#now you have to do a version of that labour for yourself

[not-poignant]

random genuine question. how do you write a book? I've written multiple fanfics successfully and want to be a full time author nothing too crazy but just enough to make a good living. But I'm finding myself stuck when it comes to executing my original ideas. I plan them out well but when it comes to the acts/chapters and actually writing I can't seem to pull the trigger. I understand it takes time and I may just be overthinking but still I'm worried I won't be able to execute.

Hi anon,

You are probably better off asking someone who writes books for a living, because I definitely don't, and when I did publish two novels, they have never done as well as my serials (and writing a serial is very different - for me at least - to writing a book). Like, they did moderately well, but I consider myself a professional serial writer and not a novelist, and those two things are 100% not the same thing. (Which is also maybe where you're struggling.

Writing fanfics successfully can often have zero bearing on whether you can (or want to) write a novel. Writing one is not writing the other! The processes are totally different, unless you were just writing novels and splitting them up into serial chapters and then, well, you wouldn't be here asking this question sdalkfjad)

There are some great novel-writing books out there, and many can be requested through libraries, and many of their authors have blogs or similar where they teach many of their techniques online. There are so many different ways of structuring a novel (and it can change depending on your genre, and I don't know what your genre is either!) I can't recommend any personally, because I don't read them, because I don't really write novels.

When it comes to actually sitting down and actually writing anything of length though, it's sometimes down to asking yourself a few things:

What feelings are happening in you that hold you back? Are you afraid it won't be good? (In which case there's no way but through, anon, you have to write some bad writing in order to get to the good writing, it's a mandatory part of the practice - a garden needs shit/manure in order to grow, lol).

Are you bored because you planned it all out? (In which case you may need to look into writing novels without plotting them first).

Are you more excited for future chapters instead of present chapters? (Write out of order! And make the present chapters shorter).

Are you more interested in fanfiction's regular feedback from readers? (In which case consider creating a reader group for your original writing, or finding a really good beta who can give you that feedback). (I can't get dopamine from writing novels, so I don't write them, I just find the process boring in a way that's pretty intolerable to me).

Is the novel too huge of a road into meeting your characters and setting/s in prose? (Consider writing small oneshots for your characters and world first. Consider writing side characters in the world in a 2-3k fic. Treat it like responding to a fanfiction challenge. It can often make access to the world a little easier).

Is something about the story actually broken? Do you need to go back to the drawing board re: the strengths of the characters?

Learn how to fall in love with your characters the way you've fallen in love with fanfic characters. If they're not strong enough to earn that 'love'/'obsession' - make them stronger. (Although, frankly, sometimes you can only learn that love by writing them. Think of it this way: When you start writing fanfiction, you've already invested hours of time into learning the characters and their depth. You need to invest at least the same amount into your own characters and their stories before you might stumble across that same love).

Outside of that you can apply any number of techniques to novel writing, but ultimately, a lot of it is sitting down and just writing (sometimes pretty terribly) and learning how to overcome writer's block and understanding why it's happening for you.

For me, I learned that the cons of writing novels just didn't outweigh the pros. The lack of dopamine feedback re: readers doesn't play well with my unmedicated ADHD brain, which means writing to no feedback at all tends to leave me extremely unmotivated. And fitting the novel formula re: story lengths ultimately just didn't work with me either, most of my long stories naturally hit or exceed the 250k mark, which is fine for serials, but not fine for most novels outside of epic fantasy or hard science fiction.

So I would also recommend sitting down and asking yourself what did fanfiction give you that made you able to write it? And what do you need novel writing to give you, to make you able to write it? Likewise, ask yourself - do you want to write original novels? Or original serials? There's a good market for both now, and novels =/= serials. Like, they are naturally written in different ways!

Do you think you would struggle to write an original serial the same way that you're struggling with novels? All of these things are important to ask yourself.

But ultimately, just... I hate to say it, but sometimes you have to force yourself through the struggle, and write stuff while groaning because you know it's bad, to get to the other side. It's like learning any new skill - and fanfiction writing does not naturally lend itself to writing novels with everyone! You are learning a brand new skill!! Just because I know how to draw with pencils doesn't mean I know how to paint with watercolours, and I may be even more intimidated to learn watercolours because I know now how long it took to get the hang of fanfiction. Sometimes you just have to actually sit yourself down and be like 'okay I have to get real good at being real bad at something for a little while, even if I hate it.'

Chances are it won't be as bad as you think anyway, and then even if it is, well that's a normal part of writing a novel. That's why the first draft is the first draft, and not the final product. :)

[ivesambrose]

ℜ𝔞𝔥𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔰 & 𝔎𝔢𝔱𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔳𝔦𝔯𝔤𝔬 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔰

October 30, 2023 — May 18, 2025

Pick the image you can submerge yourself into or can see yourself getting lost in or being a part of, that has your message.

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Picture 1

You'll look back at your childhood, early teen years or even the eras before you that you haven't lived and take inspiration from there when it comes to your creative expressions. Might revisit old films, old forms of media, music etc too.

You'll feel detached to modern life quite a bit. I believe for a long time you've been quite cynical since even the field of creativity moves too fast being heavily reliant on content generation so you had kept your hobbies aside till now or were worried about learning anything new and allowing yourself to develop in your craft.

However, you'll have this unabashed sense of confidence which comes from simply catering to that version of you that wants to find joy and awe in the arts and whatever makes you feel less doom and gloom.

You might adopt a pet or find yourself feeling closer to animals. Also, do not worry too much about your finances. They will pick up.

Some of you might rent out a place or move into a new house.

Some of you will have prospective romantic suitors or an existing relationship will bloom slowly but with assurance.

A word of advice is to invest your money properly and not mindlessly spend it at the same time the harder you hold onto it the quicker you'll find your funds decreasing. Find a middle ground.

Detachment from what you have pushed yourself to hustle for tirelessly for so long and allowing yourself to dream, explore, rest and take it slow is going to eventually bring you what you truly want without you having to lose your sanity in the process.

Picture 2

Life seemed to have been filled with toil and labour that may have been showing it's adverse effects on your health. That and the need to achieve perfectionism has been constant but the results have been futile.

Either you have been working towards something you're passionate about and will see the results finally come through or you'll finally find a reason to be passionate about or something that is worth the dedication and labour you put for the long haul and you'll appraise it's results by the middle or towards the end of this transit.

You may be realizing certain connections (likely romantic) however established will not be making it. But that's okay, you'll be eager to take steps towards a new direction even if the past seems to come snapping at your feet. (Literally, take care of your legs and feet.)

You'll also eventually be pushed to become your own boss and validation. Learn and break the cycles of your own deliberate ways of self sabotage. What does that bring? That success you have previously slaved away for.

When illusions and distractions fall away, true transformation occurs. A clear mind is a gift of it's own, a power you can confidently weild. You can finally move forward without the constant anxiety of looking back.

Picture 3

You've been impatient for your own metamorphosis, your rewards, your blessings as well as your rebirth. The previous month's felt like someone grabbed you by the head and pushed you down in an effort to make you sink at some point, you prayed that it's done with, just so the suffocation would end. That's exactly what has happened but you don't realize it yet, but will in the coming months, the old you is gone.

Some of you may be feeling drawn to dark Goddesses (learning about them or working with them however this applies to you)

You'll be pushed in the spotlight now, unknowingly, suddenly and inevitability. The metamorphosis is complete see? You haven't noticed but the people will. And although there are so many fulfilling offers both in career and love, why must you run from it? Maybe cuz you've chased all of this or wanted all of this for so long, now that it's here, you feel a sense of detachment. And although aloofness is soothing and maybe even attractive, live a little. In fact, you should unapologetically live out loud.

You have this pent up energy of wanting to beautify, nurture and bewitch everything and everyone around you and that you will, it will start with yourself first. A lot of you will venture into an artistic field that will require travel, travel in turn will also help you in connecting with your soul tribe. Listen to your heart a little more because you certainly love being in your head.

You've also been worried about your family, you'll see them happy and fulfilled.

There's so much to create, to achieve, to learn, to teach, to explore to give and to receive. So don't hold back.

Picture 4

Sometimes realizing that what you thought brought you joy because it looked exciting and good in the pictures was sucking you dry after all, can also feel like a heartbreak or an afternoon cry under the shower. You've been sick likely and devoid of true merriment. Perhaps some of you aren't as happy with the company you keep. Good thing is, that's about to change, even though at first it may not feel like it.

There's conflict internally and externally, it might bleed into your proffesional/academic life. Is everything really supposed to be competition? How much of your authenticity have you compromised so far?

I do see you managing your finances/material life/academics/work/business etc efficiently. Finally resting, recharging and looking after your well being too.

At some point you'll encounter someone unlikely who will feel like a guiding star to you and might end up being a friend, a muse, a mentor or lover and if you're lucky, all of them in one person.

You have courage but you also have Intuition and foresight, trust it, use it. So that the joy you feel and what you celebrate next, fills your soul not just your glass.

[absurdumsid]

I need info on saejun an you obviously know him better than me, so can i have you favorite hcs, theories (how he joined the mtt), or interactions on him w/ the mtt :)

OF COURSE U CAN !! so sorry, it took me a bit to compile all of this from my older notes aaaa have a compensation doodle bc i took SOO long GHGHHHGH

anyway saejun nation pspspspss

saejun !! THE beloved if u will

he regularly speaks korean but learned english after meeting nightmare and killer

i love to think he's very very strong, he can beat the mtt in a fistfight kind of strong (not like he would, but he'd win)

he can cook decently but he'd choose his brother's cooking any day (even if pilsu is still um learning)

he also really likes spicy dishes !! he bonds over that with dust !

he'd forgive ppl who steal from the farm but he wouldn't forgive harming the crops

he HATES pesticides (i think this is canon actually) but also really hates strong smells in general

sleepy 24/7 he lays in the grass to photosynthesize (he just passes out, pilsu wakes him almost every time)

probably knows a lot of offhand herbology/biology trivia (he can explain the aerobic and anaerobic cycle by heart)

his general attitude toward the mtt/bad sanses is not to pry unless they're the ones who open up to him (even now he only rlly learns about their situations through nightmare who doesn't talk that much about it anyway)

he accepts mtt with open arms and its that accepting (almost forgiving) nature that makes them so super attached to him !!

for me, it's the concept of meeting a version of yourself that lives the most peaceful life and being happy for him, but ALSO not being shunned by that alternate version for being violent and hurting the people that you both love

as for how saejun met mtt, my general interpretation of it is that nightmare struck a deal with saejun for food supplies in exchange for manual labour (so mtt and nightmare help a lot with the harvests! the only ones who really know about it is pilsu, saejun, anseung, and suggu)

killer // 고통씨 (Mr. Misery/Grief)

saejun meets killer first and was the only one helping around the farm

i don't think saejun would be the type to pry into their pasts so he doesn't question killer about himself or anything

killer is the one who opens up to him one stormy night after a stage 3 episode where he holed himself up in the shed and saejun found him cold, shaking, and curled up embracing himself

he calms killer down and tells nightmare abt it and that's how he finds out about killer's past (he doesn't bring it up, but he's always there to help killer after his panic attacks)

he likes to do the chores with killer most of the time just in case he has a run in with chorongi or suggu (the kids are very silly and tend to mess with him and he doesn't know how killer is with children)

they photosynthesize together and sometimes nightmare just comes to get killer in the evening and finds them in the grass

horror // 취급주의 (Handle with Care) or 주주씨 (Mr. Vermillion)

he meets horror second (after he gets kidnapped by nightmare) and saejun isn't really scared of him because he figured that he probably has some hidden issues like killer

saejun thought horror was really fragile at first (because he was very thin and had a skull injury) so he actually had him do mostly little chores like going to the market or gathering eggs from the chickens

after a few months killer doesn't come in (was sent to a mission somewhere else) and saejun needs someone to handle the heavy hay bales (<- he could've done it himself but hes lazy) and horror just kinda Does It and surprises saejun

he starts to depend on horror more and actually admits that he was underestimating him out of concern for his wellbeing and horror says its ok because he was also underestimating saejun (until he saw him carry killer AND a bunch of crops home that one time)

they start to cook together and do the heavier chores (while making silly jokes abt killer) together

horror starts to learn korean by talking with dorihye, saejun, and pilsu as well as asking nightmare for some reading material ! (after finding out that dust also speaks korean, he starts practicing conversation with him !)

dust // 유골씨 (Mr. Ashes)

saejun's meeting with dust was noooot planned at all, nightmare just kinda forced mtt into a portal to farmtale during one of errors visits

horror mostly stayed with dust at first who was just dead silent and stayed in one spot (saejun asked if he wanted any drinks and it took ten excruciating seconds before horror had to answer water for him)

its not until pilsu comes into the house and greets killer and horror and makes a remark about a new brother that he starts to actually talk

dust doesn't exactly warm up to pilsu and more like forces himself to because pilsu starts to ask him what his favourite pasttimes are, his favourite food, if he wants any snacks, etc (killer and horror went through the same thing)

dust eventually gets carried off to the kitchen to cook with pilsu and that's how pilsu finds out dust speaks fluent korean even though they have different dialects

saejun goes into the kitchen and has a little talk with dust (where he learns they both speak korean !! and that that's why dust wasn't speaking that much !) and they bond over pilsu's silliness (dust talks about how his papyrus also loved to cook etc etc, saejun notices that its in past tense but doesn't dig any deeper)

dust eventually starts to visit farmtale with horror frequently to exchange makguksu and ramyeon recipes with pilsu !!

dust is also relatively close with dorihye, anseung, and suggu who tend to remark that "the other saejuns dont really talk much" to which horror always chuckles

that's all (for now) !! TYSM FOR ASKING ABT MY BLORBOS BGHGHRGRHG

[fayes-fics]

Kinktober Drabble #4: Breeding Kink

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, vaginal sex.

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Gonna use the same gif for all Regency Anthony Kinktober posts cos he looks so filthy/gorgeous. Enjoy <3

When you retire to bed on the second night of your honeymoon, your husband is a different man. The first night he was gentle, considerate and slow, making you a woman and bringing you softly through the experience of losing your virginity. Tonight he is another man altogether, and you find you love this wild passionate version as much as the soft sweet man of the previous night.

“How does it feel now?” His voice laboured as he pushes into your body from a new angle, your feet over his shoulders.

“Oh god, Anthony, it’s it’s….” you are at a loss for words. Your body bent almost double; he seems so deep inside you. It's the most incredible carnal sensation, being so filled.

“Good?” he pants.

“Better than that,” you hiss, “please don't stop.”

“I'm not stopping, my darling wife,” his voice loaded with promise. “I'm not leaving your body until I have planted all my seed deep inside you.”

You drive back against his thrusts, fingernails digging into the meat of his bicep. “What does that mean, husband?”

“Oh, my beautiful darling innocent,” he slows his pace, leaning forward and cupping your face, kissing your lips tenderly. “It means I will make you with child; you shall bear my heir.”

“This is how babies are made?” you gasp, “but it's so wonderful. I was told it would be unpleasant, something I must lie back and do for you.”

He shakes his head and then brushes a finger over your clit. “Firstly, tell me, darling wife, does this feel unpleasant?” he asks, his voice low and warm.

“No, the opposite,” you answer breathily as he lowers your legs from his shoulders.

“Secondly, you don’t have to lie back, my darling,” he gusts and pulls out, flipping you over effortlessly, so you are face down into the pillow, pulling your hips up high as he kneels between your legs and drives back inside you.

You’ve never felt anything so primal.

“Push yourself back onto me,” he lectures.

You do as he asks, feeling him slide deeper than ever before and moaning at the sensation.

“That’s it, darling, now rock forwards and then back again,” he tutors.

“Oh, Anthony,” you huff against the pillow, “this feels wonderful.”

“Yes, that’s it.” He grabs your hips and aids your movements. “Fuck yourself onto me, wife.”

The crude language and the feel of taking him to your hilt every time have you making noises you can’t stop, little needy yelps as you inhale sharply.

