#they meet with one of the white knights and are like well he seems mostly harmless

[moeblob]

Rice. From my plot that's literally just a game of chess. (he's a rook)

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XXI/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, gore, death, trauma, the Holocaust❗, unprotected sex (don't do that I AM watching you)

A/N: if you're fluent in German look away. LOOK AWAY. I took out like half the concentration camp bit because I was upsetting myself and I can't upset myself TWICE WITH ONE CHAPTER. I actually hate this one. Hope y'all enjoy it tho <3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The place Second Battalion had occupied at Landsberg to house the American soldiers advancing through Germany was one of the nicest most of us had seen in a long while. A four story building with small but cozy apartments, covered in nice wallpaper and soft lights, with all the commodities a modest home should have. They were mostly untouched by war, and they belonged to people who didn't deserve them.

Maybe that was a cruel thing to say, at the end of the day these people—these civilians we had so easily removed from their homes—were nothing but casualties in a war that should have been over for a long time, but after what we had encountered in the morning, I didn't have it in me to care about what was cruel and what wasn't.

Wood creaked softly beneath my boots as I climbed the stairs, the iron grip I had on two tin bowls of hot stew preventing my hands from shaking. Dominguez didn't ask questions when I asked him to pour me one for Liebgott.

I passed a couple of soldiers on my way up, but no one said a word, just spared curt nods of acknowledgement.

The walls felt stifling, the air stale. Breathing had become the hardest task. The stench had yet to leave my nose; it clung to my skin, soaked into the seams of my jacket, lodged behind my eyes. Rot and piss and smoke, and worse things that didn't have a name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The metal pail in my hands was half-full. I didn't remember filling it. I didn't remember much at all after Joe climbed up onto that jeep, except that someone had said we had to take the food back. They'll eat themselves to death, the medics had stated, as if that made any of it less cruel.

A bony hand had grabbed my sleeve when I turned. I couldn't meet his eyes. I couldn’t meet anyone's eyes. I just shook my head and kept walking, every step heavier than the last.

"Y/l/n!" Speirs' voice cut through the static in my head. He was standing a few yards away, eyes dark and haunted, worry tinting his usually aseptic face. He was flanked by a few other officers.

Joe stood with them, looking worse than I'd seen him before. His face was hollowed out, red-rimmed, lips slightly parted like he was still catching his breath. This place seemed to be taking years off his life each passing minute.

Speirs beckoned me closer with a tilt of his head. I walked over slowly; my boots might as well have been filled with cement.

"There's a second camp. Women's. Down the line, at the next railroad stop." Speirs explained, vaguely pointing outside the camp. "Right, Liebgott?"

Joe's jaw flexed swelled eyes averted from the officer, his hand holding a white-knuckle grip on his rifle strap. "Sir, with all due respect, it's a fucking terrible idea."

"Joe," Winters called the translator out, softening authority with much needed empathy. "that's not what Captain Speirs asked."

"Next railroad stop, yes, Sir." He relented through gritted teeth, swallowing whatever retort he was about to spit out at the officer's face. "That's what the prisoner said."

Someone spoke again; I didn't catch it, my attention snapping to a skeletal hand trying to reach into the pail. It took every ounce of will in me to move it away.

"We don't know what the hell we'll find there," Sink voice was purposefully louder, bringing me back to the circle of officers. "We could use some presence." He stated in tone of his as he spared me an intentional up-and-down. One of those orders he liked to disguise as a request.

"Presence?" I asked, unable to understand anything he might have implied.

Another set of five digits reached for me, stuttering pleas I didn't understand when I carefully pry them away, making me sick to my stomach.

"Sie kann dir nicht helfen." Joe jumped in, softer than I believed possible, zeroing in on the prisoner. "Bitte… hör auf diese Leute. Sie werden dir irgendwann etwas zu essen geben."

"Aber—sie nimmt es doch!" The man choked out, clinging on my jacket. "Sie nimmt alles mit, wie die anderen—!"

"What's he saying?" Sink questioned, confusion laced with the wariness of a man who trusted no one.

Pretending not to hear the commandant's inquiry, Joe went on speaking to the man latched onto me, his voice turning clipped. "Sie kann nicht helfen."

"Liebgott?" The older man insisted, too impatient.

"He wants the fucking food." Joe snapped, crossing the small huddle to separate me from the desperate captive. One of his palms gently pushed me further into the group while the other enclosed the prisoner's wrist, halfheartedly redirecting him to the opposite direction.

"Watch that damn tone, son." Sink sternly reminded the translator, who limited himself to exhale through his nose.

Another officer—one I didn't recognize—veered the conversation to the topic at hand, moving past the argument that threatened to break out.

“We'd like you to come too." He clarified, forcing out a kind smile no one in their right mind would have managed in here. "It might… soften the arrival. For the women.”

I blinked at him. "Why?"

"We think it'll help," A Major with a medic band around his bicep added, gently. "Seeing... you."

"Me." My mouth was dry. My hands were still clamped around the pail. "I'm not— Sir, I don't think—"

"You're coming, Y/l/n." Speirs said.

"Sir, this is a bullshit reason." Joe spat, too wound up to think twice about who he was answering to. Or maybe he didn't care.

"Liebgott."

My throat closed. Joe looked at me like he wanted to pull me out of there by force, drag me back through the mud, bury me in the snow until it was over.

I nodded. Not because I was brave, but because it wasn't a choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I blinked harder. The bowls in my hands were still warm. I couldn't feel them.

My feet stopped at a door on the upper floor, my toe cap kicking the lower part of the wood as a form of knocking.

A minute passed before it creaked open, barely.  

Joe stood in the threshold, a forearm against the doorframe, his expression permanently caught somewhere between grief and something more dangerous.  

"What's that?" He gestured vaguely at my hands.

"Dinner."

"Shouldn't've bothered." His voice was flat, but I caught the edge underneath. "I'm not gonna eat it."

"Well, you gotta eat at some point."

He let out a heavy exhale, gaze drifting somewhere over my shoulder. "Are you really asking me to eat right now?" He was angry —not at me, but that didn't matter. "After what we saw?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The truck came to a stop in a low screech of brakes, and boots hit the dirt like echoes. We all hopped down one by one, the women's camp displayed in front of us, plain horror in broad daylight, right where the prisoners said it would be.

The gate was half-hanging, barbed wire twisted and rusted like a wound left to rot. The smell hit me before anything else. Not the same as the men’s camp. Worse. Sweeter, sicklier—decay baked in heat and sealed with blood.

The officers fanned out, a couple of privates rushing to cut off the chains keeping the prisoners captive. I looked for our commanding officer, standing side by side with Lipton, trying his best to keep a stoic expression. Speirs met my unsure gaze and motioned Joe and I to step toward the eery enclosure.

A corpse was draped over the gate, not freshly dead—weeks, maybe more. Stripped half-naked, jaw unhinged, arms thin as branches, skin tight over bone. Her mouth was parted like she had died mid-breath.

It hit the floor with a deafening thud when the soldiers pushed the doors open.

"Ohmygod—" The words caught in my throat, thin and fractured. I halted midstep, turned my head away on instinct. My hand found Joe's jacket, gripping it as if that would hold me upright.

Joe was already turning away when I caught the sleve, restless, uneasy, on the verge of collapsing, something unintelligible falling from his lips like a prayer. Not English.

A shaky breath in, a shaky breath out. A cough due to the stench an the ashes.

We moved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yes, Joe, I'm asking you to eat."

He didn't move aside when I stayed planted in the doorway. He just looked at me, eyes hollowed out from the inside, and then turned his body just enough to leave space. I took that as a cue to step inside, pushing the door back with my shoulder.

The air felt heavier in the room, like one could choke on it if they took a deep breath. I set the bowls down on the rickety table in the corner, the stew sloshing slightly with the action. The three bags lined up against the wall caught my attention.

"Who you sharing with?" I turned around, arms crossed, faking normalcy. "Tab?"

"And Alley."

"Where are they?"

"Not here."

His tone didn't invite any follow-ups, and I didn't give him any. I knew where Talbert was. I'd seen him downstairs, muttering about how Joe needed space. How he was coiled too tight, like if you said the wrong thing he’d snap your neck before realizing you weren't the enemy.

"This room smells like mold." A stupid thing to say, but it was better than nothing—the silence was unbearable.

Joe shrugged. "Better than the alternative."

"Right." I muttered, flicking one of the bowls with my index's nail.

He rubbed a hand over his face. It was a tired motion. A familiar one. "You're not gonna eat it either, are you?" I didn't give him a response; he didn't need one. Joe jerked his chin slightly. "Wanna get a breather?"

I shook my head no. "Not in the mood for a walk."

"Not what I meant."

He nodded toward the balconet, and didn't wait for an affirmative response on my part before pulling at the half-rotted knob, yanking the door open to let April's cool flood the room. I followed him out, chasing the fresh air.

The space was small and cramped; the kind that didn't want a person in it, let alone two.

I leaned back against the railing and let the cold metal bite into my spine. Joe stood beside me, forearms braced against the edge, the curve of his shoulders drawn tight beneath his jacket.

The town below was quiet. Asleep. Or dead.

The faint glow of the streetlamps didn't quite reach Joe's face, but it caught the hollow under his cheekbones, carved from exhaustion.

I didn't know how long we stood there before I commented, "Popeye said you've been locked in here all day."

"Didn't feel like coming out." There was a worrying detachment to him. But then again, had he let himself feel it, really feel it, it would have splintered him wide open. "Where've you been?" he tossed the question back at me, catching on the fact that I hadn't stuck around enough to notice his absence.

"Stayed back for a bit. Y'know, helping the medics."

Silence bloomed between us, not soft or comforting. No, this one felt like cotton in the throat.

"You shouldn't've come." Joe said. "It was a bullshit reason. What difference did you make to those women? Same uniform, same gear, same gun. What good? You think they'd care if—" His voice cracked at the last word, breaking off whatever sentence he was crafting. "Shit."

I looked down. My boots were caked in dried mud and soot, and I felt the urge to throw them away. "I'm sorry, Joe." I murmured, unable to meet his form with my welled up eyes as I said it.

"What for? It's not your damn fault." His hand raked through his hair, leaving it messier than before, fists clenching on the rail like he wanted to crush it. "Could've been my Ma. If they'd stayed. Could've been my sisters. Or me. Hell—bet I had family in there. In those fuckin'—" His face twisted, contorting with something too big for words—rage, grief, disbelief. A gaping wound where language used to be.

His head dropped, shoulders hunched forward, and then I heard it; sob, raw and stifled, the kind that cracks ribs on the way out.

For a second, I considered leaving him to fall apart in private, to mourn on his own. Then it occurred to me that he hadn't told me to, so I stayed. I stayed and watched, and felt my heart shatter for him in a way nothing could ever mend.

I reached out with my left hand and gripped his arm, fingers curling tight into the fabric around his bicep. I didn't know if it was for him or for me. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

My touch didn't bring him back together —if anything, it made him unravel faster. He hiccuped. My own eyes burned. We stood there, wrecked and reeling, frozen in the dark, clinging to the pieces of what we were yesterday until they all slipped.

Joe willed his breathing to become somewhat even, puffing like he was at war with himself.

His hand dove into the inside of his jacket. he pulled out a small, crumpled piece of delicate fabric and swiped it across his face, quick and rough, like he was trying to erase the tears more than wipe them away.

I didn't notice it at first—too busy dragging my sleeve across my own cheeks. The edges, the stitching, the familiar worn softness of the fabric, the embroidery.

My handkerchief.

He still had it.

My throat locked up.

I reached into my pocket, and pulled out a nearly full pack of smokes. I lit one with numb fingers, took a drag, then held it out for the man whose shoulder was pressed to mine.

Joe took it without a glance. Trapped it between his teeth. Took a long drag. Handed it back. We passed it between us in silence, the ember flaring red with each inhale, lighting the space between us. Our hands brushed every time, too obvious to pass as an accident.

By the time the cigarette burned low, my lungs ached with something deeper than smoke. The grief sat so thick it felt like breathing through cloth soaked in blood. The back of Joe's hand grazed my arm, a gesture so slight it might've been nothing.

It was not nothing.

I glanced back into the room and, for a second, I could've sworn the shadows resembled the huts. Low ceilings, rotting wood, filthy corners, empty eyes. Haunted souls.

No, they don't.

They don't look like that.

Don't look.

I turned away, eyes dragging to Joe instead.

He was still hunched, twisted in on himself. Another darted glance at the empty room.

Don't fucking look.

I moved before I could stop myself, lowering my head until my forehead rested against his shoulder, seeking shielding and solace all at once. I pointlessly braced for him to tense. He didn't.

In fact, he leaned closer—enough to notice, not enough to call it comfort—and rested his cheek against the side of my head.

A beat passed. He stayed there for as long as I needed him to, and, when I lifted my head again, he mirrored the movement. His bloodshot eyes met mine, glassy and rimmed red, and a knot tightened deep in my chest.

He drew a breath, attempting to speak. Choosing not to. His silence buzzed unnervingly in my bones.

Joe straightened up, a hand finding the railing beside me, serving him as a leverage to sway closer until his nose bumped mine. Before I could register it fully, he leaned in.

His lips brushed mine—light, uncertain. A ghost of a kiss. More ache than touch. By the time my dulled mind caught up to it, he was already pulling back. Not far; he couldn't go far enough, not in here. I didn't think he wanted to go far enough, anyway.

His body had shifted between me and the dark, fingers curled around the metal to keep him from falling. His presence pressed in on me, blocking out everything but him—his breath, his warmth, the way my lips remembered his.

I swallowed hard.

This couldn't happen now. Not like this.

I was leaning into it either way.

"Joe," I tried, but it sounded more like a plea.

He exhaled, shaky, leaning in again. I chased him when he put the slightest distance between us, brushing his lips for a split second. He gave a faint shake of his head, as if trying to clear it, to stop everything from spiraling.

