#I’m outside my wheelhouse with this one I fear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theresattrpgforthat · 3 hours

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THEME: Biblically Accurate Angels

@wokewerewolfagainstcapitalism I am not re-blogging the original post because I don't want to subject my followers involuntarily to the whole thing

although for the exceptionally curious I will still link to the post so they know the context.

BUT, I was surprised (and delighted) to find that there's actually a number of games that kind of fall into this wheelhouse!

I’m considering fallen angels as biblically accurate angels for this request; and there are certainly angels on this list that aren’t really biblically accurate, although there are some fun vibes.

Demon: The Descent, by Onyx Path.

Angels are everywhere. They are under the everyday world, behind it, beyond it. They are sent by the God-Machine to enact its will through time and space, delivering messages, building infrastructure, protecting some people, killing others. You were one of those angels… But not anymore. Now you are one of the Unchained, a fallen angel who defected to the human race. Yours is a world of false identities and clockwork conspiracies, stolen faces and hidden works of the Machine.

Demon: The Descent is set in a world where God is a machine, and Its goals are inscrutable and yet definitely not good for mankind. You have chosen to side with humans - and have therefore lost your angelic status, although you still maintain powers beyond human comprehension. If you’re looking for characters that can strike the fear of… well something into the hearts of those who see them, this is a game that you might want to check out - because your demonic forms in Demon: The Descent have the potential to be truly horrifying if you’re willing to look beyond the veil.

Also, if you want more “biblical” demons, Demon: The Fallen is the old-school parent of this game, about Christian angels being cursed and deciding to fight back.

Feathers, by Thursday Garreau.

Feathers is a game about fallen angels looking for meaning and comfort in our world, using Avery Alder's Belonging Outside Belonging system. It's diceless, GMless, intimate, and very, very queer, for 2-3 players, designed to be played in a single session.

Much of the setting of this game is left up to the table that you play with; did you land in a small town? Did you know each-other before you fell? What time of year is it? The characters have all experienced different forms of heartbreak, but each archetype is provided with tools to help you get the happy ending that you hope for. Because the game is inspired by Belonging outside Belonging, you also each play as an element of the the world or the story, such as the Vibrant Flock, The Imperfect Vessel, or Handmade Deities.

This game is very poetic and evocative, and it’s also currently part of the TTRPG’s for Palestine bundle that’s going on right now. I definitely think that you should check it out.

His Red Hand, by Carrie Imago.

HIS RED HAND is a 3-player tragedy about fallen angels, built on Jay Dragon's Nameless Engine.

This game was designed for the Trans Fucking Rage Jam, a game jam for trans creators back in 2022. It's specifically for three players, so I think it's a good game for three friends who know each-other well.

In this game, you are each characters but also threats. Your characters are doomed; you decide exactly how they die. You will watch as the things that you love, the things that keep you safe, are ripped away from you. You will be asked to turn on the pieces of your very soul, so if you want a game that is all about sticking the knife in and twisting as hard as you can, this is the game for you.

Angels and Devils, by Sascha Pogacar.

It is the eternal struggle of angels and devils for souls. Everything is placed on one sheet to experience endless stories together with a few friends.

This is a competitive game, with half of the players being angels, and the other half being demons. It reminds me a little bit of the Screwtape Letters and a little bit of Good Omens; the demons tempt mortals using the 7 Mortal Sins, while the Angels rely on the 7 Cardinal Virtues. This is a short game; it requires a regular deck of playing cards and a few hours, and that’s about it!

Halos & Hellfire, by Jason Tocci.

THEY HAVE BEEN CALLED ANGELS & DEMONS, the Heavenly Host and the Fallen Legions, the holy and unholy armies secretly locked for eons in THE WAR over the fate of humanity. These days, though, they mostly just call themselves messengers. It draws less attention when complaining about work over beers.

Halos & Hellfire is a hack of Lasers & Feelings and inspired by In Nomine, fitting on two sides of a single letter-size page. It includes rules for creating celestial beings, handling divine interventions, buying advancements with superiors' favor, and performing ever-risky miracles (adapted from the magic rules from Sorcerers & Sellswords).

I’m really enjoying some of the character aspects you can choose for your heavenly form in this one; some of your options include many-eyed, Formless, and Leonine. Sometimes I forget that biblically accurate angels can be furries too.