“Do you want my babies?” He questions breathily, leaning over your back and teething your shoulder, his fingers back on your clit. 

“Yes, my lord, please give me all your babies,” you answer, snapping against him harder with each stroke, chasing the high you feel building as he straightens back up behind you.

“Beg me for my babies, beg me for my seed,” he orders, his voice desperate and starts thrusting into you powerfully, meeting your movements, dragging against your walls, the heat and pressure a potent elixir.

“Please, my lord, give me your babies, give me all your seed; I need it,” you babble mindlessly close to your peak now.

“Oh fuck yes,” he curses, curling and thrusting in as you move back against him, a bead of sweat falling from his forehead and splashing onto your spine, running down between your shoulder blades. “We will have eight, no ten, children,” he growls, taking you forcefully now, plundering your cunt as you pant cries with every movement “you will always be with my child. Mine. My wife. My babies.”

“Yes, my lord,” you chant as you are swept over the cliff like the previous night, but this time more visceral as he curses and keeps surging hard, your insides fluttering and clenching onto his cock. He snarls noises, fingers gripping your hip so tight he leaves fingerprints. His movements become uncoordinated as you convulse.

“Take it all, my darling,” he groans, holding you down with a firm hand on the middle of your back, hips obscenely high, face pressed into the mattress, and you feel a warmth bloom so deep inside you, “every last drop,” he grunts and thrusts one last time before collapsing on top of you.

After a few moments of enjoying his weight and heat draped over your back, you find your voice.

“Thank you, husband,” you coo as he gusts heavy warm breaths onto the nape of your neck. “I enjoy making babies very much,” you whisper.

He chuckles and drags his lips over your shoulder. “Then you won't mind if we keep trying and trying and trying,” he teases.

“Not at all,” you giggle and moan softly as he pulls out of your body.

“Good because… the night is young, my darling, and I have so much more seed to plant in you,” his cock stroking against the back of your naked thighs, trailing your joined fluids there.

“Yes, please, my lord.”

tagging: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-cladysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports

[lady-dragon-rider]

Who are you, really? PT.2

Aeron Bracken x Reader

Reader tells Aeron the truth (at least what they know regarding what happened before they woke up)

///

Aeron has a small, young-adult life crisis.

Contains: Aeron having a life crisis, more Tyrell!Reader dramatics, uwu spoopy witch things, canon divergence, Angsstt/Comfort (finally)

Feautring: Brackwood shenanigans, mild Davos x Reader (he has a soft spot), supernatural superstitious spoopies

---

The next morning, after you had given your ultimatum to the Bracken heir. You found yourself on the back of a horse again (Though you technically had no memory of the first time, but still). Aeron was seated behind you, the only thing he had insisted upon. His arms were wrapped tight around you as the horse wandered the road in a slow trot.

"I still cant believe you talked me into this..." he mumbled, his stern face gazing off into the distance in search of dangers. "You know what happened last time"

"Well i have no memory of it therefore it didnt happen" you quip sticking your nose up at his attitude. "Your being a worrywort Aeron. I was going to have to this eventually as were you needing to get over it."

Aerons mouth fall agape and you tone. This was not how high-born ladies usually acted. And despite how long you had been awake, Aeron still hadnt gotten use to the change.

"Woman you are giving me a bad case of whiplash... i still dont get how youve changed so much... you are yet to explain yourself to me." He snaps, tone increasing in annoyance.

"Stop here. We are far enough."

Obediently, He stops the horse and ties it up to a low hanging branch. You get off and find a nice spot to sit. As you sit to motion for Aeron to do the same. "It will be better for you to sit. It may take a while."

--

As you had suspected, the more you tried to explain it in a way he would understand, the more bewildered he looked.

"Wait. So your telling me there is another existence, or 'world' as you called it. 'You' are from there. 'You' died being run over by a carriage, at the same time my version of you - the girl i grew up with and was to marry - fell off the horse at died?" He repeated. "But that doesnt explain why you inhabit her body and why she isnt here. Does that mean she if where you once were?"

"No. Unfortunately not"

"But you dont know that!" He shouted. Moving to his knees to grab at your shoulders roughly.

"But i do. I felt that body die. I felt my heart stop." You state coldy. It stops Aeron's incoming tirade in it tracks. He breathes heavily as you continue, a cool wisp in your voice. "You said that she was in a fevered state for days right? That was 'her', desperately trying to recover. But for some reason the soul - her soul - wasnt strong enough. So, my theory is, when i died where i was from, her body reached out and clung to my soul as it left my old body to 'fill the gap' and make this body strong enough to recover... but in the process some of 'her' memories were lost."

The young mans hands on your shoulders seem to tighten as his breathing becomes laboured. Unshed tears begin to form in his eyes.

"Im so sorry. I didnt mean for this to happen... i had no idea it was even possible."

"Youre wrong"

"What?"

"This cant be happening... youve gone mad, the hysteria has finally gotten to you and you gone mad as a way to punish me for letting you fall. Its the Seven's punishment meant to torment me as you were in those days of fevered rest..." He pushes you away as he gets up. Pacing and biting his nails while mumbling.

"Oh for the love of-" you get up after him and whirl him round to face you. Slapping him so hard across the face that it echos in the small secluded clearing. "GET A HOLD OF YOUSELF AERON BRACKEN" you shout. "The gods care very little over the folly of man if they exist at all. No one is trying to torment you with divine punishment i promise, as of right now i need you to pull your head from your arse and put that brain of yours to use." You rant giving him a firm shake as you firmly grip his shoulders. "Can you do that for me"

"Y-yes i can..." he mutters feebly, still in a daze.

"Yes what?!"

"Yes M'lady!"

"Good!"

You then pull him in a fierce hug. One that seems to take his breath away. A beat of silence passes as he returns your gesture; arms shaking as if youll disappear again if he lets go. You pull away just enough to see his face, and the handprint on his cheek which burns an angry red. You kiss it tenderly, making the rest of the young heirs face match its colour. "I apologise for hitting you my dear, but i need that beautiful mind of yours working on a way to save your family from burning rather than spiralling out of control."

The Bracken heir smiles as his arms maneuver themselves into a different position.

"Thats alright... though, is it bad to say that i kinda liked that? I think i may be getting used to this new personality of yours..." he smirks

"Aeron!" You gasp, smacking his chest playfully, happy the tense mood had been diffused. "Be serious right now! We need to figure this out! If i am to wed you and give you all the heirs you desire i need to know your house will live long enough to become my house!" You argue, tone lightly scolding but still light. A light tinge colours Aeron's ears at the mention of heirs but it is brushed off as his tone becomes more serious.

"What would you have me do? My father is the current lord. A lot of people respect his judgment, i barely have enough sway to make any input in our own house meetings. You were there. You saw what it is i face in that room" He sighs as his head bumps into your shoulder in defeat. "Unless of course you expect me to duel him for the seat of lord. Which if i may remind you, i am very much mediocre at."

"And you know of no one in the family that thinks like you do, like us? I remember making some very valid points that last time. I think i even saw some of them consider it." You mention thinking back to the meeting you had interrupted.

"Well dear that still doesnt change the fact that im still only the current lords heir." Aeron counters

"Well..." you mumble trailing off "Does a duel have to be with swords?"

"(Name)..."

"What?"

"(Name)... you are actually asking me to fight my father? Right?"

Aeron is met with your silence.

"....Right?"

"Do you proposed an alternative?" You ask

"You wished for me to be serious and yet you suggest such a thing to me?! I need you to be serious right now (Name)! Yes a duel for lordship is typically done with swords, something i again say i am very mediocre at!"

"Firstly, you initially suggested it-"

"In jest my love!"

"Let me finish" you scold before continuing "Second, you are a knight are you not. People arent typically knighted if they're only 'mediocre' at swordplay. Ive seen you, you are good. You are also brave and compassionate. Something your father lacks. I need you to be brave and fight your father. Of course, the choice is ultimately up to you... i never want you to feel pressured... but i cant think of anything else that may secure our future together... i dont want everything i love to burn..." you gingerly take his hands and bring them to your lips. "Think on it at least a little though. Its not an entirely bad idea."

---

The sun has started to set by the time you arrive back at stone hedge. The ride back itself had finally brought about a feeling of normalcy, after not feeling at home in your own skin - your own mind - it felt good for your betrothed to now know your truth. But as the gates begin to close so too does the sweet moment you had been having, as one of Aerons cousin comes rusing up looking distressed.

"Aeron! Where in the seven hells have you been?! You were gone for nearly the whole day! The boys and i were looking everywhere for you!" He wheezes, face beet red and sweaty.

"Erik? Whats wrong? I had just gone for a ride with (Name). I was sure to tell the guards at the gate to let people know i was gone if anyone went looking for me" he murmurs in confusion. He slides off the horse and makes his way over to Erik.

"Yeah, which wouldve been fine... had we not received a raven from the princess Rhaenyra... asking to reaffirm our loyal to her. A meeting is currently being held to determine our response... there is talk about ignoring the letter and awaiting further news from kings landing..." he mutters.

You feel the world around you collapsing. You hadnt realised you were approaching the point of no return. The thoughts swirling in your mind begin to make you feel sick. You can hear the bracken pair exchange some more hushed whispers, growing more frantic as the moments whirl passed but you cant seem to hild enough focus to hear them as your own panic sets in.

Im too late. I thought i would have more time!

"(Name)? Are you ok? You look pale. Come, lets get you inside and have the maids make a warm bath for you. Erik knows better than to speak of such distressing matters to a Lady." Aeron says, lightly slapping his boy cousin for running his mouth.

"Yes... apologies Lady (Name)." He responds bowing apologetically.

"Aeron..." you whisper, tears brimming in your eyes. "I cant... im sorry... i thought I could-" you whimper as hot tears you can no longer hold back begin to break free.

"My love what are you saying? Whats wr-"

"Forgive me."

As Aeron begins to move back to you and the horse you wrench at the reigns and turn the horse around, kicking it into gear.

"Keep those gates open!" You shout, hurtling towards the gates without a second thought. Panicked and startled the guards freeze; haulting the gates movement and diving out of the way of the raging horse. Flung from his daze in a similar manner, Aeron rushes to the nearest horse and races after you.

"For the love of the gods, (Name)!"

Wind rushes past your ears and the cold starts to bite at your exposed cheeks. The sun feels like its setting faster now. Further driving your fear and desperation to spur your stolen steed foward.

"I thought we had made an agreement! Talk to me please!" The Bracken heir howls, trying to keep pace. But the headstart you had didnt seem to be closing, and his pleas were merely being lost to the wind. As the scenery races by him his begin to panic. You are deathly close to Blackwood territory. You, being a Tyrell and having no ties to the Bracken household - at least not yet - would be able to cross. Him? His crossing would be a declaration. It would not doubt start a fight.

One he scarcely had time for.

He jerks his horse into a stop mere meters away from where the boundary stones were. He can only stare in sorrow and grief as he lets you slip through the open field unchallenged. You continue riding hard, only looking back when you dont hear the hoofbeats of your pursuer. You slow to a stop and stare back at him your eyes mirroring his in pain and sadness. You hold the moment a breath longer before charging off again into the darkness and dangers of the Blackwood lands.

---

You had no clue where exactly Raventree Hall was. A rough idea sure, but being with the Bracken Household you werent exactly allowed to exlore the rivals home turf. After getting off the grassy fields you decided the best way to get to the Blackwood house would be by road. You were no longer being chased, so you had room enough to move at a slightly slower pace.

But you didnt want to dawdle.

A while later a large structure begins to form of the horizon; Raventree Hall. You had made it. Your navigational victory is short lived as an arrow lands a few paces in front of your horse, causing it to slightly rear up in fight.

"Hold there stranger or the next one goes between your eyes!" You feminine voice bellows.

Crap. Black Aly.

"Im not a Bracken!" You shout back, sliding semi gracefully of the horse and putting your hands up. "Im Lady (Name) Tyrell! Im unarmed and seeking sanctuary!"

"And why would we let a wench betrothed to one of those filthy snot nosed Brackens into our home!" A new voice shouts, masculine this time. You can just make out the silhouette of dark haired man, similar in age as you and Aeron.

Must be Davos...

"Since this 'wench' wishes to kneel to the rightful heir to the iron throne queen Rhaenyra Targaryen! Along with potentially stopping a war between dragons." You say slowly inching forward and into better light. Silence follows and as you try to stand with as much authority as one in your position possibly can, you begin to get nervous. The gates swing open and the voices from before; Davos and Aly step out. They are flanked by some of their men, bows and swords at the ready.

"You give such a welcome to all those who seek sanctuary withinn your walls? Im touched to be so kindly considered" you smirk, trying to hide under a false bravado.

"For a delicate Lady of flowers and gardens you sure act like you dont have an arrow at your throat" Aly sneers, arrow nocked and ready.

"Flowers are pretty and delicate yes, but they often have thrones and can be used for poison." You shoot back, eyes meeting dark pools of brown.

"A question for you my lady, how do you intend to stop this 'war of dragons' by using that sharp tongue to weave sweet honeyed words to stop people from fighting?" Davos teases, seemingly impressed at your gall, but unconvinced of your methods.

"Easy. I need to speak to that big dead tree of yours." You haughtily claim.

---

"I cant believe you actually let her in Davos." Aly grunts the group having now moved into the main courtyard area where the ancient weirdwood tree sat. "A pretty girl bats her eyelashes at you, makes a demand from her pretty face and you, in a typical manly fashion bend her whim a reid in the wind"

"So you admit that she is pretty" Davos teases, earning a hard elbow to the ribs which has him keeling over for breath.

"Besides the point!" She hisses "we know nothing about her. For all we know this could be some ploy by the brackens, a test of her loyalty or something to their family in order to hurt ours."

"What could one girl do to a tree that has been dead for almost a thousand years dear aunt?" He reasons

"I dont know? Setting it on fire?" She murmurs

"A doubt she could do that much damage by her lonesome. And if she did, there is no bracken here to save her, she would be dead before she even lit a torch"

"So you say..." Aly grumbles arms crossed.

"Can you two pipe down? This is hard enough as it is with so many eyes watching me." You chastise.

That... paired with the fact that i have NEVER done this before!

You close your eyes again and focus. You think how best to approach this. Taking a steadying breath you place your hands on the tree and whisper. "Helaena?... Helaena can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Aaahh!" You shriek, tumbling to the ground as you trip over a nearby root. "Holy hells girl give a lady some warning before you jump out like that!" Startled you turn and find her standing in the courtyard with you. Only it is just the two of you. Confusion must have been etched on your face because before you can ask Helaena speaks.

"They are still here, just in a different space. Like a reflection."

"So you mean the pair of us are in the network then? And it only looks like this because this is wear the tree is?" Helaena hums at your question, like your explanation is somehow childish compared to her understanding.

"I need to speak to you, im sure you know about what. Aegon will become king soon, and with it, the downfall of the Targaryens will surely follow."

She nods

"There has to be a way to stop it. Tell there is a way. Tell me what you need me to do." You plead, stepping closer to her and gently grasping her hands. "You must know, Your sister doesnt want to be apart of the thing that tears this family apart. Your grandfather has been pulling strings from the very first moment. I wish to help you protect your children and your family." You peer into her eyes and you see a flicker of sadness pass over them. She seems hesitant to speak. The grief of a loss that hasnt happened yet - a choice she know has no right answer - haunts her.

"Is Luke dead yet?" You ask sternly.

Helaena shakes her head.

"Then there is still time. There will always be time to steer the world on a gentler path for those who know which way the river bends."

At the reassurance in you voice, a small smile forms on her face.

---

It is disorientating when you next open your eyes again, as you are face to face the carving on the weirdwood tree. You turn and collect your bearings, this time minding the nearby root you had previously 'fallen' over.

"Finally" Aly sighs "i felt my legs going numb from standing"

"You didnt need to be here." You growl "im pretty sure 3 bowmen, and two swordsman are enough guards... unless you think id be able to outmanoeuvred them in this intricate gown... or that they are inept"

Davos snorts but is silenced by Aly. She straightens and glares you down, the cool tones of her eyes now heated with barely concealed rage. "You better watch that thorned tongue of yours flower-girl, lest someone cut you down a size." She swaggers off and you are left with the remaining Blackwood entourage.