"Alright," he said, rough as gravel. A pause. His brows knitted. "...Alright."

He leaned in again, maintaining the ghost of hesitance, but too exhausted to bother with preambles. There were no pecks, no cautious press of lips—just an open-mouthed, aching kiss, slow and clumsy and hungry. I met him halfway, matching him without thinking.

My hands found his arms, fingers fisting into the fabric, holding him there. Holding myself there. Something to grip. Something solid in a world that was dissolving.

The moment, thin and breakable, trembled and stretched until it snapped. Joe exhaled like kissing me was the first inhale that didn’t burn.

The next kiss came harder, messier, a collision of grief and need. A plea made with teeth and tongue —make it stop, make me feel, don't let me fall apart.

We weren't careful, nor soft. We had never known how to be, and this moment wasn't any different.

JOE'S P. O. V.

The moment Y/n's palms slid under my jacket, something in my chest twitched. Not hesitation—God, I wasn't that noble. It was something uglier, sat behind my ribs like rot and grief and panic, waiting for a crack to crawl out.

I should've stopped her. Should've stopped myself when she pushed the fabric off my shoulders, parting it like she meant to take pieces of me with it.

Instead, I breathed against her mouth, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She echoed, her lower lip grazing my chin. A white flag.

"Fuck."

I peeled off my jacket in one breathless shove, letting it fall to the ground and carry the stench of the dead with it. My digits locked onto her belt and yanked her forward, triggering a gasp as she caught herself against my chest. Her palms traveled down—slow, tracing where the shrapnel would hit if this was the end.

My mouth chased and found hers, quick, fingers already at the buttons of her jacket, fumbling like I hadn't touched another human being in years. Maybe I hadn't. Not like this. Not when it meant something.

She grabbed the back of my neck like she had in Hagenau, but there was no warzone behind us this time—just the ruins we carried in our skin. She dragged me down to her, and I let it happen. I let it happen because pretending this was about survival was easier than admitting I had never felt this hollow.

Her jacket dropped, but that horrid smell didn't.

Jesus.

It clung to her. To me. Ash and rot and that sweet, sticky stench of decay; those slave camps had carved itself into our pores. My stomach lurched.

I broke the kiss just long enough to rip my shirt over my head— I needed it off. Gone. Y/n didn't hesitate to follow my lead, her moves equally frantic.

I made the mistake to stop and look at her.

The light barely caught her skin—her collarbones, the shadow between her ribs, the slope of her shoulder where a bra strap slipped loose. She was haunted, colorless, wide-eyed and worn down to the bone —and still the most alive thing I'd seen in days. Weeks. Months.

I dragged her back in, my mouth crashing into hers, my hands rough at her waist, pressing so close there wasn't room for thought. Y/n didn't waste a second to shove me backward through the door.

I let her.

My heel kicked it closed and the sound broke through the air like a shot.

Her hands were impatient now, dragging over my back, around my waist, slipping down to my belt. I was already working on hers, undoing the buckle, the zipper, the fucking weight of it all.

"How—" I began.

How did she want this? How did she want me? How far could we go before the weight of everything we’d seen, everything we’d lost, collapsed on top of us?

She didn't give me the chance to finish.

"I dont care," she breathed, voice barely more than a gasp. Her fingers pushed her waistband down her hips. "Just… I don't care."

I swallowed, hard, lips still brushing hers. "No?"

She shook her head once, her touch skimming over my exposed skin, never once leaving me.

Her pants hit the floor, the clink of metal accompanying the soft fabric pooling at her feet. My grasp was back on her before she could step out of it, hands gripping her hips, teeth grazing her jaw. My breath punched out hot and heavy against her cheek.

Nothing else mattered. Not the war, not the fucking smell of death that still clung to the walls, not the ghosts I saw every time I blinked.

Just her.

God.

I wanted her to feel it—all of it. That she was real. That I was still here. That we weren't just some walking carcasses in a uniform. Dragged over every inch I could reach—hips, ribs, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her spine. Skin so warm I thought it might leave burns in my palms.

I reached for her bra clasp, but her fingers were faster. It slid down her arms, and I let my eager digits chase it, dragging slow, trembling lines down her back. I needed the moment carved into me. I wanted it to hurt.

She kissed me hard—desperate, trying to crush the ache in her chest against mine. Her nails scraped my shoulders, bit into the meat of my arms. She clung to me like she'd fall through the floor without the contact.

I didn't even notice her hand on my stomach until it slid lower.

"Jesus Christ—"

It left me like a prayer. Like a warning.

I shoved down my pants in a blur. The buckle clattered, loud in the silence, and I stepped out of the rest like it offended me to still be dressed. Her fingers ghosted over my thighs, and I almost stopped breathing.

She looked at the bed and I mimicked her on instinct.

Too small. Too far. Too civilized.

I turned and pinned her to the wall instead.

She winced when her bare back met the cold surface, a sharp inhale against my shoulder. My mouth attacked her breast, tongue circling, lips rough, unkind. The soft sound she made cracked me open to the point of no return.

Her hands dove into my hair, clutching hard when my thumb flicked over her nipple. Everything about her body was pulling. Pulling me in, pulling me apart.

Too fast. Too hard. Too much.

Good.

I grabbed under her thigh, yanked it high around my hip, and before I had time to second-guess it, I pushed into her—raw and full and overwhelming.

Y/n choked on a breath, head tilting back against the wall, lips parted, frozen in the moment. Crescent moons dug deep into my back, my nape—anchoring or punishing, I couldn't tell.

My forehead hit her shoulder with a dull thud. Her skin was damp. Warm. Alive.

This was bad.

This was so fucking bad.

But it could be worse, right? Or so I told myself. I could be in the room alone, crying so hard I made myself sick. And I wasn't alone, even if just for the night.

"Joe—" Her voice broke. The leg around my waist dragged me deeper, and I had to lock her in place, my palm splayed at her hip.

"I know," I rasped, chest heaving. "Just—fuck, give me a second." I pressed my forehead to hers, eyes screwed shut, every muscle in my body tight as a wire. I inhaled, deep, slow, buried my face in the crook of her neck. And somehow, somehow, under the blood and sweat and rot, I smelled it.

Her perfume.

Still there.

Still hers.

It made my knees buckle.

"Joe—fuck—please,"

"Gimme a damn second, sweetheart."

My throat worked around the knot rising in it. I pulled back just enough to see her face. Our eyes met—half a second of unbearable clarity—then we both shut them again, as if it hurt too much to witness the other breaking in real time.

I swallowed hard, shoved the swelling in my chest back down, and moved.

A slow, dragging pull. The friction of her body clinging to mine. I pushed forward again, hips grinding deep, and our mouths collided, raw and searching and needy. I swallowed the broken sounds she made, gave her my own in return.

The way we fell into a rhythm—frantic, intimate, unforgiving—was a goddamn tragedy, because she felt too good, and I was a wreck. The fact that this was how I got to have her, was almost funny.

Fucking comical.

Her skin, flushed and slick, shifted against mine with every movement. Her legs locked around my hips, tightening, guiding me, begging; her nails leaving raised welts that made me gasp; her crown tipped against the wall. I couldn’t stop watching the way her lashes fluttered with each thrust.

Couldn't stop watching her.

Couldn't stop.

It was heartbreaking.

I kissed whatever skin I could find—her neck, her collarbone, the space under her ear— between heavy pants and muffled cries neither of us would mention afterwards. My hands shook where they gripped her thighs.

Every time the pressure inside me started to give in, every time I felt myself teetering on the edge of falling apart, the feel of her against me, wrapped around me, with me, pulled me back.

God, I hoped it did the same for her.

I hoped.

[invincibledc]

THE WHITE BAT

prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Warning: blood , canon violence, ooc for Damian(?)

Summary: again the bat fights crime, the bird comes to help. Ending in a bird’s injury, and bat’s protectiveness. Making the relationship bloom even more between the two young heroes.

Gun shots rang out in the alleyway, a swish sound connecting as a criminal falls straight onto their ass.

The knight strides towards their foe, glowing pink eyes as their hand graze the brick walls. Sharp claws, scraping the damned bricks that dare to make any sound other than nails on a chalkboard. The criminal shake before getting up and running making the white bat smile.

“Oh I love it when they run…” they said before they disappeared within the shadows. Smiling their sharp fangs….

Meanwhile Robin, aka Damian was crouching on a roof. Patrol, well more like a sneaked out one as his father try to ban him from patrol until he can get his “act” right. Dick had called it a “rebellious teen phase” making Damian scoff at that. Damian was mostly out on patrol to catch a certain white knight that caught his heart and attention. He hated that he won’t admit that he had secured the white cloak he kept somewhere else.

Okay so maybe he sleep with it some nights (every night) when he wants to think of white knight. But that doesn’t mean he’s that attached to the bat. As he uses his binoculars to scan the area out, that’s when he sees a suspicious person running. But he’s eyes widen when he sees a flash of a white cloak that belonged to a certain knight. His knight. Damian immediately pulled out his grapple hook, ready to meet the person he was destined to meet again.

Back to the bat, they followed the damned criminal. Coming out of the shadows. The shadows belonged to a warehouse, an abandoned looking one as the bat narrowed their pink eyes. Scanning the area, a bright light shined on them. Making them tense as they pushed their cloak off their arms, ready to take on whoever was trying to jump them.

“Hah! The little bat fell for it!” The same criminal said as he smiled with a gold tooth. There were five more guys around, surrounding the young hero who definitely didn’t give a fuck how many there were. They were gonna kick their ass.

As one ran up on the bat, they swiftly dodged the rush and grabbed the crook’s arm. Twisting it before kicking the crook towards another one. As an another enemy was sneaking up behind the white knight, a bat-a-rang slashes their hand that dare tried to touch them.

“Not on my watch.” Robin said as he swooped down and drop kicked the criminal down. “Robin? What are you doing here” the bat says as Robin dusted himself off, immediately putting his back against their as a few more crooks showed up.

“I’m helping you. Isn’t that obvious?” He said with a bat smirk. The white bat laughed out loud, showing their pearly white fangs. “Ah I see…well. Welcome to the show birdy.” The bat says as Robin nodded. They both put their fists up and got to work.

Robin uppercut an enemy before slamming them to his knee, the bat swooped around. Back flipping onto an enemy’s neck and bringing them down to crack their neck on pavement. Smiling as they got up and go to work on the others.

Robin gave a nimble roundhouse kick before you appear above him and gave a nice axe kick. Completing the combo move as you landed gracefully by the bird. It seemed you beat the other up as Robin and you finished his last one. Your cloak covered your body as you looked at the boy wonder. “That was amazing….we should do this next time we meet up. The bat says as they look down at the bird. Robin didn’t say anything other than nodding. The bat nods and goes to walk off.

Meanwhile Robin sucked in his lower lip before grabbing their cloak, prompting the white knight to stop. “Wait….would like to patrol with me? Watch over Gotham, til it’s time for me to go?” He asked softly. The white knight smiled, their pink eyes glowing softly.

“Sure i would—”

Robin’s eyes widen as he immediately jumped in front of you, a shot rang from the air as the bat’s and bird’s ears rang. Robin falls to his knees, making the bat’s eyes widen with fear.

“ROBIN!” Immediately they turn to the person who shot the Batman’s sidekick. It was the criminal from the start of it all. The bat glared as they opened their mouth. A piercing scream came out like a wild tornado at the man. Throwing him across the stone wall of the warehouse.

The man tried to sit up only to get knocked down by a boot to his chest. Blazing pink eyes look at the man with rage as they open their mouth.

“You dare harm him…I shall not be the one to spare your life.” Wide bat wings sprouted from their back. The criminal whimpered as the bat attacked. Leaving screams and blood splattered, but after that was done. There were no traces.

Now it was only Damian moaning in pain and an angry bat’s protectiveness took place. The bat grabbed the boy and head off with a quick leap into the air and onto a roof..

“Fuck” the white knight says, dragging the word as they hopped roof to roof before jumping through an open window of their hide out. Holding the injured bird close to their body.

Lightly putting Damian down as he moans and groans. The bullet wasn’t made to just hurt you, it was made to kill you. And Damian could handle a bullet..or could he? Your thoughts was moving wild as Damian’s eyes were shut tight. Still making noise and gripping onto you as if you would disappear. You shush Damian, lifting his uniform shirt to get a look at the bullet wound.

It wasn’t too deep, but it was stuck. “Sorry Damian…this might hurt you.” You softly say as you used your sharp nails to dig it out. Damian yelled out loudly, making you cringe as you keep digging and digging. The squishy sounds of flesh and his agonizing screams made your heart sink a little. But it ended when you pulled it out perfectly in one piece and started to disinfect the wound.

Damian hissed with slight open eyes now, he felt embarrassed. He could take swords going through his arms by Slade , and practically anything he had to go through when being in league of assassins. But a bullet wound in his stomach that was meant for you.

And somehow he couldn’t handle the pain. That bullet was laced for something that was meant to kill you. But it couldn’t kill him, so he had to jump in front of you and take it. His eyes flutter looking at you, reaching a hand out and touching your cheek.

“You okay?” He asked as he tried to sit up, even if you had just bandaged him up and stitched the wound shut while he was stuck in his thoughts.

“You’re asking if I’m okay after literally taking a bullet for me.. color me stoke..you sure are something birdy..” you said in a low tone, your voice raspy from yelling his hero name as you got up from the bed side. Putting away the med kit. Damian slightly chuckled as he watched you carefully, “of course I have to ask for your wellbeing..we’re…partners..aren’t we?” He asked. He tried to make his tone not so obvious that he was nervous about the fact he said you two were technically friends.

You slowly turned your head around before turning it back at the door out of the room you both were in.

You smirked, “yeah.. I guess we are..”

White bat!reader tag: @minkyungseokie @amber-content @chibiduck

A/N: the more chapters go on, the more longer the story gets…awesome isn’t it?