Anyways, this is another Lasers & Feelings hack, with a single number representing both your strengths and your weaknesses, with a setting that can be twisted or changed in order to fit the kind of story you want to tell. There’s a little more to play with in this game than a typical Lasers & Feelings hack, with special rules about miracles, doing battle, and other character options that you can choose to add in order to give you more tools to play around with, including a method for character advancement if you want to play this for more than one session.

Relics: A Game of Angels, by Tin Star Games.

Trapped on Earth. Surrounded by Enemies. Desperate for Answers.

God has gone and the Gates of Heaven have slammed shut, leaving angels and demons abandoned on the mortal world. Their powers, long trapped in physical objects, now begin to awaken and the cold war between the two sides erupts into a arms race to control all of creation. A desperate, brutal battle will be waged in the present on the secrets of the past.

Relics: A Game of Angels is a roleplaying game in a world inspired by Wings of Desire, Dogma and The Prophecy. Players take the role of angels who have lived on earth for hundreds or thousands of years. The unique memory system allows you to build an ever-growing backstory as you play, making you the unreliable narrator of your own past. Plus the simple Tarot-card system makes gameplay simple and fast, with characters made in just minutes.

The angels in this game aren’t necessarily biblically accurate, but it does focus on the conflict between heaven and hell. The game uses a deck of tarot cards for resolutions, and your character backstories are written as you play. The setting is heavily urban fantasy, so I think if you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or perhaps Dresden Files, you might like this game.

War in Heaven, by milo v3.

One page rpg where you play a constellation of angels that are trading stories among each other about the rebellion that is brewing in Heaven. Requires at least 3 six sided dice to play.

This game actually uses scriptural references to describe parts of your angels! Character creation includes determining your Eye, your Gate, and your Wings, each of which determines something about your character’s secret desires and hopes. The game takes place over a series of turns, where rumours about a rebellion grow, while your Angels talk to each-other about what they think of the conflict, and confront & comfort each-other over the upset that might result in Paradise Lost for them all.

Also…

If you want to be alien and unknowable, and possibly even strike fear in the hearts of those who lay their eyes upon you, even if you’re not really an angel, may I suggest: Star-Spawned, by @prokopetz?

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #not gonna lie there's a number of games on this list that really have me interested #His Red Hand and Feathers look like they'd be so chewy #angels

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winchester-reload · 27 days

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Alright, Edlund tweeted it, so I gave it the old college try.

#I’m outside my wheelhouse with this one I fear #Dean winchester #spnfanart #myart

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emansil · 2 years

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I’ve a question that has been bothering me for some time now, How do you guys decide whose Tumblrs to follow and which ones to ignore when you get notification that they chose to follow you?

I’ve been on Tumblr for over 4 years now. I’ve liked, I've reblogged, I’ve made a couple of posts, I’ve commented, (or at least attempted to, This blog still confuses me in the way things work) and I’ve followed during the past 4 years probably close to over 150 people. In turn I have 22 followers, 15 of which are old friends from LJ days, 2 of which are different fest tumblr, and/or their mods. 2 blogs started following me before I had ever even heard of them, and I’m very glad they did. they seem to be pretty cool and I’m starting to enjoy a whole new pairing I'd not given much thought to before. That leaves a total of 3 blogs that got a notice that i had followed them, that followed me back. In over 4 years.

So, not to sound too “poor pitiful me”, but what am I doing wrong? Is it because I’ve not posted any new writings, I don’t do GIF’s, I don’t do recs, I wish i could do any or all of those, but they just don’t seem to be in my wheelhouse. Am I doomed to always be on the outside looking in?

Now, I hesitate to post this as I'm fearful of what the results could be, either it will be completely ignored, and I’ll go back to feeling even worse than I did before posting, or I’ll get a load of people following me and I’ll worry that it is only because in some way I guilted people into it. Neither one of which i want. I just want people to see my notice and take a look at the blog I currently have and decide I might be worth spending time getting to know, even If ‘m not typical fandom material.

Thanks for listening i hope you all have an incredible and creative day.

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mdhwrites · 1 year

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Could I Write My Own Owl House?

