn’t looking at them. Rather, he had a thousand-yard stare going on instead. Entrenched in his own thoughts, he didn’t seem responsive at all to anything that was happening to him. The guard sighed before slowly shutting the entrance to the cell and locking the black Dragonborn inside.

The two women emerged from the barracks, at this point wanting to catch up with the rest of the group, who had kept going while they were dealing with the prisoner. Kayla stretched her arms and hissed, quickly rubbing at a sore spot on her hip. “I’m sorry about everything…” Kayla sighed and she turned to Breonna. “I didn’t want all of this to happen…”

“I know you didn’t…” The fighter nodded her head. She placed a reassuring hand on the blonde woman’s shoulder, smiling sadly as she was trying to comfort her friend. “Though it seems now like the threat to your town has been dealt with. What will you do now?”

“I think for now, I’m going to head outside of town for a couple of days…” Kayla shrugged. “I’m sure that there’s still going to be a lot I can find outside of town. Maybe there will be more undead. Maybe the Roaring Banner left something out there that I can find. Either way, I think it’s time that I head out there for a little while.”

“We can always come with…” Breonna piped up. “You’ve helped us through so much at this point. You might as well be another member of the group.”

“I appreciate the offer…” Kayla sighed. “But I think I need to do this on my own. I think I need to go out and do this on my own…besides, your group has done so much for this town. You deserve to have a bit of rest.”

“It really would not be a big deal…” Breonna insisted, trying to make sure that her friend would be safe for the journey. Wandering about, especially after everything that’s happened, it would be rather dangerous.

“I don’t think you quite understand…” Kayla shrugged. “I’m also doing this so that I can also clear out my own thoughts…about everything and how it played out…”

“What do you mean?” Breonna shook her head. At this point, she was getting worried about Kayla, and was wondering if she was going to have to come along whether the blonde woman liked it or not.

“Father’s dead…” Kayla finally just revealed what was deep in her mind. “It was one of the ghouls…they got to him in the manor…”

“Lord Trenton is…?” the fighter was taken aback. Not entirely able to process what she heart until she saw a nod of confirmation by the blonde woman. “So then…that means…”

“I am Lady Trenton…” Kayla nodded. “I will now be the one in charge of Loudwater…” she kicked a rock across the dirt path aimlessly. “I need to gather my thoughts because…well…I’m finally free of him…”

“Right…” Breonna nodded. “If you wanted to just get some fresh air for yourself, why didn’t you just say that from the start?” the fighter seemed rather perplexed. “Unless if you really do think there’s more out there…”

“Both…” Kayla shrugged. “Though now you can see why I wanted to do this alone…”

“Right…and sorry…” Breonna nodded her head. “Good luck Kayla…” before the blonde woman could say anything else, the blonde woman pulled her into a hug, wrapping her arms around the new Lady tightly. Kayla had flinched at first, but knew that Breonna needed this, so she sighed and just returned the hug to her friend.

As for the rest of the group, they had kept going. Heading in the direction towards the church. Vedetta was able to pick off a couple of the undead who were wandering the streets. Luckily for most of the group, there was no large amount of danger along the way.

During the attack, when the Greyhawks were fighting together to get rid of the hordes that had the town overrun, they were dealing with a good majority of the undead in the area. Despite that, one shouldn’t consider Loudwater to be safe. Who knows where the undead could be lurking at this point? They were aimless, no longer organized.

None of that really mattered to the group at the moment. Rather, they were more focused on making sure their friend got the rest that he deserves. They were getting close to their destination, and yet not many people in the group spoke to each other.

Rather, there was nothing they could do to distract themselves from what was happening around them. The group eventually made it to the church, where they could see there were large gatherings of people outside and around the church.

Of course, the hawks wouldn’t be the only ones seeking the holy men for comfort in these trying times. A lot of the townsfolk would be sitting in makeshift tents or using supplies to make sure that everyone else was okay. Everyone sat around, surrounded by what was left of their families. It was moments like this where reality just snapped back into the hawks.

The group of adventurers lost one of their own, and they were in the worst part of the town, dealing with most of the undead. But they were also well-versed adventurers who could easily take care of themselves when the time calls for action.

The rest of the people in this town were not so fortunate. The people gathered around the church. They lost a lot more people today than just one person from the group. A lot of these people lost their families, their homes, they lost everything.