[anartingkey]

Many thoughts on Madeleine cookie (part 1)

1. Angelic design A fairly obvious one. I really enjoy how his design takes the shapes of madeleines and repurposes them as wings in some aspects (such as with his headpiece, or his shields taking on the shapes of wings).

But the most interesting part for me is that such an obviously angelically designed character has a personality that does not fit the image it gives. With the whites, the golds, and the blue accents, and being a paladin I'd expect Madeleine to fit the justice-driven, golden child, loving and compassionate stereotype but he's perfectly incompetent. He's self-centered, prideful, isn't ready to tarnish his reputation unless someone he explicitly cares about (Espresso) drives him to do so (by complimenting him, funnily enough) and isn't shown to care for others on anything other than a superficial level (Espresso excluded), such as when Financier was shown bringing in food for orphans and all he thought of he himself doing for them was to "be a role model" for them. No action, all words, which makes his development at the end of the Odyssey, when he starts taking action for himself, quite satisfying. If anything, Madeleine's personality is more befitting a demonic figure, despite it mostly being driven from ignorance. Pure to a fault, in a way (somewhat). Although I'm intending on making a longer post about this, Espresso and Madeleine were likely designed as a duo and their designs and personality reflect this angel/demon aspect to me. Espresso is designed and built in a way that makes him scary, even demonic, (with the eye motif and dark colors for example) while Madeleine is designed in a way that should make him the approachable, kind character. But Espresso is more befitting an angel with his wish to protect cookiekind with his scientific research while Madeleine is more befitting a demon with his self-centeredness and thoughtless speech. The Crimson Knight costume plays into the angel/demon theme he seems to have going on for him. Which, once more, I love. Madeleines are also shaped like shells which ties in to the Crème Republic itself with the Vanillian as well as sea heritage ! There is so much more I could say about this but I'll keep it as that for now.

2. Vanillian descent This is just a detail I've noticed that I really enjoy about Mansion Madeleine.

As you can see below the blue-pink-purple-yellow shape found in the Solarium of Unity and Council meeting room of the Vanilla Kingdom is almost the same as the stained glass of Mansion Madeleine. The only real difference is the shape and the colors being tilted to the left. And there are also the blue shapes on either side of the stained glass resembling Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam ! Elements of Vanillian descent being so present in the Madeleine mansion is such a good way of reminding where their heritage lies.

3. Potential French references A bit of a tangent on Grand Madeleine. This is likely a stretch but personally, the statue of Grand Madeleine present at Mansion Madeleine reminds me of the romantic french painting by Eugène Delacroix, La Liberté guidant le peuple (1830).

Once more, I'm going to stretch things quite a bit but this painting being associated with the French Revolution makes me believe that Grand Madeleine may have played a role in establishing the Republic. Not founding it, seeing as House Madeleine isn't one of the Great Houses and she isn't in the Council of Elders.

Then there's also, more obviously, the origin of the madeleine, which takes its roots in northeastern France, if I remember correctly. The royal blue color being the color which appears to be symbolical of the Madeleine house in the Crème Republic, seeing as no other Elder or house has nearly as much of it, also reminds me of french royalty. More generally, it seems to me that the Crème Republic has French inspirations (such as recurring fleur de lis designs, the name itself being taken from the word "cream" in French) as well as other European (English for example, with House Scone), Greek and Latin inspirations (notably with the architecture and the way the Council of Elders work).

Grand Madeleine's attitude regarding the Elders, the Republic's tendency for shaming anyone that 'steps out of line' in general, and the mention of her likely having been a great paladin with awards and such makes me believe she is well-respected and well-known enough to go against the Elders and still keep a pristine reputation. Notably with her encouraging Light Cream and inviting her over despite the fact that House Scone has fallen from grace. I'm straying from the main topic here, but the fact that Madeleine also seems to have inherited some of Grand Madeleine's accessories (such as her shield) points to the fact that House Madeleine may have a bloodline of paladins. The mansion resembling a church (notably with the stained glass and huge windows) also showcases their strong tie to religion and the Light/Divine in my opinion.

4. The Light's favorite (?) Despite Madeleine's less than compassionate attitude, he still is blessed by the Light and was chosen to become a paladin. This, as well as his angel design, the angel wings he's shown to have when activating his skill in Cookie Run: Ovensmash, and his shields taking on the shapes of wings when activating his skill in Cookie Run Kingdom makes me believe that, for some reason, Madeleine is the Divine's favorite.

The way people praise him despite his lack of competence also stirs me this way, although I have a lot more to say about that point in particular, which I'll develop in a later post. Not even Financier, who is a much more competent, compassionate and willing to learn paladin has a design that reflects any favoritism from the Light, or any angelic features bestowed by the Light. Kouign-Amann is in the same situation, being a much better paladin but nowhere shown as favored. I also like how his self-centered personality is shown through his skill with healing himself only and how the Light grants a shield to him and only him, whereas Financier shields someone with her. He so is the favorite. I wonder why.

(Note that Madeleine's Power of the Light is his Magic Candy buffed skill, whereas Financier's is her basic skill).

Anyways he's a Devsisters favorite as well as mine, so I'm happy and well-fed.

Closing thoughts, I really hope he appears again in a story. As you can probably figure out, the Odyssey is my favorite CRK story (which I sadly wasn't able to experience) and I love how much lore was given on my favorite cookies. Since Espresso appears on many official arts near the cookies of darkness, as well as his association to Butter Roll, I do kinda hope we get more of him and Madeleine on opposing teams. It'd be very interesting, especially since it's been shown time and time again how Madeleine wants to stay close to Espresso or earn his validation. I could go on for much longer but this is the longest post I've ever written, so I may make another 'analysis' post like this someday ! I have a lot more to say about him so you will probably see me in these tags again.

[s-e-v-e-n-24]

Hello hi friend (@knight-says-nanana) recently made this post referencing our conversation on Jervis Tetch having Wonderland nicknames for everyone but with actual Meaning to it, and I am here to share my List of them

Edward Nygma/Riddler - Dormouse

Not only could he physically resemble a dormouse (Shorter, they tend to have reddish brown/Orange coats I think?), but again, it's more about the sleepiness. The Dormouse is depicted as asleep/Always falling asleep, and only really waking up to correct Alice. Jervis's likely first or longest first meeting with Ed would be in Arkham. Arkham, where his cell has been shown to have "Keep sedated" on it

Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow - March Hare

A hare matches Jon's aesthetic. Long gangly creepy looking bunny. Typically depicted with straw on his head. It's cute if Jervis refers to him as "My dear Hare". March Hare and Hatter are friends!

And also the Hare is routinely depicted as nerve wrecked or delirious, and in adaptations, often dies or suffers

Harley Quinn - Queen of Hearts

The red and black look, the cards aesthetic already there. Plus, Queen of Hearts is childish, bad tempered, quick to overreact, very feared character (Also has a mallet). And also rarely Actually executed people. This one does play on the negatives more, due to the fact she's an antagonist (More obstacle for Alice to clear) But the queen Does have some better traits

Selina Kyle/Catwoman - Cheshire Cat

Obvious, only major cat themed rogue, but Does have deeper implications. Cat dissapears often and without a trace, seemingly or literally invisible, can go places most do not dare to. And also friendly with both the protagonist and antagonist characters. Inherently chaotic neutral force. It does what it wants for it's own entertainment. It may like Alice and act sorta as a guide sometimes, but that in no way means it sticks on her side

Hugo Strange - Gryphon

Somewhat overbearing, dismissive of the obsession and Sorrow of other characters, says they have no fact. Orders around Mock Turtle. This may not fit the greatest, but I like it

The Batman - The Jabberwock

Some unknown and all around feared cryptid? Yeah makes sense

Oswald Cobblepot/Penguin - Dodo

Flightless bird depicted with a cane. Odd, but good natured. Mostly. Does try to burn down a house as a solution to Alice being stuck in it. Organizes the Caucus races. The Dodo character/Races are meant as a critic on systems that lack clarity and decisiveness, who's actions are ultimately unhelpful or pointless

Now there are a couple I'm not entirely sure about yet. It's actually suprisingly hard to make everything fit well

Victor Fries/Mr. Freeze - White Rabbit

Because. He. Y'know. Is running out of time? I do like this one, mostly cause it's a lil funny to me. And also Freeze is mostly only an antagonist to work for his goal, the Rabbit is only "antagonist" Because he has to work for the Queen

Basil Karlo/Clayface - Mock Turtle

Melancholic, sad that it's no longer a real turtle/Just a turtle

Pamela Isely/Poison Ivy - King of Hearts/The Flowers

She is So hard to pin down. I could say Kimg of Hearts to match Harley (Moderate, calm, the one that pardons the subjects, calms the queen, later revealed just as juvenile and willing to execute), or, I could go with the flowers to match her vibe. I really do not know

Waylon Jones/Killer Croc - Jabberwocky/Duchess

Kinda hate both of these for him. Jabberwock because. The obvious. Duchess kinda due to starting off nice to the queen, then transitioning to friendly and respectful with Alice. Major temper (Nervously agressive) but not inherently bad even though she starts/Is Queen aligned?

Harvey Dent/Two Face - Tweedle Dee & Dum/The Walrus & The Carpenter

Tweedle Dee and Dum seem like the obvious answer but I kinda hate it so much. It doesn't feel like it fits and kinda feels insulting. Nothing Truly fits Two Face. Walrus and Carpenter is the closest I got. Walrus (Two Face?) The leader, conniving moocher, con man, yet hopeful of the future. Carpenter (Harvey?), believes getting an honest job will be better, still goes along with the plan, acts before he thinks, quick to anger

Joker - King of Hearts/Knave of Hearts

King to match Harley but also I dislike most adaptations so mm. Knave because he's a coward/j

[italoniponic]

Bat-Hunter | Rook Hunt & Lilia Vanrouge

Synopsis: In which Rook and Lilia found themselves at the start of a legendary battle for the Prefect of Ramshackle's heart. The world of love triangles is awfully quiet after this exchange. Dedicated to @pandoa. You wish and you shall receive &lt;3

Lilia Vanrouge, Rook Hunt x gender neutral reader / small scenario / fluff but mostly crack / reference to a specific Phillipines dish / 1525 words / use of “you” pronouns / Masterlist

Bat-Hunter: The Magnificent Showdown!

Few people throughout history — between humans and faes — could say that they had the audacity to directly antagonize the Great General Vanrouge in any sort of battle. And getting out of this sort of risk alive was a bit of luck granted to very few people, almost to none.

“But a coward hunter is not worthy to receive the title, nor to wear a hat.”

That was the Hunt family motto that Rook was so proud to carry in his heart. Such was his respect for his family tradition that this phrase was embroidered on the inside of all his hats so as to never forget his origins.

Well, maybe I’m starting a little too fast and you’re still worrying — from the comfort of Ramshackle’s upstairs window — what the hell the two guys you liked were doing on the ground floor balcony, dressed like that.

Despite everything, you suddenly shrugged to yourself and headed to the kitchen where a more urgent task needed to be fulfilled. When everything was ready, hopefully you could invite the guys in. That is, if you found one or the other intact in the end.

Because that was the feeling that their exchange of glances passed.

Lilia was dressed in his Light Music club “uniform,” as punk rock as your father had been in the eighties when he was young and phones were wired. He held his guitar close to him, as if it were the weapon of his days in the Army of Thorns. He was “total rad” — as the youngsters would say.

His friendly smile only masked the irritation of finding Rook in that place, decked out from head to toe. Usually, his presence was easy to ignore and his curiosity could be quite amusing from time to time.

But he knew the real situation they were in: they were equals in rivalry for the heart of Ramshackle’s Prefect.

Knights in a duel for love!

Rook, in his own instance, wore a pair of belted trousers and a loose white blouse — located in the common vocabulary as a “pirate blouse” — with the strange addition of a large pink coat over his shoulders, sewn by hand and with some patterns of blue rhombuses. With his hat in hand, he looked like a book character.

His expression was equally gentle but it carried a certain pang of defiance, like a hunter who meets another while hunting.

“You look very beauté this afternoon, Monsieur Curiosité!,” Rook praised.

“How did you actually say that time? That my beauty is ‘mysterious’?,” Lilia chuckled, squinting his eyes.

“Oui, oui! But do not fret, Monsieur, today my attention is on someone else.”

“Another one? You can’t get enough of it, can you, Hunt?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, yes. I’m tired. Tired because I’m wandering for days and nights thinking about the smile of that kind person and how I would like to cheer them up in these times of crisis!”

Crisis? Lilia didn’t quite understand. You seemed to be doing very well during all the times you met. Had he let any detail slip through the cracks?

“What kind of crisis? That is,” he bit his tongue, embarrassed that he had to ask for help from his literal rival. “If I may intrude.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. These are ear crisis! Dear Trickster has been hearing a lot of guitars being scratched lately,” the young huntsman replied, boldly.

Lilia barely broke his guitar cable — or the entire instrument at once in Rook’s head.

It was a mere provocation, no big deal. And Pomefiore’s vice, the way he was, probably appreciated each style of music in its own artistic way. But they were dealing with a battle of epic proportions and every blow counted.

Even if he were to call Lilia’s love-hard-heavy-metal demo “instrument-scratching”. But it was worth it and it showed in the way Rook’s eyes squinted in amusement.

Dealing with Diasomnia’s vice has always been an adventure in itself. That was the best part about being Lilia’s romantic rival.

Regardless of the ending, moments like this would always have a special place in Rook’s heart and he would remember it all with emotion when he went to tell your children — “the Hunt Jrs.” — the trajectory of your love.

“Why are you crying?,” suddenly Lilia inquired, confused.

“You will not be forgotten, Monsieur Curiosité! Forever and ever!,” Rook declared, wiping a tear with the sleeve of his coat. “Your memory will be carried forever in our family!”

