#obviously on a surface level it is with the violence and such

[seasideoranges]

guys i gotta be honest whenever people call the live action avatar “darker “more serious” and “less childish” then the original show i just think of this meme

[king-spite]

reading the (first?) Rinezha fight scene in TBG right now and the many parallels i'm seeing to Mareven is quite insane actually. if i had a nickel every time a rich guy and a lower-class girl fell in love and she became a sort of ally for him/his side/country only for him to betray her at the most unexpected moment -when his side no longer had any use for her anymore- and he later made it his sole purpose to try and capture her to convince her to join his side but since she absolutely loathes him she refuses and so he resorts to using a cruelty on her the likes of which he hadn't before because she was his weak spot and so their relationship is forever corrupted with no chance of going back to what they were. i'd have two nickels. which isn't much but it's weird that it happened twice.

[dykesynthezoid]

Remembered why I stopped watching Castlevania ❤️ too many men ❤️ didn’t care ❤️

[shouts-into-the-void]

I think its super interesting how much complexity we're starting to see in the characters this season.

Thus far, the misfits have been the pretty uncontested "good guys" while the clusterfucks have been the clear "bad guys."

However, this season, we start to see that the division is much less black and white.

Ada tackles a super dangerous monster to save Annabel. Annabel doesn't leave her behind even though it's obviously impeding her escape and sacrifices her engagement ring to save the three of them. Prospero immediately books it for Ada as soon as he realizes she's in danger and tries to reassure her that him not being into her has nothing to do with her worth as a person. Meanwhile the misfits immediately scatter and start arguing amongst themselves.

It's highlighted extremely clearly in the confrontation between Eulalie, Pluto, Duke, Will, and Montresor. [SPOILERS for fast pass ahead btw]

While it's really easy to see the initial argument on a surface level (Goatman trying to pick a fight and using Will to do it, Eulalie coming to Will's defense because she sees him being mistreated) and while that is what happens, a closer inspection shows a lot more going on in terms of character morals.

The argument starts because Montresor, hurt, disabled, and having had his pride/ego dented, is lashing out and gets fed up with Will. (I do think its super interesting that as soon as Will flinches, he switches gears from insulting him to telling him to stop letting him walk all over him, albiet in a harsh way) Eulalie responds by asking him to stop being mean to Will, and offers to take Will into the group. Pluto and Duke reject the idea, completely ready and willing to abandon someone who for all they know and have seen, is being bullied and manipulated by someone they all know is capable of horrific violence.

And while Will ultimately chooses Montresor because he's a gay disaster the real display of just how much the characters words and alignment don't match their actual morals comes when Will gets gutted by the stag.

Hes still alive, bleeding out on the ground and begging for help. And the misfits leave him there to die. With a couple flippiant lines no less.

Meanwhile Montresor, resident scum of the Earth who's loyal to no one and delights in the suffering of others? Hesitates maybe a second before jumping into danger to save him. Not only that, he's actively comforting and reassuring Will the entire time.

And I think this is what makes me the most excited for the rest of this comic. Your fave would let a man die if that man wasn't on their side. The most monstrous character in the series couldn't abandon someone who can't defend themself.

And before you say it, yes Montresor abandoned Ada and a lot of him saving Will has to do with the fact that he actually cares for him. But I think the reasoning has more to do with the flashback we see of Monty and the dog. Disregarding that Ada is the reason he's spiraling out so bad right now and the animosity he feels due to her making him confront his religious trauma, he knows that she is perfectly capable of defending herself. Meanwhile Will has trouble defending himself in any setting, and is currently mortally wounded and being torn to shreds by a pack of dogs.

I think this season is setting up for a character arc for the clusterfucks and a reverse character arc for the misfits. I believe that Lenore is going to get closer and closer to the person Annabel remembers as her bonds with her friends weaken and her memories return, while Annabel is going to start forming the support network she desperately needs to cope with her various issues. This will leave the two of them in a role reversal, with Lenore determined to do anything and burn any bridge to save the two of them, while Annabel is desperately trying to figure out a way to save all of them. It would be most interesting to me if the season ended with Lenore going lone wolf and the rest of the cast teaming up to form an escape plan and get the old Lenore back.

[musicalslugs]

Grace and the Lords in Black: an analysis.

Okay, so, this may be obvious; although I haven’t seen anyone mention this as of yet. The link between Grace Chastity and the Lords in Black is clear, I mean we’ve all agreed that she seems to be like that, and Dirty Dudes must Die highlights her “corruption” plainly.

That being said! I think there may be more.

Firstly, the Lords in Black mention/talk to Grace first, before Peter and Stephanie (the arguable proper protagonists of this story).

Sure, Blinky’s motif is obvious, it’s of eyes, of watching and of observation. But to speak to Grace first, even if it seems (on the surface level) that it’s just to flex their omniscience and make her uncomfortable, is a little strange. Especially since they then speak mostly (only) to Steph for the rest of the song [The Summoning].

Secondly, because if that were all this wouldn’t be a very good analysis, we have her (Grace) and Nibbly being echoes of eachother.

“Swallow” and “devour” are synonymous. Both fit into Nibbly’s motif of consumption. Now, Grace could’ve said anything. Absorb, harness, control etc. I think the wording here is particular. Not exactly the same, but clearly within the same ball park.

What is exactly the same though, is Grace Chastity and Wiggly.

This may seem a bit out of left field at first, but hear me out.

In The Summoning, it is said that “Wiggly wants his Wrath”, Wrath is a vice, a sin. It may not be the exact opposite of Chastity, however Chastity is to do with restraint, whereas Wrath is very much, not so. Moreover, Wrath can be defined as ‘a great anger that expresses itself in a desire to punish someone’. Now… who else could be described as wrathful? Obviously Max. And Grace. I mean, her song is called Dirty Dudes must Die. As well as being a direct reflection of Max, it implies that she wants to harm someone. Punish someone though? Well, yes. Grace says “This is the consequence of what you’ve done!” - she must believe that death is a worthy punishment for their actions (being ‘pervs’). Thus, Wrath.

Lastly, and this is where the exactly comes in, Grace and Wiggly both say the same things. (Again, of course, I could write another analysis on how Grace and Max reflect each other beautifully by also saying the same/extremely similar things) The difference between Grace saying similar things to Max, is that she and Wiggly aren’t similar. It’s the same.

Example A) Stephy / Stephie.

Upon rewatching Nerdy Prudes Must Die and listening to the album on repeat, I noticed that no one bar these two call Stephanie: Stephie. I know Grace calls Ruth, Ruthy and Peter, Petey- so her calling Stephanie, Stephie, makes sense linguistically. That doesn’t take from the fact that Wiggly is the only other ‘person’ to use that particular moniker.

Example B) “bloody bits”

A particularly strange phrase that these two say. However, not really. The point of this analysis is to point out the links between the Lords in Black and Grace Chastity, specifically Wiggly and Grace. By pointing out the parallels in their idiolects, I have come to the conclusion that they are not only linked but INCREDIBLY similar.

Both are characters that use cutesy, almost childish language (“mommy spot” / “belly-well”) to disguise the violence, the wrath that lays beneath the surface. Wiggly (as shown in Black Friday) uses it as a facade. Throughout Black Friday and throughout The Summoning, he expresses himself as non-threatening (“We’re all pally-wals.” etc) before eventually showing what’s beneath the surface (“..deck the fucking halls!” / “We don’t give a shit about your phone!”). Both times are as abrupt as each other, showing that Wiggly has a fairly short temper. Grace doesn’t necessarily have a short temper, instead she has periods of ‘sin’, when stressed: Dirty Girl, calling “God a son of a B-Word”, smoking (after), having sex with Max, the scene of her ordering hot water etc etc. The visage, her carefully constructed facade, slips. Wether it’s because deep down she doesn’t believe in God (possibly shown in her “are you religious?” conversation with Shapiro), or that due to her upbringing she’s being confined, restrained, controlled, and this is when her ‘true self’ begins to peer through the cracks.

Either way, these are two characters who use similar themes (one of childishness, the other of purity/innocence (which can also be linked to childishness)) to cover their violence, their real selves.

Uhhh- anyway, watch Nerdy Prudes must Die on Youtube- it gave me brain worms.

[janeyshivers]

i think a big part of the reason why, even when Pratchett was alive, it was always Rowling who was held up as the gold standard of a modern British fantasy author, is that Pratchett was above all else just far more honest about like, The English writ large.

a lot of ink has been spilled on the saccharine nostalgia of Harry Potter books, particularly as they went on, that longing for the WW2 Blitz spirit that Rowling herself didn't actually live through, but is lionised in our culture and was subsequently regurgitated uncritically by her, on account of her being an unimaginative hack. "keep calm and carry on" is the core aesthetic of the later books, while the earlier ones are far more of the sort of irritating, faux-charming, brilliant baffling bouncing Britishness that captured the hearts of teaboos who knew no better around the world, and also presented a highly self-flattering image to the people who have to actually live on this shithole island. this was especially true of cultural institutions such as schools, libararies, etc, who found it germaine to push these middling children's books relentlessly on kids, while massive multimillion dollar movie projects were cranked out, because they were deeply, painfully in love with a cutesy mirage of England that we like to project to the world to cover for the fact that this place is the husk of a dead empire, inhabited by tiny islands of obscene hoarded wealth in an increasingly desperate sea of insane deprivation and poverty.

and on a certain surface-level reading, you could almost accuse Pratchett of doing the same thing. after all, he also wrote whimsical fantasy tales largely set in a transparently England-ish setting (that is, Ankh-Morpork and the surrounding countryside areas on the Discworld). they even feature lots of witches and wizards! his books are full of bumbling, good-natured Englishmen doffing their caps to the lord, scenic countryside vistas, dirty and yet charming city streets, bustling fairs, rascally pickpockets, and generally a lot of the same aesthetic signifiers of Rowling's earlier work especially.

but.

read any amount of Pratchett's stuff and you realise very quickly that he understands that there is a persistent, genuinely violent nastiness underpinning a lot of this stuff. I Shall Wear Midnight is a good example, as the honest, hard-working country folk of the Chalk never even acknowledge the shameful mob killing of the old toothless woman who Tiffany has had to bury. these charming communities are places where well-known cases of domestic violence go unaddressed until a pregnant girl is beaten so badly she has a miscarriage, and they are places where miserable, curtain-twitching sneaks spread lies and rumours with impunity. Guards, Guards! fits here as well, a book about how the not-insincere love of the people of Ankh Morpork for their new king is insane and destructive and ends up getting quite a lot of innocent people killed.

what i appreciate most about how Pratchett talks about this stuff is that neither the nastiness nor the more charming elements are artifice. while they seem to exist as a contradiction at first glance, a core feature of English culture from Pratchett's perspective is that these impulses exist in a tense balance at all times. Mr Petty hits his daughter until she miscarries, and also stings his hands gathering nettles to make a little grave for the poor kid before trying to hang himself. that doesn't make what he did ok, but it does mean grappling with the fact that people are complicated and don't make sense, culture doesn't entirely cohere, and that the things you might like about "Englishness" are part and parcel of some genuinely horrifying shit.

obviously i'm not going to sit here and pretend that Pratchett was some plucky underdog compared to Rowling, the dude had a knighthood, and there are even a few movies based on his stuff (I'm rather partial to the 2008 The Colour of Magic adaptation myself), although nothing on the scale of the Potter movies. but at a glance, it does seem strange that Rowling was our nation's marquis literary export in the 2000s, considering that Pratchett was more established, working in the same genre, and also a significantly more technically skilled and insightful writer than her. but, that's the thing, he was insightful enough that his writing didn't make for decent cultural slop like Rowling's did. Harry Potter is vapid enough for corporate interests and cultural institutions to build a multinational media empire on, not through some insidious conspiracy to poison the minds of a generation of irritating millenials, but because it was there and it was popular enough and it was easy to use, because it's not very complicated or challenging. Discworld is not perfect by any means, and i have my personal disagreements with Pratchett's (relatively) rosy perspective on humans as being fundamentally very decent. but the stories make you think, they encourage you to engage with the world critically, and they are written with a degree of empathy and kindness that clash with any earnest attempt to shore up "English values".

[unitedjusticecoalition]

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[burntheedges]

The Hunter

Din Djarin x f!reader | 4.2k | ao3 | masterlist

summary: you were used to seeing all sorts of beings around Daiyu, but a Mandalorian was still unexpected.

a/n: @deathwife happy @pedrostories secret santa! 🧡 I hope you like this fic! I saw "Din" and "cyberpunk" and ran with it. It was fun (let me know how I did with the aesthetic, lol). Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta-ing (and keeping me on track).

tags/warnings: bounty hunting, flirting, fluff, canon-typical violence (while bounty hunting, ex. shooting blasters, fighting, etc.), touching, reader is not described but wears black pants, can run and climb and sneak around, set vaguely while Din is still bounty hunting, I played fast and loose with the layout of Daiyu lol

You saw him once before he ever saw you.

Crouched on a ledge well above street level, you watched the crowds ebb and flow below. It was somehow even more crowded than usual, with the new year holiday only a week away. You were in the second-largest marketplace in one of the nicer (but still not nice) neighborhoods on Daiyu. The neon lights from the shops and stalls around you kept you hidden, out of sight behind a sign, almost camouflaged in your matte black clothing. You were alert, looking for someone, when you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

At first you thought it was just something shiny that caught your attention. You turned your head slightly to look closer and found yourself staring at the back of a shiny silver helmet. You blinked. 

A Mandalorian?

You moved silently to the other side of your small ledge, trying to get a better look at him in the crowd. He turned slowly in a circle, obviously scanning the people around him. He didn’t look up at your ledge as you took him in. The neon lights around him reflected off of his extremely shiny armor, painting him in pinks and greens and blues. He was tall and broad, and you tilted your head as you watched him move smoothly through the crowd. You weren’t sure the people around him even noticed how quickly they moved out of his way.

He turned into an alleyway and you moved to follow him without any conscious decision to do so. You scaled the short ladder to your right, jogged lightly over the balcony on the third floor of the neighboring building, and turned the corner.

By the time you got there, he was gone.

…

Two nights later, you were walking slowly through the same market, a few streets over from where you first saw him, when you saw him again.