While this wasn’t necessarily a competition in terms of who lost the most in the attack. It was still a cryptic warning to the adventurers that they could have lost a lot more today.

Aryanna was still making the body levitate and Pil was still helping out with moving it in the right direction. Vedetta lowered her bow and put her arrow back in the quiver so that she wouldn’t scare the people around her so much.

Urenakk was already making it to the front entrance. He stepped before the door and looked up. It was incredible and terrifying how much taller these doors were than him. For just a moment, looking up at the church, the Gith contemplated just how small he was in this world.

He turned around, looking at the rest of the group only to find that they were all just as small as he was. He took one deep breath, at least before creaking the doors open and heading inside. There, he would be greeted with the people who had lost the most in this attack.

These were the people who were either dying because they had been attacked by the undead, or their loved ones were. Either way, they were seeking out the holy men to make it as easy of a passing as possible. Maybe even prevent themselves from rising again.

A lot of folks were clinging desperately to their friends and family, crying as they would draw their last breath. It was here, that the devastation of the attack could be seen.

Despite that, there was one priest who had seen the group enter inside and he carefully approached them. “May the Dawn Father bless you all…” the priest muttered, going through a ritualistic motion with his hands, kissing his ring finger before looking up at the ceiling. “How may we serve you today…?”

“Hello Father…” Urenakk nodded his head in acknowledgement of the hoy man before turning around and motioning towards Morqen. “I’m sorry to disturb you in these trying times but our friend and companion…his name is Morqen Reshert, and he fought hard to protect the people of this village. We only ask that he be given a proper service, like you had done so before with his mother…”

“I see…” the priest nodded his head, frowning as he looked at the body floating in the air by magic. “The poor boy…he left this world far too soon…I remember his mother…” he looked up to the Gith with a determined expression. “I would be happy to help him move to the great beyond. How shall we assist?”

“We were hoping if we could cremate him, like we did with his mother.” Urenakk sighed. “Do you have an urn we could put him in?”

“Yes, of course…” the holy man motioned for the group to follow him. “Downstairs in the chambers…we can take care of everything there…”

“How much will this cost?” Urenakk stepped ahead of the priest, already reaching down into his satchel and grabbing his coin purse.

“Well, this is to make sure they would pass on without an issue…” The priest pondered for a second, resting his chin on his hand. “It would be about three hundred gold, that’s about the same as the material cost for this ritual…”

“Of course, here…” Urenakk handed the priest the gold before they continued on. Doors behind the altar had creaked open. Underneath were a set of stairs that led down into a nearly dark tunnel below. The only light source were the candles on the wall, and even then, they were only lighting just enough for the traveler to know where they were going, and not much further ahead.

Eventually, as the group traveled inside, the space inside became tight. Everyone was struggling to keep up the pace with the holy man who would frequently stop and wait for them to make sure that they would not get lost.

As they traveled down, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Inside were large chambers full of different molds and caskets lining the walls. The morgue contained all kinds of tools. As not only did it store bodies that were awaiting burial, but there was also a chamber where those looking to pass on through alternate methods were also available. One of these being a chamber for the body to be cremated, and beside that chamber sat a shelf full of similar looking urns to store the ashes.

The priest slowly opened the chamber to the cremation chamber. “Please, put the poor boy here if you would…” Pil nodded, and moved the floating body inside. Just as he was exiting, Aryanna dispelled her levitation magic, making the body slowly descend before gently resting on the ground. “Now, this will take a while to activate…” the priest started to adjust everything, playing with the contraptions to activate the chamber. “There we are…” Soon enough flames erupted from inside, just as the chamber was sealed. The room began to get rather hot as the group stayed inside. “Now then…” the priest picked up one of the urns and placed it on a nearby worktable. “What shall I transcribe into this?” he looked at the monk.

“Morqen Reshert…” Urenakk sighed. “Fellow member of the Greyhawks and a true friend…” The holy man nodded as he clutched his holy symbol. Focusing his attention on the urn, it began to glow with this golden hue. Then, as if by miracle, there was a loud screeching from the metal as it was being reshaped along the surface. New carvings were being formed to match what was said before. Soon enough, the urn was finished.