"Ignore her, she is just cranky that she missed dinner." Davos jests "ill escort you to the chambers youll be using during your stay with us M'lady. It may not be as nice as the ones from your own in Highgarden, but i hope it suits a flower as beautiful as you" he winks.

You roll your eyes, but wait for him to lead the way. "I believe i may grow tired of you and your family's flower puns if you keep this up." You say, wincing when you realise your error. Davos laughs loudly.

"And here i thought we were getting along" he wipes a forming tear from his laughter as he winds his way through the corridors. "Here we are. I hope you have pleasant dreams."

You walk into the room, fall into the bed and groan into the pillows.

"Lets just hope this works"

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Possessed by Grief - an essay on MyHouse.pk3

Here's that essay on MyHouse.wad I've kept threatening to drop like a big anvil, which I definitely did not forget about for like a month :P Seems like an opportune moment to publish it, what with all the recent influx of interest in the game - and so I present some more of my thoughts on this masterpiece. Enjoy :)

MyHouse.pk3 is a game about grief.

It is a game about nostalgia and regret, obsession and devotion, confusion and despair. A game that asks if it's ever possible to escape grief's clutches, or if each apparent success only makes the net close tighter around us. A game that compels us to seek answers, and provides only further questions.

This is also a game about love, and how grief scrunches it up impossibly small and stretches it out impossibly thin, as we are forced to reckon with what this person really means to us, what impact they've had on us, and how we can possibly continue to exist in this world without them.

It is by all accounts a common thing for prospective modders to recreate their own houses, or those of their relatives, as part labour of love, part test run for future projects, part rite of passage. I imagine that playing through one is akin to a virtual property tour, with added demon killing and grunting. And perhaps this was all MyHouse.pk3 was ever meant to be - just another map of just another house, albeit uploaded as a tribute to its original owner who passed on.

What we get instead… is nothing short of an electronic manifestation of grief itself. The house changes as we play, as demons thought vanquished return stronger than ever. New hallways jut out at impossible angles while old doorways vanish into thin air. We wander through wildly different versions of the house's floorplan - a brutalist office block that changes in size, a perpetually-flooded bathhouse suspended in an eeriely tranquil skybox, an abandoned daycare falling into disrepair, an empty airport devoid of life, adjoined to a bathroom with a bloody secret. Mirrors become portals to alternate versions of the same house, where everything is the same except reversed. You jump out of a plane and seemingly wake up back at the house, but time has passed and everyone has moved on and the one thing you thought a concrete certainty ("Safe as houses", so the saying goes) is literally sold off behind your back and you turn around and there's nothing there anymore, it's just gone.

No-one asked you. You did not consent to any of this, and yet it has happened all the same.

And life ticks on and you try to move on but you can't. Even the Underhalls, Doom II's second level, provides only temporary respite, as you are immediately spat back out right where you began, and the whole process starts over.

THIS is what grief does to someone. It freezes you in time, folds your mind into endlessly recursive origami shapes that loop on themselves again and again, removes an old keystone from the bridge of your psyche before stepping back to watch the structure slowly crumble to ruins. You flail helplessly as you are caught between trying to invoke what you've lost in meaningful objects and places, and tossing everything aside and trying to escape into some new, different reality. The past contains bittersweet memories of happier times you can never return to, while the future promises nothing but a bleak pseudo-existence utterly devoid of meaning. You cannot go back. You cannot move forward.

And all the while, you torment yourself with the same questions, over and over and over: Why did this happen? What do I do now they're gone? Could I have changed something? Could things have been different, if I had just been kinder/braver/better/gentler/more attentive?

Grief haunts MyHouse. It is the unseen hand that shapes the world and all the artefacts scattered throughout it. It is the force that compels Steve to continue adding to it, convinces him that only he can do what is needed, and he becomes as dependent upon the map to frame his loss as it is dependent on him to shape it. There are no ghosts or demons, no supernatural forces at play here - just one person trapped in his despair and loneliness, pouring everything he has into the one last thing that connects him to his dead friend. And in the finished map, we see exactly what Tom was to Steve, just how precious and irreplacable of a friend they were to him, just how fathomless his depth of feeling for them. So deep that Tom may very well be "the only person I [Steve] ever loved."

Grief and love are intertwined, they cannot be teased apart. The deeper and more profound the love for someone, the greater the agony experienced when they are taken from you. For Steve to have constructed such an elaborate, multifaceted, labyrinthian space, and to have done so deliberately as a trubute, it becomes increasingly obvious that he was motivated by a love and a grief so abyssal and all-consuming that there was no-one and nothing he valued more in life - to the point where it must have seemed that he, too, had died alongside his friend.

This house and all of its impossible multitudes is a digital mausoleum, built not so much for a person as for a relationship, dedicated to stupid in-jokes and childhood traumas and painful secrets, plagued by a burning love that cannot be spoken yet has to be expressed lest it destroys the one who harbours it. It stands as proof that Tom existed, that the bond they shared was real. And through all the confusion, the hopelessness and the heartbreak, a way forward begins to emerge.

Grief never truly goes away, is never truly "beaten" as a video game final battle may be. But it does become easier to navigate, its twists and turns becoming more familiar with each pass, with each story shared between others who are struggling alongside us. Contentment can be reattained. Life does, indeed, go on. Love is not negated by death, but endures forever in how we choose to honour those who are no longer with us.

Thanks for reading.

[keyboardandquill]

On creating a wiki for your worldbuilding

Do you have a lot of lore to keep track of? Whether you're an author, a Game Master, or simply someone who really really likes worldbuilding, this post is for you.

Here's a quick overview of what I'll be talking about:

Platforms people use to create personal wikis

Formats and organization systems you may find useful when creating your own wiki

A brief look at the actual content you might put in your wiki (I'm planning a more in-depth post on that later with more images and demos)

And because this is gonna be a long'un, I'm putting a read-more here! I'll also make downloadable epub and PDF versions of this post available for free on my Ko-Fi at some point in the future.

(I'm also planning to reblog with a list of links later on, but I want this initial post shows up in search)

Also now that you're here, I'm going to say this isn't, like, super comprehensive or anything. I'm just talking about stuff I know a little about or have experience with. Please feel free to reblog with additions and/or corrections as needed!

What is a wiki?

According to Wikipedia, "a wiki is a hypertext publication collaboratively edited and managed by its own audience, using a web browser."

In this case, you'll likely be the sole person making updates to your wiki. The web browser part is optional these days as well, as you'll soon see.

Platforms for creating wikis

Websites for creating worldbuilding wikis

WorldAnvil

This one is actually designed for people who want to create big worldbuilding wikis.

Pros: Worldbuilding prompts! Those are great. It's got a pretty comprehensive set of article types too.

Cons: Kind of expensive to upgrade for features like making your wiki private, and it does NOT work well with adblock turned on, so if you don't want to pay for a membership you'll get inundated with ads. I'm not a huge fan of the interface in general and a lot of it isn't intuitive, but I like what they're doing so I support them anyway.

---

Tiddlywiki/Tiddlyhost.com.

In addition to having a cat as its icon and also a silly name, each 'article' you create with this is called a 'tiddler' which makes me think of Chuck Tingle. I haven't used it much myself yet, but I did make an account and it seems pretty neat.

---

Miraheze

A community-hosted wiki platform that runs on MediaWiki (which is what Wikipedia runs off of).

Pros: It's not Fandom.com.

Cons: You have to request a wiki and can't just make it yourself, as far as I can tell. I haven't actually looked into this one as much.

---

Neocities

An option for if you want to go super oldschool and create a website using only basic html and hyperlinks (without the handy shortcuts of bbcode or Markdown). Monthly cost is $5 usd if you want to have more space and your own domain.

Pros: 100% control over your content.

Cons: Doesn't support PHP databases for wiki software, and can be fairly labour-intensive to update if you break a link or something.

---

Fandom.com

Unfortunately, this one is the top result you'll get when you look up how to make your own wiki. I'm only including it here to tell you to stay as far away from it as possible!!

Its staff are known to ban wiki creators from their own wikis and a bunch of other nonsense that I'm not getting into here.

Programs and apps/web apps for creating worldbuilding wikis

Obsidian.md

My personal favourite. I'm planning to make a whole post about how I use it in the near future as part of this article series.

It's a markdown-based application that you can get on just about any platform (Windows, MacOS, Linux, iOS, Android, etc) which is great. Obsidian is really easy to pick up and use and also has great themes and community plugins!

Best thing is, it's FREE and you only have to pay if you use their publishing service, which... I don't, so.

---

Notion

I've heard this one is pretty good too. Idk if it costs anything. It's another "second brain" style app (might be markdown also?) and I think it might do more than Obsidian, but I haven't checked it out much myself.

---

Microsoft Word/Google Docs etc.

...Or just about any word processor that lets you create internal hyperlinks. Word may work best due to the collapsible headings so it doesn't get too unwieldy, but *shrug* whatever floats your boat.

---

Excel/Google Sheets etc.

Or, again, any spreadsheet creator that lets you create internal hyperlinks.

I'd recommend having some basic spreadsheet knowledge before doing this. It could get complicated. Before I started using Obsidian, I was using Sheets to keep track of my glossary, notes about characters, and plot ideas.

Types of formatting & organization systems

There are as many organization systems as there are people who want to organize their stuff. Everybody needs something a little different! I find the ones that work best for me are systems that have a lot of customization options.

Here are a couple I know of.

Johnny Decimal

This system is absurdly simple in its concept and yet so versatile. From their website (it's just johnnydecimal dot com but I'll link it in a reblog later):

Take everything you need to organise and sort it in to, at most, ten large buckets.

Make sure the buckets are unambiguously different.

Put a label on each bucket.

Their website has a better explanation than I can give in this post, but I'll sum up the appeal of this system as quoted from their site: "There's only one place anything can ever be."

Usefully, part of this method is creating a directory for the rest of the system.

So if you're like me and tend to shove things wherever only to lose track of it later, this is a great system—especially when used in conjunction with the Zettelkasten Method (see below).

---

Zettelkasten Method

Originally devised as an extensive paper-based knowledge management system, Zettelkasten is meant to easily add new entries to a knowledge base while giving each one a unique ID for easy 'linking.'

The creator of this method said 'it is not important where you place the note, as long as you can link to it.'

As with the Johnny Decimal system, I can't explain it super succinctly (nor can the website, if I'm being honest), so I'll include a link in a future reblog for a video that gave me an excellent run-down of the basics.

Setting up your own system

An organization system is only useful if you can actually, y'know, use it.

It can be fun to set up a super-detailed organization system with predetermined categories for everything, but is it easy for you to use? How will you navigate it?

Making decisions

There will be a lot of decisions to make as you set up your system. The only set-in-stone rule I follow is... don't set anything in stone. It's okay if you decide something that doesn't work later on.

Figuring out your categories

My advice: go fairly broad. You can always sub-categorize. I'm going to go over my own wikis for Athenaeum and Rocket Boosters in detail in a later post, but here are the starting top-level categories I'd recommend for worldbuilders:

A meta category for notes about your database, templates, and any relevant research you've done.

Characters, including main characters, minor characters, and important figures

Worldbuilding

In the last category, which is the main reason for the existence of my wiki, I might have:

Culture

History

Locations

Organizations

Lore (if relevant)

Technology

Transportation

I'll go over the nuances of these 'main' subcategories in that future post I mentioned. In other words, the stuff that actually goes in those categories!

Determining the importance and relevance of worldbuilding elements

You'll need to figure out whether a topic is complex enough to deserve its own entry, or if it should be a sub-heading under another entry. It's okay if you decide on both! I have short subheadings under some entries that amount to "see [link to main entry on that topic]."

I've also decided to expand subheadings into their own topics, and I've removed topics as their own entry and shoved them under subheadings. I do this a lot, in fact! So it's okay if you don't know.

Templates

Will you be creating several of one type of entry?

Individual character profiles

Towns and cities

Factions

(to name a few)

It might be handy to figure out the basic types of information you'll need about each of those things and create a template for them.

A character template might have spaces for the basics, such as name, role, age, and so on.

Some characters will have a lot more information, and some might have even less than what your template dictates! And that's fine.

A word of warning about using system-creation as procrastination

Creating a wiki can be a daunting task. You might decide it's not for you, and that's okay. But you might also decide to go headlong into the process and work on every minute detail, and that is also okay, but.

But.

Beware of using your wiki as an excuse to procrastinate your actual writing/session preparation. Yes, use it to keep track of all the lore you've injected into your manuscript/campaign/whatever, just make sure it stays in its place as a companion to your main project rather than becoming your main project.

How formal should your entries be?

Honestly this one's entirely up to you. I have a mix. Some entries are written like Wikipedia entries with a thorough explanation of the topic with proper punctuation and formatting, while others are simply bullet-point lists of thoughts and ideas that I can return to at a later date.

What methods do you use to keep track of your lore and worldbuilding? Let me know in a reblog or comment!

And please make sure to check the notes. I'll be reblogging with links, and then reblogging that reblog to make sure they're, y'know, actually visible in the notes.

[dahliarose2]

May you add me to your general taglist, I love your fics!! also, can you do number 8 for the daryl dixon x reader story prompts, I absolutely love the one bed trope 😭

SOMEDAY

summary: after a run-in with a horde of walkers, you and daryl are forced to take shelter in an abandoned cabin. only problem is; there's only one bed

A/N: ah thank you so much for your kind words lovey! <3 hope i did your request justice. i was going to do an angsty version of the one bed trope but i have a few angsty requests coming up, so i kept this one fluffy!! hope you enjoy <3 please request scenarios from my scenario list and let me know if you want to be added to my general taglist

You and Daryl panted as you ran through the forest, weaving in and out of the trees, dodging branches and tree roots that jutted out of the ground. You heard the faint sound of walkers growling as you sprinted. Your hand held onto the dagger fiercely as you attempted to watch where you were going while simultaneously looking out for oncoming walkers. You both had been separated from the group in the middle of a run when an unexpected horde of walkers forced you all to scatter in different directions,. You hoped the others were okay and managed to get away unscathed. Your worries were halted as the face of a walker obscured your vision and your thoughts as you froze, bringing your hand up to its shoulder in a flurry to push it away from you. You stumbled as you brought your sharp blade up from your side to dart it towards the eye socket of the walker. Before the point of your knife hit the skin, your eyes widened as an arrow lodged it’s way through its skull. You turned to look at Daryl as he lowered his crossbow. “I had it,” you muttered, slightly annoyed at the fact that he didn’t let you handle it yourself,

“Yeah, well now I had it,” he retorted plainly through his laboured pants from the running. You rolled your eyes i’m disbelief as he walked towards you, hand ghosting your side now as he looked around madly, before speaking. “Up there,” he blurted out hurriedly, upon the sound of the rumbling of the walkers becoming increasingly louder as the seconds passed. “There’s a cabin up there. Let’s go,” he said softly, motioning his head towards the hut that you could now see a few dozen paces away sitting perched upon top of the small, sloping hill. You whipped your head around, seeing no walkers close behind you as you let out a sigh of relief, before following Daryl who walked close to you, aiming his crossbow at the wooden house that seemed sturdy. Daryl kept shifting his gaze between the cabin and turning to spare you a glance every few moments to ensure you were safe. Once you reached the front door, Daryl gave you a knowing look, communicating just with his eyes that he would go in first to make sure it was safe,