This time, you caught sight of him in the crowd in front of you. He was moving steadily forwards, helmet turning side to side as he searched the crowd around him again. You wondered who he might be looking for – it wasn’t uncommon for bounties to hide out on Daiyu, after all. 

Your own target would be occupied for at least the next few hours. Without examining the impulse too closely, you shifted your focus to the shiny Mandalorian and started to follow him through the crowd. 

He took his time, you noticed. His steps were unhurried and his scan was thorough. As he led you closer to the eastern edge of the market, you wondered if he even knew where he was headed. 

Daiyu was essentially one big city, but the levels and neighborhoods were often so different from each other that it was like being in many different cities at once. The eastern edge of this market followed a remnant of the planet’s original topography – a river ran along the surface, far, far below where you were now. But the tall, many-storied industrial zone that sat atop the river interrupted the city streets. 

That is, unless you knew how to get through it.

As the Mandalorian approached what basically seemed like a dead-end, you turned and scaled one of the balconies to your right. You settled in about 3 meters back and 4 meters above his head, crouched in a shadow, wondering what he might do next.

He looked to either side, seeming to take in the way the buildings stopped just before the wall, leaving a tiny path along its face. 

And then, to your surprise, he turned and looked straight up at you. You masked your reaction and raised one eyebrow. “Lost, Mando?”

He tilted his head, and the deep voice that came out of the helmet made you shiver. “What makes you say that?”

You shrugged. “Well, you hit a dead end. Where are you headed?”

For a long moment, he just looked at you. You wondered what he saw. Then he shifted his weight. “It was you. The other night in the market.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Following me.” You scoffed, but he stepped back to scan you up and down. “Looking for me?” 

There was an edge to his voice, and you heard the potential threat underlying the question. You laughed. “Mando, it’s not my fault you’re shiny. How do you sneak anywhere, when you light up like that?” You gestured at his armor, which was still reflecting the neon lights hanging everywhere along the street. 

He didn’t answer your question. “Then why follow me? Again?”

“What, a girl can’t be curious?” You sighed. “My stakeout got a little boring. And you really are very shiny, you know.”

He stared at you, but you noticed some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Go back to your stakeout.”

You stood on the balcony as he turned back towards the wall. “You can’t get through that way.” He looked over his shoulder at you and seemed surprised to find you standing. You dropped down from the balcony as he watched. “You need to go about 10 minutes south,” you pointed to the right, “that entrance is usually less well guarded.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

You shrugged. “Local,” you said, gesturing at yourself. You wondered if he would ask for help, but he started to walk away from you. 

Just before he turned the corner, he looked back again. “Thanks.”

Before you could say anything in response, he was gone. 

…

To your surprise, you didn’t have to wait long to see the mysterious Mandalorian again.

The next night you were loitering outside of a bar (technically, you were sitting and having a drink at the stall across the street, completely blending in with your surroundings), tracking your target inside, when a familiar shiny reflection caught your eye. 

He was lit up in orange and purple, this time, and he was walking straight towards you.

“Mando,” you greeted when he stopped next to your table. “Still on the hunt?”

“As are you.” His voice was even, but it was an interesting observation. You wondered if he was as intrigued by you as you were by him. 

You gestured at the bar across the street, which had a line down the block of people waiting to get in. “On another stakeout.”

He tilted his head and shifted his weight. “Who are you?”

You smiled. “Figured out I’m not a bounty hunter?” When he didn’t answer, you continued, “a bit of a freelancer. I find people. Information. Not like you, though.”

He seemed to think about that for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Thanks for the tip, about the factory.”

“Anytime.”

For a moment you both said nothing as you looked at each other, but you seemed to gather your courage at the same time.

“Mando, d’you–”

“I should–”

You both stopped, and you laughed. “Do you want a drink?”

He shook his head and stook a step back. “I should go.” Before you could respond, he turned and started down the street. You wanted to call after him, but your target surprised you by slipping out of the door across the street before you could think of what to say. You turned your attention back to your job and tried to put your mysterious, shiny Mandalorian out of your mind.

…

You didn’t see him for a couple of days, and as you wrapped up your own case, you figured he must have located his bounty. You put together the data packet for your client and tried not to dwell on the fact that he was probably off planet, already. 

You don’t even know his name.

Sighing, you stood from your desk in your tiny office and decided to treat yourself to your favorite cheap street food, from the stall that was kind of out of the way but always so good. You locked up and headed out.

You weren’t sure why the Mandalorian seemed to fill your thoughts, but you found yourself thinking about him again the entire walk to your dinner. He was obviously fit – those shoulders - but that didn’t change the fact that he was a bounty hunter you barely knew. You didn’t really know him at all.

As you joined the line at the stall, you resolved to put him out of your mind.

Of course, right at that moment you felt a presence fall into step with you. You smiled as you looked to your right, already knowing what you would find.

“Mando,” you greeted, crossing your arms. “Figured you’d be gone by now.”

He made a little huffing noise, and you wondered if you’d just made him laugh.

“Still here.” You moved forward in line and he moved with you. “I…” he trailed off, and you noticed the tension in his arms. Was he nervous? “I could use your help.”

Your eyebrows flew upwards and you knew your shock was written all over your face. “Me? I’m not a bounty hunter.”

He shook his head. “I know. But you’re good. And you know this place.” He gestured at the city around you. “He keeps slipping through my fingers, he clearly knows his way around.”

You took a moment to study him. You wanted to say yes and jump right in, but you reminded yourself you still didn’t know this man. No matter how interesting he seemed. “Alright, Mando. Buy me dinner and we’ll talk.” He tensed, but you smiled. “Don’t worry, Mando. Wait ‘til you see the prices.”

He did, in fact, seem relieved when he saw how cheap the stall was. There was a reason it was so popular.

Dinner in hand, though he refused to get something for himself, you led him around the corner and upwards until you were perched on a half-roof that jutted out from where two buildings had been combined in some sort of wonky construction merger that left just part of the original roof alone. You knew there was no roof access from the inside, so it was a great place to sit if you knew how to get to it otherwise. It was even partially hidden by a large advertisement. He followed, scaling the wall behind you effortlessly.

“Alright,” you said, once you and the Mandalorian had settled into your new surroundings. “What’s the problem?”

He retrieved a bounty puck from a pouch at his waist and turned it on. You noticed how big his hands were in comparison with the puck, but brushed the thought aside. “Bounty’s local – a Twi’lek named Lidar Tas. He knows this place too well, knows just where to hide.”

You nodded. You’d heard of Tas and his gang of mudscuffers. “Never met him, but, well. His name is pretty well-known.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard people talking about him, been chasing him for almost two weeks. Almost had him in the factory, but I swear he went into one of the water chutes on purpose.”

The Mandalorian sounded incredulous, and you couldn’t help but smile. “He probably did. Some of them are kept empty, but you wouldn’t know the schedule or which ones without an in at the factory. Or a local. It’s still dangerous but I can see why he’d go for it, running from you.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I figured. Couldn’t even tell which one he went into, though.”

You hummed sympathetically. “Any idea where he’s going next?”

He nodded, and put away the puck. “He’ll be over in the western market again, for the festival. I was hoping you could help me prepare for whatever escape routes he might take.”

You tilted your head, unable to hold back your question any longer. “Why me?”

He turned toward you slightly. “I can tell you know what you’re doing. That first night, I knew someone was tailing me, but I couldn’t find you. And you clearly know your way around.”

You smiled again, a bit flattered. “Really? Just from that?” 

“I know real skill when I see it.” 

“Alright,” you agreed. “Well, then how do you feel about having a second set of eyes?”

He stiffened. “I can’t–”

But you were already shaking your head. “No payment necessary, Mando. I’m happy to help.”

He moved his head in such a way that you thought he might be frowning. “No, I can pay you a fair share of the bounty. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

You scoffed. “Which one of us knows this place? I’ll be fine. People are used to seeing me, the locals won’t even blink if they do. I promise.” He hesitated, and you smiled again. “Come on, Mando. It’ll be fun.”

He made that small huffing noise again, and you were certain this time it was a laugh. You grinned.

“Alright, but if I tell you to back off, promise you’ll do it? I don’t want you hurt.”

You nodded. That seemed fair, even though you knew you could take care of yourself. In agreement, you settled in to plan.

…

The next night you resolutely ignored the fact that you were putting on the black pants that made your ass look amazing. And the jacket that you knew made you look cool and tough (according to your friends). 

You met up with the Mandalorian well away from the market, and found him leaning against the corner of a repair shop. You smiled, knowing he was trying to be inconspicuous, but he couldn’t hide from the neon lights and the way they reflected off of his armor. 

“You know, he probably saw you coming,” you said, gesturing at his armor. 

He sighed. “He did, early on. Tipped him off.”

“You’re just too shiny, Mando.” You laughed and you swore he must have rolled his eyes at you. 

His helmet tilted as he looked you up and down, and you ignored the heat that rose in your face. “It’s impressive, you know. That you can hide around here as well as you do.”

You shrugged. “The secret is to only wear black, obviously.” You smiled. “Should we get started?” You both knew the plan, and you knew where you’d be as a lookout. He nodded and turned to walk towards the festival. 

“Hey, Mando, wait,” you said. He stopped and turned to look at you. “I just realized, I never told you my name.”

He turned back towards you and regarded you silently for a moment. “I won’t tell you mine.”

This didn’t surprise you. “That’s alright. I can keep calling you Mando.” You told him your name and did not fidget. 

He nodded, once, and repeated it. You tried to hide the way you shivered at the sound. “Let’s go.”

…

You split up as you headed to the market, and soon enough you were in one of your normal perches – a balcony well hidden by a neon sign. It gave you a good vantage point without being too bright, at least from the back. The colors and flashing lights also obscured the fact that you were lurking behind them.

“In position,” Mando murmured over your comm. You’d dug up an old ear piece so you didn’t have to fidget with anything. You realized suddenly that maybe this wasn’t the best choice. HIs voice was deep and gravely and it felt like he was right next to you, speaking lowly into your ear. “No sign yet.”

You shook yourself lightly and cleared your throat. “Nothing here.”

You were both silent for a moment. You forced yourself to scan the crowded street below and do your job.

“Target spotted, moving north past the theater,” his low voice murmured in your ear. You shivered as you turned left to look. Sure enough, Tas was walking with a small group past the theater. He looked strangely carefree for someone who knew he was being hunted by a Mandalorian. Maybe he thought the hunter had given up?

“I see him,” you replied. “He’ll pass me soon.”

The Mandalorian was further up the road to your right, staying out of sight (and away from the neon lights). You knew he had to be using some sort of fancy equipment to spot Tas from so far away. 

Tas and his group stopped, suddenly, and you realized where they were going before they turned. “Mando, Tas must be doing a deal tonight. He’s going inside the casino, just him and one of his lackeys.”

The casino was decorated for the holiday with even brighter lights than normal. The facade was almost obscured by the number of moving lights and shapes. You knew people like Tas used it to do business rather than gamble. Though maybe they did both – you wouldn’t know, as you’d never been inside.

“I’m heading your way,” he replied, and you could hear the crowd on the street in the background. “Do you know where they’d go?”

You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ve never been inside. Kriff, I’m sorry, Mando. I just know there’s a back door down the alley, I’ve had to watch it before.”

For a moment the Mandalorian didn’t respond, and you felt your own disappointment start to roil in your gut. But then he surprised you.

“I don’t want to ask this of you.” His voice was low and apologetic. “I can’t go inside, they’ve seen me. Do you think you can without attracting notice? If it’s too dangerous, tell me.”

You hesitated, thinking about it. There were people streaming in and out of the casino – it was probably crowded for the festival. It should be easy to hide inside, with all those people. 

You’d been silent too long, you realized, when the Mandalorian started to say your name.

“I can do it,” you cut him off. “It’s way more crowded than usual, with all the people here for the festival. No one’ll look twice at me.” You looked down at your outfit and nodded. It could pass, you thought. 

He said your name again. “Only if you’re sure you can stay under the radar. I don’t want–”

But you were already moving. You dropped down into an alley a block over and made your way back to the casino. “I’ll be ok, Mando. I’ll check in soon.”

“Be careful. Don’t take any risks.” You tried not to read into the emotion you could hear in his voice.

It was too late for you to respond as you stepped up to the door. The Bothan working the door looked you up and down and then waved you in, looking bored.

You took a deep breath as you stepped inside.

It was about what you’d expected. Not quite seedy, but not exactly opulent. Everything was lit up in lurid red and purple lights. It was decorated for the festival but that didn’t hide the fact that overall, the place had seen better days. You scanned the room as you walked and headed towards the bar along the south wall.

When you ordered a drink, you let the Mandalorian hear it over the comm. You settled in at the bar and thanked whoever designed the tacky interior for all the mirrors they’d installed above the bar. You scanned the room slowly. There were tables for every gambling game you could name and many you couldn’t. Your eyes caught on a door in the back corner, hidden in shadow. Tas’s lackey was hoving right outside of it.

You let your gaze keep wandering across the mirrors as you brought your drink to your mouth. “Northeast corner. Guy outside the door,” you murmured, barely moving your mouth. You heard a sharp intake of breath.

“The side door?” he sounded out of breath, and you wondered what he was up to.

“Think so,” you agreed, taking another sip. “Right spot.”

“Stay there,” he said, voice firm. “I’m going in.”

You didn’t respond, afraid to distract him. Your mind played you images of the Mandalorian bursting into a room and being outnumbered, and you took a deep breath. He knows what he’s doing. You kept an eye on the door.

The next few minutes were excruciating. You waited, straining to hear anything, but unable to, over the crowd and the ringing of the games.

You didn’t hear anything, but you noticed when the lackey outside the door went suddenly tense. You watched as he turned towards the door and without hesitation, you got up and moved to follow.

The room seemed much larger when you turned, ready to cross it towards the door. There were people in your way, people you had to shove past, and by the time you shouldered and elbowed your way to the other side of the floor the lackey was gone and the door was shut. You eyed it, wondering if you should go through. 

The unmistakable sound of a blaster made the decision for you.

Before you realized you were moving, your hand was on the door and you were yanking it open. You were surprised to find a hallway, rather than a room, but there was only one door at the other end. You ran to it.

You took a deep breath instead of barreling through the second door. You pressed your ear to it, but you didn’t hear anything inside. Easing it open, you found a room full of storage shelves. You heard rustling towards the back. 