At this the fae pulled the hunter by the collar of his shirt, staring directly into his green eyes. It was not necessary to float to come face to face with Rook, Lilia had enough dignity to impose himself the way he wanted.

And, let’s face it, making the boy — a “child” in his eyes — literally reach his level was more convenient too.

“Your particular persona has not yet turned gray to be Malleus’ breakfast because I dare, to the best of my mental faculties, find your audacity mildly amusing,” Lilia said with a grim smile cutting across his face.

“I thank you, monsieur. And I, if I may say so, find the bloody-pink in your eyes extremely beautiful,” Rook retorted, torn between fascination and a certain fear instinct that only made him feel more confident in his goals.

“Who do you think you are, hunter?”

“And who do you think I am, bat?”

That said, the two of them started laughing. Maniacally. They walked away but kept laughing, releasing all the anger and tension that could be felt in the form of simple fun between two colleagues.

Oh, they wanted to duel until death ripped them from each others hands.

Fortunately, you opened the door in time to prevent a bloodbath in your yard — after all, it would be difficult to clean it up.

“Hey, boys!,” you greeted, happy. “Wanna come in? I made pancit canton!”

Then you showed them a plate of fresh noodles, straight out of the pan, in a colorful combination of sliced pork, sausage and shrimp along with chopped carrots, cabbage, peas, onions and garlic. It smelled wonderfully good and matched your good mood. No wonder, it was your favorite food from the Philippines.

The sun was setting and it was close to dinner time. In fact, you were so excited about the process of cooking everything — from blanching vegetables to cutting meats — that the serving size tripled. Maybe being busy tidying the house didn’t help your distraction.

But with Lilia and Rook there — and Grim would be happy with extra food — you felt that little slip was worth doing it.

The smile that opened on your face descended on them like a ray of light in the midst of darkness, poetic as a fairy tale.

The animosity in the air was still palpable, however you were simply happy to have the company of your two crushes at the same time and there are times you need to take advantage of some situations.

“Prefect! I composed a song and I would like you to hear it,” Lilia stepped forward, putting the guitar in position and pulling a bombastic sound from the strings.

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t stop an admiring smile from appearing. Outside that your heart was racing just like the Light Music club speakers after a performance by Lilia. He was so cool!

“And I brought the best collection of poems on my bookshelf to recite, sweet Trickster!,” Rook didn’t lag behind and with one movement of his arm, the coat danced beautifully under his shoulders.

Another shot to the heart! As if that were not enough, the shades of the afternoon horizon harmonized perfectly with Rook’s clothes and made him an otherworldly vision, having escaped from a bedside book just to meet with you.

“You two are going to drive me crazy like this…,” you grumbled to yourself. But you did your best to stay intact.

“I just want you to bear with me 'cause I am only one,” you said. “Let’s have dinner first, okay?”

“All for you, sweet Trickster!,” Rook declared, taking your free hand and kissing it.

“A-ah! Okay?”

“What matters is your wish, Prefect,” Lilia skillfully took the plate of pancit from your other hand and also kissed it.

“B-but your guitar...!” He literally had put the instrument between his legs.

“There’s no time for questioning, magnefique apple of my eyes. Forward, my brave rival!”

“Said and done, hunter!”

You were still confused when they managed to find a way to literally drag you into the house, each holding your arms as if your weight was negligible and the situation completely normal.

It was obvious how Rook and Lilia, even if in different ways, could make you go “head over heels.” 

Well, you avoided reaching that angle when they deposited you on the couch and sat each by your sides. At least the animosity was gone and Lilia’s guitar was more securely propped up on the coffee table.

“Dinner, mes ami?,” Rook suggested. “Then a lyrical duel to the death?”

“A what...?”

“That’s fine for me,” Lilia accepted.

And so they lived happily ever after. At least until after dinner.

🦇🆚️🏹

Special Notes: It’s funny or maybe not how I can get drowned in my own work and never make any progress in months but the moment the inspiration for something strikes me as a lighting, suddenly I can pull off an entire 1525 thing in two nights straight. It’s quite simple and it goes more into comedy territory but it’s a homage for your underrated comedy skills, Pando! I still tried my best to make sure both Rook and Lilia could have their times to shine. I based most of the exchange in Lilia’s R Sports Card personal story with Rook (and just got off from that feeling). Have to say, I love a good unilateral passive-aggressive convo and they delivered <3

Now… any similarities of scenes from certain movies are completely my fault. I’m currently having a Die Hard and Kung Fu Panda brainrot, which is weird but it happened.

[cam3lliaw]

Catching the eye of a prince

Chapter 2

-crownprince!gojo x maid!reader

contents/ warnings: (some are mentioned in the prologue), might be ooc,

word count: 1.9k words

series masterlist

chapter one here

notes: sorry for the long wait (again), hope you like this one :)

The prince waited until the clock struck eleven. He thought that this should be late enough and to say that he was getting impatient at that point would be an understatement.

He wasn’t dressed fancy by any means, in just a white saggy shirt and black pants. As much as he enjoys dressing up and showing others his wealth, the prince always preferred dressing casual if he didn’t have a busy day with meetings or other royal responsibilities to attend. Before he left his chambers, Satoru still decided to wear a cloak in case any person that was currently in the royal library would recognize him and make a huge deal out of his presence there. After all, even if he didn’t try to stand out, his white hair and striking blue eyes could be easily recognized by anyone. Also, the palace was too guarded for someone to become concerned if they randomly saw a person dressed in a cloak around so that fact alone wouldn’t be a problem in his way.

The library was quiet but not quite empty yet. The prince successfully made it in without being recognized by any of the scholars of the court that were still reading in silence. He roamed the many rows of books a few times, yet he didn’t catch a glimpse of anyone, he didn’t rush at all and was also willing to wait for a while yet…this seemed too easy.

A lot of thoughts were rushing into Satoru’s mind as the riddle was in the middle of them. The only word that suggested to a place in that riddle was “meadow”. The library is quite big, but there are not a lot of small rooms in it that might resemble a meadow. The area with children books is too obvious and the prince figured that you would have no reason to spend your time there.

But…there is a place that is well hidden much like the meadow in the novel. The library’s storeroom would fit the criteria. That room is incredibly small, more like a closet rather than a room and it can be found in the corner of the right far end of the library. Not many people know about it since the librarians mainly use it to store old books that are too worn down to be handled or that have newer version that have improved content in them. When they were kids, Satoru, Suguru and Shoko were spending a lot of time there since no one would’ve thought to look for them there.

The prince slowly approached the storeroom and the door was cracked open, a bit of light was coming from the inside.

“That’s it.” The prince thought.

He stepped inside carefully, in order not to scare you. And there you were, facing the rows of books, seemingly searching for one as a lamp was sitting on a tall row of books that were on the floor right next to you. The prince turned around to close the door so the two of you can talk without the risk of getting heard and bothered by anyone else but as he was about to touch the door he knocked over a small tower of books that was right by the entrance and the sound got your attention.

You didn’t see his face but judging by how tall he was, and the fact that he was wearing a cloak, you assumed he must be a knight patrolling the library since it was already this late at night.

“I was just dusting the shelves. I’m sorry to be out here so late.” You tried to excuse yourself, bowing your head down, even though all the knights knew that the maids were not working from 11 pm to 4 am. But it felt a bit weird. Knights were not usually patrolling in this part of the library. They were usually more busy around the royal chambers especially at nighttime.

Gojo turned around and wanted to talk, but as soon as he faced you, your head was up again and you finally took a look at him. Your jaw dropped in shock as you noticed the white of his hair, mostly hidden by the cloak, and his striking blue eyes.

“Your royal high-“ you tried to talk and bow, almost falling down as he rushed to you and covered your mouth with his hand. He hushed you as you looked up at him confused.

“Don’t call me that or we’re going to get unwanted attention. And keep your voice down. Okay? You can do that, right?” The prince asked whispering as he looked straight into your eyes.

After hesitating for a moment, you nodded and he took his hand off smiling.

“How…should I call you then?” you asked as you looked down fidgeting with the sleeve of your uniform.

“Uh…I don’t know, but if you called me like that it would definitely grab someone’s attention so…for now my name should do.”

“I can’t possibly do that.”

“Why not? Don’t tell me you don’t know it.” The prince tried to joke.

“Of course I know it. I just can’t disrespect you like that, your royal-“ before you got to continue, Satoru hushed you again and you stopped talking looking away embarrassed.

“Would you do it if I ordered you to?” he tried to propose.

“Do what?”

“Call me by my name.” the prince declared and as soon as you sighed he knew he won. After a moment of silence you opened your mouth.

“As you wish…Satoru.”

“That wasn’t that hard now, was it?” he smiled “And since we’re introducing ourselves, you’re [name]. Am I right?”

“Yes…that’s right.”

Well, that’s a surprise for sure. Everyone knows that the prince can’t bother to even remember the names of his personal maids and butlers, but for him to know your name? You were just a simple maid and besides…you don’t think you ever exchanged a single word with him up until tonight, right? Then how did he know-

Oh.

From Suguru.

That’s how. That is literally the only way in which his royal highness would’ve known of your existence, at least that’s clearly the first thing that comes to mind, considering the close friendship the lord has with the prince. But Suguru promised he would never get you into trouble…then what is this situation in the first place. Before you go the chance to think more about it, you were interrupted.

“So…what are you really doing here?” the prince inquired.

“I…I was- uh��”

 You didn’t know what to do. Should you lie? Should you tell the truth? It wasn’t like you were doing something illegal… but it’s still something that a maid shouldn’t be doing. But you have to tell the truth in the end right? After all, lying to the royal family can sometimes be considered treason and a light punishment is better than a harsher one.

“I was…bringing a book back.” you admitted.

“Aren’t books supposed to be given back to one of the librarians? And also, this is a storeroom for old books that are out of use so this is clearly not the place where it should go.” He looked down at you, albeit a bit suspicious, when you make a library card these things are being explained to you. And Suguru and Shoko were heavily suggesting that you were smart, so you should know that.

“It is the right place…because I took the book from here in the first place.” You looked down a bit ashamed.

“But books from here cannot be borrowed. It says that in the library rules.”

“I know that. I’m really sorry about this. I promise it won’t happen again-” you continued to look down, hoping that you wouldn’t face a tough punishment.

“Why?” the prince asked.

“…what?”

“You knew that this isn’t allowed. Yet you did it anyway.” He smiled “And I’m sure you knew that things that aren’t allowed will be punished. That part is common sense. So riddle me this: you, a person who apparently doesn’t like to be in the center of attention, would do this, a thing that would clearly make heads turn around if the truth came to light, which it did right now.”

“I-I just-” you sighed. “I just wanted to read them. That’s all. Every book that I’ve borrowed from here was back in its place in a few days at most. I did not do this to steal or anything like that.”

“Alright, you like to read, but why from here? These aren’t even that good to read anymore. You would be better off reading from the main library.”

“I can’t read from there.”

“If it’s because you don’t have one of those library cards you could easily make one.” the prince added.

“You don’t understand, Satoru. Even if I wanted to make one I can’t.”

 You took a deep breath trying to calm down and not say anything that will show how you actually feel about this situation. Of course he didn’t catch on it earlier. He can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He doesn’t have to hide in order to do the things he wishes to do.

“Maids aren’t allowed to borrow books from the library. We work daily, almost all day, so even if we were allowed to, we wouldn’t have time to read them. I only read at night so I don’t get in trouble for slacking off.” After you told him that you looked back up at him and he seemed a bit...sad.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” he stopped talking for a second but an idea seemed to come to him “that’s why you take them from here…is it not? The books from here aren’t being verified every day… so you could take from here without anyone noticing unlike the books from the main library.”

“That’s right…but it doesn’t matter anymore…but what…will happen now? Will I be suspended? Fired?” You knew that taking books like that would have consequences but you couldn’t say exactly how big they would be, considering you didn’t know anyone to have done this before, if anyone ever did.

“No, You won’t.”

“But I shouldn’t have done that. It’s against the rules. You said it as well just now.”

“I know what I said... But I don’t think you did a bad thing, [name]. You just wanted to do something you liked. And it’s not like you were making problems for others by doing this. I won’t punish you for doing something like that…however you won’t be doing this anymore. You can’t risk anyone else catching you here. Not everyone will let this go as I did.”

You nodded, deciding this outcome is better than you could’ve expected. Yes, it’s sad that you won't read anymore, but at least you didn’t have to go through a hard time because of all the reading you did so far. Bowing, you got the lamp from the place it sat on and you were ready to leave when Gojo grabbed your wrist.

“I wasn’t done talking, [name].”

“Oh, I didn’t realise- I apologise.” Stopping in your tracks you put the lamp nearby again and waited for him to continue.

“I said that you shouldn’t be doing this anymore, but I got a deal for you instead.”

“A deal? Satoru, I don’t have anything to give you in exchange. In case it slipped your mind, I’m a maid, as in: maid working for you, in your palace.”

“We can discuss the details later. Can’t you just hear me out before you jump to refuse me? Are you always this pessimistic?” he smiled.

“I’m not.” You rushed to admit but realized you fell right into his trap.

Gojo started laughing as quietly as he could and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

“What is the deal then?”

“Glad you asked. Follow me.” He extended his hand and waited for you to take it.

taglist: @kalopsia-flaneur @fortunatelyfurrygiver @kitkat331

end notes: thank you for reading :)

[mellowyellow236]

Manhwa AU Playdate Mini Fic

Yuri swung her feet back and forth, looking at the white Mary Jane shoes she had been forced into by her mother. She pouted, looking at the much older woman fretting with the flower vase in their parlor.

“Moooom!” She cried, her hands clutching the lacey ruffles of the sage dress she had on. “I don’t wanna sit down and talk. I wanna go plaaaay! With my friiieeeends!” They whined as Yue shook her head,

“Dear, you’re meeting the Grand Duke’s only child. You couldn’t possibly make her do anything that she doesn’t want, ah…” She moved over to her daughter and clutched her hands in hers, kneeling next to the couch. “This is very important, okay? Lady Yuu is a very powerful young lady, and you must make sure she’s happy at all times. I’m sorry that you have to sit still for so long, but we’ve been practicing this, remember? If you need to fidget…” She asked, smiling as her daughter pouted.