You nodded at him as you shifted your knife into a firmer grip and an attacking stance. He stuck his three fingers up, signalling a ‘1,2,3’ motion. Once his final finger went down, Daryl kicked the front door in with his dark, black boot as dust floated around the room from the force. You stepped behind him as he scoped the room, moving swiftly on his feet as you watched. Once Daryl had established that there were no immediate threats, he moved to shut the door behind both of you and locking it swiftly. For extra protection from the horde of walkers nearby that could happen upon their safe haven for the night, Daryl grunted as he pushed a large chest of drawers to barricade the door. You eyed the surprisingly intact, dark furniture that accumulated plenty of dust in its time as Daryl checked the small kitchenette and the bedroom for people, or walkers. As Daryl scoured the place, you strolled towards the worn couch, extending your hand to trace a finger delicately over the fabric. Strangely, much of the previous owner's belongings and furnishings still lay upon the mantelpiece and the small, wooden coffee table in the middle of the quaint living room that consisted of a couch and an armchair, the room adorned with miscellaneous ornaments,

You smiled as you gazed upon the room, taking in the lobsided painting that was hung on the wall. Suddenly, Daryl emerged from the room, his crossbow lowered at his side now as you looked towards him now. "'S all clear," he muttered as you smiled at him gratefully. Whether you liked it or not, Daryl would always take on the leader and protector role when things would go wrong, especially when you were present, which you hadn't really noticed or cared to mind why. "I'm starving. I wonder if they've got anything in there," you beamed as you made your way to the kitchen. You were halted in your steps by the sound of walkers growling coming closer to the cabin. Your heart beat a little faster as you eyed the walkers stumbling towards the house, though there were only a few. "Guess we're holing up in here for the night," Daryl reasoned as you turned to look at him, both of you exchanging a slight smile, not minding much about the predicament. You only hoped the rest of the group had managed to find their own refuge for the night. Seeing as some of them had followed you and Daryl to the cabin, you figured that it had taken the attention off of your friends,

You breathed a loud sigh from all the running as you took off your jacket, throwing it lazily on the couch as you strolled to the kitchen in search of something to eat. Daryl watched you as he placed his crossbow on the ground to rest against the wall. You wasted no time, as you kneeled down, flinging things to the side as you waded through the few packets and jars. You grimaced at the fact that most of the products were gone off and rotten by now. Daryl watched you curiously as you rummaged and ransacked the cupboards as though you were a raccoon. He leaned his burly arms against the doorframe as he heard you squeal. "Finally," you yelled, with a smile, as you held up a can of soup triumphantly, the only thing that wasn't completely mouldy. Daryl rolled his eyes playfully at your easily excitable nature. “This’ll do,” you asserted as you searched the cabinet for a pot of some sorts, finding one with a broken handle but would do the job. You made your way into the living room to the fireplace as Daryl followed behind you, admiring your focus on the task,

You got to work heating the soup while Daryl readied the bedroom and ensured all the rooms in the cabin were closed off and that there were no gaps or holes in which a walker could possibly slip through. “Food’s ready,” you called out to Daryl as he heard you, coming into the living room to pull his vest off and throwing it upon the armchair. “You’d think a cabin with a pot would have a bowl. But nope,” you complained, pulling the put off the open flame to set it down on the coffee table as. Daryl flopped down on the couch, pulling is shoes off as he listened to you ramble, watching you strut into the kitchen, continuing your rant about the lack of crockery in the abandoned hut. “So I guess we’re going Lady and the Tramp on this one,” you smiled as you emerged with 2 spoons, as you flopped down next to him. “The hell is that?” Daryl grumbled at your lost reference. You scoffed in disbelief as you watched his clueless face contort in confusion,

“You never watched Lady and the Tramp? It was a movie about two dogs and there’s this one scene where they share a plate of spaghetti,” you explained as you leaned forward reaching in to the pot with your spoon and taking a spoonful into your mouth, trying to ignore the slightly bad taste it left in your mouth. “But we ain’t eatin’ spaghetti?” he grumbled, still unsure how applicable the reference was. You shook your head slightly with a laugh. “Well maybe it wasn’t the best reference,” you giggled as he let a small smile grace his usually stoic features as you both tucked in, both of you looking quite the sight sharing a pot of soup. You both guzzled the meal, the grumbling, ravenous feeling in your stomachs disappearing. Once you both finished, you fell back against the sofa in unison; full. You craned your neck to look out the window observing the darkness that had befallen. As if on cue, you let out a strained yawn. "We should probably get some rest. We can look for the others tomorrow," Daryl grumbled, noticing your tired state. You turned back around to look at him with a small, tired smile as you gave him a weak nod,

Daryl stood up from the couch, reaching out a hand to you which you took as he gently pulled you up from where you sat. "You know I really did have it back there. With the walker," you assured tiredly, as another yawn escaped you. "Yeah I know," Daryl said, slightly playful and slightly sincere, as he reached out a hand to ruffle your hair lightly as you shook your head away from his hand with a laugh. What he said was true, he knew you could handle yourself, he just didn't want you to feel like you always had to. He wanted you to know he was able to protect you, that you weren't always fending for yourself all the time. You extended your arms above your head as you stretched your body in exhaustion. "You can take the bed, I'll sleep out here on the couch. I got it ready for you earlier when I was lookin' round," Daryl murmured softly as he began to sweep the dust off the couch. You looked at him confusedly as you walked into the bedroom adjacent to the living room, observing the single bed in the corner of the room,

"Oh uh okay. Thanks," you mumbled appreciatively, watching as he flopped down on the couch, looking rather uncomfortable but it didn't seem to bother him as he placed an arm under his head in an attempt to alleviate the feeling of sleeping on the flat couch, with the lack of pillows. You stared at him for a moment, before he looked up at you from his lying position. "You good?" he asked quietly, noticing that you were still standing there surprisingly, after how exhausted you were. You shook your head, shaking yourself out of your daze. "Yeah I'm fine," you rambled hurriedly, as you turned on your heel to walk into the bedroom, pulling off your shoes quickly. You looked at the bed, your heart warming at the sight of the duvet cover flat and tucked in and the pillow freshly fluffed up; Daryl's doing. You didn't want him to sleep out on the couch, knowing he'd most certainly have a strain in his back in the morning, having realized the broken springs and worn in seats of the couch when you had sat down on it to eat earlier,

You carefully pulled back the duvet cover, before climbing in, settling into the mattress as you closed your eyes, trying to force yourself asleep. You tossed around to the other side, bed creaking as you did, struggling to find a comfortable position to sleep in. You sighed loudly, trying to fall asleep desperately but to no avail. After ten minutes of trying to sleep and deliberating furiously, you stood from the bed, walking slowly to the doorframe, looking at Daryl's form in the same position as you had left him in, though there was hardly much room on the cramped couch to move much. You twiddled your fingers nervously, not wanting to wake him, but you knew you were never going to fall asleep otherwise. Even in the prison, you and Daryl had shared a cell, him on the bottom bunk and you on the top, and it comforted you endlessly. You bit your lip anxiously, as you contemplated what to do. Eventually, you took a deep breath,

"Daryl?" you whispered expectantly, waiting for a response, but he didn't hear you. With soft, quiet steps, you walked closer to the couch to stand next to him now. "Daryl," you said softly, a little louder than your previous call. Daryl's eyes opened slowly, but shot open when he saw you standing above him, tensing before seeing the familiar face. "Jesus girl. Y' scared me," he mumbled tiredly, and your heart sunk at the thought of waking him from a deep slumber, having presumed he had only just fallen asleep given the fact that it had only been ten minutes. At the sight of your nervous state, he sat up on the couch. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, as you fiddled with the sleeve of your flannel. "I uh I was wondering if you could stay in the room with me? I can't sleep," you asked defeatedly, a touch of pleading in your voice. Daryl didn't hesitate for a moment, nodding in understanding as he stood from the couch, following you into the bedroom as you walked behind him slightly embarrassed,

Daryl began to look in the wardrobe and you watched him, perplexed. "What are you looking for?" you asked softly as he turned at the sound of your voice, before turning back to search. "Lookin' for something I can put on the floor," he replied quietly as he rummaged. At the realization at what he was doing, all of your nerves subsided. "Daryl, you are not sleeping on the floor," you stated seriously as he shrugged his shoulders. "I don' mind," he stated coolly, as his back remained facing you. "Well I mind," you refuted clearly, refusing to let him sleep on the floor. When he didn't halt his search, you spoke louder. "Daryl Dixon. If you sleep on the floor, I will slip out and leave this cabin by myself in the middle of the night without telling you," you argued seriously as he turned slowly to look at you with a raised eyebrow, not believing you for a second, knowing you'd never be able to leave him alone with the way your conscience worked. He smirked amusedly, as he didn't fight back, only looking at the small single bed, wondering how you were both going to fit in,

"Fine," he whispered as he climbed into the bed, lying flat on his back as you stood in slight disbelief at his lack of bickering back, before climbing in next to him, tensing your body so that you wouldn't fall off the side of the bed. You both lay there silently, not daring to even breathe too loud. After a few moments of silence and uncomfortable positions for the both of you, you spoke finally. "Do you wanna-" "Yeah," he blurted out, both of you knowing you couldn't sleep like this for fear either of you would tumble to the floor in the night. You both began to move around, both lying on your sides now. "Is it okay if i uh," Daryl murmured, slightly timid, as he ghosted his arm over you. "Yeah sure," you answered quickly, as he heard your confirmation, wrapping his arm around your waist softly, both of you facing the same way now, in a much more safe position. You felt the tenseness of his arm against your hip, and rested your arm atop his, using your fingers to rub circles on his hand, as you felt no recoil from him, knowing he was comfortable with you doing it,

You leaned your back against his chest slightly, enjoying the warmth that emanated from him, and the faint rumbling of his breath vibrating against your back. Daryl lay still for a moment, before deciding to reciprocate your movement, leaning down to rest his chin on the top of your head softly, and pulling you closer to him by his grip on your waist which made you blush ever so slightly. Your breathing had both calmed down as you both closed your eyes. "Thank you Daryl," you whispered gratefully, as he let out a small scoff. "You don' ever gotta thank me. Not for anythin'," he replied tenderly, meaning every word as you smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Whoever lived here must've enjoyed their space. Living alone in a cabin in the middle of the woods," you said nonchalantly, "sounds like something you'd like." You smiled when you said it, knowing how much Daryl enjoyed his solitude. "Not anymore," he murmured into the silence, the sound of crickets outside and faint howling of wind bringing you comfort. "Not since.. nevermind," Daryl trailed off, so quiet, you mightn't have heard it; but you did,

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned in his arms to lay on your side, facing him now, watching as his eyes attempted to avert your gaze, making you slightly nervous and what the matter was. "Not since what?" you questioned delicately, gazing at him curiously. Daryl didn't say anything for a moment, before meeting your gaze, sighing slightly, knowing you were never going to let up by the eager glint in your orbs staring up at him. "Not since I met you," he answered honestly, avoiding your eyes once again as your eyes widened slightly at the confession, before you smiled widely, your heart warming. "Really?" you asked, giving him time to retract his statement if he needed to; but he didn't. His nerves were eased at the sound of joy in your tone of voice, calming Daryl, unsure of how you were going t take his admission. "Yeah really," he said gruffly with a small smile, as you both looked into one another's eyes now, communicating all you needed to know in that one glance. Daryl mulled over his thought for a moment, before finally acting on them,

Daryl leaned down to brush his lips against yours softly as your heart beat faster at the gesture, being stunned momentarily, before reciprocating the kiss, placing your hand on his cheek tenderly, deepening the kiss as his arm around your waist pulled you closer, his hand traveling up the small of your back, once again drawing you impossibly nearer to his frame. After a few moments, you both pulled away slowly, as you let out a small laugh at what had just happened. "I wish we could just stay here," Daryl mumbled, as you leaned your forehead against his, hugging him. "Someday we'll live in our little cabin in the woods just like this," you beamed as you hummed in approval. "With a bigger bed," he mumbled tiredly, through closed eyes as you closed yours too, laughing lightly. "Someday," you whispered as you both fell asleep comfortably in one another's embrace

SORRY FOR MY INACTIVITY LATELY!!! HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR IT <3 ILL BE WRITING MORE OVER THE NEXT WHILE AND GETTING THROUGH MY REQUESTS SO SIT TIGHT

TAGLIST: @carlgrimeskisser @fallinqshade

[scaranation]

Hello! I love your work and would like to request something.

Dottore with a S/O who loves baking and reader would always ask Dottore's clones if they would like to taste test her baking? Also reader owns a bakery shop in Shneznaya if possible as well. Have a good day and remember to take care of yourself :)

ahh thank you for this soft Dottore literally has my heart anyway I hope you enjoy !

༊*·˚ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓

Pairing: Dottore x GN!reader

Content: fluff, drabble (oneshot)

You and Dottore had met when he’d placed an order at a random bakery on a whim, hoping for a hit of sugar after a long work day.

He’d continued to entertain you however, quickly becoming infatuated - and soon, you’d gone from exchanging pastries to exchanging vows.

The harbinger wasn’t necessarily bad at baking - rather, he preferred to watch you do it. To him, you simply looked so pretty with your focused expression.

Dottore was the type to mess up simple tasks on purpose sometimes just to make you correct him - oh no, he can’t use a rolling pin? Guess you’ll have to hold his hands and show him.

Dottore would spare no expense for you, and that included his clones. When he wasn’t there to spend afternoons baking with you, he made sure his segments adhered to your every demand.

The harbinger who struck fear into the hearts of countless innocents, preyed on the weak, and could sent people running with his name alone was standing in your kitchen. Well, multiple copies of him - all neatly lined up dressed in pink aprons with varying levels of eagerness.

“This is emasculating.” A younger segment complained, grumbling as he stared back at you.

“Masculinity is a social construct.” An older Dottore retorted, crossing his arms.

That was the thing with your lover’s clones - the younger versions were more impulsive, irritable and egotistical, whilst the older ones were much more agreeable. Especially when you’d assembled them for a baking project whilst the original Dottore was out on a mission.

“So, what did you summon us for?” Dottore’s eldest segment turned to you, adjusting the apron’s fit around his neck.

“I’m going to bake a korolevskiy cake for Zandik’s return, but I also need to continue serving customers. I’m short on staff at the moment, so…” You mumbled.

“Using us as free labour now…?” A younger Dottore snapped, but he was already rolling up his sleeves and striding to the sink to wash his hands. You smiled. Just like your husband, his variants had never been able to refuse your requests.

“I’ve laid out all the ingredients on the counter. I just need someone to whisk the eggs and sugar for now whilst I man the counter.” You gestured around the kitchen, before walking out into the front area of the bakery where a few customers were already waiting.

Running a bakery was therapeutic. Surrounded by the smell of flour, each idyllic day passed simply baking and conversing pleasantly with customers - usually regulars whom you’d gotten to know personally. As one of the few surviving shops in this particular district of Snezhnaya, it also helped that your partner happened to be a Fatui harbinger, meaning your bakery was protected at all times.

Often, Dottore’s clones would drop by under the pretence of ‘orders’ from him to check on you, but you always had a few extra pastries set aside for when they inevitably came in search of food. Of course, your lover himself also visited whenever he could within his schedule - although his presence usually scared off the other patrons.

After serving a few more customers, you ducked back into the kitchen to find the clones furiously huddled around a bowl, arguing.

“Why the fuck did you add the flour? We were only meant to whisk the eggs and sugar!”

“I thought the flour was the sugar, dammit!”

“It seems the Doctor forgot to give you eyes when you were created.”

“And he forgot to give you intelligence.”

You almost laughed at their tense expressions - this was likely the most focused they’d ever been. You doubted they even took their own Fatui duties as seriously, their lips now pressed into identical grim lines as they noticed your presence and panicked.

“We didn’t mean to mess it up, we swear.” One clone confessed.

“It’s alright, I was going to get you to add it anyway. Now we just need to add in the sour cream, vanilla, and baking soda.” You glanced briefly at the bowl’s contents to find it well-mixed. If the clones seemed to lack brain cells in the presence of you and each other, they certainly didn’t lack physical prowess - the sugar, flour and eggs had been whisked to a standard you doubted even Fontaine’s mechanical contraptions could match.