“It’s done…” the priest carefully placed the urn by the cremation chamber, uttering words of prayer for the elven rogue who was inside. “I’ll let you all know when he is done…” the man said. “May I have your name again? I can cast sending and let you know right away…”

“Of course…” the monk said. “My name is Urenakk.” The Gith pointed to the rest of the group who were with him. “The woman in black is Aryanna, the wizard is named Pilienries, and the woman with the bow is named Vedetta…”

“Right…” The holy man bowed to the group. “Thank you all for your patience…”

The Greyhawks paid their respects to Morqen inside the chamber and thanked the priest before exiting the church. They had all decided that they were not going too far away. Rather, they were just going to wait outside for the rest of the group to catch up.

The group as all surprised when the only one catching up of course, was Breonna their leader. She was simply heading in the direction towards the church as she knew that’s where the rest of her group wanted to go.

They had immediately got up and made their way over to her. “How did everything go for you?” Pil asked when they caught up to her.

“Is everything alright, Bre…?” Aryanna looked around, as if trying to find someone else. “Where is Kayla dear?”

“She’s fine…” the fighter nodded. “She just needs some time to herself…”

“Why what happened?” Vedetta raised an eyebrow.

Breonna looked around, trying to make sure that no one else was listening in on the conversation. The group huddled together so that she could whisper into their ears, as everyone could already tell that this was something they should not pass along to anyone else. “She had been through a lot before with her father, the lord of Loudwater.” The fighter explained. “He died in the attack, and she will be named the new ruler. She needs some time to herself to collect her thoughts…” she then turned her gaze towards the monk. “Though she did also say that she wanted to pay respects first…”

“I see…” Aryanna nodded. “Then does that mean, she is trying to retrieve her father?”

“I don’t think he’ll he given the same treatment as Morqen…” Breonna sighed. “It’s not my place to say…I already said too much as it is…”

Everyone in the group had decided to stick together. At least for a while, waiting outside. That was until a strange feeling took over Urenakk.

“Hello Urenakk, this is Father Ike, the priest you met earlier. Corvoril is done, his urn is ready.” It was strange, like Urenakk had just suddenly heard the priest’s voice speak to him in his own mind. It was the sending spell.

He got up right away. “He’s ready…” the monk told the others. “The priest just cast a sending spell to tell me.” The others got up and followed him back inside where the holy man was waiting. Once again, the group was escorted downstairs to the morgue. There, the priest handed an urn with the carvings to the Gith.

“Thank you…” Urenakk sighed and turned to face the rest of the group. “Come on…let’s get this done. I know he would have wanted his ashes scattered, and I know just the place…”

The others all agreed to go along, and just like that, they were heading back out of town. This time, the Greyhawks were heading a little way into the woods towards another one of the hills off in the distance.

“It’s not much further…” the monk reassured the group as he was moving the tree branches out of the way. For a while at this point, the group was off any trail and just trudging through the bushes, luckily there weren’t that many animals, or any undead to bother them along the way.

Once they came upon a tiny shrine made with stones cobbled together. Leaves were covering most of it and vines were already growing through most of the stones. However, atop this hill, by the shrine, behind it was a cliffside that gave a stunning view of the Dire Wood and the Gray Vale. Just at the edge of the village sat the town of Loudwater, the town that the elven rogue met the rest of the group. The group that he would give his life for.

Atop this shrine had already sat another urn. It had the carvings “Jonala Reshert, beloved mother taken too soon from the world.” Nearby the urn was a small book containing several stories to read to children before bed, and the other was a pile of herbs gathered for a specific tea.

Urenakk took a deep breath. “Alright…” the monk looked to the rest of the group. He walked up to the altar, placed Morqen’s urn down and then turned around. “I feel like the best way to go about this is that we all say something, perhaps even leave a gift for him, as that’s what we did for his mother…” He turned to face the shrine. “Who would like to go first?”

“I’ll go…” Pil stepped forward. The wizard walked up to the shrine, turning around to look at the group. He then reached into his satchel and pulled out one of his old tomes that he used to study magic with. Particularly, protective and restorative magics. “Hey Morqen…I know that we didn’t start this thing off on the best foot. Yet despite that, I can think of many times where I would have died or would have been lost without you. I think that if I learned anything from you, it’s that we can always work past the hate and become better as we do, and that in turn makes those around us better for it. Though, if I’m being completely honest, this doesn’t feel real at all. It’s like a strange dream to walk around and not see you in the corner joking around with Urenakk. You should still be there, but you just aren’t. Maybe you’ll understand where I’m coming from…anyway, I wanted to leave this to you. I think that with how much time you’re going to have, wherever you go…you’ll need some reading to pass the time…goodbye Morqen…” he placed the book down gently before returning to the rest of the group, nodding to whomever wanted to go next.