Stepping softly, you started to edge around the first shelf. You looked down the row and your heart started racing.

The Mandalorian was at the far end of the room, tying the hands of Lidar Tas. He was surrounded by bodies, all clearly down, except for one man sneaking out from between two shelves about halfway between you and Mando. It was the lackey who had been outside the door.

You froze, but only for a moment.

When the man turned and silently lifted his blaster, you were already there, tackling him to the ground. You knocked the blaster away before he even realized what was happening. By the time you’d knocked him out and looked up at Mando, he was already looking at you. 

You grinned. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He laughed. You could tell, even though you couldn’t hear it.

“You’re alright?” he asked, and you felt your face heat, though you weren’t sure why. 

You nodded. “Just fine. Came when I saw him move, and then heard the blasters.”

He stood and tugged Tas up, throwing the unconscious Twi’lek over his shoulder. You were a bit taken aback at his strength. “I need to get him to my ship. Could you, well. It would be easier if I could get there without going through the crowds.”

“I can help with that.” You smiled as you walked past him to the back door. “Come on, Mando. Where’s your ship?”

You heard a blaster fire, and whirled around. The Mandalorian was already putting his blaster back in its holster, and you realized he’d just shot the man you knocked out. “Mando?” You weren’t exactly sad to see one of Tas’ men dead, but you were a bit surprised.

“He might have seen you,” he said. “I told you, I won’t put you in danger.”

You looked down, trying not to see that as sweet.

“Alright. Come on, Mando.”

Your trip to the shipyard was surprisingly uneventful. Once you arrived, you weren’t sure what to do, so you followed him up the ramp of his ship and watched as he put Tas in carbonite.

You realized, suddenly, that he was going to leave. The disappointment you felt at the realization seemed hugely out of proportion with the short time you’d known him, and yet… your stomach sank, and you bit your lip.

You didn’t want him to go.

He turned from the freezer, and you could see it in the angle of his shoulders. He was about to say goodbye. So you spoke before he could.

“Well, Mando,” you said, aiming for a lighter tone and missing by a mile, “you sure you have to go? It’s been fun, having you around.”

He shifted his weight. “I have to turn him in.” He sounded reluctant, and you felt something like excitement start to build in your chest. Maybe he didn’t want to go yet.

“Of course,” you agreed. “But, you know, it is a holiday. If you wanted to stick around for another night.” You tried not to fidget as you looked at him. He didn’t respond, and as his silence started to stretch, the excitement started to turn to embarrassment. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and started to turn away. “I’ll just–”

Before you could even take a step, there was a gloved hand on your arm. A large, warm hand. You shivered.

“One more night?” he murmured, and you felt him step up behind you. The warmth of his body made you want to lean back into him. He squeezed your arm. 

“Yes,” you said, and you were surprised at how breathy your voice sounded.

He stepped even closer, somehow, and his armor brushed your back. You felt him lean towards you and when he spoke, it was like he was whispering in your ear. “With you?” His voice was deep, so deep.

“Yes,” you said again. 

His helmet came to rest against the side of your head and his free arm slipped around your waist. “The helmet stays on.”

You sighed and leaned back into him. You nodded. “Alright.”

“Then lead the way, mesh’la.” 

You grinned and reached down to lace your fingers together. 

...

Three months later your comm pinged while you were on a stakeout. When you looked at the message, you couldn’t help but smile.

Heading your way for a hunt. You in?

...

a/n: happy holidays!

[concussed-to-pieces]

Arbiter's Solstice; Part Three

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: Karl was either going to spontaneously combust out of boredom, or spontaneously combust out of having to watch you working in the fields. Oh sure, he didn't have to watch you work. But he did. Sometimes. Most of the time.

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying what I do! Hopefully I'll see you soon, but if not, stay safe. 💚 Enjoy!

Tag List: @stargazerofgoldenwords @cookiethewriter @crookedmoonsaultpunk @colesterstrudel @spoopyredacted @velvet-paradox @kotall-ohh @calwitch @katreneebug @missjasmine98 @sunflowers-and-swear-words @savage-rhi @nova-ivy541 @xyaswrlldd @the-videodame @luvley-shadow @akashiiiiii @spook0 @leediavhs @wysterias-not-so-secret-diary @alldevilsmaycry @writtennotsaid @mulcivert @cedarsmokesrandoms @smallestsnarkestgirl @buttons-beads-lace @vodkafolie @theplagueworm @holydreamerpastadragon @story-chaotic-brain @ohlookapan @topgirl17 @fyufox @immajojoreference @that-thangiling @n-o-r-4 @hauntedadagium @redjahxfox 

[If you were tagged in error, please let me know and I’ll remove you!] 

Part One: Chosen

Part Two: Struggles

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains gore, mentions of death, canon-typical violence, depictions of mental and physical duress and unprotected sexual activities between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]

Karl stared aimlessly up at the smoke wafting overhead from the stubbed-out cigar in his ashtray, his fingers tapping the surface of his work bench. The bench was littered with scrap, bits and pieces he'd been attempting to make sense of all morning. 

When Donna had sent a request for all able-bodied villagers to assist with the salvaging of the fields and the planting of the autumn harvest, he had assumed you would wish to be exempted from such a tedious task. Instead, you leaped at the opportunity eagerly. Had he kept you cooped up for too long and you just needed to stretch your legs? Or was there something more sinister at work? Had Donna gotten to you with her damn spores?

Heisenberg groaned, rubbing his hand across his face.

The phone above the workbench began ringing, a dull clicking noise that Karl barely registered at first. He drew a circle with his finger, mentally trying to fit several pieces on the table in front of him together. If that goes to here, maybe I can–

Wait, the phone?  

The man bolted upright, seizing the receiver and nearly yanking the whole unit off the wall in the process. Through the buzzing hum of poorly-insulated lines came the sound of howling, snarling, and-

“Karl?”

“What the hell is happening, Donna?!” Heisenberg barked, already halfway into his coat. He could almost feel her mustering up the strength to say something through her obviously-crippling anxiety, but he stifled his pity for the woman. Something was clearly wrong. “Donna, what the fuck do you need?” He asked finally, trying to prod her to respond.

There was a choked gasp for air and then she exhaled, “the lycans won't listen.”

The lycans. Fuck. He hadn't spared a thought for them since well before he’d torn Alcina's throat out. They'd been on the same level as humans, annoying, useless. 

Heisenberg slammed the phone down into the cradle, certain he'd broken the rotary dial with the motion. It didn't matter.

He grabbed his hat, shoving it onto his head as he headed for the first of many doors to reach the outside. He'd have to muster up some kind of weapon as he went, unwilling to trust the durability of his old hammer. Worst came to worst, he could make something out of the salvaged tractor. He would be fine, it was the birds that unnerved him when he went outside but he would be fine– 

Why the hell was his heart beating so fast?!

…

You swung the heavy bucket, clobbering the creature in front of you grimly. The momentum carried you in a circle, almost toppling you, but you managed to catch yourself before you fell. 

The lycans had fallen upon the fields without warning, much fewer in number than they had been before the Lady's demise but no less ferocious for their lack of numbers. The villagers, armed with nothing but spades and rakes for turning the earth, quickly rallied and fought back. You had been returning from the well with a fresh bucket of water for the workers to drink, so you didn't even have the benefit of a long-handled tool to defend yourself!

Lycans didn't terrify you like the Soldat had. If anything, you were used to seeing creatures like lycans or Dimitrescu's Moroaică. You weren't thrilled about seeing them, but they didn't necessarily unnerve you, especially since you weren't dealing with them alone. Outside, under the cheery sunlight of midday, they weren't quite so imposing.

You brought the bottom of the water bucket down on the head of another lycan, water flying everywhere as the beast snapped and yelped in response. One of the other villagers swung his rake into the beast's ribs, scoring several deep wounds in the lycan's side. 

Where is Donna? you wondered frantically, glancing around for the unwilling leader of the village. The black-veiled woman seemed to have vanished into thin air, however. You and the rest of the laborers were evidently on your own. You set your jaw, working with the other villager to batter the downed lycan with your implements until it stopped moving. 

The brutality of the action was shocking, yet you felt nearly nothing about it. Pragmatism, maybe a new gift from your service under Karl? The Lady had always weaponized fear and anticipation in equal measure, where Lord Heisenberg was quick to make a choice and carry it out. If something was threatening you, be it Soldat or despot, end it. 

Simple.

You straightened up, wiping the sweat from your brow and squinting through the gritty dust. The fields would be ruined (well, more ruined) if this fight went on for much longer. Someone would need to be decisive to put a stop to the lycans marauding behavior.

That someone turned out to be one Lord Karl Heisenberg, the Iron Horse seeming to materialize out of the dust of the field like an apparition. The large man snapped his fingers, ancient shrapnel rising from the disturbed dirt to do his bidding. Without a word, without so much as a sound, he merely gestured with his hand and every lycan dropped. 

You were certain you weren't the only one standing there stunned by the speed of the whole endeavor, but you may have been the only one to notice how hard Karl's chest was heaving. That, combined with the way his eyes darted across the fields until they met yours and his shoulders visibly relaxed–

Gods, his eyes. You were suddenly breathless for an entirely different reason, feeling your body flush with heat as his gaze burned straight through you. To think, you had jumped at the chance to perform some labor away from Heisenberg's factory, just to give yourself the opportunity to have a little space, only to be rendered useless once more the moment his glance landed on you. So much for your noble attempt!

What was less surprising than his reaction was, unfortunately, the way he stormed across the dusty ground, the large man clearly making a beeline for you. You braced for his approach, mentally trying to remind yourself that he still had yet to be cruel to you. Sure, he could be more than a little terrifying, but that came with his demeanor! That came with just being who he was, it wasn't as though he was making a deliberate effort to be so…scary.

The man kicked a dead lycan aside, the limp body leaving a fresh furrow in the ground from the force of Karl's blow. A jagged piece of metal jutted proudly upwards from the base of the creature's neck, black ichor staining the dark hair darker still.

You swallowed hard.

“You,” Karl hissed, but…but he wasn't even looking in your direction? You cautiously glanced around, quickly spying Donna standing next to the field with Angie. “Don't you know anythin’?! You need to turn the soil first, get all the big rocks and metal out of the way before you try to plant! Imagine if one of-” There was a sickening squelching noise as a deadly sharp bit of metal pulled itself free of another lycan's head, the object rising to hover beside Karl's shoulder. “-your villagers ended up losing a hand from something like this?!” The metal shard darted through the air at Donna's head and you flinched, exhaling hard when it dropped harmlessly to the ground at her feet. “You need to think like a goddamn leader!” Heisenberg roared. “You're not some helpless stupid child, Beneviento, so act like it!”

“This reaction seems a bit overblown, Heisenberg.” That may have been the longest sentence you'd ever heard out of Lady Beneviento. Karl halted, obviously surprised as well. Donna's hands were clasped in front of her around Angie, her already-pale knuckles further whitened by the force of her grip, but her voice was steady when next she spoke. “Everyone, please take a short rest. We will return to work in half an hour.”

“Not you,” Karl growled when you attempted to slink off with the rest of the villagers. “You're staying where I can see you.” He then raised his voice to address Lady Beneviento once the villagers departed, “Why the hell did you call me? It's your damn village to manage.” The man griped, shoving his hands into his pockets as you sheepishly moved to stand beside him. 

Donna wavered, clutching at a nearby trellis for support. You stepped forward, instinctively looking around for something for her to sit down on, but Karl moved past you and took her arm. 

“Have you had anything to eat today? Drink?” He enquired gruffly, clicking his tongue when she shook her head. “Infuriating. It's hot and you're out here wrapped in black fabric. Did your gift eat your brain?”

“I am not so blessed as you.” Donna retorted dryly, gripping his arm. “It is difficult.”

“I'll go draw more water! Uh, can you…?” You held out the metal pail to Heisenberg, who flicked a hand at it and removed the fresh dents. “Thank you!”

…

“Your pet is so dutiful.” Donna remarked after Karl had settled her onto the tailgate of a nearby wagon. “They must be a great help.”

The lord gritted his teeth. “Don't call them that.” He couldn't read her expression beneath the veil, but he could certainly guess. “I'm not fucking Miranda, I don't keep these things around as pets.” 

“‘These things’,” Lady Beneviento chuckled, the noise as dry as parchment. “You still want to sound like her. Very well. Not a pet. What, then?”

He gave the frail woman an incredulous look. “None of your goddamn business, that's what. Since when do you care about my affairs? I feel like you've got much more important shit to consider.” 

“Indulge me.” 

“I'd sooner chop off my own dick,” was the man's uncouth retort. “You've got enough fires to put out, don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.”

“So vulgar.” The veiled woman leaned back, Angie kicking her heels rhythmically against the tailgate as she did. “I was only curious.”

“Don't act like we're friends just because I agreed to rebuild your crap, woman. I'm not here to facilitate your entertainment. And neither are they, for that matter.” 

“Understood.” Lady Beneviento sighed, actually sounding disappointed. 

Karl bit his tongue, both literally and figuratively as he kept himself from chiding her anew on her childish behavior. “Where did the lycans come from? Which direction?” He eventually asked.

Donna indicated towards what was left of Moreau's reservoir. “It has been so dry recently. Have they run out of food?”

The large man offered no response, instead kneeling to examine one of the quickly-dissolving bodies. The creature's ribs were plainly visible, pressing against the thin, ashen skin in unhealthy juts. 

“What will I have to offer you for your continued assistance as we plow and plant?” Donna called, interrupting his amateur investigation. Karl grumbled to himself, dusting his knees off when he rose.

“Scarecrows.” He watched her head tilt upwards beneath her thick veil, the woman obviously confused. “You heard me. Build scarecrows. You do that and I'll make sure the rest of the lycans don't get your precious villagers.” Heisenberg paused, a wolfish grin creasing his face. “At least, not while they work in the fields. Deal?”

“More than fair, especially from you!” Angie chirped before Donna could answer. “Maybe you're not so bad.”

“Keep your inane observations to yourself, you little creepshow.”

…

The heavy pail banged against your leg with every step. You weren't certain how much water the Lady Beneviento could drink, but if her appetite was anything like her deceased sister's, you may need another bucket! 