The clones heaved a sigh of relief at realising they hadn’t messed up your baking, and were eager to help the rest of the process, although you still had to dart between the counter and the kitchen before you finally closed your shop in the late afternoon. By this point, all the cake layers had been finished - all that was left was the assembling. You alternated between the chocolate and white layers, carefully finishing it with an extra buttercream layer.

You didn’t even notice the clones vacating the kitchen and a set of familiar footsteps returning as you fastened a cake ring around the base layer, nor did you feel the presence of the man leaning against the doorway as you placed the cake into the fridge.

“Did you miss me?” Dottore shedded his mask and placed it on the table, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as his hands found their way around your waist.

“When did you arrive? I was expecting you tomorrow.” You almost dropped the cake in surprise, turning your head to offer him a lazy kiss.

“I just couldn’t wait to see you, my love.” Your husband pressed you closer against him and chuckled at your flustered expression.

“Your cake isn’t finished yet.” You whined, although you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck regardless.

“How were my clones? Were they better baking assistants than me?” Dottore smiled.

“Nobody could be better than you.” You laughed.

“Of course.” The harbinger replied, although his gaze trailed down your face. Dottore leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek, where you realised there had been buttercream. He licked it, ignoring your embarrassed hits at his chest.

“Sweet.” He smirked, and you swore you fell for him again.

How unusual the two of you were, a baker and a harbinger - and yet somehow, it simply seemed to work.

[thegreymoon]

The Story of Minglan

Bitch, you just tried to strangle your daughter. What maternal instinct?

And the only reason you took your son when you abandoned her was because you thought you could get more money for him.

***

OH MY GOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDD 🤬🤬

THIS REPULSIVE PETTY PIECE OF SHIT WASTE OF AIR!!

Seriously, I despise him more than Manniang!

My guy, quit while you're ahead! You lost the girl because you were spineless. Get over it and stop embarrassing yourself! 🤬🤬

***

LMAO, what else is he supposed to do?

Let's say it's been four or five years since Manniang ran off. This child was two at most at the time. He would be six or seven now. What are you talking about? That is still a whole baby!

I love (and by love, I mean hate) how disposable children are in this society unless they are sons anchoring their mother's position in their respective households.

***

Oh, shut the fuck up, you bitter, pathetic loser.

***

Drag him, Tingye!

I am so sick and tired of his bullshit.

***

NOOOO, BUT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, HE IS THE MAIN CHARACTER OF THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE!

OF COURSE, MINGLAN WAS SUPPOSED TO WAIT UNTIL RETIREMENT FOR HIM TO GET HIS SHIT TOGETHER AND SUFFER ALL KINDS OF INDIGNITIES IN THE MEANTIME!

HOW DARE SHE NOT BUILD A SHRINE TO HIS ESTEEMED PERSON AND PUT HER ENTIRE LIFE ON HOLD SO THAT HE CAN FEEL IMPORTANT?

With all that said, this actor is beyond fantastic, I can see why people are obsessed with him. I hope to watch him in a more sympathetic role next time.

***

LMAO, look at the pot calling the kettle black 🤣🤣

I cannot with this loser of a man.

***

If he had not been born rich, he would have been the founding father of the incel movement, blaming every man with even a semblance of a spine on his inability to fuck.

***

Oh, sure, it was for the government 🙄🙄

Your jealousy is palpable. You can't even convince yourself.

***

LMAO, what the fuck.

This is a dead child you're talking about! Your child! And you are mad you cannot get money and status because of him?

***

She's right, though, she did make the biggest fool out of him.

***

Good for you for slapping her, Minglan!

I've been waiting for someone to do it for ages now.

In fact, so many people in this drama deserve slapping. It's about time you got started on that.

***

Aww, he found his dead baby 😢

***

Wait, that's all?

THAT'S ALL??

WE DO NOT EVEN GET A BEHEADING 😭😭

Not only does her sorry ass not get punished in any way, he will continue to provide for her for the rest of her life. Sure, she will not be living in a manor in luxury as his wife, but she will have a roof over he head and food to eat, plus he will have to employ people in the middle of nowhere to make sure she doesn't go causing trouble again.

She should be in prison instead. Or in some hard labour colony, which I'm sure there are plenty of in Song Dynasty China. OR BEHEADED!!

And what about his maternal Bai relatives? Do they at least get arrested/exiled/beheaded? They have been REPEATEDLY trying to kill him for YEARS!

I am very disappointed with this resolution.

***

Well, I am glad this is over.

Honestly, as far as I am concerned, this whole Manniang subplot has been a huge blight on this otherwise excellent show and a black stain on Gu Tingye as a character. Big thanks to @ruizhi for filling me in on the details from the novel so that I can understand the writing decisions here better. Obviously, I realise that I am in the minority for disliking these decisions (and Gu Tingye as a character) because from what I have seen, he is a firm favourite among the people who watched this drama and everyone is on board with this sanitised version of his character arc.

I have to be honest, if they had kept his harem from the novel, I probably would not have touched this with a ten-foot pole, because I freely admit that I watch c-dramas for the pretty people and idealised romance. I also know that this would have made Gu Tingye more realistic and thus harder to project on, which is ironic because my complaints here are the lack of realism and easy ways out since they decided to include his other women in the drama too. Harem stories depress and infuriate me and I do not watch them unless there are very compelling reasons for me to pick them up, so out of a couple of hundred dramas on my to-watch list, this one would probably not have made it to the top if it had been closer to the source material.

Even as it is, all this is precisely why I put off watching Minglan for the longest time. I knew it had polygamy at its core and this made me disinclined to start it, even though it was warmly recommended by many people in whose good taste I trust. I eventually only started watching because a c-drama friend of mine told me that there is no harem here and that Minglan and Tingye were monogamous and ride-or-die for each other, so Manniang showing up early on was an extremely nasty surprise.

With that said, now that I am here already and very invested in this story, I've long since come to terms with the fact that romance is not the main focus of this show and adjusted my expectations. I am really enjoying it for what it is, which is a family drama focused on women's struggle and suffering in this hell system that they must learn to navigate or die destitute, which is why I am especially irked by this cheap trickery they are employing to make Gu Tingye's and Minglan's relationship more "clean" than it actually is. You cannot have it both ways. Either these characters are realistic people of their time or they are not. Either you are sticking to the book version of them in the adaptation or you are not. But these cake-eating writers (as in wanting their cake and eating it too) definitely tried to get away with both and ended up with huge inconsistencies in their story that irritated me enough to sit down and write this entire screed.

Like I said in my comments on my previous Minglan post, this is the exact thing that made TTEOTM unwatchable for me and landed it on the list of the worst dramas I ever subjected myself to, despite my unceasing obsession with Luo Yunxi. Obviously, I am feeling this on a lesser level with Gu Tingye, because overall, the writing of Minglan committed fewer crimes than TTEOM and remains solid on all other fronts, so I am still invested in the story overall, him as a character and him and Minglan as a couple, but the writers here are just as much cake eaters as the writers on TTEOTM. They looked at this bad boy who worked for a story in another medium precisely because he was morally compromised in some way, wanted that for themselves, but then could not or would not follow through, either because they feared they would alienate a big portion of their audience, or because the Chinese censorship board wouldn't let them get away with it. Then they did this ridiculous thing where they tried going, "Yeah, he's bad, but he's not really! He was set up! It was a misunderstanding!" And ended up blowing a giant hole in their whole story.

If they didn't want to explore Gu Tingye as a man of his time making the same selfish decisions as other men of that time, then they should not have had him acting like one. They should have had a logical and consistent reason why he didn't keep mistresses and concubines (such as, idk, seeing his mother suffer or something) and not introduce Manniang in the first place. What was the point of her in the plotline if we were not going to see him and Minglan make the hard decisions, either to treat his illegitimate offspring as lower-class citizens so that her biological kids could be afforded all the privileges of their rank (which would obviously not sit right with the modern audience), or go with the modern moral code that the show wants them to have and deny Minglan's bio kids by treating all the children equally (which could have been done legally if Minglan was to adopt them, but of course, she was never going to do that)? If you never intended to go there, then why bring in Manniang and her kids in the first place?

In my opinion, if they wanted Gu Tingye untarnished in this way and his love with Minglan unburdened with the baggage of other women and stepkids, they should never have kept Manniang in the adaptation. Once they brought her in, there was no stuffing that genie back into the bottle. The shadow of book!Tingye has been around since the adult actors took over and it is not even the non-monogamy that is an issue for me now, but the character inconsistency and the extremely cheap sleight of hand that they pulled in an attempt to smooth it over.

Here is the thing. Every time I start on a story, be it a book, movie, drama, or whatever, there is a certain premise that it promises to fulfil, which comes with the expectations and limitations of the genre. I adjust my standards accordingly, so if I sit down to watch a fluffy romcom with a young, naive intern falling in love with the son of CEO, then I will judge it on how funny it is and whether the main couple is hot enough and has enough chemistry to keep me invested till the end. I am not going to be particularly worried about the power imbalance and the IRL implications of such a setup, my main concern will be if the main couple look like they are having good enough sex and if I can shoehorn my own escapist fantasy into that dynamic. However, if I start a show that deals with misogyny, patriarchy and sexual harassment of women in the workplace, then you cannot dump the privileged son of the CEO into a relationship with the main heroine and expect me to root for it, unless he is right there beside her, taking his father to court for abuse of power and dismantling the system from within. This is, IMO, what this drama failed to do with Gu Tingye. You cannot promise me a Xiao Qi and deliver a Sheng Hong with the serial numbers filed off.

Based on what I've heard and read about the original novel, book!Tingye is not that much better than Sheng Hong. He had multiple women and illegitimate children that he was playing favourites with based on their birth and rank. He sabotaged his older son and indirectly caused his death so that Minglan's children would not have competition. His daughter by Manniang was just as traumatised as Minglan. He had concubines, who were also technically wives with no way out of a hell marriage, whom he then discarded when it was convenient for him. The only reason this marriage was a victory for Minglan is that she was now the favoured wife with the highest rank, thus her circumstances in life dramatically improved. I understand why they didn't want to portray this to a wider audience, and that doing so would have seriously dented Feng Shaofeng's reputation as a heartthrob in the c-ent industry, but then they shouldn't have opened that can of worms to begin with.

I feel like they should have cut the Manniang storyline completely if they weren't going to do it properly, or, idk, had her go off the deep end much earlier and kill her kids off before he got with Minglan. That could have been used as a catalyst for his change, having him go, "That's it! No more mistresses and concubines for me!" Then we could have seen the rest of it play out as it did (minus Manniang) with a REASON, with his family pressuring him to take in a wife and concubines, him saying no, then falling in love with Minglan and moving on from there naturally and giving us a clean, idealised romance that is not typical for their time.

However, once they brought in Manniang but did not bring in all the nasty stuff implied with him having a kept woman and illegitimate children, they shot themselves in the foot because now Gu Tingye's character was in conflict with the story's internal logic. We have seen how this world functions, we have seen how concubines and the children of concubines are treated. Naturally, once they introduced Manniang and her kids (but especially her son), we were expecting to see exactly what happened in the novel, because this is the premise of the story and the laws by which the world it is set in is governed. The fact that this didn't happen did not make me sigh in relief and think of Gu Tingye as a good guy, it made me question why the story never went there. The cowardly shortcuts out of this predicament and the cheap trickery the writers used to avoid it made me feel like the story was "lying" to me, which is maybe a ridiculous word to use because this whole thing is fiction and therefore a lie. But I could no longer suspend my disbelief, immerse myself in the narrative and root for these characters. Suddenly, they felt fake.

Also, I feel downright insulted by these writing choices.

"Yeah, Gu Tingye had another woman but that's OK because she was actually evil so she doesn't count and he was right to abandon her and have his true romance with Minglan! 😀"

"Yeah, he had a son that he would have had to have been grossly unfair to or not have Minglan's kids get the full extent of their privilege of rank, but that's OK, because the kid just conveniently died! 😀"

"Yeah, his daughter should be traumatised in a hundred different ways from having such a biological mother and dealing with the inferiority complex from growing up right next to Minglan's legitimate children and knowing that in the eyes of society and her own father, she is lesser than them, but don't worry, that's OK, because we are making her suuuuuuuper well adjusted! 😀"

"Yeah, if Chang'er had lived, the audience would have been forced to confront the fact that Gu Tingye was very much a man of his time and that Minglan was also no benevolent saint and that they would have treated children that are not biologically hers as second-class citizens, just like Sheng Hong and Wang Ruofu did in the Sheng household! But that's OK, we'll just kill his illegitimate firstborn son so that you don't have to think about that! 😀"

As a character, Gu Tingye feels so disingenuous because of these shortcuts the writers took to scapegoat Manniang and absolve him of the consequences of being just like the other men in this drama. Would he have been an idealised c-drama hero that girls could pin their fantasies on if they had kept his novel characterisation? Absolutely not. They made him more attractive and palatable to a wider, modern, likely younger-leaning audience at the cost of the story's internal logic, plot coherency and character consistency, and that, for me, is a much bigger writing crime than him having a harem and treating his illegitimate children as lesser-than.

Again, this is an adaptation and nobody put a gun to their heads and forced them to include Manniang. If they had wanted Gu Tingye untarnished and idealised, they should have handled her differently. They cannot have it both ways.

With that said, I realise that I am in the minority here because most viewers were obviously very happy to let this slide (just like they were with TTEOTM). Again, most viewers will not agree with me on Gu Tingye because he is obviously a favourite ML for many, but for me personally, the overall drama loses lots of points on him, especially because of Manniang.

In any case, there are still more than twenty episodes left here for me, so onwards and forward to better plot points and character arcs! 😅

[acti-veg]

i genuinely feel like it’s impossible to be an ethical person without sacrificing pretty much everything which gives me any joy

i went vegan, but now i just keep seeing how i fall short in so many other ways. it seems like everything i previously enjoyed has to be boycotted. everything is problematic in some way.

I don't feel like 'ethical' is a thing anyone actually just achieves and becomes 'an ethical person' one day by being nice enough and boycotting enough companies; it's something we have to strive for. I agree with Aristotle that virtue is a skill, it's not something you just are, it's something you have to constantly practice and that won't always be easy. That is made all the more difficult by capitalism.

Whatever you want to buy that will give you joy that you know is harmful, consider whether there is a more ethical version. Can you buy it second hand? Is there a more ethical company selling the same thing? Can you replace it with something else? You can't deny yourself every pleasure, but if something that brings you joy is inherently harmful you can choose to examine whether or not you actually need it to feel happy, and if you really do, how you can mitigate at least some of that harm. It's about choosing your battles.

I can't not eat any vegetables or grains without a severe health impact for example, and I can't afford to buy everything locally and I can't grow it all myself, so I buy it from the supermarket, knowing that much of it will have been farmed in environmentally destructive ways using unfair labour practices. People who aren't even trying will bring that up as a reason why veganism isn't ethical, but it's a lot better than consuming that unethical produce alongside animal products, which require even more of that exact produce.

I can't be completely cruelty free but I can relatively easily boycott animal products, and I can pay for the extra 15% on coffee, chocolate and bananas to buy Fair Trade. There is just about no smartphone or computer that does what I need it to do that is also ethical, but I can buy them refurbished instead of new. I can boycott particularly harmful companies, while knowing that what I replace their products with won't be ethically perfect either - just better. None of these are hugely commendable acts or difficult sacrifices, but it all helps.

Being vegan does not make you a good person, it's just one stance on one particular issue, which is the exploitation of animals. I oppose exploiting animals and refusing to purchase products which engage in that exploitation is accessible to me, and so I do it. It's that simple. Plenty of my other purchases aren't ethical and neither will yours be, because a lifestyle free from any and all harm is not possible under capitalism.

So long as you're doing your best that's really all anyone can expect. We're going to pass through this world just once, so we should enjoy it while trying to leave our small corner of it a little better off than it was before we got there. Being kind to one another and living a good life may not always be easy, but its also not some great burden that robs you of any joy. It is the entire point of living.