It was Aryanna who stepped forward next. She reached into her satchel and pulled out an old charm she put together with feathers and bones that were strung together. “Hello Morqen…” she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry that we didn’t have time to get to speak together much. I wanted to get to know you, but it just seemed like things just kept pulling us away. I just wanted you to know that we are okay…Urenakk is okay. The bastards that put you here in the first place…they are most certainly not okay. I always wanted to protect myself and even those dear to me with the power that I’ve acquired. But…I was not ever able to protect you, and ally and a dear friend…and for that, I’ll be spending the rest of my life regretting that. I only hope that the bastards who took you away are burning in my fire. But enough of that…” she placed the charm down. “I leave with you, this charm for luck…it served me quite well over the years, and I hope that wherever you go, it will serve you too…” She turned around, making her way back to the group.

Breonna was next. The fighter stepped forward, pulling out her own mace and resting it against the shrine. “Hello Morqen…” Breonna started. “I just wanted to say that I am sorry that things played out the way they did. You didn’t deserve to be taken away so soon. I just want to let you know that if I could trade places with you, if it could be my urn laying down on this shrine instead of yours. I would do it without a second thought. You were a friend, you were part of our group, and you were part of my responsibility. As the leader of the group, I failed to protect you when you most needed it. Even with me wielding my mighty mace, I couldn’t protect you. So, I am giving it to you…you’ll have far better use for it than I did. If you get lost, or encounter any enemy wherever you go, use it to protect yourself…protect yourself better than I was able to protect you…” The fighter shook her head and turned around to rejoin the rest of the group.

Vedetta was up next. While she was approaching the altar, she took off her long cloak made out of an elk’s pelt. She rested on the shrine and taking a deep breath. “Morqen…” she started. “I just…I’m not good wit’ these kinds o’ speeches. But I just…I’m sorry that I treated you the way that I did…I’m sorry that I caused you so much pain and made you feel like an outsider for a long time…I’m sorry that nothing I can do will make up for that…not now, not in the past, not ever…right now…the best I can do is offer you my pelt…I don’t know where you’re gonna go…but you’ll need something to keep you warm…good luck Morqen…I’m sorry…I’m fuckin’ sorry…” She wiped her tears away with her sleeve before marching back to join the group. She was hiding her face the whole time, whether it be out of grief, shame, or a mixture between the two, it was hard to tell.

Finally, Urenakk stepped forward to the shrine. “Hello old friend…” he smiled sadly at the urn. “I just wanted to thank you…I wanted to thank you for seeing potential in me when even my own father didn’t. I wanted to thank you, for accepting me and treating me like the little brother you never had. I wanted to thank you for everything that you had done for me in the short time we knew each other, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to protect your mother…I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to protect you…and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed a friend in your life. While I was thinking about it, I came upon that realization…when I thought about our friendship. It was more than just you seeing potential in me. I think you saw yourself in me…and I think that deep down, you wished that there was someone for you when you were at your lowest points. I think that’s why you were there for me. You were trying to be that friend that you always wanted so much, and I am sorry that I wasn’t able to do the same for you…But despite that, I know that where you go, you are going to be happy. In the end, at this point, that’s all that matters to me. The others said they don’t know where you’re going…but I do…” He picked up the urn. “You’re going to explore the world…you’re going to visit all those places you never had the opportunity to see before. You always said that what you really wanted…for your entire life…was to be free.” He opened the lid, standing over the cliffside. “Which is why I give you your last gift. Your freedom…be free my old friend…explore the world like you always wanted to…and if we ever see each other again…tell me all about your journeys since you left…goodbye Morqen…my dearest friend…” He then hoisted the urn even higher into the air, causing the ashes to fly out and be caught into the breeze. There was a small cloud of ashes at first, making its way across the sky, but soon enough that cloud dispersed. As all of the ashes went flying in all of the different directions. Morqen was finally able to explore the world. Morqen was finally free.