I got privately asked by a friend who likes my work with TOH but never actually watched the show what I would do taking the major elements of TOH and what not and that’s effectively two people who have asked me that in a week so for a late night thought experiment let me not just pimp out Rich Witch but talk about me as a writer and if I could actually write The Owl House. And I’m going to try and be sincere about this. No being snide and saying “I can’t because I’d write a good story”. It’s always easier to critique than to create and The Owl House is actually a fascinating test for a writer in my opinion. Not of quality but of priorities. If you’re asked what your version of the Owl House, or even if you could write it, what you prioritize, what you escalate and de-escalate is going to be revealing of you as an author. My kneejerk response is to honestly say that I’d never write a story like TOH. Not because I think TOH is bad but because outside of my character writing, my focus is both my greatest strength and weakness as an author. I write novellas much of the time because I GET. SHIT. DONE. I’ve have multiple reviews on my original works talking about how the small size made them worried it’d only be a taste but they were pleasantly surprised to find out that it was a real meal. So having a story with as many contrasting elements as The Owl House isn’t in my wheelhouse. It’s not what I specialize as a writer. I mean, you can even see it The Power of Love. That thing is 300k words... And at least 80% of that is just using Luz, Amity and Boscha. There are other elements, I still love what I did with the Blight Family in general, but it’s all to examine those three characters and their relationships and their lives. It effectively cuts out Belos, King, Hooty, Gus, Willow, etc. and makes it a school, isekai, drama romance. You know, like Rich Witch. Hell, Eyes Beneath the Water is very similar where there are supporting characters but many of them have one appearance per ten chapters as the focus stays on the main trio and especially the mermaid and the crytpo-zoologist. It is laser focused on expanding these characters, working their arcs, making sure things make sense and happen in a time frame that’s reasonable and that your connection grows with them. Fun fact: That story so far has literally been going day by day as Summer ends as a kind of ticking clock to the first two acts of the story (with the book I linked being act 1). And that’s because I’m a romance writer. Or, more specifically, a character writer. I THRIVE for character interaction, drama and growth so those elements are what pull me the most forward in my writing. It’s part of why I don’t write Willow and Gus because they’re defined JUST enough to feel inflexible, so I can’t make them 80% an original character like Boscha but also defined in such boring ways that I see nothing to hook me and make me want to write them. So... No, I don’t think I could write The Owl House. It’s actually a really big fear of mine with Rich Witch. I just don’t do expansive stories like that. Not in the way of world building and cast size. Character wise? I literally proved two years ago how expansive with characters and testing them, pulling them apart, having shenanigans with them, etc. like that (though no original story of mine is ever going to be like The Power of Love because that story definitely leans on fanfiction’s strengths as much as it does my original writing side). I don’t even know what my perfect version of TOH would look like though. The fantasy/adventure fan in me says kill Hexide because it and its characters never manage to actually impact or influence the others parts of the show in a meaningful way. Buuuut that gets rid of Lumity and that romance and the potential of it was what brought me into the show so is it just cut out Gus and Willow and ditch Hexide at the end of S1? Except Amity’s arc has to be drastically changed then and Luz loses her initial friends so I’ve already made a change that is going to have ripple effects across the entire series just so I can keep a ship. Is this me saying that TOH is already its best version and that its flaws are effectively just inherent to the base concept? God no. The show wastes way too much time and struggled to keep focus on the base trio well enough to make its most important themes function properly for me to say that. In theory, without spoilers, the finale of the show highlights what it THINKS its major themes are, what the writers think the biggest priority was and the actual product we got does NOT back that up. Let alone when Amphibia exists as its sister show. And I’m kind of torn between giving props to having tried something so ambitious at all and just questioning the decision at all to make it. I can’t genuinely say that it tried to mix these elements after all when most of them hardly ever interact with each other or have a meaningful impact on the story overall. How much do Gus and Willow actually add to the show? How rough was it that Amity not being a part of anything important was a meme for a season and a half? How much did Hunter’s relationship with ANYONE pre-reformation suffer because he only interacts with most characters once before then instead of having an actual focus for who’s making a case for him needing to change? And yes, this is all mean to the Hexide Squad but frankly Hexide is easily the most superfluous and disjointed element of the show. I expected it to be relevant post S1 because the characters had effectively moved past it. And, you know... It kind of only comes up in S2 and 3 mostly to facilitate Huntlow and not to abandon character designs even if the characters themselves have had no real role in the show. If there is one obvious change to be made to TOH to make it function more properly, it’s easily to just get rid of the magic school. But then it’s effectively not TOH so... What do you do? It’s kind of the same reason I argued that a reboot can’t function with TOH’s source material because its identity, and part of its charm admittedly, is in its split identities. It doesn’t feel like most shows much of the time because most shows understand that there’s a breaking point where your story just can’t function because too many contrasting elements exist. No matter how many shortcuts you take, if there’s just three plotlines that cannot function together, you’re going to have problems ever bringing them together. I mean, S3 still refused to bring these three elements together because you effectively got one of its main identities for each of the specials. And the fact that for all my talk, all my analysis of this show, I still have NO IDEA how to bring the identities together and make them mesh is a good indicator that I couldn’t write it. I just don’t know how to make a story this complicated work. With these many elements that simply have no glue to them. Or no glue that I can see at least. And... that’s okay. Different writers will have different strengths. Even just being willing to say that is revelatory as a writer. So here’s my challenge to all of you: What would you do trying to write TOH? Or why don’t you think you could? It might make you think about your skills as a creator in ways you haven’t before. Though none of this is new to me personally. I’ve been doing this for eight years and analyze even myself WAY too much for this shit to be surprising. XD