Flagging down one of the other women on your way by the resting band of villagers, you requested that she bring some bread and fruit to Lady Beneviento. No doubt the sugar would help to raise her spirits somewhat. To your surprise, however, the woman quickly shook her head.

“I'm not going anywhere near that…man.” She said, her voice just loud enough for the rest of the laborers to hear. “That's Lord Heisenberg.”

You squinted at her, a little baffled. But then, you recalled you had been much the same before everything that had transpired. Her apprehension was incredibly understandable. “Oh, of course! Just bring it to me then, I can bring it to them.” 

“Are you certain? What if he…does something to you?” The woman asked fearfully.

“Don't you recognize them?” another woman scoffed from her place at the fenceline, giving you a disdainful look. “They were his handmaiden, of course they're not scared of him. They're the reason we're in this mess, if they had just-!”

“The bread and some fruit, please.” To your credit, your voice didn't shake as badly as you feared. The first woman skittered off towards one of the houses and you set the bucket on the ground to wait for her return, intent on ignoring the daggers you could feel being glared at you. The snide remarks were a bit more difficult to tune out, though.

“No wonder the lord showed up so quickly-”

“What have they been doing in that factory? Can't be anything good.”

“We're only in such a bad state because they refused to follow the orders of their betters!”

“Imagine willingly working for something like that! And with Lady Dimitrescu hardly cold in the ground-”

A covered basket was pressed into your arms, the woman giving you a sorrowful look. “Take care, little one.” She murmured softly.

“Naturally!” You replied with an air of extreme cheer, determined not to let the rest of the gossips know how their words had affected you. Hefting the bucket once more, you listed slightly to the side before adjusting to the combined weight. “Thank you for your hospitality!” 

Perfectly willing to accept my help when I'm smacking a lycan with a bucket, but bringing some provisions to their leader is a bridge too far, you groused uncharitably to yourself as you made your way back to the other edge of the field. Ridiculous. If Karl had wanted to do something bad, I doubt Lady Beneviento would be able to stop him.

You hoped the rest of the villagers would be able to observe the lord and lady interacting. Maybe they would be able to comprehend that Heisenberg wasn't…

Well, wasn't as much of a threat as they wanted to believe. You sighed heavily, then straightened back up and pasted on a smile. “Some refreshments, Lady Beneviento!” You announced upon your arrival, waiting respectfully until the woman shifted Angie aside so you could place the basket on the tailgate of the wagon. Karl took the bucket himself without a word, filling the ladle and then passing it to Donna so she could drink. In the meantime you unwrapped the basket, surprised to see a jar of pickled vegetables as well as your requested rolls and a small bowl of raspberries. 

“What will you sample first, my lady?” The way you slid back into your more formal manners felt like putting on an itchy sweater. It fit, certainly, it was your place, but that didn't make it comfortable or desirable. You hadn't realized how much more casual you were with Lord Heisenberg until this moment. 

“You're eating.” Heisenberg growled, interrupting the woman midway through shaking her head. “You'll do none of those idiots any good if you're dead. You need to be alive if you expect me to keep showing up to deter the lycans. Now eat.”

“Perhaps just a few pieces of carrot?” You bargained, using the provided fork to spear a sliced carrot from the jar of vegetables. “And this bread looks fresh! Hours old, if that. You and Miss Angie are bound to enjoy it, especially with these raspberries.”

“Ah…I suppose. Perhaps you are right.” Lady Beneviento murmured, gamely accepting the fork from you. “The carrots are very bright this year.”

“They are!” you agreed, stunned but delighted. Was this an actual conversation? 

Karl refilled the ladle, his expression unreadable as he waited for Beneviento to finish chewing the carrot. “Drink. Small bites.” He instructed her, and you heard a snort from beneath the veil.

“Such a doting brother.” 

“Do it, you ungrateful little shit.” Heisenberg snarled. “You want me to protect your sheep? Take care of yourself because after the planting is done, I'm not coming back to your flock.” His eyes wandered to you momentarily before he seemed to snap back to attention, continuing, “you've put enough people in danger today. You need to be able to handle it yourself the next time it comes to your doorstep.”

“There is no need to scold me like an unruly child, Lord Heisenberg.” 

Karl tensed up and you quickly replaced the ladle in his hand with an herbed piece of bread, knowing all too well his weakness for the soft rolls. “Please eat, my lord.” You insisted, your cheeks tingling with the effort of maintaining your pleasant smile. “I can assist Lady Beneviento, I imagine you have more important things to tend to. To er, ensure the safety of the villagers?” 

The man tore a bite out of the roll, sharp teeth easily ripping the bread apart. “Oh absolutely. You know me, I'm a real…humanitarian.” He doffed his hat lazily at the two of you, then turned on his heel and headed for the small rise of land bordering the fields.

“It is curious how familiar you are with dear Karl.” Lady Beneviento commented once she seemed to believe the man was out of earshot. You froze, panic gripping your throat. “You were his…handmaiden, correct?”

“Y-Yes, my lady.”

“How very strange.” After that, Lady Beneviento didn't say another word, the frail woman seeming, frankly, exhausted from the morning's excitement. The villagers returned to their toil soon after Karl took his position on the rise, the lord pacing back and forth aimlessly as the ground was broken and dirt was sifted. You returned to your labor as well, continuing to haul water or break apart the larger chunks of loam to be sifted, and you did your best to ignore the broadening gulf of distance between yourself, the rest of the village denizens and Lord Heisenberg.

Karl would occasionally pause in his pacing to lift whatever shrapnel was picked from the earth, the man clearly collecting it with the intent to form some new weapon. He had a relatively sizable stack by supper time, when all labor stopped in order for folk to prepare their evening meal. Wearily the group of you trudged off the field, and force of habit led your footsteps towards what was left of Castle Dimitrescu. You were only brought out of your reverie by Heisenberg's voice, nearly jumping out of your skin when he spoke up behind you, “going somewhere, sweetheart?”

“N-No, not at all!” You denied, once more out of habit, turning to face him. “I was just…I was lost in thought.” Karl nodded as though he accepted your explanation, his own brow furrowed. “What are you doing following me, anyway?!” You sputtered.

The man shrugged. “The lycans. You never know where they might come from next.” He then straightened up, lighting a cigar. He hadn't smoked the entire time he was on guard duty, you realized belatedly. Just paced, back and forth, back and forth-

“Thank you.” You blurted out before you could think it through, dissolving into a stammer when he gave you a look of confusion. Something about his eyes tied your tongue in knots, but eventually you managed to explain yourself. “Thank you f-for coming today. I know you don't really like Lady Beneviento, so I really appreciate you–”

“It's not that I don't like her,” Karl interjected, his expression darkening. “It's…it's more than that. Look, don't worry about it. We made a deal, and I'm going to honor my side of it. That's all there is to it.”

It's more than that. 

A thought came to you as Karl fell into step alongside you, of Lord Heisenberg and Lady Beneviento…you flinched, shaking your head to ward off that mental image even as your brain pragmatically reminded you well they're not actually siblings, there's no harm in it. Perhaps they had simply found solace in one another due to their unique upbringing, it didn't have to be more complex than that. It would explain a bit of the animosity Karl seemed to harbor for her, especially after his binding–

You had to keep yourself from slapping your forehead in annoyance at your own stupidity, of course that's why Karl was on less than good terms with her! From the looks of things she had been in no position to challenge the Lady Dimitrescu when it came to Heisenberg's imprisonment. Alcina had been…well, a bit of a brute, really. You couldn't imagine Donna defying her in any sense, least of all regarding someone who, in theory, was the only one who threatened Lady Dimitrescu's total dominion over the region. 

To think that your misplaced jealousy (and it was extremely misplaced, why on earth would you believe Lord Heisenberg even thought of you like that?!) had led to you immediately assuming to know the hearts and minds of two individuals who were absolutely your betters in every sense of the word. You were ashamed of yourself, feeling small and foolish in your insecurity.

You were a handmaiden, nothing more, and that was how things had to be.

…

Karl was either going to spontaneously combust out of boredom, or spontaneously combust out of having to watch you working in the fields. 

Oh sure, he didn't have to watch you work. But he did. Sometimes. 

Most of the time.

He'd rest his arm on the handle of his new hammer, rest his chin on that and just let his eyes drift where they wanted. At least you seemed oblivious to his stare, too intent on your chores to bother to remain aware of your surroundings. Good thing Karl was there to ward off anything dangerous that may have approached.

And he had absolutely had his hands full for the first few days. The lycans had tried every which way to get past him in order to attack the vulnerable villagers, but it always ended the same: dissolving bodies pushed off to the side, a few grudging thank-yous, maybe an extra bit of bread and cheese thrown his way during the communal lunch. You'd think he would get a bit more recognition; not a single villager had died yet on his watch. 

A distant yell roused him from his staring match with the area you had occupied, the man finding to his silent dismay that you had vanished while he wasn't paying attention. 

The shout had come from the direction of the well. Heisenberg straightened up and the other laborers in the field seemed to take notice, their work pausing while they watched him shift his posture. Heisenberg ignored them, one hand reaching out towards the well. He closed his eyes to aid his concentration, the range of his power dependant on his focus–

Lycans. Multiple, his attention leaping from one to the next. A filling here, a screw in the knee there, bodies lighting up with hotspots of metal that he could turn to his advantage even at this distance.

Wait. He had needed to fix you after Alcina, a screw in the knee, what if he'd left something behind–

Another scream, this time from the other end of the field. The lycans had split what few numbers they had left, attempting to pick off outliers before Karl could reach them. The man growled, irritated, then stripped two pieces of metal off his hammer and sent them spiraling across the field. He barely waited to see if they had hit their mark before he bolted towards the well.

Karl reached out again, mentally straining to find something-

There! Bullet, lodged in a ribcage. He doubted you'd ever been shot in your life, so he took the gamble and latched onto the piece of metal, slamming it upwards until it tore free of whatever body it had resided in. 

Heisenberg finally crested the hill before the square, taking in the sight beneath him momentarily before he sprinted forward. 

It wasn't you. It wasn't you. Where the hell were you?! It was some man from the village, some useless man who was doing his best to defend himself by dashing back and forth around the well. 

Heisenberg gritted his teeth and brought the hammer down on the head of one of the frail lycans, spotting another one already dead. That must have been the bullet bearer. The last lycan whirled, snarling and howling at his intrusion. Karl bared his teeth at the creature, seeing Moreau pandering and groveling to Miranda every time he looked at the piscean lord's creations. “What's the matter? Were you expecting someone else?” Heisenberg sneered, watching the beast quail in real time as it seemed to recognize him. “Donna isn't here, little mutt. But you're going to wish she was.”

…

You turned out the loaf from its pan, exhaling in relief when it held strong and didn't collapse. The crust was a little darker than you'd like, but it would be edible enough! People were always hungry at the noon meal, so you had taken it upon yourself to bake extra loaves of the herbed bread. You had the time for it, after all, since Heisenberg took care of most of the chores in his factory! All you had really needed to do was prepare the dough in advance and transport it in the morning, then briefly break away to put it in a borrowed oven so it would be fresh for the communal meal. A simple enough task.

You wiped your hands off on your apron, wrapping the loaves in a clean towel and then tucking them into a basket so you could tote them to the mishmash of tables that had been set up outdoors in the shade of the gnarled orchard. The weather had continued to hold, a blessing and a curse for the backbreaking work that needed to be accomplished, but after such a long time cooped up in Castle Dimitrescu, the sunlight was wonderful and you cherished every moment you could get. 

A commotion outside caught your attention and you headed for the door, your basket safely slung over your arm. Perhaps everyone had decided to take the break a little early? It was warmer than usual today, it would certainly make sense-

Karl was in the middle of the field, surrounded by the rest of the villagers. “-want them found now, nothing gets done until they're located!” He was shouting, gesturing down at two more lycan corpses. Your heart leaped into your throat, you hadn't even known there was an attack! Had someone gone missing in the confusion?

“Sir?” One of the men spoke up, visibly shrinking when Karl glared his way and then raising a hand to hesitantly point in your direction. Heisenberg glanced up, paused, and then began shoving his way through the crowd. 

You had a ludicrous thought for a moment of fleeing, but you dismissed it immediately. Lord Heisenberg would be on you in an instant. It would be better to just take your punishment on the chin, so to speak.

That might have been easier to accept if Karl didn't look so exceedingly angry. He had even gone a bit red in the face, the color unfamiliar compared to his usual pallor. He towered over you, the large hammer landing haft up in the dirt as he mutely reached for your shoulders. You couldn't help the shudder that ran through your body when he grabbed you, bracing yourself for some terrible beating. 

A moment passed. Then two. Your eyes welled up and you blinked rapidly at the ground. 

“Look at me.” His voice was deceptively even. You wavered uncertainly, then managed to shake your head. “Why not?”

“I am afraid.” You admitted. “I know I should be able to look at you, but you seem furious. I…I am afraid.”

“You're afraid?” Heisenberg barked that strange, coarse laugh and then embraced you. “I was terrified.” He confessed, low enough that only you would hear. “I…I couldn't find you. I thought-”

Your heart was hammering so loudly in your ears you could barely make out his words. Terrified. He had been afraid…for you? “I don't understand.” You whispered.

“I know.” Heisenberg muttered. Then, “neither do I.”

…

The fields were finally all in order three days later. Donna was hoping (perhaps futilely) to have a bumper crop of corn to carry the village through the winter. The mended tractor had sped up the process considerably, but it was still an immense undertaking to cut back the dead crops and overturn them in the fields that Beneviento did want to use. Obviously she didn't exactly have the manpower that the village had enjoyed during Lady Dimitrescu's tyrannical reign, so she had to make several hard decisions to ensure the survival of the people she did have.

Heisenberg didn't envy her. Of course, that was nothing new, but now he really didn't envy her. It was no small feat managing a village. Hell, he'd had his hands full with his Soldats, and they couldn't even talk back! He knew himself too well, knew he didn't have the patience or the restraint for it.

His eyes wandered to you at your comically oversized stove and he had to snort at himself. Maybe he did have patience and restraint, but only in very…specific scenarios. Speaking of which. “Is it done yet?” He called for the fifth time, your little laugh warming him down to his core. 

“Almost!” You answered, turning to give him a quick smile. “I'm sorry, I know you're hungry.” 