“I just pick up a teacup, I know…” She said, “But what if they want to go play?”

“Then you can go play. Just remember that-” She was cut off by a knock on the door. Quickly straightening, Yue looked over to the door. “Come in.” She called, to which the Grand Duke Crewel and his daughter came in, followed by another child with mostly white hair. She quickly curtsied, to which Yuri copied. “A pleasure to see you, Your Grace.”

He gave a short bow in reply, responding “The pleasure is all mine. It’s nice to finally meet you, Lady Yue, and to see your daughter again.” He beckoned Yuu forth, Yu following behind her, as Yue went to stand near Crewel. Yuu was holding a big book of what seemed to be fables, which she placed down on the table.

“Allow me to give you a tour of the gardens, Your Grace. The children seem to already have a good idea of what they wish to do.” She said, to which Crewel nodded, leaving with her. Meanwhile, Yuri looked at the other two girls. They both sat on the couch across from her, a table of snacks and tea between them.

“I brought this book to read.” Yuu proclaimed, to which Yu nodded in return, giving a smile as a greeting. Yuri nodded too, but then lit up.

“Can we act them out? Like a play?” Yuu narrowed her eyes,

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you read the story, and then Yu and I act out what the characters are doing! It’s more fun with more people, but we can just use my dolls. Oh, and costumes!” Yuu brought out the book, flipping through the chapters. Yu then spoke up,

“I think that sounds like fun.” Yuu, seeming to consider the opinion of her friend, nodded.

“Very well. We shall act out a fairytale.” They said, flipping back to the chapters. “Which one do you want to do? The Ghost Bride, Tropical Turbulence, The White Rabbit Fest?”

“Tsumderland!” Yuri called out, to which Yu nodded, and Yuu looked up at her.

“Okay! We’re going to need costumes, and we need to pick what characters we’re going to be!” She said, putting her hands on her hips. “Let me think… Oh, I know! Yu, you should be…”

——————————————————————————

“Your grounds are quite lovely, Lady Yue,” Crewel said as they walked back towards the room the pair had left the children in. “It has been nice to talk to you as well, but I believe I must get my daughter and go now.” She nodded, opening the door.

“Of course, You Grace. They should be right in here-” She was interrupted by the Grand Duke’s daughter, running up to her father. She was once sitting beside them with a book on the floor and a notepad on her lap, the other two crowded next to her. Yu wore a silky pink gown with a pearl bracelet attempting to be balanced on her head in place of a crown, while Yuri was sporting a gray dress and a likely stolen wooden training sword. Yuu looked up at her father, a serious look in her eyes.

“Papa, we need better costumes!” She said, quickly standing. She rushed over, handing him the notebook. “We have a princess dress, but no tiara! And a knight in a noble lady’s dress; He needs armor, papa! And don’t even get me started on our first play, no one had any ears for the little lion-tsum or horns for the dragon-tsum! It was a disaster, Papa, a disaster!” She cried, sounding more frustrated at the lack of attention to detail than actually sad. He opened the notebook, looking through the list of costumes needed and the notes of sizes that she knew for her friends.

Crewel took a deep breath, “Why don’t you work on refining these designs, and then I can make them? I’ll explain more about how to in the carriage.” He responded, patting her head. “Why don’t you and Yu go get changed back into your clothes for now, and then we’ll take her home?” He asked, to which she nodded. Yu came over, holding two dresses.

“I’ve got them here.” Yuri came behind her and grabbed her shoulders,

“Come on, I’ll show you where you can go change again!” She said laughing, Yuu following close behind them. Yue sighed, as Crewel nodded.

“Truly, these children will be the death of me…”

-Fin-

Basically this fic:

Yuri: I want to perform a play.

Yu+Yuu: That sounds fun.

Yuu, an hour later: This has been a fashion and costuming disaster. My father will hear about this.

This is based on an actual game I used to play with my sisters where we wrote and acted out a “movie” named “Max’s Love”. It was made entirely in our bedrooms and my parent's bathroom for some reason, with nothing but iMovie. It’s since been lost to whoever's phone we made this on being replaced, but I think we made a sequel and had plans for a trilogy. I remember that we had the youngest of us dress up as a boy and play the love interest, and we decided our best “boy clothes” was a shirt with a giant rooster on it. While none of us realized it then, looking back on it was a wonderful bit of irony.

I might end up jumping around with the ages of characters for a bit after this just because writing them as kids is fun but would probably get repetitive after this, but I’ve been hyper-fixating on this AU for a bit now so I doubt I’ll move on for a little while. Yu will probably end up here most of the time because both Yuri and Yuu have very brash personalities as kids, and getting a slightly quieter/calmer kid to be there helps me keep the plot together and not end up with a page worth of children pointlessly arguing. Also, I just like Yu and I want to write about her.

Credits to @twstfanblog for Yuu and thus AU, and @st4rz666 for Yu. As always, leave a comment or ask if you have any questions or anything to add :) (Please leave an ask or question I’m so bored and I want to explain things)

[karanseraph]

Alien robots can have accents

This might be spoilers for The Life and Times of Skywarp fic, but just going through my process in public, because sometimes this helps me think and organize my thoughts.

Alien robots can have accents, because other planets have regions and culture and also because if we encounter them, they can assimilate our language(s) differently.

Also, Transformers media has pretty much always had this as a thing, because, with one notable exception I can think of, humans recorded their voices.

What a character's accent sounds like can differ, like if one piece of media was recorded in Canada, for example, and another recorded in Japan, let's say, then even if a character has a regional accent in both, that character doesn't necessarily have the same type of regional accent.

some non-audio media also calls out quirky speech patterns and accents in the written dialogue.

OK, that's all understood stuff we all know.

Now, I'm trying to think what accents and mannerisms Thrust and Ramjet have when we meet them through Skywarp's POV in a fic.

So, I the writer (and I've noted this bias in the various notes attached to the fic) am writing in English, because that's my language. And mostly it's North American/US/Eastern/Mid-Atlantic because that's my region. But, here and there there may be deviations or variations. The characters aren't actually speaking English on Cybertron, I'm just writing the story in my language.

The POV character is Skywarp, who, like many people, does not perceive his own accent unless someone else calls it out. So, descriptions of the other Cybertronian characters having any dialect or accent difference get filtered through the character's perception.

Skywarp, the character, in this fic, is based in Vos which is in the south and east of Cybertron. He doesn't always know what region a dialect is associated with when he first hears it. He just notices it's different or more difficult to parse.

So like, when I'm writing, I would not say "Nyonienne" is French." It's not. It's really not. It's an alien dialect/accent of whatever Cybertronian languages is spoken in that era. But, I might write that when Skywarp met Eriel and she gave her designation the way she pronounced certain airy phonemes was different enough that he wasn't sure how to spell her name. It might have been Oryal or Ariel or Auriel.

Skywarp knows Mirage, Tracks, Red Alert, Thundercracker, Flatline, and Daytrader are all from and/or based in Iacon, but he also knows they don't all sound the same and supposes this is because Iacon has 'street' and 'spire' differences as well as being a big region with suburbs.

OK, so back to Ramjet and Thrust. Skywarp has never met them in person. He knows of them. He knows they are based out of Unitrex which is generally in the north and has a cliffy Rust Sea coast and is known as City of the Stars. When there was a big Seeker meeting, Ramjet sent Red Wing and Laserbeak as emissaries, but Laserbeak is an older bot with his own fawning skeksis-like mannerisms and Red Wing was a new recruit to their team, possibly assimilating language elsewhere.

I think this version of Ramjet is like if a locally-famous rock star from a metal band (they might be The Heralds or just Heralds?) that sings songs about chaos, destruction, and sometimes romance received some regional knighthood-like honor due to his emotive spark-felt singing and took it way too seriously and acts like he's some kind of Seeker-Rock-Paladin, but it's hard to tell because whenever he's not singing his manner is over-the-top facetious and sarcastic to the point of deadpan lying about everything. But the bots on his team legitimately think he's great and consider him their leader, because he totally signed up for that! Also, he crashes through things a lot.

The Sir Rock Star thing seems British coded, even if organics are more likely to seem him as their mechanical steed than a shining white knight. Does another region have this intersection of musician and public treasure, like if one is an idol singer or such? Ramjet could also be that.

But Thrust is...loud and boasts about how great their team is, but acts mainly as Ramjet's conspiratorial spiritual advisor going on and on about the stars and alignments and the symbolic meaning of colors in other bots' decos and what elemental energies he promises he can sense in others.

Some Thrusts are vaguely Western-like? But is Thrust also Brit-coded but like old British occultist flavor? And he goes about saying every bot is a star and do what thou wilt and talking about magic?

But they aren't really British at all. They're alien robots throwing brutal warehouse raves in Unitrex as a cover to spy on the Titan-building project nearby.

[frystsnow]

“jack, jack!” youthful and joyful is the way håkan calls his friend’s name, tiny body running through the thick-snow valley before he trips over his own legs. he falls on the floor then and there, yet his hands keep themselves clasped, seemingly protecting something so important that it was worth risking his own face. he raises himself from the snow with a bump on his forehead, flakes on his face and hair, a running nose and a victorious half-toothed smile that goes from red ear to red ear. “it’s your birthday tomorrow!” he says, as if it were his, too. “i made you this, look—” and he opens his hands: a wooden-carved star (or was it a snowflake?), “i made it in the workshop, with gobber’s help, but it was all me!” he stuffs his chest, so proud of his first whittling creation. “it’s to keep you safe. happy birthday, jack!”

ㅤhe’d been waiting since dawn for a particular mast to appear on the horizon, hands clasped together in quiet prayer and willing each passing cumulus cloud to disperse each time they threatened to obscure the horizon. not yet, not yet. the king had visited the prince’s room as the sun hovered above the fjord and questioned little jack if he’d like to rest more.ㅤsomeone will wake you once we receive word of håkan’s arrival.ㅤto which jack indignantly shook his head and readjusted his position on the window, eyes wide open even through dark circles. neither hrím’s hyperborean climate nor a silly curfew would deter the prince from having the first word of berk’s chief and his son’s—his friend’s!—arrival.

ㅤjack will never admit he had almost dozed off by the time a peek of white sails bearing dragon insignias had come to view. only after nearly outbalancing himself on his window perch did jack finally perk awake. all it took was a flash of crimson in the distance for the to boy hop to his feet and glide.ㅤ“maní, håkan is here!”

ㅤa blur of silver and blues makes a beeline out of the stronghold, bare feet seeming to step atop snowdrifts and never sinking into pristine powder. jackin has memorized his way through the shortcut by now no matter the countless reprimands he’s received from knight bunny. a skid through a protruding root, a high jump ( well, float ) to reach a particular branch that allows him to swing himself further forward, and several more little obstacles through the snowy forest. he’s almost there—

ㅤthen a voice that calls his name. jack would know it anywhere, would recognize it even if decades, centuries were to pass until they would meet again. blue eyes turn to a clearing where the sun seems to part just for the brunet boy to make his appearance. a toothy grin as jack practically leaps for his best friend.

ㅤthough there was one between the pair with an obvious advantage over the terrain who should be the one rushing to meet the other, the heir of berk moves first before jack can. an eager sprint down the slope is all it takes, and in a blink, håkan trips. body curling rather dramatically in the flair of a 12-year old around the item in his hand. jack gasps his name in disbelief—“hiccup!”—and makes a run for the fallen viking’s form.

ㅤand, after a quick examination of håkan’s mostly unscathed form thanks to the pillowy snow, jack spreads his arms and falls beside his friend. now they were both covered in snow, fair and square!

ㅤ“ya should’ve waited for me, dummy!”ㅤjack laughs and shifts his body to face håkan, the sound growing at the sight of hiccup’s forehead. before he can make a quip about the big head hiccup will gain after a fall like that, håkan speaks first in-between pants. his companion pays little care to any injuries he may have acquired with his attention on a more important matter. the prince has to resist a giddy grin at his next words.ㅤhe remembered his birthday!ㅤit'll be the first one they'll spend together with jack's continuous ( and perhaps purposely grating ) pleas for hiccup to stay for the prince's celebrations.

ㅤthere are endless riches and offerings awaiting the winter-blessed prince once they make their trip to his kingdom, accompanied by nights of merriment and song to appease him. but no treasure nor wish will jack cherish as much as the wooden toy in his hands. blue eyes stare in awe, turning over the trinket with wonder in his eyes and stars in his lungs.

ㅤ“it's... a star? or a snowflake?”ㅤa gasp in realization.ㅤ“a starflake! i never thought it'd be possible... håkan, you're not serious! this is far too important to part from you—”ㅤto which hiccup answered with a huff, once more closing his hand around jack's own as a firm admission that this gift is his to keep. a shaky breath to realize the blessing bestown to him. if such an artifact will keep him safe, as håkan promised, then what is he to fear for the rest of his days?

ㅤprince jack grins and throws himself around his good friend. he has no mystical runes that offer the same caliber of protection akin to this handmade sentiment, so jack hopes that a kiss on håkan's cheek will suffice. he sends a quiet prayer to the moon, asking for a blessing that would bring håkan his happiness, protection, and companionship forevermore.ㅤ“i will tell stories of a shooting star that has made its way to me and how you caught it before it'd untimely burn me.”ㅤanother story to add to his growing imaginary tales. he hopes, someday soon, that there will be real adventures to share with his best friend.ㅤ“thank you, hiccup!”

[waltat04-kevinknight]

In your opinion do you think Lewis blamed Jaune for the loss of sister? The reason I asked is because The Cat and Jaune mentioned how some of the story was a lie. And with a couple theories I came up with it seemed Jaune did most of the work.