#The Owl House Criticism #Rambles

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seventhfracture · 2 years

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We’re talking about something very tricky this week. Finding your own artistic voice, or style. Every person who makes things has a unique voice.

I’d know a Stephen King/Phillipa Gregory/Anne Rice book even if you stripped all identifying information. I have friends who could drop things anonymously into the archive and I’d know it was them running on 3hrs of sleep with my belly empty of all but tic-tacs. Seeing them in their art is instinctive. It’s like facial recognition. No two people are identical and, while there might be a family resemblance between you and your mother, very rarely would anyone get either of you confused.

Having your own style is part of growing up as an artist. It’s when you stop being a blobby little infant and start to take shape as your own distinct person. Once someone has a style you can’t miss it and style is often the hallmark of someone who knows what they’re doing. But how do you get one? When does your acceptance letter come with your own personalized State Alchemist title? ‘Hannah of Canberra, the Comedy-with-Politics Writer.’?

What is style/voice?

Style is your perspective becoming visible in your writing. It’s the inescapable fact that is the feds dusted the story for prints they’d find your signature. It’s putting things in your own words.

Give twenty writers the same writing prompt and you’ll still get twenty different stories. Because each of those writers has a different history, culture, focus, and baggage. Especially baggage.

The most obvious sprouts of your style are your ‘tells’. Little blotches in the paint that forensics piece together. I use the word ‘ropable’ in my stories which is an Australian colloquialism. I spell ‘Mom’ as ‘Mum’ because that’s the Australian spelling and I’m not changing it for you. Pulling back a little I tend to zig when people think I will zag, I’m willing to pull the trigger on major character death, I like twists, and I write a lot about evil trans boys (most of whom aren’t on HRT).

All of this comes from a bedrock of you. What are you passionate about? I’m passionate about queer topics, kink, horror and nostalgia. You can see that in what I write. I’m also a filthy leftist. A lot of these things inform my deeply held views and beliefs about the world. And that trickles down into my stories. A pessimist and an optimist will write two very different endings to an impossible situation. What you believe, deep in your guts, directs what you write. One way or another your characters are an interrogation of your beliefs.

Your beliefs are your own and they mean you always have something to say. The surface level stylistic choices are harder to manufacture but they do come eventually. They are the tool kit you use to express the deeper parts of your voice. They are the ways you decide to tell your stories. Ultimately this is great news because if you write long enough, whether you mean to or not, you’ll naturally develop your own voice.

But Van, how do a develop a voice/style?

Okay, don’t fear, most of this stuff you will be doing naturally but let’s break it down. However, an important thing to note before we start is that your voice is an extension of you. You will grow and change. So you style will grow and change. This is totally normal.

READ

If you want to make things you need to know a lot about those things that and that culture. If you want to paint you’ve got to consume and appreciate paintings but other artists. Great artists, shitty artists, unknown spectacular artists… And if you wanna write you’ve got to read. You’ll never know the full scope of your possible toolkit until you see all the different ways words can be used.