“You have no idea.” Karl muttered half to himself, watching the sway of your hips as you resumed your task. Starving. 

“Are you helping to restore the barn tomorrow? Those that can't are stuffing the scarecrows, so I'll probably be doing that. I'm not much one for lumber.”

Truthfully Karl had forgotten about that next chore. Now technically Donna hadn't asked for his help regarding that anyway, so technically he didn't have to. But the thought of you sitting alone amongst the rest of the villagers was…irritating.

He had heard what they said, he always heard what they said and they were hardly kinder now that his imprisonment had ended. If anything, much of their vitriol seemed to have found a new target in you. Where they wouldn't say anything to his face, they were more than willing to say terrible things to you. He had watched you grin and bear it, but it didn't exactly brighten his day to know that you were enduring bullshit because of him. Add to that the fact that you hadn't ever brought it up to him so that the two of you could do something about it…

It was noble, in an exasperating and unfamiliar way, that you wanted to take on his woes or even shield him from them. As if you cared about him.

You were just some silly human.

Several fresh flatbread on a cutting board landed in front of him, and you carefully placed down a trivet on the table before managing to haul over a heavy skillet full of several eggs cooked in a molten hot tomato sauce. “Please be careful, it's extremely hot,” you warned, but Karl was already midway through digging a large spoon (more of a shovel, really) into the delicious-smelling mixture. 

“Do you have time to eat?” He asked gruffly as you moved to return to the stove. “With me, I mean.”

You paused, giving him a surprised look before answering, “of course, if that is your wish.” Karl made a small motion with the spoon and you practically glowed, your smile was so brilliant. You rushed to pick up a small bowl and then you attempted to serve Karl, which the lord immediately brushed off. He instead placed a substantial amount of the tomato mixture into your bowl, topping it with one of the eggs like a garnish. 

How much did you even eat? He wasn't usually in the habit of watching you consume your meals, too busy with his work to bother. The man tore one of the flatbreads in half to share, unable to fight his smile when you shyly accepted your piece. “Enjoy.” 

…

You were hopelessly in love, despite your best intentions. Absolutely smitten, entirely entranced, mired in juvenile infatuation. You stuffed more leaves into the patchworked shirt that would eventually become the body of a scarecrow and you did your best not to let your eyes wander to where Lord Heisenberg was working on the barn. It was a futile effort, of course, but you really did try!

It wasn't exactly fair that he had abandoned his shirt hours ago, the other villagers laboring alongside him in a similar state of undress. He was just so incredibly strong, and so casual about his strength. Carrying beams of lumber with ease to shore up the collapsing roof, using his strange power to tighten otherwise unreachable bolts or to wrestle with problematic nails…you knew you ought to have been paying more attention to your own task, but you also knew you weren't the only one looking at Lord Heisenberg.

Indeed, several individuals around you who were also busying themselves cramming dried cornstalks into old pillowcases would occasionally pause, hands going still while they watched Karl do something particularly impressive. Something in your chest tightened when you noticed the amount of attention fixed on Lord Heisenberg, but Karl tilted his head at that moment and caught your gaze. The man smirked, throwing you a wink, and you frantically ducked your head to avoid further humiliation amidst the tittering laughter of your peers.

Honestly, you had shared breakfast with Lord Heisenberg, not any of these other individuals. You had been Chosen for him at first, but after everything was said and done, he had chosen you. Perhaps…perhaps it wasn't so bad to have a little pride in such things.

You dared to sneak another look and when Karl met your eyes again, you gave him a soft, fond smile before returning to your task. There was still work to be done, regardless of your own internal discourse, and certain things couldn't wait. 

…

Heisenberg sought you out at the noon meal, the man having taken note of the furtive glances you'd been shooting his way all damn morning. He had to admit, it was…flattering, but also oddly sweet. 

He posted up alongside you on the bench, a trencher of excessively-cooked fish balanced on his leg. You passed him a slice of bread with some pork drippings while apologizing for the lack of salt, but the man waved you off, gesturing down at the fish. “Help y'self,” he mumbled through his first bite, “watch f’ the li'l bones.”

“I suppose-” you began, tugging at the still-attached tail and then making a quiet noise of surprise when the spine snapped, dropping the rest of the backbone onto the plate. “Oh dear. Well, that makes it easier.” You delicately placed the tail off to the side. “The Lady only ever had us prepare red meat or poultry.” You said, half to yourself while you frowned doubtfully down at the remains of the fish. “I'm not quite…sure how to do this.”

Before he could think better of it, Karl picked up a piece of the fish and easily stripped several sections off the ribs, offering them to you wordlessly. You accepted with a grateful smile, placing your portion onto your own slice of bread and then taking a large bite. The man continued to prepare his own smaller portion, pretending not to notice the way you gulped water with every bite.

“It's a bit, er, dry.” You mumbled when Karl finally asked how you liked the fish. “I'm afraid I don't understand the appeal. Maybe some seasonings would improve the flavor?”

Karl cleared his throat, stifling a laugh. The fish was as dry as a bone; he was more impressed that it had stuck together this long instead of just evaporating outright. “You're drinking more water than the fish did.” He remarked, making you sputter. “Don't worry, it's edible. Whatever you don't want, I'll finish.” 

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to be ungrateful.” You apologized guiltily, ducking your head. 

“We'll eat good tonight.” Karl crunched a needle-like bone, feeling it pierce the side of his cheek. “Let the rabble burn their fish and gawk at their betters.” 

“Oh, you noticed.” Your voice had gone thin.

“‘Course I noticed. I'm not goddamn blind.” Heisenberg growled, “they're terrified of me but they'll stare like slack-jawed idiots as soon as I show some skin.” He turned to the side, leaning in just a little and lowering his voice. “You're the only one I want gawkin’ at me, sweetheart.” 

You stared up at him, gawking in every sense of the word. Karl could feel his smirk making a triumphant return and he dared to slip a finger beneath your chin, feeling the way your pulse beat wildly at his touch. 

“Don't get all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he teased, tapping his thumb against your lips and then pulling away once more. “We can discuss further, when we have some…privacy.”

You blinked hazily before jolting, your back going poker straight as you focused your attention pointedly on the remains of the fish. 

…

“It's not hard to notice the way you treat me.” 

Karl turned from his workbench to look at you, the lord obviously surprised by your words. Your whole body was trembling but you did your best to maintain some level of eye contact. You already knew he could sense your fear, but hopefully he wouldn't misinterpret your apprehension. 

What you truly feared was rejection, or even disposal after brief fascination. The Lady had been so changeable in her moods and while Karl hadn't displayed quite that same level of vacillation, he did have a temper which seemed to burn hot. You weren't sure if you would be able to endure being disposed of, being ignored for the rest of your days once the shine wore off. 

“You treat me differently than the rest of the villagers.” You did your best to gentle your tone. This wasn't an accusation, after all, but an observation. 

Karl stood. “You make it sound like I shouldn't!” He half-laughed, but there was no humor in his tone. “Why wouldn't I treat you differently? You're the only one worth a damn in this entire village. You're the only one who treated me like a person, it's only natural that I'd treat you right.”

“You're a lord, though.” You pointed out. “You shouldn't display favoritism.”

“Have I ever given you the impression that I care about what I should or shouldn't do?” Heisenberg asked incredulously. “I killed Alcina. You of all people can understand that's something that I technically shouldn't have done and yet here we are, sans one noble House Dimitrescu.”

You shook your head, wishing you could just get him to understand. “It's not like that, it's just that…I mean, the rest of the villagers, they…” You trailed off, frustrated. What would you even say? ‘They're being rude to me’? Oh surely, what a change in behavior. “They just treat me differently.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You were both startled by the speed and volume of your denial, Karl snorting in apparent disbelief at the outburst. You glared at the floor, making a futile attempt at hiding from the man. 

“Then what's the problem?” He asked brusquely, one ankle tucked behind the other as he leaned against his workbench. “I'm offering even more than what I've already done, and I don't want anything more in return. I'm offering what you know you want, sweetheart.”

“You know what I want, now?” You shot back, a little irritated at how easy everything seemed to be for him.

“Of course.” Karl replied with a cocky little tilt of his head. “You want me over you, or maybe under you. Behind you? Choices, choices.” 

Your dream from the other night raged to the forefront of your mind once more and you buried your face in your hands with a frustrated little scream. “I didn't want to be like this.” You mumbled through your fingers, oblivious to how stiff Karl's posture went at your confession. “It's not my place to be like this, surely someone else-”

“No one.” The lord said curtly. “Not a soul. They can look at me all they want, but it'll be you I'm coming back to every night.” His expression softened ever so slightly. “If you'll have me, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. 

“If…if I agree to this,” you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “If I agree to this, you have to promise me that you won't…I mean, that if you get bored of me or you grow tired of my company, you'll state it plainly. Don't lie to me to spare my feelings, just tell me outright. I couldn't bear continuing to…engage with you if you no longer found my company pleasant.”

“It won't come to that.” Karl stated firmly. “Promise me you'll do the same, though. If you decide you'd rather move on, let me know so I can send you off.” 

“I doubt it will happen!” You rushed to assure him, “but I will acquiesce, of course. Neither of us are obliged to stay if we are unhappy!”

“Good.” Heisenberg fidgeted for a moment. “Can we…” He made an odd gesture at your pallet, “discuss further?”

“What else is there to discuss?” You queried, genuinely confused. Karl rolled his eyes with a groan, scooping you up into his arms and carrying you to your pallet. “Lord Heisenberg, I-”

“Karl.” He breathed in your ear, his voice sending an entirely different shiver down your spine. “Call me Karl when we're alone.”

“O-Of course.” Lord Heisenberg looked down at you expectantly and you bit your lip, hesitant even now. “Karl.”

“Sweetheart,” he practically purred the endearment, the gentle tone of his voice and the adoration in his eyes leaving you breathless. 

“I will meet you however I can.” You offered, propping yourself up on your elbows beneath him. “I am, however, not overly experienced in these matters.”

“Do you want me inside you at some point tonight?” Karl asked bluntly, smirking when you sputtered. “Don't worry about your experience. Whatever you've had, I'll make you forget about it.” 

“Oh.” You wheezed, more than a little frazzled. “Surely it would be better for you if I knew what I was doing?”

Karl ran his tongue over his teeth in that odd, nervous gesture. “Not really. I don't want you to be self-conscious.” He murmured, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. The man began unbuttoning your shirt, shoving the fabric off to the side so he could kiss your collarbone. 

The feeling of his facial hair on your bare skin had you trembling beneath him, your hands feebly gripping his shoulders in an effort to ground yourself. Oh certainly, there had been juvenile fumblings under the stairs in the kitchen, but you had never engaged in anything so…all-encompassing. Karl seemed ready to undo you entirely, the man taking his time with every button and hook that he encountered. 

He finally untied your breast band, slipping the cloth out from beneath you with a soft rustle. “I'm going to put my mouth here,” Karl warned you, his expression serious. 

Unsure of where here was, you still nodded your head, crying out when Karl roughly laved his tongue over your right nipple. The man coaxed the bud into his mouth, humming while you bucked and squirmed under his ministrations. No one had ever-! 

His free hand sought out your other breast, fingers teasing and fondling you to stiffness as you whimpered and bit down on your knuckles in an effort to keep quiet. The man growled something against your skin and then his knee dug beneath your thigh, hooking your leg up over his own and pressing his pelvis to yours through the layers of clothing. His skin was so hot, and the way his intense eyes watched your every move as you reacted helplessly to him…it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“Karl,” you half-sobbed, fingers fumbling at the open throat of his shirt. “Please, please Karl-”

“You don't even know what you want,” the man gently teased you, undoing the laces on your skirt and splaying the homespun weave open on either side of your hips, leaving you wholly exposed aside from your underthings. Karl shoved your legs up over his thighs, leaning his body forward to return to your breasts. As he did however, he rutted against your pelvis firmly, making you whine without intending to. You flushed hot, avoiding his eyes as he cautiously shifted his weight. “Mm, what's wrong sweetheart? You're so quiet all of a sudden,” the lord breathed, grinding his body down in an abrupt motion that startled another whine out of you. “Is this what you want, hmm?”

He didn't wait for whatever reply might have been forthcoming, the man busying himself at your breasts again. You arched your back, feeling his canines scrape your sensitive skin in a delicious tingle of sensation. “Karl-” 

“I know, sweetheart.” He whispered, slipping a hand into the band of your underwear and tugging them off, then unbuttoning the placket of his pants. “Look, look at me.” 

You managed to raise your head to stare down the length of your body at whatever he was trying to show you, your half-lidded eyes widening and the flush rising on your cheeks once more. Karl huffed out a breath, stroking his cock and pressing the heated skin against your wet cunt. You were so slippery that he ended up sliding over your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your clit with a harsh little bump that had you whimpering.

“Too much?” Karl asked through gritted teeth, forcing out a laugh when you vigorously shook your head. “Good, right? Feels good?” 

You could barely get a word out, your voice dissolving into a moan when he reached up to toy with one of your nipples again. “Yes, yes, please…” 

“Alright, I'll keep goin’.” Karl assured, using his hand to spread the lips of your cunt a little wider so he could slot himself against you more firmly. His low rumble when he rutted his cock between his hand and your cunt fanned the ache deep in your stomach, making your hips jolt up of their own accord. “Oh, easy, easy,” the man gasped, obviously startled. “I know you want more, sweetheart, but I don't want to hurt you.” He held up his hand and you realized dimly that it was trembling. “Inside, yeah?” 

You nodded wildly, propping yourself up on your elbows again in an effort to watch what he was about to do. Karl shot you a wink, making you let out a nervous giggle. The sound quickly turned into a gasp as he tapped his thumb to your clit and pressed his middle finger against your entrance, the rough pads of his digits rasping along your skin briefly. Then he breached your cunt, his finger experimentally stroking at your insides while his thumb rolled over your clit. 

“Say my name, sweetheart.” Karl instructed you softly. 

“Karl, I-” your voice cracked and broke when the man pressed his index finger into you, spreading you wider and making lewd, wet noises with your cunt. 

“I know,” he crooned, “I know sweetheart, you're already so wet for me but we need to make sure. Show me what you like.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassed. “I don't–I don't know.” You admitted softly, arching your back when he flicked over one of your nipples again. 