________________________________________________________________

The Greyhawks still have plenty to do, even after their hard fight. There are still plenty of matters to resolve and they all still have much to do. This isn't over quite yet, but the finish line is on the horizon. Get ready, there might be some things that will surprise you.

[mossywizard]

It’s hard for me to verbally explain the anti semitism and just gross treatment of creatures and other beings within jkr work, so I’m gunna try to do it here as it’s been brewing in my mind. Mind you I havent played not read all of Harry Potter but it’s just…

You can have a goblin character that is not a purposeful demeaning racism, and still falls into the tropes. Jewish people have been made into demons our others to be controlled and feared for a long Long time. Goblins are not inherently bad to write about, but it’s the fact that they have to be controlled by “proper wizards” and are not allowed self determination or really valued for what they do. The goblin with their gold is a historic stereotype to dehumanize Jewish people who were forced in banks and law offices because they were not allowed in other trades. I believe the goblins also aren’t allowed wands when they are magic beings themselves. They are seen as lesser than human wizards, and in need of a human wizard’s guidance and control.

And than ancient magic is seen as evil is really, a colonizer mind set. It works within a mindset that indigenous beliefs or none dominate religions are already gone and dead, or striving to take over. instead of struggling to survive while under colonization. Magic is magic, one formalized to a system Europeans understand and the other not. All can be harmful, but it’s because they’re a tool. Having a whole plot around ancient magic being a thing to fear, tame, and goblins being a dangerous group to tame / beinging manipulated by a wizard for their own revolt is jsut, grosser than the words I have.

Let alone how house elf’s loose themselves when not in service. And that hermonie is made fun of for trying to be there for their rights. There is a history of house spirits, but not in the master servant dynamic. They are there own beings who will take care of your house if you respect them, and will destroy and annoy you if you are cruel or have bad habits. Because they’re spirit of the House, not your ownership.

If Harry Potter acted as simply a world not meant to be perfect, it wouldn’t nearly be as bad. But jkrolling actively funds terfs and centers to help sa victims while demeaning anyone who is trans. I don’t think all of these beats were maliciously done, but it needs to be looked on critically and not accepted blindly

For someone much more well thought than me I recommend the The Dark Fantastic by Ebony Elizabeth Thomas , she really puts well how we demean and other beings and darkness within stories and how that can reveal things about our character. Not all of it is consciously or maliciously done, but it still has an impact

[nicetryfed]

An Immortal Without a Reason to Live

julbug76 (BrandySmugglerMasterSpy)

Summary:

Michael wouldn't be a raging drunk, he rages enough when he's sober. Get too much whiskey in him though, and the sober rage devolves into drunken regrets and maybe a little bit of crying. (He'd never admit to that, though.)

Notes:

Inspired by a comment I saw today in r/Lucifer on a post re: what Michael would be like while drunk. The entire story idea hit me at once. Despite the title, there's no suicidal thoughts or anything like that, he's just miserable.

Work Text:

"That guy is back."

"Oh God."

"Don't get him started on that  topic!"

The bartenders shared a laugh over their stupid little joke. Normally they wouldn't make fun of someone who claimed to have been next in line to be God; most people that would make that sort of claim were probably suffering from mental illness, or perhaps even experiencing a psychotic break. That is a serious matter that would require handling with delicacy and compassion.

Not this guy, though. 

This guy was just kind of... well, kind of a dick. 

The bartender who was just coming on shift stood in front of the man they'd all come to call Jesus (only amongst themselves, of course). He was mumbling into a glass of what might have been his 3rd or 13th double neat Scotch of the afternoon. For a normal person, three double Scotches would be borderline overserving, and thirteen doubles would have been borderline attempted murder. This guy, though. He handled them all the same. 

"Yo, Mike. What's going on, man?"

"Michael. Not Mike. MIKE-CULL."

"Whatever, dude. What's up with you? You been here all day again or what?"

"What's it to you, human?" A fine mist of Scotch-enhanced spittle flew out of his mouth as he emphasized what he clearly thought was a slur.

This was nothing new for him. The guy was strange, but he didn't seem inherently dangerous or anything. He'd sit at the bar for hours, drink enough to kill a small-to-medium-sized horse, close the place down, and leave a considerable 40% or more tip. 