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Mosaic - "N.B.E.-ONE"

Earliest evidence posted on September 11th, 2007

Story - Matthew Simon Hessey Script, Colours, Letters - wadapan Art - Jeffrey Witty Edits - Mary Canada

deviantART

wada sez: Jeffrey Witty had shared his art process for this one on deviantART, but for whatever reason, the strip was never colored or lettered. I got in touch with Jeffrey to see if he could provide me the original script—and as it happened, he still had it! The story was clearly inspired by Simon Furman’s work on the Transformers: Movie Prequel comic series from IDW, but I felt like Hessey’s script itself did little more than recap the events we already know from that comic and from the film itself. As a huge fan of the first live-action movie with strong opinions on Megatron’s character, seeing as I’d be spending so much time coloring and lettering the strip, I decided I wanted to write my own version of the strip. I know that’s very cheeky of me, but after two years of working on this archive, I felt like I could have a little bit of archival misconduct as a treat. Of course, I’ve also lettered up Matthew’s original script, so you can read that version below as well and compare for yourself—which do you prefer? And after that, stay tuned for a full process breakdown and a much more in-depth commentary on the choices I made!

PANEL 1: (MEGATRON IS FALLING THROUGH THE ICE, SIMILAR PICTURE TO THE ONE OF HIM FALLING THROUGH THE ICE IN THE MOVIE PREQUEL COMIC) TEXT BOX (GREY): I am Megatron, leader of The Decepticons. I arrived on this pitiful planet in search of the Allspark millennia ago, but was denied at the last possible moment. Megatron: No! Not when I was so close! PANEL 2: (MEGATRON IS IN THE WATER, REACHING FOR THE HOLE IN THE ICE DESPERATELY) TEXT BOX (GREY): Upon my landing, the ground collapsed beneath my feet and I plunged into the icy cold liquid below, causing most of my primary systems to shut down. Leaving me only able to watch and wait as I was entombed. PANEL 3: (CLOSE UP OF THE GLASSES LYING IN THE ICE WITH THE ALLSPARK SYMBOLS ON IT) TEXT BOX (GREY): That is, until I was discovered by a biological entity. Using one of my last remaining vestiges of power, I burnt the location of the Allspark onto the creature’s visual enhancement pieces. PANEL 4: (HOOVER DAM IN THE BACKGROUND WITH A TRUCK AND A TRAILER LARGE ENOUGH TO CONTAIN MEGATRON DRIVING UP TO IT) TEXT BOX (GREY): I was moved between laboratories as these ‘humans’ experimented on me to allow their own pitiful understanding of technology to advance. But, eventually I came to be stored in a place known as ‘The Hoover Dam’. PANEL 5: (PICTURE OF THE ALLSPARK IN HOOVER DAM) TEXT BOX (GREY): It was here that for the first time in millennia I felt the call of the Allspark, it was so close that I could almost smell it, touch it even. Yet I was powerless to do anything about it. PANEL 6: (CLOSE UP ON MEGATRON’S FACE, WITH BRIGHT RED GLOWING EYES) TEXT BOX (GREY): But now, I feel my power slowly, but steadily, returning to me. Soon I will be free. Soon I will have the Allspark. And soon I shall have my revenge.

wada sez:

Whew, it’s so refreshing to step outside the confines of my usual single-paragraph commentary! This was a labour of love for me, inspired by Terry van Feleday’s singular opus of cinematic analysis, “I actually kind of appreciate the Transformers movies.” The essay on the first movie, towards its end, veers into straightup fanfiction, providing a very interesting interpretation of Megatron’s inner thoughts during his cryogenic sleep. I’ve mirrored the segment in question at the very end of this post; hopefully you can see how it formed the basis for my script.

The central conceit of van Feleday’s reading is that the cry of “I am Megatron!”, spoken in plain English, is actually addressed to the humans, a declaration of self-actualization following decades of callous dissection. In my script, I incorporate Hessey’s title into the strip diegetically, as one of many radio transmissions overheard by Megatron during his imprisonment. I wanted to gather all the epithets I could think of from the movie and its ancillary material, to build up a picture of how the humans view this impossible creature. I actually started out with way more, and pared it back because I felt it was cluttering the artwork too much!

It felt important to me to lean into the horror of Megatron’s paralysis, and to express that horror in a uniquely mechanical way. I also wanted to stay true to what I viewed as the core emotion of Hessey’s script—namely, the feeling of being so close to accomplishing a goal, yet being utterly powerless to do so.

The film implies that the AllSpark’s coordinates being seared onto Archibald Witwicky’s glasses is something that happens unconsciously, but Terry van Feleday instead interprets it as a deliberate attempt at communication on Megatron’s part.

I liked the idea of portraying this relationship between Megatron and the scientists, where they are unknowingly creating this horrific impression of human nature. With that interpretation in mind, Megatron’s characterisation after awakening in the film reads less menacingly, and honestly much more favourable towards the human characters such as Sam. I think that’s the real power of transformative works, to recontextualise an existing story and allow you to view it through a new lens.

In the final panel, I had to cheat a little with the script; obviously, the intention is that Megatron is frozen, which is why we have this extreme closeup; the omission of his mouth literally depicts him as a mute. I wanted to recontextualize the panel as being the exact moment where he’s breaking free, speaking for the first time on this planet. I hope you found it effective.

As for the colours... the first thing I wanted to point out was that Jeffrey appears to have inadvertently horizontally squished his art while inking it! Still, this was the highest-resolution version of the art, so I just rolled with it. So if you noticed that the cube in particular is very malproportioned, well, now you know why!

 I deliberately used very different tones between the left and the right columns, to help guide the reader’s eye down the page first; the lettering also straddles the panels to help in this respect. I do like Jeffrey’s composition, using the full height of the page to create this feeling of falling. The second panel in particular is very simple and effective, definitely the best in the piece.

In the first panel, I initially gave Megatron much cooler hues, but I revised it once I realised it was supposed to be referencing a specific sequence from the prequel comic, where Megatron’s armor is given a white-hot glow from re-entry; it’s this which melts the ice beneath his feet.

Anyway, here’s the extract from Terry van Feleday’s essay...

Imagine you just had the worst day of your life.

Well, it wasn’t really a day. Hours and days have no meaning for you. You have lived far too long to follow such microscopic temporal distinctions. You built an empire, and lived to see it dying. What can a day matter? A year?

How about a thousand?

Your planet was dying. Your species was dying. What can a king do, when his children are dying because there is nothing to eat? You knew the answer: The Allspark. You hung onto that fairy tale even as your followers declared it absurd, taking off immediately, all alone, as soon as there was a sign of it. No delays; Without the Allspark, everything you ever knew and loved would slowly wither away and die. And all you needed to do was move to a completely insignificant planet it found itself drawn to and pick it up. You would be more than a leader, you would be a hero, a savior. There would be no more need for war, no more fear of death and hunger, and no more dying younglings.

And then everything went wrong.

The moment still constantly plays before your eyes. You break into the planet’s atmosphere, and it nearly destroys your sensors. That vivid feeling of total disorientation, the hard, sudden impact, and the cold darkness that closed around you as the cavern froze around your unmoving body. You weren’t ready to die. You thought back to your planet, your people – you still had to save them. Had to. What would they do without you? The people saw their leader off, promising them to bring back utopia. Knowing you wouldn’t return would shatter their morale completely.

The years start piling on. You try to move, try to melt the ice, try to do anything, but the world only seems to become colder around you. Ten years. Fifty years. Five hundred years. Unable to move, with only your own thoughts and worries to give you company. Your mind can’t take it, and your sanity falls apart. Everything you thought and wished for slowly shatters into pieces, leaving only hate and chaos behind. Eight hundred years. Thousand years. After a while, you simply stop counting.

Then you hear a crash from the ceiling.

Through your delusional fever dreams, you aren’t sure if it is real or not, or what is truly happening. A tiny creature descends upon you, clearly primitive, shouting in rough, poorly-coordinated language, but perhaps not too dissimilar to you. You failed to bring the cube to your people – but maybe, maybe there is some slight chance that he can. So you tell him where he can find it, the only way you can right now. You rest a bit more easy. Perhaps it is time to rest after all.

But, more small creatures start filling your cavern. They begin chopping away at the ice that binds you, clumsily, but surely. They want to free you. For the first time in millennia, you feel just that little bit more warm - finally you will be able to return, to not be a useless statue, but the great hero you were destined to be. Your silent cheer fills your own head as the humans, as they call themselves, with great difficulty, raise you out of the cavern and put you onto a transport.

They seem bewildered with you. Curious. A little too curious, perhaps. As grateful as you are, you have a mission to attend to, and they will only get in the way. You are defrosted enough to stand up.

Panicked shouting erupts among the small ones. It seems they hadn’t expected you to still be alive. You notice too late the all-too-familiar cold creeping up your body, and suddenly you cannot move again. They froze you!

Burning rage fills your heart. What do they think they’re doing!? They lock you underground again, and, to your horror, begin to force parts of your body open, dissecting you alive.

You start picking up on their language, and slowly begin to understand what they’re saying. They’re just using you to expand their technology. These primitive insects have attached themselves to you like filthy parasites, using your suffering to create for themselves more meaningless conveniences. You should be their god. You wanted to save your own kind, but instead, you are treated like a chunk of garbage. And as a final injustice, the insult to the injury, they did not even treat you to a proper name.

Needless to say, as soon as you are free, someone will pay.

[ariel-seagull-wings]

ANPU AND BATA

@themousefromfantasyland @the-blue-fairie @the-gentile-folklorist @adarkrainbow @tamisdava2 @princesssarisa @softlytowardthesun @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @professorlehnsherr-almashy

(The tale of Anpu and Bata, found in an Ancient Egyptian papyrus manuscript, is more than three thousand years old, and is regarded as the oldest story that has come down to us in writing. It may well have been an ancient tradition even then. One of the most interesting things about it is that elements found in tales all over the world ever since are contained in it. The first part has a parallel in the Biblical story of Joseph and the Wife of Potiphar. The core of the story – the life-token indicating death and the ‘separable soul’ – occurs in over eight hundred versions in Europe alone, and the reciters are unlikely to know that they are part of a line of transmission from the Nineteenth Dynasty of Pharaonic Egypt. The story is sometimes found, conflated with all or much of the Perseus and Andromeda myth, associated with the exploits of a dragon-slayer, which is encountered in almost every country in the world. The crumbling papyrus roll, in the British Museum, contains a message from the original scribe, a threat to those who might abuse it, which is similar to those found on Eastern manuscripts even today: ‘Excellently finished in peace for the Ka of the scribe of the Treasury Kagabu, of the Treasury of Pharaoh. And for the Scribe Hora, and the Scribe Meramapt. Written by the Scribe Anena, the owner of this roll. He who speaks against this scroll, may Tahui smite him!’ It was the custom of Eastern kings, when pleased with a story related to them, to order it to be written down and placed in the treasury.)

Once there lived in Egypt two brothers, and they loved each other greatly. The elder had a beautiful young wife, and a fine pair of oxen for the fields. His name was Anpu, and his younger brother’s name was Bata. This young man did everything for his brother, followed him and the oxen to the fields, waited upon him like a servant, harvested the corn, tended the animals. He worked for him day and night; for his brother, in his eyes, had no equal in all the land of Egypt. Now when the time for ploughing the land arrived, the elder brother said to Bata:

‘Come with the seeds tomorrow early to the fields, for we must begin sowing, because the Nile flood has retreated from the earth and the day is propitious.’ Anpu having gone on ahead, it was left for Bata to bring the seed, so he went to the door of the house, and said to his sister-in-law, Anpu’s beautiful young wife:

‘Let me have the corn from the bin, for my brother and I need it today.’

The woman replied:

‘Come in and get it yourself, for I am busy doing my hair and I cannot drop my pins and ribbons and get the corn.’

So he went in, and helped himself to as much corn as he could carry, for he wanted to start the day of planting well, as the day was propitious. Seeing him carrying such a load, the wife of his brother said:

‘You are strong and good-looking, indeed. I had not noticed that you were so presentable before. Come, stay with me a little while here before you go to the fields, for you will both be away all day, and I shall be lonely. Give me something to remember when I am alone.’ Bata recoiled at the woman’s words, and his face darkened with rage. He said:

‘You are like a mother to me, for are you not my respected brother’s wife? I will forget what you have just spoken. Do you forget it, also.’ And he went away to the fields, trying to erase her suggestion from his mind, for she was his brother’s wife, and though beautiful, now appeared evil in his eyes. All day they laboured in the fields, and at evening Anpu and Bata returned home. They expected to find food ready as usual, when they came to the house. But there was no fire, no light, no smell of cooking. Bata went to the stable to attend to the animals, and Anpu went in to see what was the matter with his wife. She was lying huddled under the quilt, crying as if she were in pain. ‘What is the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘Has anyone been here in my absence to upset you like this?’ ‘The only one here in your absence was your wretched brother!’

She cried.

‘Ask him what is the matter with me!’ ‘But what are you saying? Has he laid hands upon you?’ Shouted the enraged husband. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I was here doing my hair when he came in for the seeds, and he said to me “Be with me a while before I go to the fields and my brother will never know” and he violated me. Oh, I cannot look at you for shame, my husband!’ So Anpu sharpened his knife, and stood outside the stable ready to kill his brother as soon as he came to join him for the evening meal. All unaware of this, the younger brother went about his tasks in the stable, when suddenly his favourite cow spoke to him:

‘Beware, Bata, your brother has sharpened his knife and is waiting to kill you behind the door. Run, do not go back to the house, or you will die.’ The young man looked out of the stable and saw his brother standing strangely still, with his knife in his hand. Fearing that he could never explain the true state of affairs to his brother, he made a hole in the mud wall of the barn and fled as fast as his feet would carry him. But the elder brother heard him running, and chased after him. The light of murder was in his eyes. So, in great fear, Bata called out:

‘Oh Great Ra Harakhiti, Mighty Lord, You are He who divides the Evil from the Good! Save me!’

And Ra answered his prayer. A mighty river sprang up between the two brothers, a river that Anpu could not cross, even if he had had a boat, for it was full of crocodiles. The elder brother was furious that he could not reach Bata to kill him, and cursed him from the other bank. But Bata called out in a loud voice to him:

‘O my brother, do not think ill of me. I cannot prove to you that I did nothing wrong, but my cow warned me, and I fled from you in fear. Why did you come to kill me before you asked me if I had done what you believed I did?’

And his brother said:

‘Tell me yourself, then, what truly happened?’

Bata answered:

‘I went to the bin to get the seed myself, for your wife told me she was doing her hair and did not wish to leave her toilette to attend to me. Then, after I had helped myself, she said I looked strong and handsome, and tempted me to stay with her for a short while, saying that you would not know. You see how the truth has been changed.’ ‘Will you swear the oath by Ra Harakhiti that what you have said is true?’

Cried the elder brother.

‘By Ra Harakhiti I swear that it is true.’

Said the younger brother, and he took his knife, and cut a piece of his flesh, and threw it into the water, and the crocodiles ate it. Then theelder brother was satisfied, and he wept for Bata and cursed his wife. He knew that he could not reach his brother, because of the crocodiles, and he stood there, putting away his knife. ‘Now we know that you have done a bad thing, trying to kill me, will you now do a good thing for me?’

Said Bata. Anpu said he would, so his brother told him,

‘I am going away to the valley of the acacia. So you go to your house, and look to your cattle. Now this is what you can do for me; my soul shall be drawn out, and put into the flower of the acacia. When the acacia is cut down, as it will be, put the flower in a glass of cold water, for my soul shall be in it. When someone gives you a glass of beer in your hand, and it is agitating in the glass, then do not stay, but go and find the flower, even if you search for seven years, and put it in the water. Farewell.’ Then the youth stopped speaking these strange things, and went to the valley of the acacia. His brother turned away and went back to his house, and he was angered against his wife, so he killed her in the heat of his wrath. Then he threw his knife away, and looked after his cattle and his fields himself, sorrowing for his brother. A long time after this had happened, the younger brother was living in the valley of the acacia. He had drawn out his soul, and it lived in the topmost flower of the acacia tree. He had built himself a small house in which he lived, and it was full of good things. One day, walking in the valley, he met the Nine Gods, who were going forth to look upon the whole land of Egypt. The Nine Gods were talking with each other when Bata came upon them, and they said to him, ‘O Bata, Bull of the Nine Gods, why are you walking alone? Your brother has slain his wife, and all is level between you. His transgression is forgiven.’ Then, as Bata knelt before them, Ra Harakhiti said to Khnumu:

‘So that he will not be forever alone, make a woman for Bata, a mate for his loneliness.’