“Mmm, I think you do.” Karl growled, tormenting your nipple with firm strokes that he echoed on your clit, making you squirm and cry out. “How do you make yourself feel good?”

“I haven't!” you denied desperately. “I wasn't allowed, I-I–”

“No?” Karl interrupted you, raising an eyebrow. “You never found something that made you feel nice? Never took advantage of…oh, I dunno’, a certain angle, maybe a pillow?”

“Wasn't allowed.” You reiterated, practically babbling while his fingers curled and thrust into you. “Wasn't allowed wasn't allowed-”

“But did you?”

“No!” You sobbed, caught off-guard when he twisted his wrist and did–something with his fingers that made an explosion happen behind your eyes. Your whole body went tense and then a warm sensation flooded your groin, pulling a bone-deep groan out of you as you sank into the pallet once more.

“Coming so soon? Guess you were serious.” Karl sounded surprised, but also like he was talking to you from down a hallway. You whimpered instead of replying, making him laugh. 

His cock slid along your pussy again, sending a lance of heat into your belly. Your cunt was still riddled with aftershocks from whatever Karl had done to you, the man panting softly as he rolled his cock over your twitching entrance. Back and forth, back and forth, every motion inspiring that same heat to build in your stomach and causing you to moan in response. 

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.” He requested, clapping a hand to your shaking calf. “Let's get these nice and wide for me, loosen everything up so you're comfortable.” Broad palms kneaded at the insides of your thighs, the man helping to warm up the spasming muscles with careful strokes. His fingers were still wet from being inside you, leaving cool trails along your inner thigh when he moved his hand. “I…I can't promise this is going to be good at first.” Karl warned, his expression slightly pained. “We can stop now.”

“No, I want it. I–” you hesitated, still not certain of what exactly you were hoping for. “I want everything.” You finished instead, hoping you sounded firmer than you felt. “I can endure it.”

Karl chewed on his lower lip. “If it's too much, you'd better tell me.” His voice dropped into a lower, more grave register. “Understand, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes, Karl.”

“Good.” 

…

It still took Heisenberg a few minutes to work up the courage to start. He justified the delay by continuing to work you over with his fingers, mentally warring with himself while you sighed and panted under him. 

He could stop. He wasn't an animal. He could be careful, and you had given your word that you would tell him if it was too much. 

It would be enough. It had to be. Damn it all, if he couldn't trust himself to manage this now, he never would. Karl grimaced, tucking his fingers beneath your chin to hold your gaze. “I'm going to start.” He said quietly, “it may be uncomfortable.”

“I understand.” So brave, always so brave, staring up at him with a hazy sort of determination that sent a hot rush down his spine. 

The lord barely refrained from nervously laughing, choosing instead to spread you wide and rest the head of his cock against your entrance. He didn't move for a moment, giving you the opportunity to say no, but in a surprising twist you wrapped your fingers around your own thighs, clumsily helping him to hold you open. 

Karl slowly, slowly pressed his dick into you, the man finding himself having to adjust multiple times in order to keep the motion relatively smooth. Gods, you were so soft and warm, it was incredible. If it wasn't for the guilt he felt welling up inside him, it would be perfect. But despite your natural lubrication and warmup this was still obviously a massive undertaking, your voice cracking when you exhaled a moan of what seemed to be discomfort as he bottomed out. “Oh, Karl, oh God–” you whimpered, fingernails digging into your own thighs. “Can I–can you hold still? I need-I need a minute t-to…”

“Of course.” Karl muttered before you could finish, settling you carefully into the cradle of his hips. “Let me know when you're ready.” He rested his thumb on your clit, the digit sweeping softly back and forth while you breathed deep and adjusted to his size. “Take as long as you need, sweetheart.” He continued, hanging his head when you inadvertently clenched down on his cock. “As long as you need, I can wait.” Truthfully, being inside you at all was undoing him, but he wasn't particularly concerned about his own stamina. He doubted you'd care either. 

Speaking of which, you tilted your hips upwards slightly and Karl watched your eyes fly open, the man biting back a smirk as you all but fucked yourself onto his cock for a breath. Heisenberg pressed a hand to your chest, easing you flat once more.

“I can take it from here, sweetheart.” He murmured, “do you mind if I finish inside you? Promise it won't do anythin’ but make a mess.” The cadou, the gift from Miranda, had given many things to him, but it had also taken much away. Humanity, normalcy, the promise of a simple life with someone else…

In response your heels dug into the small of his back, sheathing him impossibly deeper into you. “Please,” you begged, your eyes teary and cheeks wet. “Need you, need all of you.”

Heisenberg snarled, fucking down into you. He tugged your legs up off his hips, bending them at the knees and forcing you wide open, vulnerable for what he knew would be an insatiable event. “Take it then, sweetheart, take what's yours.” He crooned, certain deep down that he was being at least a little mean. After all, you were giving him this precious gift, the least he could do was behave himself. Easier said than done with your nails scraping tiny crescents between his shoulder blades though, easier said than done when your mouth was right next to his ear and you were sobbing his name while he fucked the sense out of you. Maybe you didn't mind him being a little less gentle? 

Karl pulled out and rutted against you for another moment, enjoying the way your clit pulsed when he tapped it with his cock and the way your body went tense with the pressure. Evidently you were wound even tighter than he was, despite your lack of experience. You cried out when he reached up and teased one of your nipples, your back bowing in response. 

“You close again? Want to come on my cock?” Karl asked, laughing outright when you nodded desperately. “Anything for you sweetheart. Hurt a little less?”

“It's not–it doesn't hurt, you just…” your fingers tangled in the sheets as you fidgeted, obviously trying to explain what it was that you felt. “You're so deep. It's not a…not a hurt, it's more of an ache.”

“Too deep?” The man queried, already considering what he needed to adjust posture-wise to keep you comfortable.

“No, I–” Karl felt the heated flush that spread across your skin, the man patiently waiting until you admitted, “I enjoy it, Karl. It's…I like it.”

“You like me deep inside you?” Heisenberg rolled his hips, sheathing his dick once more and thrusting hard enough to knock the breath out of you for a moment. “As deep as I can get?”

“Please-” you begged, “you fill me up so well–”

“Well I'm sure as hell going to,” Karl grunted. “I want to keep doing this forever, if you're amenable.” 

“I'd like that.” You smiled tearily up at him and Karl's breath hitched, hips stuttering as he lost his battle against the urge to spill into you.

“Sweetheart-” he gasped in your ear, the thunder of his own pulse nearly drowning out your whimpering. “Fuck, sweetheart, you're everything, you're all I want, you…I love you.” 

The man froze, realizing what he'd just blurted out (and the way your body had reacted to it). You tilted your head back, panting and moaning while your soaked little cunt throbbed around him and fucking hell–

Maybe it was alright. Maybe you hadn't heard him. 

“‘Love you too-” you managed to say, your voice weak and tremulous. 

Something inside Karl snapped (snapped more?) and the man buried his face in your neck, growling swears and entreaties in equal measure as he fucked you through your climax. Your answer was to wrap your arms around his neck and beg for more, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging until his scalp ached hotly. Karl wanted to scream, he wanted to fight something, but more than even those most primal urges, he just wanted to fuck you until you forgot your own name. 

A combination of your come and his own began to sluggishly drip from your cunt onto the sheets, clearly not helped by Karl’s relentless rhythm. The man absently slid a hand beneath the small of your back to adjust you and his fingers passed over the raised area of the multiple cursive Ds branded into your flesh. Again speaking before he thought, driven entirely by base instinct and possessive rage, the lord bared his teeth and seethed, “You are mine. Nobody else gets to touch you ever again.” Not Alcina, not fucking Moreau, never again.

“I'm y-yours, I'm yours Karl…” was your stilted, hiccuping reply, not that he'd even needed (or deserved) an answer. Heisenberg felt his expression soften, felt the fight-ready tension in his shoulders unwind, and the man placed apologetic kisses along your breasts and collarbone. You were so impossibly good to him, it was evident he would be repaying you for the rest of your time together.

“I dreamed about doing this.” The confession was soft, rasping in his dry throat. “Stuck in my cell, I-I'd think about it. You were so damn nice to me, I just…” Karl hesitated, well aware of your half-lidded stare boring a hole through him. “I wasn't used to humans being kind. Hell, anyone being kind. Guess I'm a little fucked up.” ‘A little’, fuck's sake.

“I would have let you.” 

Fuck's sake.

Karl closed his eyes, resting his forehead on your collarbone and exhaling raggedly. “I wouldn't have been good to you.” He admitted. “I was still too angry, too mean. I don't…it wouldn't have gone well. Trust me, it's better this way.”

You pressed your face into his neck, inhaling deeply and pressing kisses to the sweaty skin there. “I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault, sweetheart. I was fucked up before you were born.” The man shook his head, rolling his shoulders absently. “Fucked up, stuck in the cycle of being bitter and hateful, helpless to do anything but wallow and further other people's ambitions…it really got to me.” He nudged his nose into your cheek teasingly. “And then you came along.”

“The Lady chose me for you, she said it was a great honor.” You rolled your eyes, huffing out a breath. “She didn't mention the part where I would be sacrificed at the solstice, of course.”

“Well yeah, you wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise,” Karl allowed, his smirk fading slightly. “But then you chose me. A hard road to walk, sweetheart, and I don't take it for granted. I…thank you. For–well, for everything.” 

You sniffled, burying your face in his neck once more. 

Karl hummed in contentment, continuing to fuck you at a leisurely pace. “What do you say–” he panted when you clenched down on him again, “we do something special for the winter solstice?”

You squinted up at him, your brow furrowed in confusion. Karl just pressed a kiss to your forehead and smiled his usual, self-satisfied grin.

…

“I'm not certain that I-” you paused, excusing yourself as you yawned broadly. Karl continued wrapping a patched scarf around your neck, patiently waiting for the rest of your question. “-understand what the whole point of this is, Karl.”

“Have some cider.” He insisted instead of answering you, pressing a warm, chipped mug into your hands. “It's almost time.”

You grumbled a little to yourself but obediently sipped on the mulled beverage while Karl banked the fire in the stove and put on his own coat. Several days before the winter solstice, the man had gone out and constructed a small shelter on the rise of land the Duke normally inhabited, and it was from this shelter that the two of you emerged into the frigid blue of dawn. The Duke, parked nearby in his cart as ever, offered a wave but no further commentary, for which you were immensely grateful. It was still a bit early to be cordial, nevermind carry on a full conversation.

The air was breathtakingly cold; you could feel the rush of wind whipping past your nose and biting at any exposed skin it could find. The hot cider was now a lifeline and you kept your mittened hands tightly wrapped around it, taking a more hearty sip.

“Not long now.” Karl murmured, embracing you from behind and resting his chin on the crown of your head. 

“Are you going to explain to me what the point of all of this is?” You grumbled, slouching back against him.

It was several minutes before Karl spoke again, the man seemingly content to sit in silence. “It's…I don't know, it's like the opposite of the binding ritual.” He fidgeted with your coat for a moment (well, it was one of his coats, but you'd sewed an extra thick lining into it to keep yourself warm), eventually tucking his hands into the pockets. 

You hummed, not overly certain you understood what he was getting at, but also no longer cold.

The sun slowly rose over the horizon, burning through the tall pines and setting the morning mist alight with prismatic eddies in its wake. You squinted against the brilliant beams, every inch of your body suddenly tingling. It felt a bit like waking up after a long, long sleep in an awkward position, disoriented and rumpled. Sometimes in Heisenberg's factory you could go days without seeing the outside world, so perhaps your reaction was to be expected. It was a beautiful sunrise, all things considered.

Karl sounded a little faint when he said, “I think…I think there might have been something to that old witch after all.” He shook himself bodily, as if he was a dog that had just been given an unwanted bath. “Granted, nothing she can do about me now. But it does feel sort of–mystical.” He muttered something you couldn't make out under his breath, then raised his voice again. “Shortest day, longest night, rebirth, blah blah blah. We'll have to have a huge bonfire tonight, I guess.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head back to look at him. “Why?”

“Burning away the old, in with the new.” Karl sucked in a deep breath. “I'm…I'm happy you're still here with me.” He said gruffly.

“I'm happy to be here.” You assured him, your voice soft. 

“...I haven't told Donna I'll be building a massive fire next to her shitty little village.” Heisenberg mentioned casually moments later, as though it had only just occurred to him. Judging from the incredibly smug grin on his face, however, that had been his plan from the start. 

With Karl animatedly explaining about the Wild Hunt and the connections between someone named Freyja and the winter ‘rebirth’ of the sun, the two of you set off into the woods to search for dead trees and other dry kindling, his hand in your own. His grin eventually softened into a genuine smile as he answered your questions, and you found yourself falling silent just to hear him expand upon what was clearly a favored subject to him. He had a strange light in his eyes, but not necessarily an unwelcome one. It seemed more like he was returning to life.

The arbiter that was the solstice appeared to have once more come to bear, the cycle beginning anew. You had broken the previous cycle of course, so you hadn't the faintest idea of what this new one could have in store for you, but you knew for a fact that whatever the future held, you and Lord Heisenberg would face it together. 

Karl, you thought privately, a content little smile on your face.

“Why are you starin’ at me like that?”

You started, realizing belatedly that yes, you had been staring at the large man currently giving you a sideways look. “I–you seem happy, that's all. And I'm glad that you are.”

Karl blew out a raspberry, the steam from his breath swirling into the air. “‘Course I am. You're here.” You started beaming and he groaned, rumpling your hair while teasing, “don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Just because I want to keep you around forever…”

A terrifying lord, a ferocious fighter, The Iron Horse…and lastly, your love.