The red prince seemed to hate the white knight pieces. And the moment Ruby said they were humans angered the child. Almost like he knows who ended his father the Red king. After all the soldiers mentioned the Red king meeting his end by a human but never mentioned what they looked like nor their names. And we can bring it to them ascending but how would they know or remember?

The paper pleasers were the only ones to remember Jaune considering he has lived amongst for years. But when they ascended they don't know who he is but they recalled him as hero who they mostly took advantage of. Which is true since Jaune was offering them advice. However he was overly protective.

And finally the Cat himself. Not only has he witnessed the events with Alyx and he remembers Jaune almost like they were companions. And the way he spoke about Alyx it felt like he really hated her. Like everything Jaune said about Alyx was true. More importantly what the Cat said about Jaune of him not being a noble knight.

Lewis who was the most innocent and probably naive didn't know what was going on. So he doesn't know what his sister did to Jaune. Nor does he know how deceptive the cat was. So with Jaune gone Lewis probably blamed him for his sister's demise.

If so, that makes me feel like the Cat and Jaune are two opposing forces. The cat will use and exploit others in order to get something for himself. However, Jaune will do whatever it takes to win and keep those he cares about alive. The cat controls and breaks everyone down while Jaune tries to build them up. And finally while Jaune is honest but foolish. The cat on the other hand is a manipulator who will only tell you what he wants you to know.

Basically for volume ten Jaune might as well be still in the fight.

Honestly I don't think Lewis would blame Jaune for the lost of Alyx. He didn't really come off as someone who held anger towards others, if we ever meet Lewis which is doubtfull considering the time he was around would have been years ago. If we do meet an old Lewis I'm sure he would understand if Jaune and Co explained everything but that's me

[holisticalecsecareanu]

Bonus Alec Secareanu Media Wednesday!

We're switching it up this week, gente, and doing Alec Media Wednesday because there's NEW CONTENT!

AND new photos and he's SO BEAUTIFUL in them! I do love him in black and white photography!

Here's an interview with like5.ro, an online lifestyle and entertainment magazine where he discusses all things #spymaster.

He also talks about the differences between working in Romania versus a project in the UK and he's come SO FAR with his diplomacy, I'm SO PROUD of him!

Here is the link, which is in Romanian:

And because I could NOT get this particular site to translate at all, no matter how much I right-clicked, I've translated the whole thing under the cut:

Interview in English

xclusivAlec Secăreanu: "On the sets outside, the atmosphere is much warmer than here."

Alec Secăreanu: "On the sets outside, the atmosphere is much warmer than here."

You can watch Alec Secăreanu in the miniseries "The Veil" available exclusively on Disney+

Like5 Team

July 29, 2024

For Alec Secăreanu, the milestone of his career is "God's Own Country" (2017), the film in which he has Josh O'Connor ("The Crown", "The Challengers") as his co-star. The meeting with the director Francis Lee took place 2 years after the performance signed by Alexandra Pirici and Manuel Pelmus, included in the program of the Venice Biennale in 2014, an experience that gave Secăreanu rigor, discipline and a creative mindset to position himself as professional actor. Alec Secăreanu also worked as a casting director and had gained the comfort of approaching directors as a colleague. Roles followed in a series of international productions such as "The Saint" (2017), "Baptiste" (2019), "Strike Back" (2020), as well as the iconic character Victor Godeanu, the spy in the original HBO miniseries "Spy/Master ” (2023).

In the latest production "The Veil", a miniseries created by Steven Knight, available exclusively on Disney+, Alec Secăreanu plays the role of a Bulgarian spy, Emir. "The Veil" is a kind of American spy series adapted for a European context, about which the Romanian actor declares: "it is anchored in the current problems in Europe, it is a very good showcase with a relevant story in an area with peoples at war dealing with refugees, with terrorists infiltrating Europe and it is interesting to see what is behind the secret organizations and how they collaborate in the European space to dismantle a terrorist plan".

An exclusive interview with Alec Secăreanu signed by Cătălin Anchidin for Like5 about the experience on the sets of international productions and the miniseries "The Veil", available exclusively on Disney+.

CONSIDERING YOUR RECENT PRODUCTIONS, FROM “SPY/MASTER” TO “THE VEIL”, DID YOU SPECIALIZE IN SPY ROLES?

I am very glad that I have reached a point where I can be part of genre projects... Because I grew up with action, thriller, mystery stories. Basically, this is one of the reasons why I wanted to become an actor. I've been a fan of genre films since I was a child, and since then I've wanted to be part of the stories I saw in the movies, and this desire has remained somewhere deep inside me. Now I feel lucky to be a part of genre projects, mostly because I get to see how much work actually goes behind them.

DO YOU HAVE A MODEL, A REFERENCE WHEN YOU BUILD YOUR CHARACTER OR WHEN YOU READ THE SCRIPT?

When I first read a script in which I am going to act, I have a very strange feeling about my character, because unlike all the others, which I visualize very clearly in my mind, mine is very difficult for me to see . At first reading, the intentions and motivations of the other characters are much clearer to me than those of my character, and mine initially seems unknown to me, like a blank canvas. I feel like I'm at a painting exhibition, and of all the works on display, the only empty frame is mine. This is the zero point, which honestly creates fear for me at the beginning, but with rehearsals, discussions with the director, colleagues, things are building. I think it's important to have common benchmarks and references with the director and fellow actors to make the convention clearer for everyone. Then documenting and working individually helps me to have my own compass, not to anchor myself too strongly in patterns and not to stop investigating.

HOW MUCH DO YOU DEFEND YOUR CHARACTER? AND HERE I'M INCLUDING THE RELATIONSHIP WITH THE DIRECTOR.

I defend him, of course, because I consider him my own and I have to be on his side to some extent to understand his motivation and purpose, but I try not to forget that I have to serve the story and the relationship with the director helps me to better understand the context in which my character runs his route. It's a relationship that has to be based on trust and I try to calibrate myself with the director in the vision of my character. In film sometimes directors are more willing to take creative risks than in series. I have worked in projects where the directors were also the authors of the script, and sometimes a creative laboratory-like environment can develop, where experiments, new attempts, even changes are allowed.

In the relationship with the director I try to make sure that I have asked myself the right questions about the character and his role in the scene. Some answers regarding motivation are just between me and the director, the important thing is to make sure that the option is clear and serves the story as he wants to tell it. I can only defend my character relative to the other characters, but at the point where my options no longer serve the scene or are no longer relevant to the economy of the story, then I have to make sure I calibrate. This is where the director comes to the rescue, so I think we are more like working partners and defending the character together.

HOW DID ALL THE VEIL STORY HAPPEN?

When I first read the script, noticing that my character is Albanian and there are sequences where he speaks in his native language, I thought that it would be quite difficult for me to learn the language. They tried to calm me down by telling me that they were thinking of changing his nationality. Initially I took it as good news, myself hoping that they would make him Romanian, but they decided quite quickly that he could be Bulgarian. Apart from the Danube water levels, I was not at all familiar with the Bulgarian language, but I was surprised to see how many common words we have in our vocabulary. We started filming in February, in the middle of the desert, somewhere in Nevsehir, Turkey. I've never felt cold like that in my life. At temperatures of -15/-20 degrees, on some days we couldn't film, actually, because of the cold, because even the filming equipment has its limits. After a month spent in difficult shooting conditions, I was impressed by how well the film crew came together. Being all staying in the middle of the desert at the same hotel, a few kilometers from the nearest town I think helped maintain the friendly atmosphere. It's overwhelming when you see such a large film crew even for sequences of two people in a car sometimes. And in the second part of filming, the weeks spent in Paris made the desert frost of Turkey seem so far away. I really enjoyed meeting Elizabeth Moss, she is also one of the producers, the discussions we had helped me integrate into the project immediately. I really appreciate his work and I'm so glad we worked together.

YOU HAVE A QUITE IMPORTANT INTERNATIONAL PORTFOLIO AND YOU HAVE EXPERIENCE. TELL ME 5 MAJOR DIFFERENCES OF HOW YOU WORK IN ROMANIA VS. OUTSIDE.

I think the major difference is that in outside productions all the rules are much clearer for everyone, from the beginning, the working conditions are fair and regardless of the project there is a base of rules accepted by all. They have a system that respects everyone. That's probably why it's a much warmer atmosphere than here, anyway. Even in productions with a lower budget, you don't feel any problems, that is, no one comes to put them in your arms, with nerves, with stress, something that I have experienced many times in Romania. Outside there are no major differences from one production to another, maybe you see them in the size of the caravan, but the people are just as polite.

It's true that in the last projects I shot in Romania, the atmosphere was much warmer than what I was used to before, but I don't know if it's just my impression, because the production relates differently to me as an actor , or even actively working to improve the work environment. The more I talk to fellow Romanian actors, I'm afraid that the positive experience I had on set here might be an isolated one, and unfortunately I think things can't improve until the actors want to be treated fairly with us too. I felt safer on sets abroad. That's because they have a well-established system and a union that protects the actors and manages them when, for example, they have a scene that involves sexual physicality or a fight scene. The preparation procedures are very clear and help the actors to better understand what they are going to do, because moments of vulnerability should be handled delicately.

Thanks for reading, everyone!

[nekrosdolly]

diamonds aren't forever - the prologue/chapter 0

i can promise you one thing, death will take us all

a/n; welcome to the first installment of my mini-series, diamonds aren't forever: a devil may cry fanfiction! i'm excited for y'all to read this!! please lmk what y'all think! also, updates will be slow due bc truthfully i haven't had a lot of inspiration to write, so i will get these chapters out when i can!

word count; 2.033k

cw; canon-typical violence mentioned, canon-compliant timeline, following the end of dmc4, dmc5, and post dmc5.

When Kori was twenty-two, she moved to the closed-off city of Fortuna with nothing but cash in her pocket and a single box of her belongings. With what little money she had, she acquired a single-bedroom apartment in the worst part of town and started working at the overly censored record store, where she sold non-secular music that was made by The Order. Nothing that came in ever went untouched by them, as they ensured every CD, vinyl, cassette, and digital download file was clean. It was mostly just opera recorded at the chapel or classical pieces recreated by the clergy’s orchestra. For a while, Kori was content going to work, the twice-daily worship service (although she found it quite odd), and then home. A simple routine to rinse and repeat. She made herself comfortable, although she was lonely. 

She’d seen Nero around. He was part of the town’s protection against demons, so they didn’t care much if he followed their laws. She was jealous to an extent- he wore what he wanted, listened to whatever music, and aside from skipping worship, was excused from whatever trouble he got himself into. Not to mention, Nero was close with Credo, the supreme general of the Holy Knights, as well as his little sister, Kyrie. So, she was not surprised when he showed up at her workplace, looking for something secular and disrespectful to The Order. Truthfully, she knew that if she helped him and The Order found out, she’d be in hot water. That being said, Kori’s never been one to say no to those in need. With a pen and paper in hand, she took Nero to the back part of the record shop, where no cameras were installed, and wrote down her address.

“Meet me here after the dinner mass,” she’d said to him, looking up at him from beneath her hood, “knock twice, pause, then once so I know it’s you.”

In her teenage years, she listened to many bands in the emo genre, something she wasn’t ashamed to admit by any means. Her teen years were rebellious, something she’d aimed to remedy in her twenties. Hell, she’d cut all contact with anyone not in Fortuna (mostly because it was strictly forbidden) to regain some sort of ownership over her identity. She brought the CDs of her favorite bands as keepsakes and reminders of who she used to be, in hopes of serving as motivation to change. So of course she wouldn’t mind lending them to Nero. When the time came and Nero knocked at her door, she let him with haste. Eager to not be caught, she shoved the small stack of CDs into Nero’s hand. One by one, he examined them with interest.

“Slipknot? Korn? Bring Me the Horizon?” Nero raised an eyebrow at her. She looked plain, like every other woman in Fortuna with her hood up. Her hair was a natural color, her face was rid of any piercings though there were hints of them, and she seemed otherwise boring. Flustered, she looked away and nodded.

“Cool,” Nero cracked a smile, “thanks. I don’t owe you anything, do I?” Kori shook her head softly, looking at him once more.

“No, no. I just ask that you return them sometime. I’m a bit sentimental when it comes to those.” She said, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear and securing it behind her glasses. Nero nodded

“You got it, uh…” 

“Kori. My name is Kori. And you are…?”

“I’m Nero.” He tucked the CDs into a hidden compartment in his jacket.

“It’s nice to meet you, Nero.”

“Likewise. Thanks again, Kori.” The white-haired man ducked out of her home without another word. While Nero hadn’t thought much of it, Kori was ecstatic to have met someone whom she could consider a friend, even if that wasn’t the extent of their bond.

She continued to see Nero around town, but this time, he looked her way and smiled. She would give him the same treatment when he wasn’t occupied fighting demons that had leaked through the walls of Fortuna. It wasn’t until His Highness’s assassination that she found herself to be alone in the midst of chaos once more. Nero and Kyrie disappeared, and though The Order assured the townsfolk that everything was fine, she knew better. The end was nigh, and she’d be a fool to not see that. On the night of the couple’s disappearance, she packed her valuables up like she’d done years ago and downsized into a small box once again, finding herself only missing the CDs Nero had of hers. 

And when the attack on the town came from the Savior, the unleashing of His Highness’s true demonic form, she realized there was little to do but flee, regardless of her friend being okay. The strange man in red seemed to be handling things, but the leather-clad woman who helped the townsfolk evacuate knew that Fortuna was done for. Despite all this, when she was safe outside the city’s walls with the survivors, she couldn’t help but worry for Nero and Kyrie. Though the woman claimed to not know him, it was clear that she knew more than she’d let on. So she waited with the hope that Nero and his acquaintance would prevail, no matter how long it took. When he eventually reigned victorious, she felt relief, but she knew she wouldn’t want to stay in Fortuna much longer. Too much damage had been done to the city, and without The Order, citizens were lost. It wasn’t completely desolate, but she was sure her home was destroyed and she didn’t want to rebuild. So, she turned to the leather-clad woman and asked her name, then if she could accompany her and her acquaintances to wherever they were headed next. 