And Khnumu made a wife for him. She was more beautiful than any woman had ever been before. The seven Hathors came to see her when she was created, and they said of one accord:

‘She will die a sharp death, though the essence of every god is in her!’ All the day Bata hunted and in the evening he came back and placed all his spoils at his wife’s feet, for he loved her very much. He said to her one day:

‘Now, I must warn you, never go too near the sea, for if it should seize you, and want to carry you away, I cannot save you, for my soul is in the flower at the top of the acacia, and I have no power, other than in that flower.’ When she heard his secret she smiled, and thought about it much. Next day she went to walk beside the sea, and the sea saw her, and began to cast its waves up towards her. She took to her heels and, being frightened by the passion of the sea, ran away from it. She entered her house, and the sea called to the acacia: ‘I want to have that woman, I wish that I could take her!’ Then the acacia brought a curl from her hair which the woman had cut off while sitting under the tree, and dropped it into the water. The sea carried it to the place where the fullers washed the clothes of the Pharaoh. One of the washermen who was standing on the sand picked up the curl of hair, and it smelt so sweet that it almost took his senses away. He put it into the clothing which was being taken to the Pharaoh, and when Pharaoh smelt it he was enraptured. Where did this rare and wonderful scent come from?’

Cried Pharaoh.

‘Bring the wise men, so that they too may smell it and tell me.’ The wise men came, with their signs and portents, and told the Pharaoh:

‘The scent comes from the curl from the hair of a daughter of Ra Harakhiti; the essence of every god is in her. Send messengers to the borders of the sea, and in the valley of the acacia she will be found.’ So the Pharaoh sent many men to the valley of the acacia, and they tried to take the wife of Bata, but he killed them all. None of these men returned to the Pharaoh, and so he sent more, this time men on horseback and strong soldiers, to bring her to him. Bata had to let her go, but they did not kill him. He remained behind, under the acacia, feeling very distressed. Somehow, from his mind he tried to send a message to his brother, reminding him of what he had said to Anpu across the river of the crocodiles, the last time that he had seen him. The beautiful woman pleased the Pharaoh very much, and he gave her everything in his power. ‘Pharaoh,’ said she, after he had presented her with gold and jewels and rarest rings, ‘send men to cut down the acacia, for my husband’s soul is in the topmost flower, and I would that he were dead.’

So the men went and chopped the tree in the valley so that the topmost flower, in which was the soul of Bata, fell to the ground, and he, too, fell dead. At that very moment, someone handed Anpu, the elder brother, a glass of beer, and the liquid became agitated as he was about to drink it. He remembered what his brother had told him, all that long time ago. He got his stick and his sandals, his clothes for travelling, and set off. He travelled all day and all night, and arrived at the valley of the acacia. Then he saw that the tree had been cut down, and saw the body of his brother lying dead. He wept bitterly, and looked everywhere for the flower which contained the soul of his brother. But he could not find it. He lay down to sleep under the tree, and said to himself:

‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow I will seek it; for I will spend all the days of my life, if necessary, to find the flower.’ Next day he did not find it, but he discovered, in a crack in the earth, a seed. He put the seed in a glass of water, and it sprouted. It was soon the flower containing his brother’s soul. Within a few minutes the body of Bata shuddered under the cloth which covered it, and soon he was standing well and strong before Anpu. They embraced each other joyfully, and sat talking together for many hours. Then Bata said to his brother:

‘I am to become a great bull, by favour of the gods, and you are to get on my back. By the time the sun has risen thrice I shall be in the place where my wife makes a fool of the Pharaoh. And, when I am before the Pharaoh, you shall be taken to him, and he will give you gold and silver, and good things in return. I will be thought of by all as a great marvel, and you will return to our old village home a rich man.’

Before Anpu’s eyes he turned into a huge bull. So, the elder brother got onto his back, and within three days they were before the Pharaoh. The Pharaoh had never before seen such a fine creature, in all dominions of the Upper and the Lower Nile, so he gave many presents to the elder brother, and took Bata in his bull form to the royal stables to be looked after in great style. The gigantic bull was so tame that it was often garlanded with flowers by the royal ladies. One day when his wife, now a Princess by command of the Pharaoh, came near to him,the bull said in his human voice:

‘I am alive, and now the gods have in their wisdom caused me to be in this marvellous bull’s body.’ She was greatly affrighted, and wondered how she could get rid of her husband yet again. So she went to the Pharaoh and said:

‘My lord, I will never be happy unless I have for my illness the liver of that creature, which I am sure is fit for nothing else but to be eaten!’ So at once the Pharaoh gave orders for the animal to be slaughtered, and said:

‘Let the liver be given to the Princess, so that she will soon be well again.’ A tremendous feast was planned, and the bull was to be sacrificed to the gods. As he was being slaughtered, the bull shook two drops of blood from his shoulder wound onto the walls of the royal palace. The blood dripped from each side of the gigantic door, and where the blood soaked into the ground two Persea trees grew. They grew and grew, each day taller, and each of them was perfect in every way. A courtier went to tell the Pharaoh:

‘Lo, there are two giant trees growing, one on each side of the great door of the palace, these are propitious signs, oh Pharaoh!’

And there was much rejoicing because of these trees, and many people made offerings to them, because of their miraculous growth from the bull’s blood. The ladies of the court went out, and placed garlands of flowers around the trees, and prayed to them. When his wife came, Bata said to her from the trees, in his own voice, which she knew so well:

‘Deceitful woman, I am Bata, who you have thrice betrayed. First you went to the Pharaoh, then you had my soul-tree cut down, then you had the ox slain. Now I am in the strength of these trees. I shall never die!’ So the Princess went to the Pharaoh and said:

‘As you love me, will you do me a small favour? I do not like the sight of those two grotesque Persea trees, one on each side of the great door of the palace. Do you please give orders that they be cut down, for they grow even uglier every day, and one day they will bring the palace down, I am sure!’ The Pharaoh, besotted with his love for her, consented, and the next day woodcutters were chopping with might and main at the beautiful Persea trees. The Princess was standing not far away, looking at this activity, rejoicing in her heart, when a tiny chip of wood flew into her mouth. She was so startled that she swallowed it. The trees were at that moment completely cut down, and fell outside the Palace gates. When nine months had passed, a son was born to the Princess, and there was rejoicing all through the land, for the Pharaoh thought that the child was his son. As the months went by, the Pharaoh loved the baby even more, and raised him to be the royal son of Kush, heir of all the lands of the Upper and Lower Nile. Not many days after that, the Pharaoh died. Then the Prince, the heir of the lands, said: ‘Let all my nobles come before me, that I may tell them all that has happened to me.’ They came, and he told them everything. His elder brother was brought from the village, to be made a minister at his court. Then they brought his wife, and they judged her and she received her punishment. He was thirty years King of Egypt, and so endeared himself to the people that his brother took his place when he died.

[hyenahunt]

Obbligato: The Devotion to Tatsumi Kazehaya - 1

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring, three years ago

Characters: Jun, Tatsumi

Proofreading: 310mc + Remi (JP) & honeyspades (ENG)

Translation: hyenahunt & Peace

Tatsumi: Haha. If I'm able to bring even a hint of a smile to your face, then I'll consider being an idol a true blessing.

Content Warning!

Contains casual mention of suicide.

Time: Three years ago. One month after the entrance ceremony.

Location: Reimei Academy's "Labour Camp”

Jun: Yaaawn~...♪

(Welp, it's the start of yet another god-awful day...)

(Nothing's improved at all since the entrance ceremony. It's just day after day of serving these damn Special Students. Fuck this shit.)

(Isn't Reimei Academy supposed to be a school for training idols? I still haven't done a single thing you'd expect an idol to do here yet.)

(Well, I guess that kinda thing's one of those almighty Specials' privileges, huh?)

(At this rate, I’m starting to think I was practicing better before I even enrolled here. I’ve been practicing in secret, yeah, but I’ve still got my limits.)

(I'm always so worn out from washing those Specials' clothes and making their meals that by the time I get back to the Labour Camp, I'm asleep on my feet.)

Jun: (All the same, I've been pushing myself to practice on my own, but it really just feels like I'm taking a pointless detour… Actually, it’s more of a total waste of time than a detour.)

(But well, I did hear that in hardcore powerhouse baseball schools, newbies aren't allowed to even touch the ball for their whole first year.)

(Who knows, maybe this is the idol version of that, but — )

(It still pisses me off...! Ugh, can't the Specials all get into some kinda accident and just drop dead already?)

Tatsumi: Good morning. ♪

Jun: Woah... Oh, mornin', Kazehaya-senpai.

You've totally settled yourself into the Labour Camp, haven't ya? I honestly figured you would've thrown in the towel and gotten the hell out way sooner.

Tatsumi: As they say, once you clear your mind of worldly thoughts, even fire will feel cool. If you look around the world, there are plenty of people much worse off than those who live here.

Comparatively, a blessed person such as myself has no right to complain at all, don't you think?

Jun: Is that how it is? For that matter, why're you bumming around here at the very bottom of the barrel when you could be kicking back enjoying the privileged life of a Special Student?

I'm uh, wait, how d'you say it... My, um, deepest apologies for asking this again and again.

Tatsumi: You needn't worry over formalities, Jun-san. It doesn't matter how you speak to me, so long as you're able to convey yourself the way you wish.

Jun: Yeah, right. This place is practically full of assholes waiting to jump you the second you say a single word wrong.

Tatsumi: Is that so? Haha, I learn so much by speaking with you.

Jun: (What a weird guy... For real, what's up with him?)

(Rumour has it that he appealed to the school to have his Special Student title revoked, but they rejected it so they're having a lil' dispute right now.)

(Wonder if he’s tryin’ that 'cause he doesn't get along that well with the other Specials or something?)

(But then again, whenever I see Kazehaya-senpai around school, it always seems like he's on good terms with both Specials and Non-Specials alike.)

(Reimei Academy may have a thoroughly-enforced hierarchy but this guy's the only "exception" to it.)

(I seriously wonder what his whole deal is~... I'm not really interested in other idols, let alone idol students fresh off the boat, so I didn't know about it, but...)

(After looking into it, I discovered that Kazehaya-senpai's already debuted as a Special Student idol, and he seems to be crazy popular.)

(Even though Yumenosaki currently has the most influence over the industry, it’s barely producing results — and he took the opportunity to grab his own fan base. Last year, he especially thrived by attracting the attention of audiences that love young male idols.)

('Course, CosPro's other idols are all doing great, thanks to the selfless devotion of us Non-Specials.)

(But even among them, this person stands right out.)

(But instead of letting it all get to his head, here he is hanging out with us at the very back of the pack, sitting in the Labour Camp as he drinks homemade tea.)

Tatsumi: ...? Would you like some tea as well, Jun-san?

Jun: I'll have some. I still feel worn to the bone no matter how much I sleep lately, so I'd like something to wake me up a lil'~...

Tatsumi: You sound like an exhausted middle-aged man, Jun-san. Don't forget, you still have plenty of years ahead of you.

Jun: Right back atcha. Ahh, this tea tastes great. It's stuff like this that makes up the rare moments of joy I get to experience at Reimei, for real.

Tatsumi: Haha. If I'm able to bring even a hint of a smile to your face, then I'll consider being an idol a true blessing.

Still, you really do seem far too tired...

If you're unable to take your mind off of things, then it's possible you have some symptoms of depression. Before your thoughts become too much and overwhelm you, you should vent them out to someone.

I don't mind lending an ear, if you don't mind me listening.

Jun: I’m all good, I swear. You say this to everyone no matter who it is, don'tcha?

'Cause of that, we get crowds of poorly-lookin' folks comin' to the Labour Camp everyday, telling you woes of their ailments...

It's got me starting to think this place's looking more like a hospital or a church.

Tatsumi: My apologies, I hadn't meant to cause such a disturbance. I've asked them not to come here as much as possible, but they still do...

The rules are strict on those who aren't Special Students, and so we'll certainly be reprimanded if this area becomes something of a hangout spot. Our teachers and other staff won't like it.

Jun: Well, it's fine, isn't it? Everyone needs some kinda place to escape to.

You sit down all these tormented Non-Specials right before they think to end their suffering and send themselves off to actual Heaven, and hold 'em back from acting on it.

Even though all I do is live next to this, just the thought of it makes me feel like I'm a part of something noble — and you know what? Somehow, I'm grateful for it.

✦✦✦✦✦

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[trans-cuchulainn]

books i would like to read that i haven't found:

books that feel like the best 200k+ bucky barnes recovery fics. which is to say, books about recovering from trauma by people who understand it from the inside out. books about coming to terms with having done awful things. books about people who became a villain against their own will but now are clawing their way back to being just some guy. not a redemption arc that winds up as heroism, but finding equilibrium again and realising you don't always have to be the worst version of yourself. ideally these should be bleak and hilarious in equal measure.

books that feel like pride (2014). solidarity and friendship and queerness and labour rights, with different kinds of relationships given equal weight in terms of character arcs. friendships that hit romance beats and romance where you actually believe in their friendship. critique of the system that manages to be hopeful without ignoring the mess and the reality and the fact that progress can be slow and not all battles can be won.

more urban fantasy where the magic and supernatural stuff is widely known and integrated into society, like holly black's "coldest girl in coldtown" or "curseworkers" but ideally adult. featuring nerds. vampire museum consultants and shit like that. idk this one's a bit vaguer. ideally i would like this to not have witches because there is SO MUCH urban fantasy out there featuring witches and i just do not care about them. i want creatures. i want beasts. i want bizarrely specific inconveniences for werewolves with day jobs. i realise that Tom Holt has written a lot of these and maybe i should just go back to reading more Tom Holt but i would also like this to be queer and earnest in a way that his books don't tend to be

this is not an all-encompassing list but this is what i'm wanting right now. if you have suggestions that fit these categories, let me know.

please note, i do not want "it's not anything you've asked for, but..." flavoured suggestions. does it ACTUALLY resemble these descriptions (at least partially)? or are you just suggesting it because you want to suggest something, regardless of how useful the suggestion is? bc i see the latter a lot on book rec requests and it's not helpful tbh

[moondirti]

← chapter 1

masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rated: Explicit Word Count: 3.5k Summary: Moving in with the Mandalorian involves way more sexual tension and boredom than you'd originally presumed. Warnings: Language, brief mentions of masturbation, just some more pining (I'm sorry) Notes: I got around to editing chapter two! My first version of this was a little rough and didn't align with the characterization I had planned. If you missed my last note, just know that this was originally posted on ao3 (you can see that here). There are a few more chapters out on there if you want to check it out. Additionally, thank you so much for all the love on chapter 1! Your likes, reblogs and comments mean so much to me

One thing about the Mandalorian is that he can not sit still.

It’s been a week since he bust your door down and tried to die tragically in your arms (though he’s insistent you’re dramatising it all, it truly did feel that way to you). Theoretically, he could have been fully healed by now - what, with all the bacta you’ve been slathering onto him - but his refusal to take it easy has had some adverse effects. For one, he almost immediately began sporting the beskar get-up again, despite your insistence on it not being a very good idea - you know fully well from your inept attempts at polishing it that it is heavy. It came as no surprise to you, then, when you found that his newly-formed scabs reopened under the strain the armour put on his back. Even he recognised his error upon witnessing the tempered rage you barely kept at bay while sanitising the area, his helmet premeditatively turned the other away to avoid your glare. 