[helgiafterdark]

blah blah werewolf husbands blah blah blah

so, i just wanna talk about my personal characterizations of them. farkas is not some stupid bumbling brute with no brain and no feelings, and vilkas isn't just some angry angsty asshole (although at a surface level, i can see this). and this definitely heads into headcanon/fanfic territory.

farkas has the unique role of being the only companion we can actually witness transform into a werewolf (we do get to see aela in wolf form, but not her actual transformation and with no combat). and kodlak has convinced vilkas that sovngarde is a desirable goal incompatible with lycanthropy. so what does this mean?

clearly, farkas is more at ease with his own lycanthropy – his own self. he can transform into a wolf at will, he has amazing control over it. he is always calm and level-headed, he isn't concerned about any sort of bloodlust or rampages. i think this is due to his upbringing, surrounded by werewolves and warriors his entire life. this is his normal, his peace. i still believe his wolfblood burns hot within him, and he has moments where he loses control. but these moments are few and far between. his outer shell is a quiet calm man, who has moments of boisterousness and passion. and he is perceived as man of few words, or more negatively, a bad conversationalist. i think this contributes to the idea that he is stupid, but he isn't. he definitely doesn't have as much capacity to remember many historical facts like vilkas, but still he isn't stupid.

farkas has a rich inner dialogue and feels his emotions very deeply. yes, he has his personal trauma and other things he has dealt with which have possibly caused him to become withdrawn. but he has a very healthy outlet in hunting and fighting and training, especially considering he is literally not a human and biologically has a need to hunt (whether this aligns with human needs or morals is irrelevant).

and you'd think the same would apply to vilkas, but it doesn't. he is always grumpy at best, a whirling storm of fury at worst. he has bursts of anger, shouting, maybe even violence. combat is his main outlet, at jorrvaskr he can knock skulls together all day. but put him in a tavern and he will sulk in the corner all night. to most everyone else, he's moody, brooding, irritable, snobby, fun-intolerant, and has no problem laughing in your face when you ask a stupid question (although he'll tell you the answer anyway, because he certainly knows it). but there is an ache, deep in his heart. he has carried it with him for a very long time.

i believe in childhood vilkas was perhaps closer emotionally to their father, jergen, or had a stronger attachment to him. and when jergen left for war, vilkas took this much harder. he had to reason with himself and come up with some way for this loss and grief to make sense. so vilkas perceives this as abandonment, and maybe it was. and due to his environment and the people around him, the only thing this boy could understand was anger. then he latched onto another father figure, kodlak.

and we have to remember that kodlak wasn't always an old man. he was young, a powerful werewolf warrior who claimed many victories and looked glorious doing it. he still maintains a connection to talos in his old age, which he likely acquired in youth long before he became a werewolf. after jergen left and never returned, kodlak took on the responsibilities of instilling good values into those boys. i don't believe kodlak really taught them much about talos (somewhat secular upbringing). but he did teach them about honor, integrity, leadership, and security. over time, kodlak came to see them as his own sons. i think this is where kodlak's worries regarding sovngarde stem from; things are different now that he has children.

and when kodlak became disillusioned with lycanthropy, he projects onto vilkas and farkas, saying that they do not take to the blood as deeply. vilkas was easily convinced. farkas obviously just agrees with vilkas, he goes where his brother goes. but i think internally, farkas is extremely comfortable as a werewolf and would not choose to rid himself of his power. so when kodlak says farkas seems to be fine after swearing off transformations... well, i think it is because farkas would never give this up, and hasn't.

i think farkas' mental peace and clarity come from being his unrestrained self. he doesn't hold back his wolf, he embraces it fully. he regularly hunts in beast form, like aela and skjor. he transforms whenever he needs to, a powerful release of emotions and other energies. maybe farkas just wasn't as close to jergen, maybe he just has better emotional control and was able to efficiently cope with his grief. no matter the reason, he isn't as affected by this loss as his brother. (not to say farkas was entirely unaffected, but everyone has their own reaction to loss). however, farkas did very much look up to skjor. and when skjor dies, farkas is grieving. he expresses this verbally once and then never again. he's a man of few words, he contains his grief and other emotions.

vilkas' enduring anger, however, is worsened by holding himself back. he is convinced lycanthropy is a curse, that he isn't a true nord. so he doesn't transform into a wolf. he remains a man, every day, possibly for years. he is bottled up, repressed, waiting to be released but he will not allow this to happen. this is the illusion of self control. in holding himself back, he makes it so much harder to contain. he is absolutely itching with rage and he knows why but he is so stubborn. he has made up his mind; he will not transform. to him, this is strength. he believes his beastblood is his weakness. but i don't think werewolves should see their blood as a curse or a blessing. it is simply who they are, and it's important emotionally and mentally and physically to embrace who you are.

so basically, when farkas transforms into a wolf, he is completely in control and fully aware. this is what vilkas thinks he is, but in holding himself back he is actually on a path to losing control over his beastblood.

i love them <3

[mariacallous]

"I'm so much happier now that I'm dead." If the details of the Scott Peterson case sound familiar to you, and if you (somehow) missed them the first time around, you're probably thinking of the 2012 book-slash-movie-slash-quote-on-everyone's-Tumblr-dashboard, Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl.

In Flynn's novel, the dead wife in question, Amy Dunne, is a survivor gifted with charismatic sociopathy, a knack for elaborate event planning - Laci's Martha Stewart fandom is seemingly the one personality trait to have survived her fictionalization - and a sadistic rage-on for her bumbling, cheating husband, Nick. (Played in the David Fincher adaptation, obviously, by Ben Affleck; some coincidences are too good to waste.) After discovering his infidelity, Amy manages to fake her own death, frame Nick for murder, and skip town.

"I'm going to hide out long enough to watch Lance Nicholas Dunne become a worldwide pariah, to watch Nick be arrested, tried, marched off to prison, bewildered in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs," she tells us. Then, she'll drown herself: "My body may never be discovered, or it may resurface weeks, months later, eroded to the point that my death can't be time-stamped - and I will provide a last bit of evidence to make sure Nick is marched to the padded cross, the prison table where he'll be pumped with poison and die."

Well, ah, yeah. You can quibble with the taste level here. (Do we really need to see the dead woman in a domestic violence case as the villain?) But, like Lucy Westenra avenging poor, meek Mercy Brown, there's a kind of justice in seeing these "good" victimized girls come back to us in fiction as inconvenient, frightening, monstrous women.

And Amy's sociopathy does have a clear precedent - not in life, but in fiction: "She was clever, of course....Damnably clever," Maxim de Winter says of his dead wife. "No one would guess meeting her that she was not the kindest, most generous, most gifted person in the world. She knew exactly what to say to different people, how to match her mood to theirs." He could be describing Amazing Amy.

There is something eerie in reading Amy's description of her own battered, drowned body - "I've actually felt sad for myself, picturing my slim, naked, pale body, floating just beneath the current...my waterlogged flesh peeling off in soft streaks, me slowly disappearing into the current like a watercolor until just the bones are left" - as if all those thrown-away girls in the water were speaking to us, delivering their own eulogies. But Amy's monologue is also a literary wish-fulfillment fantasy; a way to retell Rebecca with its most interesting character still onstage.

"Nick must be taught a lesson," Amy tells us. "He's never been taught a lesson! He glides through life with that charming-Nicky grin, his beloved-child entitlement, his fibs and shirkings, his shortcomings and selfishness, and no one calls him on anything. I think this experience will make him a better person. Or at least a sorrier one. Fucker."

Gone Girl sold by the truckload, in part because Flynn did not try to sanitize the brutality of Amy's resentment. If you've been through enough, the difference between making a man better and making him sorrier can be tough to figure out. In fact, it may not matter. If the book's success is any indication, that kind of rage bubbles underneath the surface of many "normal" marriages, and behind the smiles of many seemingly "happy" women. Gone Girl gave women a way to vent their daily indignities and unspeakable anger safely and without consequence; let us have our wedding cake and poison it, too; it was an opportunity to save the wife and punish her husband for killing her at the same time.

Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers: Monstrosity, Patriarchy, and the Fear of Feminine Power by Jude Doyle

[definitely-not-a-slug]

I don’t know if there’s anyone else out there who’s a fan of both TMA and Starkid’s Hatchetfield series, but if there is, have you ever thought about the similarities between The Lords in Black and the fears?

Now, obviously both TMA and Hatchetfield deal with a group of eldritch horrors beyond time that seep into our world and cause chaos, madness, and apocalypse, with each power having a different theme/vibe. However, what’s even more interesting is that almost every LIB matches up oddly well with a different fear.

The first one I noticed was Tinky and The Spiral, initially because of the art on the Spiral tarot card.

Something about the winding, geometric stairs and the hands combined with orange yellow color palette immediately reminded me of my favorite goat boy, and the similarities aren’t just surface level.

Both Tinky and The Spiral tend to distort and warp reality, they both have imagery involving endless labyrinths, they both tend to either leave their victims trapped in a winding hellscape detached from reality, or drive them completely insane and mess with their minds. Also both happen to be my respective favorites in both fandoms but that’s neither here nor there.

Then there’s Nibbly and The Flesh. Nibbly is a being who likes to devour, an ever consuming maw that feasts upon his victims fear. This lines up with how The Flesh represents the fear of being prey, being nothing more than meat on a plate. Additionally, The Flesh often involves animal themes and imagery, and Nibbly is heavily associated with animals as well, specifically pigs (also relevant because pigs are both livestock, and an animal that is commonly considered to be gluttonous and eat anything)

Blinky is, predictably, The Eye. They both use the imagery of well, eyes, and are beings that constantly watch you, and can see everything. What’s coolest to me about this is that The Eye is often called “the ceaseless watcher”, and Blinky’s alias is “The watcher with a thousand eyes”. insane fucking coincidence.

Pokey is, a little more loosely, similar to The Lonely. Pokey is called “the singular voice”, and wants to be the only being in the universe. He “despises any voice that isn’t his”. The Lonely revolves around isolation, its avatar Peter Lukas reveres isolation and dislikes the company of other people. There’s a common idea of wanting to be “the only one”, but the ways this idea is used with Pokey and The Lonely are pretty much opposites. The Lonely tends to isolate people, physically or emotionally separating them from others, whereas Pokey is more about assimilation, turning everyone into a hive mind he controls. Still, the motivations are similar enough that I think there’s a connection.

Wiggly is one that I struggled a bit more with. We mostly see him manifest through the use of human greed, particularly capitalism and consumerism. There’s not a fear that lines up with this aspect of him, but if you dig a little deeper into Wiggly as a character, I think the best match would be The Desolation. Now, Wiggly doesn’t have any fire imagery that I remember, but the connection between these two is more about a central theme, kind of like Pokey and The Lonely. The Desolation is at its core a being of meaningless violence and destruction, it’s sadistic and cruel. This is all also true for Wiggly. In NPMD, we get the line “Wiggly wants his wrath”. Wrath, specifically the wrath he can bring out of humans and manipulate to turn them against each other. He drives the shoppers and government in Black Friday to attack and sometimes kill each other over something as trivial as a doll. His influence causes senseless violence to spread nationwide. He diverts a nuke through a portal, causing the entire population of Moscow to be wiped out, and leading to WWIII. Many of the other LIB have a concrete motivation, or a specific person they like to torment, but Wiggly just seems to want to cause as much death and destruction as possible. In that way, he is extremely similar to The Desolation.

For a bonus, Webby could correlate to The Web, because spider. I could probably make a better argument about that, but I think this is already the longest post I’ve ever made.

[queenvhagar]

Found your blog and i have to rantt. How do you deal with tb targies? They are insufferable to the core and bath in deluluship hypocrisy all day every day but the worst thing is they are VERY stupid. You could smell a targie mile away by their stinking stupidity and being in the majority they have ruined fandom and canon like their idol ryan condom. It is vexing as hell.

LMAO this gave me a good laugh so thanks 😂

Welcome to the blog!

The majority of the fandom is just so disconnected from the actual story itself and reliant on symbols of Hollywood white feminism that they can turn into memes and reaction images to share on socials with each other. For the most part that is the extent of their understanding of and engagement with the show. Never mind the logic of the decades long and several books deep preexisting world in which the story takes place, coherent and thematically resonant storytelling, and development of three dimensional characters with realistic motivations.

The overly active TB stans in the fandom honestly thrive on the surface level symbols the show presents. Girlboss with a dragon (even adding scenes that never existed or are stolen from other characters even if it doesn't make sense)? Slay. Girlboss makes out with another girl (even though there's zero build up and it's never mentioned again therefore having no narrative impact)? Slay and amazing storytelling obviously. Two royal women in secret love with each other (despite it being so pathetically one-sided and it quite literally breaking the story and gutting one of the involved characters)? Malewife bows and simps before girlboss (even though he's her decades older uncle who groomed her from childhood and repeatedly abuses her)? Jealous ex is a loser misogynist incel (even though it's clearly the case that he was wronged by a single woman and he dislikes her because of this, and he clearly is actively devoted to the woman he is sworn to protect)? Black dragonrider exists onscreen (but no development or storyline whatsoever and the actual Black character with a dragon and a compelling story is cut)? MAJOR SLAY as long as they can get the surface level read and not have to think too deeply about the story. Bonus if they can make the memes and posts on their phone while watching the show in the background! All good shows should let you be able to be on your phone at the same time and still tell a story doncha know 🤪

How do I deal with the BS? Well first of all I'm not on TB majority apps like Facebook and Twitter anymore. As for on Tumblr, this is my general approach: try me with nonsensical arguments and takes on my posts and you will get corrected. Continue to make noise and try to contest basic facts and you're gonna be blocked. Rude asks are immediately blocked with pleasure. I avoid annoying tags related to TB stans and properly tag my own posts to keep them away.

A side note because I feel like I see this a lot is that TBs seem to assume people who support TGs are somehow all conservative and sexist and condoning of violence against women because we support the Green cause. The weird conflagration of liking fictional characters equalling wholeheartedly endorsing such actions in the real world and in our personal lives aside... it's like they think queer leftists can't support TG for some reason. It's wild. And so extremely weird because truly the Green story is a story of what happens when societal systems of power create problems for people who have less of it and what people will do to survive. Like what's not there to resonate with? Of course I'm going to sympathize with the struggle of a woman and her kids in a sensitive and precarious societal position as they band together to survive (especially when the other side is made up of the most privileged people in society flaunting their wealth and power over others because they can). As much as the show wants to say it, Viserys and Rhaenyra are not the ultimate victims of the story nor are they blameless for the way it plays out.

Anyway basically I know that I know this universe and story and that many people being loud on TB simply do not. Just like almost everyone involved in HOTD's production (not you Rhys Ifans shhh) (and probably some other actors like Bethany Antonia, who has said she has begged Ryan Condal not to change her story in the past). And of course GRRM has confirmed this as well on his blog, in detail. Production willfully misinterprets and picks apart the story, thinks they know more than the author himself about how the story should be told, and refuses to listen to his input.