Much to her surprise, the woman (aptly named Trish), agreed with the promise that Kori would be paying the bills just as much as the rest of them. Oh, how her lonely heart leaped to her throat, her smile unable to be quelled. Nero, Kyrie, the man in red, and a woman in white with two different colored eyes exited the town’s walls. Trish approached them with Kori in tow, clutching her box of things to her chest. She met the man in red’s eyes first, who cracked the sleaziest grin she’d ever seen and introduced himself as Dante. The woman in white was next, elbowing Dante before introducing herself as Lady. The worst part was over, but now where would they go?

The group found themselves split between where to go. Nero and Kyrie wanted to remain in Fortuna, whereas the majority of the group wanted to make for Red Grave City. Swayed by the tides of her friendship (if one could call it such) and the wants of her heart, Kori left with Nero’s acquaintances. But not before Nero returned her CDs with a friendly smile.

“Here. Thanks for letting me borrow them and uh, sorry if there are any scratches on them.” He said, placing them into the small cardboard box she held in her arms.

“It’s fine. Thank you for returning them.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as an awkward silence befell the two.

“Why are you staying in Fortuna?” She asked, looking over Nero’s shoulder at the town. He looked back at the town, then at Kyrie, who was gazing somberly at her home.

“My whole life is here. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll figure something out.” 

Kori nodded, pursing her lips.

“Trish is talking to Dante about letting me move in with them. I suppose you’ll find us should you need to, right?” She smiled meekly.

“Right. See you, Kori.”

“Later, Nero.”

The group went their separate ways- Nero and Kyrie back into Fortuna, Kori, Dante, Trish, and Lady onwards to Red Grave City. It was quiet for the most part and awkward, but it wasn’t something that could have been helped. For the other three, it was a normal day, but Kori hadn’t been that stressed out since she was eleven, watching her brother almost die by his own hands.

Inevitably, she acclimated to the group. Dante’s flirtations were something that she no longer blushed at, and Trish and Lady’s dynamic became more clear to her day by day. She burned her Fortuna robes, dyed her hair, and re-pierced her lips, eyebrows, and nose. She’d devolved into her younger self, someone she’d been trying to flee from for her whole life without a real reason as to what her adolescence represented - pain and hatred. From then on, she’d been running and running without direction, into the arms of anyone who promised change in spades, a rebirth. Fortuna had offered that, but Trish and her friends offered respite from the stresses of normalcy. For that, she would always be grateful. 

Five years later, when the Qliphoth incident struck, she found herself once again, alone. The mysterious stranger who called himself “V” came and took her friends for a journey she knew was harrowing, but she didn’t know what to do with herself while they were gone. For a month, she spent every day waking up with anxiety that refused to go down until she did at the end of the night, and even then, dreams of death plagued her sleep. Be it her own, her estranged brother’s, or her friends’, it was all that she thought about. While she wasn’t a devil hunter, she spent her time working at a library for a steady income, where she’d meet her coworker and soon-to-be best friend, Niko. Niko kept Kori’s brain quiet and for a while, she was Kori’s only pillar of stability until her other friends returned without one person - Dante.

Without Dante, the Devil May Cry Headquarters was oddly quiet for Kori. Nero and Nico returned to Fortuna after the mission, and Trish and Lady headed out on their own venture. Niko remained with Kori for a while, but after falling for Nico, found herself leaving for Fortuna only a month after the rest of them. Desolate. Her shared home was nothing but a graveyard of memories containing people who used to reside there, or people who were away indefinitely. Loneliness has a way of making people break, and it took its toll on Kori. Phones existed, sure, but with Nero being busy with his devil-hunting, Niko and Nico likely helping, she had limited contact. 

She’d been talking to herself while sitting on the couch, a habit she’d had since childhood when suddenly, the very space a few feet adjacent to her had been spliced. She sat up instantly, watching with both horror and awe as the image of Dante’s desk warped into blue matter and the half-demon himself walked through the portal alongside a man who was damn-near identical to him.

“Dante, you’re alive!” She’d never felt compelled to hug someone until now, but she remained seated.

“Miss me?” He grinned, pulling her off of the couch and into his arms for a quick embrace, something she’d found that she needed more than she ever realized.

“You wish, cowboy.” She rolled her eyes despite the smile on her lips that faded when her eyes fell on the imposing man in black and blue. “Who’s this?”

“This is my twin brother, Vergil. Quite the presence, ain’t he?” Dante gestured to the man, who stood very awkwardly as he took in the scenery. Kori looked back to Dante, visibly confused.

“You have a brother?”

“You don’t?”

“Not a twin, anyway.” 

“Well, I’m babysitting him so he doesn’t wreck the town again. Think you can play nice?” 

“When haven’t I?” She furrows her thin black eyebrows slightly before looking at Vergil again, who’d been looking at her for who knows how long.

“I don’t know your life-” Dante shrugs.

“You should. We’ve been living together for five years.”

“I’m going to give Vergil here a tour.” He patted Kori’s shoulder and padded over to Vergil, slinging an arm around his elder twin’s shoulder and chatting animatedly. Opting to stay out of the way, she returned to her room...

[eldritchmochi]

i AM trans (genderfuckery nonbinary but afab and post some medical transition but NOT bottom surgery of any sort, which i dont want). i also a) write a lot of smut and b) have had people make angery faces at me regarding the trans characters ive written in porn because..... they werent to that person's taste

so heres the lowdown: youre never gonna make everyone happy with what youre writing ever at all, regardless of what ur writing. trans characters in sexual situations is a hot button for a lot of people because a lot of people experience dysphoria about aspects of their body that they can project onto characters, and there are people trying to white knight those people because it seems like the "correct" thing to do

OBVIOUSLY if youre trans you should be ashamed or otherwise uncomfortable with your natal body and sex using your natal junk should make you feel bad; i very much fell into this thought pattern as a baby trans in the mid aughts because there wasnt a ton of info i knew how to access about transfolk who didnt want bottom surgery like me, but its not something that applies to everyone all the time forever. id wager that trans folk these days are more comfortable with their body pre- or early- transition in part because there are folks lovingly putting bodies like ours into sexual situations, even folks who do eventually want bottom surgery (like one of my transfemme friends)

when it comes to writing smut tho, my general guide for how i present transness is: what kind of story am i telling and how does the characters' trans- or not trans-ness play a part? is it something short and sweet (pwp baybee) or is it a longer form story with a whole plot arch?

from there i pick out why i want to go with a trans character for the story as well as a couple key elements about their transness: what is their comfort levels in their self? what is their cultural background like and how does it view gender and transness? what is their partner like and how do they interface with transness both as a whole and with this specific character? stuff like that

FOR EXAMPLE i have an oviposition oneshot that i opted to go with a trans man as the bottom, with piv sex, specifically because i personally get the willies at the idea of eggs goin up the butt, but i wanted to play around with the kink. my trans character was canonically demi and very dry, who plays his cards close to his chest, so the vibe i went with was him being very horny for this idea and his partner, but also ashamed of it, in part because he has an inherent discomfort with his body but also because i hc the matriarchal culture he comes from idealizing the feminine and so transing in a masc way is looked down on, even if being trans in "general" is fine and fairly normal. its a one shot, the world building is mostly implied even if its in my head, so while it all feels fleshed out and intentional, its really broad strokes personal horny wish fullfiment as someone who ids strongly with this character and doesn't want bottom surgery. the same concept could have been written with the trans character as the top and his cis boyfriend as the bottom with a fantasy ovipositor strap that was established in the set up as a thing he totally has played with before, and that would be a very interesting story! just not the version i wanted to write

i have a longer form fic idea ive been noodling for a while with the same set of characters where theyre both trans men, just at different stages of their transition. the bulk of it is going to be about one starting the medical part at the same time he meets the other, and the journey he goes on as a very private person with few friends, and how the other clocks him immediately and gently takes him under his wing. the sex i plan to include crosses the whole spectrum of experience, with both characters bottoming at various points, and the *point* of the story is that exploration of experience, finding out how ur body changes and what parts of sex are or are not enjoyable and how that too changes as you get more and more comfortable in your self. there likely wont be the fantasy equivalent of bottom surgery because i, again, am personally not interested in it, which means i, personally, would not feel like i could do it justice

because bottom surgery does not mean someone suddenly isnt trans anymore. transness is a LOT more complicated than that, and even if someone is totally cis passing even during sex, there are a lot of things they have to do to maintain their body and bespoke junk, and a lot of emotions that are wildly different from a cis person with the same kind of flesh, because yeah, transness is very much an experience of and approach to gender that is the antithesis of "cis", regardless of who you are or how youve trans'd ur gender

to be trans is to be intentionally transgressive with gender, and that can be applied to a *lot* of people outside of the very narrow focus of clear cut, heavily labeled transness that tends to crop up in modern fandom spaces. similarly, there are no two people who experience gender the same exact way, even if theyre cis--there are as many genders as there are people, because we are all different, so it makes sense that we would have different tastes in portrayals of gender and gender transgression and transgender characters, in or out of sexual situations, and it makes sense that theres no consensus on the right way to do it. u have ur way, that's it, and as long as youre respectful and write from experience youre familiar with (even if its just research), thats the right way to do it, cos thats the only way you can

(disclaimer of: i am just One Guy and this is just my opinion, but gatekeeping the ability to write a character both forces people to out themselves to claim own voices and discourages people from exploring other experiences besides their own, and that is BAD. id take 10000000 imperfect but trying stories about someone like me over a handful of own voice stories where the author is harassed about their own experiences not lining up with the masses as a whole, so ya kno)

(further disclaimer: is "natal" still the current preferred way to refer to pre transition bodies? language moves so god damned fast these days dont @ me for being old lmao nobody can agree on language anymore either)

i'm not in this fandom anymore, but i've been thinking about this lately and thought i'd ask.

the fandom i was in, there was a trans character that i really loved, and since i love writing smut, i wanted to write one that included this character. however, there was no indication in canon of whether this character had surgery "down there" or not (i don't know how to phrase this, i'm sorry), and while that's definitely fine, i saw fans really divided on what the situation was and which would be "disrespectful" to write this character with. i saw arguments against both ways, ones that said without the surgery were fetishizing, and with the surgery were "basically writing the character as cis", which meant i never knew which would be the "right and respectful" way to write this character in smut, since both had been called disrespectful. i ended up leaving the fandom before i could figure out how to write smut for my favorite character.

thinking about this again, how should i have handled this?

This sounds like a situation where people have strong personal feelings about the character being shown as one way or the other, and they're using arguments to make people feel bad for doing the opposite. If they can make you feel bad enough, you'll stop writing the thing they dislike (or at least, that's the assumption)

It happens a lot in fandom. Like, a lot - with characters, with ships, with redemption arcs, you name it.

This character is an imaginary person, and therefore they can be anything at all. There are trans people who make changes to their bodies and there are trans people who don't. They're still trans either way - that "they're basically cis" argument doesn't track for me at all. Transness is about the person and their relationship to their gender, not about what junk they happen to have in their pants at any given time.

As with so many things in fandom, people are going to disagree about what they do and don't want to read. That's fair. In order to allow people to make informed choices, you could add a tag or an author's note so that they know going in and can decide not to read further. If they make a big stink about it after being informed, then that's their problem not yours.

I'm not trans and I haven't written smut for a trans character yet, and I apologize if anything I've said above is ignorant or misinformed. Please do correct me in the notes. I want to be supportive of trans fans 🏳️‍⚧️

If anyone knows of good tags to use in this situation, please do leave them in the notes. Are there other good ways to make this clear so that people who like a particular interpretation of a character can find those fics and those who hate it can avoid them?

[dolce-peach]

soft and honeyed

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: you and obi-wan are frequent battle partners during the clone wars. after a battle, the two of you head back to the jedi temple for some much needed rest -- and a much needed bath.

warnings: just obi being soft, implied nudity but nothing too graphic sorry

a/n: my obi-wan obsession has resurfaced 😆 pls enjoy this lil blurb of fluff and comfort bc THE MAN NEEDS IT 🥺😭 also feel free to leave some requests if you want, as i'm literally drowning in my obi feels LMAO 🥲

permanent taglist: @kaitlynmalikisnotonfire @just-another-loki-fangirl

** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **

masterlist

----

You sat down heavily in your seat, a sigh surfacing as you sank into the mostly unforgiving cushion, but to you, it was the most comfort you had in weeks. Feeling the cool air of the cruiser’s interior as it sped through cold space, you quickly realized you were so used to the planet's rather warm and humid atmosphere.

A familiar presence settled in the seat beside you. Obi-Wan. You glanced over to see his eyes closed with exhaustion.

He was a determined fighter, often pushing his energy past the limit. It was often your job to make sure he didn’t overwork himself, but you didn’t mind. Something about you mothering him was like therapy for you.

“Get some rest,” he said, his eyes still closed.

You smiled, fixing your gaze on the grey ceiling. “Watching you rest is good enough for me. Besides, I don’t sleep well in space.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll sleep for days when we get back to the temple.”

“That’s if we’re not shipped off somewhere else,” you lamented. “Do you think home has changed?”

You could almost feel his brow furrow. “Changed? In the course of a few weeks?” he said. “I doubt it. Home could actually do with some change. I bet they still haven’t fixed the flood in the ladies’ bathroom.”

Groaning, you elbowed him. “All I want is a bath. If it’s still flooded, I’m blaming you.”

It was light banter like this that got you through those weeks, and even the battles before that. It seemed like only yesterday the two of you were made Jedi knights and quickly charged head on into a war no one was ready for.

Not that you weren’t ready. You had been ready to face the trials for a while, but because nearly the entirety of the Jedi Temple seemed to be recruited, you felt unsteady suddenly being knighted. You were sure Obi-Wan felt the same, defeating a Sith lord and then being burdened with the responsibility of a Padawan.