You seriously wonder how he hasn’t torn a muscle yet; your shoulders ache after slouching for too long, to carry upwards of 50 kilograms in pure metal at all times should be considered an extreme sport. 

‘Probably why he’s so grouchy all the time,’ you grumble to yourself.

Because yes, Mando is grumpy and irritable and a pain in the ass. He boldly returns any painkiller he doesn’t deem necessary, can constantly be found doing manual labour around the house for all your instructions to rest, and sleeps on the other side of your very thin bedroom wall, meaning you can do little to relieve the ache between your legs that’s settled since his arrival. The thought of his toned back haunts you wherever you go; in the shower (apparently too small a space to get off), on your supply runs; hell, even when Mando is around do you catch yourself reflecting on the rest of his body, and whether it matches the portion you’re allowed to see. 

Your assessment so far is as follows: living with the man is torturous. That conclusion is suddenly brought to glaring importance when you’re reminded of your promise to move onto his ship. 

“Pack your things.” You’re plating freshly-grilled frog skewers for the kid when his father speaks from behind you.

“Huh?” The child grins in thanks; you pinch his cheek as you turn to Mando. 

“We should leave soon. Been here too long.” When he isn’t on the verge of death, Mando’s sentences are always clipped, as if he has a limited amount of words he’s allowed to use per day. Perhaps that’s the case in his creed - speaking too much might risk revealing more than one should. 

You don’t have time to shoot him the incredulous expression you’ve grown so accustomed to using in his presence before he’s walking away. “You’re not healed yet!” You vainly call after him. He resorts to his usual, handy response - nothing at all. Not like you expected him to actually acknowledge his weakness, though. He seems intent on getting off of Nevarro as soon as possible, in spite of both you and his wound. 

“Wanna know a secret, stink?” You brush your thumb over the kid’s fuzzy head. He babbles back at you. “You’re my favourite.” 

You discover rather quickly that you don’t have much to pack. The house you’ve decided to hold on to for practicality, meaning all of the furniture and knick-knacks you’ve collected over the years were to be kept as is. That left you with only your clothes, medical supplies and blaster to stuff into your duffel bag, alongside an old threadbare blanket you opt you can’t live without. You’re done that next morning, freshly showered and a surge of thrill circuiting through you. 

When Mando leads you out towards the Razor Crest, there’s a particular lack of sorrow in saying bye to your home. 

It may be that something deep within you that caused you to question if you are really cut out for a bounty hunter's life, bound to tuck your tail between your legs at the first sign of trouble and come skipping back to where it’s safe. Or maybe it’s the bitterness at those several, several, lonely nights you’ve spent here in silence, rotting on your couch while perusing through mindless holodramas, trying to get a taste of something more. There’s nothing for you here; your life has been a series of translucent meaning, stuck in a perpetual loop of charged static particles - buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. It’s misery fit only for the girl you were back on Corellia.

Nevarro’s rocky terrain and sinking black sands made it so that your group didn’t reach the Razor Crest until hours later. You briefly ponder on how Mando managed to get to you in his injured state when his ship is parked so far away, but you know better than to ask; tension radiates off him in waves today. You really don’t want to be on the receiving end of his killer cold shoulder. 

“I’m going into town to collect bounty pucks from Karga. I should be back by nightfall.” Mando declares before inputting something on his left vambrace that releases the ramp. You dodge the lowering gateway, grumbling when he steals your duffle bag to throw it onto the docking port of the Crest. 

“If I unpack to a broken jar and spilled salve, you’re paying to have my closet revamped.” You huff. 

“Can’t be of much help there.” He begins to usher the child’s floating pram onto the Crest. 

“Oh, being stingy with where you got that cuirass tailored?” You clamber up behind him. “What if I want the latest Mandalorian fashions?” There’s a second where he wavers, helmet turning to face you with a fixed look. 

Snorting, you pull away to look around. A narrow cage against the wall adjacent from you captures your attention, gas canisters and a system of wires adorning the inside. A carbonite freezer, you realise with a shiver; a model very similar to the one you used in the academy to transfer specimens through space. From your disjointed memories of your time there, you recall it has a sixty-percent survival rate for carbon-based beings. Truly, it’s a heartless piece of equipment, never the best choice unless one is going for convenience. 

But of course, Mando is a bounty hunter. You forget that fact far too often when it’s just the two of you. Convenience, ruthlessness, is key for him. 

Suddenly, you’re very aware of just how much he lets you get away with. You even have half a mind to apologise for your joke, especially while watching him take stock of his weapons closet. He handles the artillery with skilled precision, fingers locating each switch and clasp with little difficulty, like he has practised it in his sleep. 

He’s good with his hands. You jot that mental note for later.

Blinking, you shake away the tangent and carry on with your self-led tour. On your right is the docking port, an area of space crammed with crates, toolboxes and old machinery; on the left, two doorways. You assume one leads to a bunk and the other to a refresher when you notice a distinct lack of the two in your inspection of the second level. All you find up there is the cockpit and a storage room for his frozen quarries. Overall, it’s a regular ship, save for the cold store on the lower deck. 

You just had one question: “Mando? Where will I be sleeping?” 

Scaling down the ladder, you appraise his armed form. He was a step away from leaving the Crest. 

“On the bed.” His helmet nods towards one of the two doors to the front of the ship. 

“That’s yours.” You don’t mention that the thought of sleeping next to him every night makes you want to combust - partly because you know that isn’t what he meant, mostly because your tongue is stuck in your throat.  

“We’ll take turns.” That’s the end of the conversation for him. He turns to exit but falters when you stammer out:

“Erm… Is that alright with you? I don’t wanna intrude. I’m okay with sleeping on the floor, you know.” You sleep like a loth-cat in hibernation - hardly anything can get you out of it. And this is his home, you’d feel terrible if he couldn’t so much as nap because you were hogging his bed. 

“It’s fine. I hardly sleep anyway.” His tone softens, his helmet bowing down at you. Although it’s barely noticeable, his inflection isn’t that of a liar. Somehow, his telling the truth is worse, if not for anything but the dysfunction of what he just admits to. 

You frown. “That’s not good for you.” 

There’s a modulated hitch of breath, a shake of his shoulders. Was he laughing at you? For what? You aren’t the idiot, not when he is the one parading around guns slinging with few moments respite. You open your mouth to expand on your point, only for him to interrupt with a hand at your shoulder. 

It’s steady - comforting, and debilitating all at once. Then, Mando dryly remarks. “Yes, doctor.”

And he trots off, leaving you with only the sarcastic retort to turn over in your head until he comes back. 

No sooner than when the ramp closes shut, you practically melt, knees entirely too weak given the distance you just trekked. Stars, the way he said it - the way he tauntingly used your designation and sauntered off like it didn’t itch the unreachable part of you so desperate for validation. He can’t have known, he can’t have known of the way it renders you a pile of useless putty in his hands. Still, he was entirely too confident with the taunt, infuriatingly self-assured for someone with a deficit in social skills. It's ridiculous.

The pressure at your core returns, broiling. You need to get this situation of yours in check before he comes back, for everyone’s sake. 

You almost forget to tuck the napping child into the hammock you spot above the bed, too intent on finding release up in the cockpit. 

Hyperspace is a marvel to behold. It’s all the light in the galaxy passing by in blurs of blue and purple, surrounding - engulfing - you in its infinity. The cockpit of the Razor Crest is absolute metal and mismatched parts, ugly in every sense, but in hyperspace, it reflects every colour, every shape. And seated in the passenger's chair, you are smack dab in the centre of it all, fascinated - for the first hour of travel - by the kaleidoscope that overtakes you. 

Now, however, it’s been three. Three hours, and the beauty has begun losing its charm. 

Maybe you’re salty. Each time you readjust or shift in the slightest, you’re reminded that you never got to cum. There’s a pulse that twinges with the least bit of friction, tucked away in a spot you didn’t manage to hit, a spot that Mando can probably dig out with ease. Pathetic. It’s like all you can concentrate on is how hard he’d fuck - pressing you up against some unknown surface of the Crest - or how desperately he probably needs it. Shit, is this going to be the death of you? This sexual frustration, that multiplies and stretches and grows exponentially whenever you are in his presence? You scowl to yourself, just as well, it would be a suitable end for a woeful life.

The man in question sits diagonal to you; arms crossed and legs spread. You already mistook him for asleep, having idiotically waved your hands and pulled faces at his visor for five straight minutes before he decided enough was enough and pushed your head away. You don’t think you’ll ever live down the embarrassment of it, in all honesty; you make a point to pointedly avoid his amused glances when he turns to check if the kid is still satisfied with his metal ball. 

When his back is to you, however, you can’t help but be transfixed by his lap, captivated in his pose, his thighs, his-

You really need to cut it out before you start frothing at the mouth. 

“What do you usually do for fun around here?” Your voice is rough with misuse. You cough to get rid of the scratch in it. 

“Man the ship.” His helmet still faces the vast nothingness outside.  

“That’s not fun.” 

“You asked.” A smidgen of annoyance eclipses your incessant need for him. You gorge on it, chasing the irritation. You have more of a chance at satiating that, at least. 

Leaning forward, you flick his pauldron, accomplishing nothing but hurting yourself. “Forgive me for expecting you to actually entertain me for once. I thought it safe to assume, given you’re literally doing nothing, either.” The remark escapes harsher than you intend it to be. Deep in your gut, where only doughy, vexing empathy exists, there’s a twinge of guilt. All the same, you hold your ground, resting your chin on a propped arm as you lour at the back of his head.

He hums, flicking a switch on the overhead panel instead of gracing you with a response.

“Do you wanna play a game?” The suggestion is not at all light-hearted, and is solely made to introduce a scenario through which you can channel your displeasure. Mando must pick up on this, for he shuts down the possibility before you get too ahead of yourself. 

“I don’t like games.” 

You clench and unclench your teeth. 

“I can make it worth your while.” You grit out. “How about… one of us hides something and the other has to find it, hm?” You’re hinging on desperation here; you can’t help the optimistic lilt at the end of your question. 

“I’m a bounty hunter. Finding things is my specialty.”

“That’s the fun part. You can go first.” That will occupy you for sure. He’s familiar with his ship, is intimate with every crevice and cranny, and if he were to give his all into concealing an object, it’d take you years to uncover it. 

“You’re going to make a mess.” He waves. That’s off the table, then. 

“Okay, message received. No sabacc?” You are not good at sabacc. You briefly recall losing about 500 credits on it at the academy, actually. 

“No.” Probably for the best. You’re quickly running out of ideas, though, and you desperately need something to help you ignore the effects his drawl has on you.

“So does The Way say no to having fun?” 

He sighs. “I play with the kid, sometimes.” The concession throws you off guard, your face abruptly warming with a flush at the domesticity of the act. His care for the kid hasn’t escaped you - you’ve picked up on it in the way he keeps a hand on his pram at all times and washes his mouth after meal times - but playing is another thing altogether. It’s one more point towards the new portrait you’re conjuring of the man beneath the suit. A kind man, a loving one. 

“I’ve tried that. He’s too preoccupied with his… toy, to pay me any attention,” You side-eye the babbling green monster, who sits slobbering over the ball. If he wasn't so cute, you’d cringe at the mess he’s made of his romper. 

“Try painting yourself silver, maybe then he’d be interested in you.” 

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you. It’s irrepressible, bubbling up from nowhere, stirring your chest with an unknown feeling. "Told you; I need me some Mandalorian armour. He exclusively likes metal things.” 

And then he’s chuckling along with you, and you’re able to pinpoint it as a school-girl type of giddiness. What’s best is that you’re hardly horrified at the prospect, either. You like it, this flutter that racks through you. It’s so different to the heat - of both ire and lust - you feel when you’re around him. It emboldens you to keep talking. 

“What do you say about answering a few questions of mine. I know your blood and bones better than I know you.” You simper, “You can ask me whatever too.”

“Alright.” He flicks on autopilot controls before kicking back to face you. You beam at the receptiveness. 

“Hmm…” Pointing to the blaster at his hip, you ask, “Your first weapon, what was it? And how old were you when you mastered it.” You’re familiar enough with Mandalorian culture to know that weapons were part of their religion; it was as good a place to start as any.

Cocking his head, he deliberates for a moment. “Must have been a spear.” If the vague gesture he makes is anything to go by, the artillery doesn’t hold much significance to him. You can’t say you know much about them either, compared to your ingrained index on blasters and rifles. “I was put in a spar with it at ten, but I haven’t really used any since.” 

You process his words, searching for an acknowledgement that wouldn’t offend. “That’s… really young.” 

“Mandalorians by birth start younger.” And though he nods, there’s a subtle hesitation in his statement, like he's ashamed to admit it. You can't decipher why; he’s the best damn warrior you’ve ever come across, regardless of status. Curious, you attempt to prod further.

“You’re not a mandalorian by birth?” 

“I was rescued by one as a child.” You consider biting the dust and bringing up the elephant in the cockpit, but you are already breaking new ground with the guy. You don’t want to make him relive his trauma just yet. “I’m a foundling.” The kid coos. 

“Takes one to know one, huh, stink?” You toss at the baby, who now reaches for his father. Mando picks him up with one swooping movement. “Where are you from, then?” 

“Aq Vatina.” It’s said so quietly you almost feel bad for asking. He pauses. “Are you from Nevarro originally?” 

“No, and thank goodness for that." You break off for a moment. It isn’t like you are proud of your birth planet either. "Corellia.” 

The air shifts. The Mandalorian’s hand stills upon the child’s chest, his visor now solely trained on you. You can’t blame him, your home planet truly does have a reputation for being an awful place. Yet with the way your cheeks tingle, you think he might be reassessing the tell-tale arch of your nose, the dimensions of your face. More than anything, you feel the cogs in his brain turn as his perception of you settles. 

“Born and raised there, went to the medical academy when the Empire was still around. Jus’ moved later in life.” 

“Hm,” This hum is much more thoughtful than the dismissive ones he’s thrown your way before. You don’t like it, being perceived like this, with this past. Not to mention, the uncomfortable reminder of why you really left Corellia leaves an ache in your bones. An image of your father’s face flashes to the forefront of your mind. “Explains the mouth on you.”

Shaking it off, you mumble. “What’s the weirdest dream you’ve ever had?” 

“I’m not answering that.” 

You roll your eyes. “Fine. Longshot anyway.” You reconsider, landing on a generic question that’s been clawing at you for ages now. “How old are you?

You’ve tried to guess in the past, based on a multitude of factors you’ve observed. He has the exemplary stamina of someone still in their prime. Initially, that placed him in his twenties. That is, until more of his personality made itself known and you found he acts like a senior citizen greatly dissatisfied with the view in their nursing home window. That raised him to a solid forty in your head. 

“Lost track. Probably in my late thirties.” Close enough.

You chortle. “Old man.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m getting there.” Something in his timbre reminds you of his back, of the skin that warms up so easily under your hands. His muscles pulse with life whenever you touch him, flourishing under the small instances of physical touch. The life of a Mandalorian must be an impoverished one, to go without all the things people needed to live - that pure, skin-on-skin contact. For almost forty years, no less. 

You’re suddenly extremely honoured that he’s taken to you as his doctor. 

“I’m about a decade your junior.” You try to fill the silence; he didn’t ask, and you don’t manage to catch onto his reaction, mind too addled with a snowballing jumble of emotions that you race after, trying to untangle. Yes, there is the ever present desire that seems to be a condition of being his companion, but there’s also an effervescent centre to it all, sparkling in and out of existence all too rapidly for you to place. 

“Kriff…” You perk at the curse. “You’re just a kid.” His cadence has drawn to a gentle murmur, as if everything has just fallen into place for him. 

Your heart twinges, frightened that his opinion of you has degraded, somehow. He likely regrets inviting yet another responsibility, another addition to his burden in trying to survive the galaxy while remaining as morally sound as possible. You’re not just a kid, no, but you are all of those other things. Useless. A liability. More trouble than you’re worth. 

If Mando senses the change of tone in your next words, he doesn’t mention it. “Only in spirit.”

You need to mean more to him, you conceive. 

chapter three →