I wouldn't even say GRRM is Team Green. He just knows his story and how the point is that choosing sides was the problem, which is antithetical to what HOTD has done with the material, missing entirely its themes and destroying the story's logic, consistency, and characters in the process.

As for me, the only reason I'm so strongly Team Green is in reaction to the show and the incoherent stans it created. They are so wrong on almost every level and I cannot be on their side about any of it. Team Green it is then 😂

Well, long post again, but thanks for the ask! Best of luck out there 🫡

[hazarambling]

FeiQiu inverting gender stereotypes and also their complementary motifs and stuff is rotting my brain (this will mention leaks)

Ok feixiao isn't even out yet but a) feiqiu are rotting my brain and b) we have SOME info about feixiao so i just need to yell into the void

they have matching colors ok hear me out there's a deeper meaning to this

so jiaoqiu has the whole red theme with the fire, and then we got leaks of feixiao's appearance and i might be going just a little bit insane because the colors compliment each other so perfectly but like THE BLUE COMPLIMENTS THE RED SO PERFECTLY and also pink/red being associated with femininity and blue/black being associated with masculinity... and also feixiao having more power as the general, jiaoqiu being HER alchemist, HER counsellor, he doesn't have power over her in any meaningful way

and also i need to scream about how HE IS LITERALLY HER CHEF. he cooks for HER. like it's a complete flip of gender stereotypes and i ADORE IT because it gives such a refreshing dynamic to explore, where feixiao is so obviously the dominant one even though she's a woman AND OH IT'S DELECTABLE. and also HE came back to alchemy for HER.

and now moving onto a deeper analysis of the gender stuff in relation to their characterization:

jiaoqiu is more emotional and "feminine" and feixiao is more emotionless and "masculine" (ofc this is a surface level analysis of all of this but im applying this to the content we have for feiqiu and how it adds to their characterization)

i feel like jiaoqiu's lc describes this the best, it shows how emotional he is about the whole process of war but also how he's somewhat forced to become numb from it, but everything still takes an emotional toll on him. but overall it shows how emotional of a person he is and that it does affect him a lot

(sorry if the image isnt very clear)

and also the mention of him withdrawing 'from practicing medicine due to a broken heart' such an emotionally driven action could also link back to gender stereotypes where men aren't allowed to express their emotions but women are (even if they're shunned for it) and instead jiaoqiu is the one being ""overly emotional"" by leaving alchemy BECAUSE of his broken heart.

and also adding to this, maybe feixiao is colder or less emotional (which makes sense because she's a military general and an emanator of the hunt, it makes sense that she's numb to the emotional side of war. and also she could be half borisin ("spoke different languages") and was enslaved by the borisin ("they won't chase you anymore", so she was chased/enslaved by them in the past) so she's especially used to war and violence)

also feixiao is the one saying to the previous general that SHE wants the borisin dead, and even the previous general feels bad and omits that part of the verdant knights recruitment and training thing, she doesn't want feixiao to feel like she was born for war and that her destiny is to die for war.

so tldr jiaoqiu is more stereotypically feminine and feixiao is more stereotypically masculine - and of course they don't have to follow stereotypes just to mean they are or aren't that certain thing, i just think it's interesting

and one thing that fascinates me about their dynamic is how they're such opposites in terms of like, EVERYTHING.

he's a chef (away from the violence), she's an arbiter-general (surrounded by violence). he hates war, she rushes off to war. and his whole anti-war thing is so interesting because HE CHOSE TO RETURN TO ALCHEMY FOR AN ARBITER-GENERAL. like as you can see by his lc (and my analysis of it) like this man does not enjoy ANYTHING about war, but he comes back for someone whose whole role and position and even EXISTANCE relies on the fight against the hunt, and revenge against the borisin?

also they could have matching earrings/earrings in the same ear/their colors already match how about their accessories too and if i think about them for too long i start going insane. ALSO NOTICE HOW HIS EARRING IS ONE OF HIS ONLY ACCESSORIES THAT ISN'T RED OR PINK??? hmm?!

anyway as you can tell by the length of this thing i really really love feiqiu and i cant wait for them to come out so i can analyze them even more

[ariadnew]

CANTO.

Canto isn't known for his winning personality. If we were going to attempt to be positive about it- and insufferably poetic- we might suggest he is known for his light, floating grace in motion, his scopey form over fences, and his gloriously grey, mists-and-rain, clouded-celestial ether colouring.

But what he has really become known for around Lowmax (rapidly, infamously) is his casual but resolute determination to murder Archie. In rather sudden and spectacular fashion, apparently.

There is no pool amongst Lowmax staff concerning the event: they have stopped seeing it as matter of if, but as when, and Archie is too well-liked (or at least, respected) for most to consider profiting from his misfortune. That, and there's always the chance they'll be asked to exercise him in his stead, and nobody's willing to tempt the forces of fate or justice (or irony) like that.

(... Nobody except Archie, that is, who continues to climb on board in the name of professionalism and laugh good humouredly when asked if he'd like to hear his last rites before he begins)

As far as secondary pursuits go, Canto is engaged in an unofficial but very specific game of bingo: each time he chomps, stomps, or otherwise inflicts surface damage upon a staff member, he can cross off a space. At this stage, he needs only Agatha or Yury for bingo, but experts are sceptical. Not on account of his aptitude: on account of the fact Yury has no business being anywhere near him, and Agatha has made it her business to not be anywhere near him.

(Agatha is shrewd like that)

Aside from murder, Canto likes romantic candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach at sunset, except not really; he's a horse (although he probably wouldn't object to dinner, less the candles) In truth, nobody's really sure what puts the wind up his proverbial skirt, so indifferent he seems to life. Jumping, we suppose, though does he enjoy it quite as much as the acrobatics he occasionally performs between fences? Impossible to say. There's his bingo game, obviously. The spot at the end of his paddock beneath the beech tree, perfect parts sun and shade. Handfuls of sweet oats. Uninterrupted snoozes. Choosing violence. Watermelon. Maybe those things. Maybe.

Anyway!

Archie & Canto will be competing together for the handful of years he's legally locked himself into on paper with the Wentwood people, their goal being to see their stallion progress from 1.40 courses to being successful at top level before retiring as a stud prospect. This is the official answer, at least. If you'd ever met the Wentwood syndicate partners, you'd understand what they really mean. We want you to make this horse make us as much money as possible. That's what they mean. They'd never say it, of course. Just like you'd never say it. But you know. And they know that you know. And you know that they know that you know.

Good luck with not dying, Archie!

[mirthfulmoonshine]

💚Legendary

The headshots obviously aren’t done but I gotta get the Broly brainrot out somehow, even if it’s premature in production. So expect finished ones soon.

A side tangent☝🏼🤓

I love DBS Broly. Designs go hard and are sleek, animation is sick, soundtrack leaves no crumbs, fight choreography is fun. But man the original DBZ movie just has a vibe that cannot be achieved again by DBS and while I do think that’s majorly to do with Toriyama not writing the OG movie, I also just think it’s due to the course DB has taken overall.

I’m glad Toriyama got the chance to write Broly more according to his liking in DBS Broly 2018 but man…the vibe of this film is immaculate. It’s surprising grungy and desolate by DB standards.

The usage of color, imagery, dramatically opposed shots (composition, heights, directions, etc.), and music really make for a good (despite its problems) film that feels thematically, tonally, and weightily different. While you know Goku and Gang are going to make it out alive and all the Roshi/Oolong shenanigans are going on, there is still tension and weight. Broly’s “how much do you love your son” line haunts me in my bored-mid-lecture-thoughts.

As much as I do love Broly in DBS being kinda a tortured sweetheart with a sweet tooth for violence, I find DBZ Broly to be much more compelling. The vibe I got was very much “uncontrollable, wrathful god trapped in a sensitive, underdeveloped emotionally body.” And I feel this is conveyed well in the screentime devoted to the disturbing but valuable time spent between Paragus and Broly whilst in exile from a destroyed Vegetasei. Additionally, having a backstory marred by more corruption than just “well King Vegeta said so” and having on screen attempted infanticide is So. Much. More. Vile.

Broly’s characterization as a deity wolf in Saiyan sheep’s clothing (a fault that is not his) is dangerously appealing. I hate that TFS won out and dominates fandom perception of Broly’s trigger regarding Goku— it makes the whole point of crying being the backdrop to Broly’s early suffering moot for humors sake. 0/10. But if you push past that bs, Broly is SO FASCINATING.

I think another fascinating element of the Legendary Super Saiyan that got lost a little in DBS is Broly’s consciousness. While him going basically non verbal Oozaru mode is still captivating, I think a Broly that jeers, snaps, comments, and berates his opponents creates a more interesting fighting dichotomy. Screaming gets boring after a lil while.

Anyways I just wanted to praise DBZ Broly and gush about some of its facets on a surface level. Maybe I’ll go deeper one day. Oh well. Enjoy the art. Another opinion in the tags below💚🫡

[irrealisms]

svsss and sexual violence pt. 4: shen qingqiu's body

standard disclaimer at the beginning: i am not saying that this is the Only thing svsss is about, or that other readings are invalid; i am not intending to character-bash most of the characters here (while i will freely admit to thinking e.g. old palace master or qiu jianluo are pretty one-dimensionally shitty, lots--probably most--of the characters in this series who i mention as perpetrating SA are characters who do have depths & who i in fact like a lot! despite this meta, or perhaps because of it, my second-favorite character is luo binghe, and i am in fact a bingqiu shipper!); and, obviously, huge fucking CW for sexual abuse and adjacent topics. this post is a bit under 1k.

(also: shoutout to @rooses40stepskincareroutine for motivating me to actually write all this out, and to @coldwind-shiningstars who this section specifically owes a tremendous debt to.)

TABLE OF CONTENTS pt 1: shen yuan's realization of himself as a target pt 2: gender and homophobia pt 3: non-bingqiu sexual violence pt 4: shen qingqiu's body (you are here) pt 5: we live in a society

okay, so i assume if you've gotten this far in the series you are basically on board with my reading of svsss as about sexual abuse. and there's a very obvious surface read of the corpse body pillow as being A Necrophilia Thing--this is directly stated as false by the text, but the possibility of it, the rumors, the fear, hang over the characters for a long time such that it is worth mentioning.

that said, that's not the primary lens through which i'm interested in looking at it; rather, i look at it on a more metaphorical level. we have two men, one of whom (luo binghe) is explicitly romantically-sexually interested in shen qingqiu, and the other of whom (liu qingge) is heavily implied to be, fighting quite literally over posession of shen qingqiu's body, which is (thru the necrophilia rumors) being explicitly identified as a sexualized object. and when it turns out that SQQ is still alive and has opinions on the matter, this doesn't immediately resolve the fight. something coldwind-shiningstars pointed out here as well is that-- Shen Jiu (who has a history of abuse and the coping mechanisms to match) was cold and mean and pointedly distant from people. Shen Yuan (who....really, really doesn't) is nice, and because of that niceness, you have these two characters who did not like shen jiu falling in love with shen yuan and consequently fighting for ownership of his body!

another point coldwind-shiningstars made when discussing this meta is the point that-- well, shen yuan's discovery that he is a potential target of sexual violence does correspond to him becoming the protagonist of a danmei...but it also corresponds to him inheriting shen jiu's body and identity. to be shen qingqiu, to take on that identity, is to be a body that people fight over. an object. in danger of abuse, at all times. whether or not SJ was sexually abused, he was vulnerable to it & would have been aware of that vulnerability and possibility, in a way SY pre-plot never was; while shen yuan lived comfortably in the modern world, living with privilege and safety, shen jiu was a slave being abused. to inherit shen jiu's body is to inherit his vulnerability. (and when speaking of the corpse... well, while the men are fighting over shen yuan while disliking shen jiu, when neither of them are living in it it's as much shen jiu's body as it shen yuan's.) this isn't perfect--while shen jiu was potentially sexually abused, i don't think he was loved or desired in the same way--but it's another thing i think about. i considered putting it in a different post of the meta bc it's not really long enough on its own but it fits fine here and this is the otherwise-shortest post so it's here. in the same vein, after the water prison but before the bingqiu kiss (and therefore before SY has fully internalized that he is at risk of sexual abuse), shen yuan sees shen jiu in a dream:

But even though his clothes were intact, he didn’t really want to wear them anymore. Though they were on his body, he had an ominous feeling that they could be ripped off at any moment.

and. well. we talked about shen jiu and sexual violence in pt 3? but i think this is....telling.

but. back on the topic of the corpse. i'd also like to draw attention to this quote:

How come no one had wanted him while he was alive, but now that he was dead, he’d become Helen of Troy?

which, well. whether helen was raped or willingly eloped with Paris is...ambiguous. idk if that's deliberate on mxtx's part (my guess is no and she's just referencing the beauty-that-started-a-war) but the ambiguity of helen's consent sure does add something here imo. (btw: i welcome my classicist svsss fan mutuals to weigh in on this metaphor if they want lol, i have multiple of these and definitely have less expertise there than yall!) but even with the more direct meaning of it that isn't about helen maybe-being-raped-it's-ambiguous, helen is, as a woman in Ancient Greece, more property-of-her-men than a person in her own right; Paris and Menelaus are fighting over her just as LBH and LQG fight over SQQ. She is a beautiful, valuable object, one to be desired--but an object nonetheless. And here, SQQ is in that position--which is, again, a feminized one. He's comparing himself to a beautiful woman because that's the position the story has put him in! It's less extreme in some ways, in that when he does reveal himself as alive and agrees to go with Luo Binghe, he is able to convince the other peak lords to let him and not continue the war that he is trying to end--but many of the people there do disagree and need to be convinced. (Which is honestly fair of them, given the context, but it's still notable to me?)

[EDIT: i've been informed by @rooses40stepskincareroutine that this entire sentence/reference was added by the translator. alas! i do still think it's a very fun sentence given SQQ's position here but, uh, ignore a lot of this section; i wouldn't have included it if i knew this, but i'm leaving it in for posterity. afaik, the stuff before this quote still stands. such are the perils of doing close reading on a translation, esp one like svsss that's doing a lot of localization work.]