The two of you heavily relied on each other to watch each other’s backs, and keep each other sane. Being engulfed in battles all the time was enough to make your head spin. The sound of blasters that always seemed to frighten you became white noise.

When you finally arrived back at the temple to debrief with the Council, you felt yourself relax a little as you walked through the halls. But at the thought of standing in a meeting room for at least an hour, you sighed.

The work was never done.

“Do we have to go see the Council?” you rhetorically asked grumpily. “Can’t we just meet tomorrow?”

Obi-Wan gave you a nod. “You can go wash up. I’ll give the report.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

He sighed. “Well, you did save my life at the end there...again.”

“I suppose I did,” you laughed. “That makes five, I believe.”

Rubbing his beard in thought, he smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “Right. Five.”

You flashed a wide grin. “Well...if you insist on debriefing with the Council alone, then I guess I’ll get a head start on some much needed rest.” You playfully saluted. “See you around, General.”

The Jedi master nodded, his funny crooked grin appearing through his beard as he echoed the greeting. “General.”

Excitement filled you as you sped through the halls to your room to gather some things for a bath. It was a silly thing to be thrilled over, but if there was one thing you learned, take advantage of the tiny joys while you can.

And you knew you were going to enjoy it.

Humming while you practically skipped to the communal bathroom, you stopped dead in your tracks as you felt still water beneath your bare feet. You lifted your gaze to see the sunlight falling through the windows, reflecting on the water that covered the large tub and the floor surrounding it.

You could almost hear Obi-Wan’s laughter as you stood there, frozen and dejected.

You made a mental note to strangle him later.

With another heavy sigh, you walked out across the hall to the men’s room, fuming. You couldn’t care less if anyone was in the room. To your pleasant surprise, there wasn’t a single soul.

It wasn’t long before you filled the tub with scalding water and plenty of bubbles.

Sinking into the bath was by far the best feeling in your life. You wasted no time scrubbing layers of dirt and grime from your skin before you closed your eyes and lay in the tub, letting the steam fog the air.

“So I take it the other room’s still flooded.”

As you opened your eyes, Obi-Wan stood above you. “You and I both know that I desperately need this bath.” You crinkled your nose in annoyance. “Don’t forget, I still blame you.”

“Oh, I know,” he mused.

To your surprise, he began to undo his belt before shrugging off his robes, revealing his rather lean figure. He’d always been a rather conservative person ever since he was a youngling, but you guessed that living together in the most unpredictable circumstances made him more comfortable around you.

Scars carved his shoulders like constellations, including some new flesh wounds from flying shrapnel and rogue bullets. You admired his torso for another moment before closing your eyes, letting the heat of the water soak through your skin.

You could hear him shuffle and kick his boots off before joining you in the tub with a quiet splash.

Looking over, you saw him sink further into the water with a groan. “Too hot?” you asked.

He shook his head with a content smile. “It’s perfect.”

You smiled, gathering your robes. “I’ll leave you to it, then. The Council would have a fit if they knew I was in here.”

“Let them,” Obi-Wan replied, preoccupied with bubbles. “Just stay and rest. You deserve it.” He flashed a quick wink. “It’s not like anything’s going on.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Obi-Wan Kenobi?” you laughed. You hesitated before settling back in the water again. “Speaking of the Council, how was the meeting?”

His blue gaze flitted towards you. “Oh, nothing exciting. They seemed pleased,” he sighed. “They’re thinking of sending us elsewhere in a few days.”

“Of course,” you said, giving a bitter smile. “We’re in the middle of a war. We haven’t the time for anything else anymore.” You leaned your head against the edge of the tub, your gaze on the window above. “This was never supposed to happen. I mean look at us, we’re military leaders now.” You shook your head. “I wish it would just end soon.”

He inhaled deeply. “Me too.”

You turned back to look at him before you found yourself rubbing spots of dirt and grime away on his cheek. He seemed to melt into your touch, closing his eyes as your thumb found more marks on his forehead. Your touch was soothing and rhythmic.

You stifled a laugh, earning a small, somewhat annoyed, “What?”

“You’d think you rolled down a rocky hill into a pile of dirt, not battled thousands of droids,” you said, your thumb brushing over his brow to the top of his cheekbone. “You’re filthy, General.”

“I apologize for war not being more of a...civilized matter.”

Shaking your head, you began tracing his features with your fingers. The edges of his beard felt prickly under the pads of your fingers as you wiped away some bubbles.

“For what it’s worth, you’re doing the best you can,” you murmured.

His lips twitched into a thin smile. “You too.” His voice was soft and rather scratchy from yelling orders through explosions. “This will all be over soon, and we’ll all go back to living normal lives.”

“Normal,” you scoffed, nudging his bare shoulder. “We’re Jedi. We’re far from normal.”

His eyes followed your hands as you grabbed a sponge and your body scrub and began scrubbing his arms. He could feel your anxiety fading away with each scrub, almost like cleaning him was the therapy you needed.

He was infatuated with you, the way your skin glistened with steam. Your expression was relaxed and flushed from the heat, even more calm than when you slept. His head spun at the thought of smelling like you.

As he turned so you could scrub his back, massaging his muscles as you went, he couldn’t help but asking a question to fill the silence.

“Do you ever wish you weren’t a Jedi?”

Your motions stopped, and for a moment, panic made the blood drain from his face, thinking he asked the one question he shouldn’t have. When you continued, he let out a small breath.

“Sometimes,” you admitted softly. “But it’s honestly been so long, I can’t see myself doing anything else. After all, we were raised here.”

He knew how you felt.

He echoed your answer in his head. Sometimes.

Maybe in a different universe, you’d be happy in the countryside on a distant planet, far from the problems of the Republic. You’d eventually settle down with a family, children perhaps, or maybe you’d live your life alone with nothing but nature for company.

Or maybe you’d still be in the middle of all the action. You’d fight and fight until there was nothing left to fight for. Peace would prevail.

Sensing his mind in a haze, you leaned over his shoulder, gently pressing yourself into him. Your chin settled over his broad shoulder and collarbone, with his beard just missing your cheek. “What’re you thinking about?”

He stiffened at your touch before relaxing. “Hypotheticals.”

You let out a soft laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “As per usual.” He could feel you smiling as your lips brushed his skin. “Learn to quiet your mind, General. Those thoughts won’t do you any good.”

He turned, facing you. Instead of shying away, you kept your eye contact, brushing his long locks back.

“I can’t help it,” he joked lightly. “Perhaps I’m in need of some guidance from a well-seasoned Jedi.”

You smiled. “You’re looking right at one.”

As he watched your smile widen, he fell into your gaze again. He knew there was no such thing as luck, but he also knew he was the luckiest man alive to have you by his side.

[blathairgid]

Witcher is not Slavic! It’s Polish. But in a good way.

Warning: It’s long post. And I didn’t even covered all I wanted. Also I’m not really used to write in English so sorry for mistakes. I tried to find links to as many English translations to things I mention as I could.

That’s the one. True Pole. 

There is a lot talking about how slavic The Witcher is. Monsters, believes ect… But it’s not. The Witcher was written by Andrzej Sapkowski, who was a fan of fantasy and he wrote fantasy. Based on what he knew from the genre. But also it was written by Polish author, in Polish language, for Polish readers and to be published in Poland. We can say many things about Sapkowski, but one thing is certain, he is great writer. It’s really easy to forget and I’m kinda suprised everytime I read the books. So our Wiedźmin was a fantasy stories, then saga, wtitten by fantasy fan that did’t pretend that he wasn’t from Poland. 

So you get referances to King Arthur’s legends (like it’s main inspiration later in books), you get classical fairy tales like Little Mermaid (Bit of Sacrifice - my favourite story) or Snow White (Renfri). In Time of Contempt (Czas Pogardy) when Ciri first meets the Wild Hunt (and yes, wild hunt appears somewhere in Slavic mythology but mostly it’s conected to German, Norse and Celtic ones) it’s basicly re-telling of The Erl-King by Goethe.

The Erl-King

But there are also other inspirations. In the story with golden dragon the villagers tried to kill the first dragon (that just had baby dragon) by giving her sheep stuffed with sulfur, tar and belladona. Then they also suggest to give it to the golden one. Sounds ridiculus, right? Well, if you were born in Poland you know from very young age that giving dragon a sheep stuffed with sulfur is a best way to kill one! That’s how Szewczyk Dratewka killed the dragon that live under the Wawel castle in Kraków. 

That’s the statue of said dragon under Wawel castle. Yes, it really breaths fire.

Also Duny, the hedgehog in knight’s armor may seems a little odd. But most children in Poland will find it completly normal and on top of that they will know that love can break the curse. The idea is based on a poem from one of the most popular poets that wrote for children (not only) – Jan Brzechwa. It’s called Baśń o Stalowym Jeżu – The Tale of Steel Hedgehog and it’s really beautiful, sadly i did’t find any English translation. 

I remember as my mom read me this when I was little.

You have to understand that we don’t really learn at schools about Slavic mythology. According to books before baptism there were Pagans, they had some believes and then history of Poland starts with Christianity. It’s bullshit but yeah. So even about Dziady (Forefather’s Eve) we learn as we read Mickiewicz’s book of the same title. Or we hear some local stories. I always knew a lot about witches’ sabbaths on Łysa Góra (Bald Mountain – it was also quest in Witcher 3) because it’s my region. 

Second part of Dziady by Adam Mickiewicz, the one that covers Forefather’s Eve ritual is actually one of the few books everyone reads at school. 

And that’s Łysa Góra. Most known place of witches sabbaths. And actual place of Pagan cult. Part of my home region.

Sapkowski took inspirations from what he knew. Nothing more and nothing less. And thanks to that, as we were raised in the same culture we also know it and recognize it. But the thing i most enjoy is the climate of the books. Because I read these books and it’s clear that it’s now based in Poland and characters are not Polish. But wen I read it you can feel that it’s… homey. These are little bits that sadly were lost in translations. 

In Kraniec Świata – story with Torque the Silvan and elves, when Geralt is looking for a job and he’s talking to villagers, when i read this I KNOW that the author is from Poland. In the first village when they talk about everything bad that is happening in their village and how it must be made by monsters, and also about old Nachakowa (Old Nan the Hag) and some officials and some neighbourly quarrels  - I was like „Yeah, guys, I feel ya. I work with clients too”. But what was lost in translation were Nietopyrze. In Ensligh translations it was translated as „bats” and it’s kinda correct. But the proper word for “bats” in Polish is “nietoperze”. “Nietopyrze” is a form that is associated with people from small villages that lacks an education. And even Geralt is kinda making fun of that. Then when they’re talking about Silvan they say „diaboł” insted of „diabeł” (meaning devil and it’s same situation as before). Here even Jaskier corrects them by saying „Diabłów nie ma” („There are no devils”) and the Duhn insists that it’s „diaboł”. And of course there old lady that everyone reffers to as „grandma”. We still have that. Even in cities.

The faces of people that have to talk to people at work. That’s Jaskier and Geralt from Polish tv series btw. 

Btw when i read about these villages I thing about my grand-grandmother’s house that I visited when I was a child. There were no shop in the village, and even no church. The church was in the village near by. But we had farmlands there – I remember picking up potatoes, we had chickens that we used to get eggs (they were also used for soups but luckily I never saw that). And there were no toilet in the house, no gas – there were tiled stove. But we had a horse! These are my memories, welcome to Poland. 

But as we talk about people, it’s time to explain why I added that The Witcher is Polish but in a „good way”. Sometimes when I see comments on the internet there are just ones about how every character should be white and straight because it’s Polish book and of course in Poland everyone is white and straight. Exept it’s not the case and never was. And The Witcher was written by male fantasy author in 90s. And it’s leftish as hell. 

The Continent is not Poland, it’s very clear. The characters have names from all over the world which also suggest that THEY ARE NOT POLISH. And there are evles. We never had elves in Poland. Rusałki yes, but not elves. And the whole series is a manifest on how discrimination based of someone’s nacionality, race, looks, proffesion etc. is leading to death and destruction. It’s also about what happens if we destroy nature. And women are the ones in charge. Socceres are using kings as their puppets. The patriatchy is criticized (Calanthe). Femine forms? Hell yeah! Ciri is a Wiedźminka (female form from the Witcher) not Wiedźmin. She’s a girl alfter all. And she can bothe learn to fight and how to kill monsters and wear makeup because she feels like it and she won’t practice because she doesn’t feel good when she’s on her period. Yes, Sapkowski in 90s decided that it’s important to mention that a teenage girl have period. And he made fun of how men don’t think about it and how uncomfortable they get when someone mentions is. This scene with Triss were much more important in books then in Netflix series where she just mentions it.

But as we talk about women – Yeneffer is helping with unwanted pragnancies (of course for money but don’t expect her to do anything for free) and Geralt calls women’s right to choose sacred. Yes, our beloved White Wolf is pro choice. Also sorceresses are cononicly bisexual. And faith fanatics are bad guys while most (if not all) good characters are atheists. That’s also how our country works till this day.

So yes, Witcher is Polish but in a way that we fight for justice, freedom, for equal rights. If you want to write stories based on The Witcher it don’t have to be Slavic. You can use Andersen’s or Brothers Grimms’ fairy tales. You can use stories you heard as a child. Other mythologies. Even other fantasy works. Because it’s what Sapkowski did. He took what he knew and he happend to know what was known in Poland. And of course you CAN use Slavic myths. But you can also read some legends as the one about Wawel’s dragon. Or about knights sleeping under Giewont mountain. Or some poems – Mickiewicz or Leśmian for example. I love Leśmian. Maybe I will write a post about these Polish legends and poems that would add to the lore. What do you think? 

Slavic mythology IS NOT A CANON. But feminism, ecologism, equality IS A CANON. Remember about that.