None of the bartenders who ever waited on him would dream of kicking him out, weird or not. A 40% tip on a bar tab of at least $600? For doing nothing but refilling a small glass with double shots of Talisker 10 too many times? For a guy who kept to himself, never hitting on the servers or customers? No one was going to send that cash cow home. This is Los Angeles, and overpriced rent doesn't pay itself. 

He seemed relatively harmless, for the most part. A little whiny sometimes. Maybe a little bit intense other times. When he talked directly to you, he would make eye contact that could only be described as "very intentional", and you'd be left with an overwhelming sense of dread and self-doubt that would haunt you for days afterward, sure. But, he was a good tipper, left people alone for the most part, and- according to some of the employees of the bar of all genders- he was unfortunately not unattractive. Kinda looked like the smoke show from Lux, truth be told, and that man was temptation in a three-piece suit. 

And for someone claiming to be the Son of God, do not call him Jesus to his face. Or Mike. And His Dad help you if you confuse him with Mr. Morningstar. That- that would set him off. 

Other than the whole "I'm the Son of God" thing, he really wasn't the worst customer to have as a regular. 

Other than that, he was an okay guy most likely deserving of a listening ear.

"I'm just asking if you're okay, that's all."

His eyes had been narrowed and a bit defensive, but softened a little at the bartender's kindness. 

"I'm... I'm fine."

"Okay, well let me know if you need anything from the kitchen. You probably need to eat."

"I don't, actually."

Weird, the bartender thought. How was this guy still standing, anyway? Shit, how was he still alive? If they had drunk half as much as this guy did every day, their liver would have noped the fuck out years ago. 

The bartender refilled his glass and checked his open tab- Michael was already six doubles deep, now seven, and it was only a little after 3 p.m. Gonna be one of those nights, I guess. 

Michael had hung his head over his glass, and the bartender could hear him speaking softly to himself. 

"Don't need food. Don't need water. Don't need to breathe, even. I just need to be drunk."

It had been raining off and on all day (which counted as severe weather conditions in Los Angeles), and it was too late for lunch but too early for the after-work crowd. The bartender and their surly regular had the place to themselves for the time being. The bartender chose to spend a few minutes that they had to spare talking to the man,  especially after hearing the words that had come out of the admittedly beautiful mouth that was situated in a fashionably square jaw. 

"Hey. Hey, Michael?"

He looked up from his whiskey then. 

"Tell me what's going on, okay?" Weird guy or not, the things he'd been saying to no one in particular was the kind of talk that shouldn't be taken lightly. 

"I would have been great, you know. So great. I worked so hard, so fucking hard to be everything Father wanted me to be, what I was supposed to be. And now? Nothing. I've got nothing."

The bartender had heard this kind of speech from sullen customers for years, it was nothing new. There's an unsurprising number of people in the world who, despite being filled with regret and misery, always find room to fit alcohol. 

"I could have had his life, I really could have." This was whispered so low that the bartender could barely hear him over the sound of their barback refilling the ice bin as they once again filled his tumbler. 

He continued, still in a soft and low voice, tinged with an angry sadness, and a smile like shattered glass. "I know I played it off like I was only trying to have his life so I could break it. Just to fuck with him. I know that. But that's... that's not the truth now, is it?"

 What the fuck is he on about?

"Whose life, Michael?"

Michael waved his hand at this- like the question was an annoying insect looking for a way to burrow inside of his ear and into his brain, to gnaw away at him like greedy, guilty thoughts. 

He answered, no longer in a whisper. 

"He's got everything! Every. Fucking. Thing. Do you know how privileged you have to be to be tapped to be GOD... AND THEN TURN IT DOWN?! Think about that for a second!" He scoffed, eyes focusing on the bartender's face. "Insane, right?!"

Yeah, I'd agree with that. 

"He just... pphhbbtt... gave it up. For a woman! A human WOMAN!"

A human woman as opposed to... an aardvark woman?  What does this guy have against humans?

He went on, growing more animated, hands gesturing wildly and spilling half of his fresh scotch. He didn't seem to notice or care that a $10 puddle had formed on the bar right where he slammed his hand down. 

"His perfect normal little life with his job and his money and his friends and his penthouse and his demon..."

... Demon?

"His perfect life with... her."  He choked a bit on the last word, like his heart was stuck in his throat.

He took the last gulp of what was his eighth double. 

"And you know what the real pisser of it is?"

With his eyes glistening and voice breaking, he slid his glass forward, threw a wad of too much cash on the bar, and stood to leave. 

"I fucking want it."

[yhwhrulz]

Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer

Devotional for May 25

Tozer in the Morning A BOUNDLESS SEA

A human being is never really aware of the great boundless sea of the mercy of God until by faith he comes across the threshold of the kingdom of God and recognizes it and identifies it! My father was 60 years old when he bowed before Jesus Christ and was born again. That was a near lifetime in which he had sinned and lied and cursed. But to him, the mercy of God that took him to heaven was no greater than the mercy of God that had endured and kept him for 60 years. I recall the story of an ancient rabbi who consented to take a weary old traveler into his house for a night of rest. In conversation, the rabbi discovered the visitor was almost 100 years old and a confirmed atheist. Infuriated, the rabbi arose, opened the door and ordered the man out into the night. Then, sitting down by his candle and Old Testament, it seemed he heard a voice, God's voice: "I have endured that sinner for almost a century. Could you not endure him for a night?" The rabbi ran out a nd overtaking the old man, brought him back to the hospitality of his home for the night.

Tozer in the Evening New Testament Christianity and Ours

The cross is a symbol of the selfless, others-centered life of Christ, but it does not end there. Our Lord made it also a symbol of the normal Christian life. If any man will come after me, He said, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it. The teaching here is too plain to miss. The self-interest motive in our conduct, though it is inherent in fallen human nature, is nevertheless an evil and destructive thing that can lead at last only to tragic and everlasting loss. Love alone can make our conduct acceptable to God. It is time we checked our brand of Christianity against the New Testament. There is real danger that we may overlook this radical new motive for human conduct and go on serving our own interests under a disguise of godliness. And that is a mistake none of us can afford to make.

Copyright Statement This material is considered in the public domain.

[rxttenfish]

legitimately think the state of media literacy on this website would increase if nyall actively seeked out and consumed disgusting media. the vilest media. the gross shit.

[comicaurora]

Not Aurora ask: Updated thoughts about the Collector from The Owl House?

MONDO OWL HOUSE SPOILERS BELOW

Absolute gremlin, I love them very much

On a larger story scale, I think they're a very interesting change from Belos as "primary threat." Belos is exquisitely hatable because he's just the absolute worst in an extremely human way - a literal witch-hunter from one of the most shamefully cruel periods in human history who never got the memo that The Witch Hunts Were Bad Actually. Belos is terrible in that unique way that humans can be terrible when they stop seeing other humans as people, or when they cling to some Higher Priority that allows them to internally sidestep their own moral compass by justifying their actions as Inherently Right With No Further Examination Needed.

The Collector, in contrast, seems to be a textbook case of Blue And Orange Morality. They're completely alien, both physically and mentally - "a child from the stars" sealed away for centuries. Their motivations are understandable, but completely perpendicular to the grounded characters they're dealing with. Belos is motivated by a bizarre puritanical desire to literally genocide everything he sees as inherently wicked, while The Collector just wants to not be alone and to have someone to play with. They don't even seem particularly malicious, they're just… a kid. They'll enable bad stuff, they think Belos's genocide plan is a funny joke and they're tacitly responsible for a lot of terrible stuff, but The Collector strikes me as a problem that is totally solvable by friendship. It's literally all they want.

The problem is, The Collector is so terrifyingly powerful that they pose a huge existential danger to everyone and everything around them, and they're also a volatile child with no real sense of what we consider right and wrong, whose slightest frustration or tantrum could result in catastrophic devastation. Even if befriending them could negate the threat they pose, everybody else in the cast has to spend all their energy dancing around them - lying about the games they play, manipulating them into stopping the draining spell, escaping while they're distracted. None of them can risk honestly communicating with them, because they flattened Belos in one hit. King is probably the character who stands the best chance of legitimately getting through to them, because King is a Titan, and that means we have literally no idea what the upper level on his powers are - he's not at the same kind of risk that the rest of the cast are. Plus The Collector genuinely likes him and is desperate for a playmate, so King is unlikely to be in any immediate danger, which gives him a chance to get through to him. King has also spent his life unsure of who he is and where he belongs, and The Collector has answers about that, so despite how much of a devastating downer the S3 finale was, I'm really not too worried about how King and The Collector are gonna get along. King has the best chance of genuinely connecting with him. It's everyone else I'm worried about.