Read things that excite you first. Read the kind of stories you want to make. See how high the ceiling goes. See how many amazing things over people have done and see the losers who have still gotten published. Take the skill from the first group and the confidence from the second. Then read things outside your wheelhouse. Movies, anime, manga, graphic novels… they can all teach you things about telling stories. Expand your horizons. You want to have a healthy diet of media and health is all about diversity.

STEAL

If there’s something you love steal it. Claim it. Rewrite it. All art, going back centuries, is theft. Dante wrote fanfiction with self inserts and Shakespeare was so cringe he wrote real person fanfiction. You are not too good to steal. And, yes, you will write it badly at first. But you’ll learn things too.

COPY

Your style is a collection of all the other styles you have loved. Let those elements mix inside you. You’re allowed to be a mosaic of stolen parts. You are the sum of all your pieces. If you love Neil Gaiman spend a year trying to write like him. It won’t work. Your voice will inevitably colour things and crack through but that’s a good thing. You’re giving your voice enemies to fight so it can get stronger and clearer. Level up. In seeing how you’re different from the artists you admire you’ll see where you’re strongest (and weakest). You’ll lean what you are by seeing what you’re not.

Don’t be the next anyone, be the first you.

EXPERIMENT

You’ve got to try new things. Every stranger is a potential friend and every excursion is a possible new obsession. The same is true of art. Explore. Try stuff out and make a mess. Again, yes, you will do some of this badly. Some of this you’ll probably fuck up publicly. But that’s okay. You can’t get any better at writing if you never practice and part of learning is challenging yourself. Letting things stay new.

CHASE THE FUN

There are going to be topics you naturally gravitate towards. Let yourself. This is the stuff you’re passionate about. This is the stuff you have opinions on. This is your voice peaking out. And, no, not all of it will be ‘popular’ or ‘profitable’ or even ‘socially acceptable’ but your voice doesn’t give a shit about any of that. It’s a little kid who likes bugs and damnit it wants to watch the bug documentary for the 60th time. Do you know how many murder mystery novels Agatha Christie wrote? Write the same thing twelve different ways. Eighteen different ways. Who cares!

Sometimes you’re going to think it makes sense to write X but every part of you is going to want to write Y. Write Y. This is your unique approach scratching at you. And sometimes it will take you down the road less travelled. This is nothing to be afraid of. Some people will hate it, sure, but people will like it too and some people will even have desperately been needing it. Needing it like medicine.

WRITE A LOT

At the end of the day you have to practice but its more than that. Five poems can be very different. It’s hard to see how they have anything in common. There’s not enough data points. But if you have 200 poems you’re going to start to see a few reoccurring themes. Between them all there’s probably only going to be a handful of topics, really. That’s your voice.

You can’t be everything. You can only be yourself. It’s hard sometimes to see who you are because you’re looking from the inside out. Your voice sounds very different to you because you hear it from inside your head and mouth. Your ears perceive it differently from the people around you. Your artistic voice is exactly the same. It’s only till you give yourself more data you’ll see the major features of yourself.

CRINGE IS REAL

Yes, for ten years you might write about feminism. But then you might only write about civil wars for the next decade. That’s okay. You can’t be stagnant. People will come, people will go, but when you’re churning out the same thing, over and over, with no love or joy that’s when it becomes crap. And no one will read crap. The trashiest movies with heart are still a thousand times better than some generic air brushed blockbuster.

Honestly? You’re going to be a foreign traveller in some ports. You’re going to try some things that don’t work. You’re going to write some shit. You’re going to try some things you love and then one day just don’t. For a while all I wrote were meet-cutes and comedy pieces. Now I write things that are very different. But I learned some valuable skills about timing and delivery. About making people feel the way I wanted them too. That wasn’t wasted time.

Imagine your favourite author or artist. Hell, let’s take…. Don Bluth? He animated some truly spectacular children’s movies it he 90s. Thumbelina, The Secret of Nihm, etc. I love his art. And I love his art enough to love discovering the weird, random, other things he did before he found his niche. Turns out he can draw sexy as well as magical! Then there’s Jim Henson. I’m not huge on his mega franchise Muppet stuff. Not a fan. But Labyrinth? And that tiny 90s TV series he did? The Storyteller? One of my favourite pieces of media ever. I watch it on repeat. You are going to be these artists to someone else. They are not going to judge you for finding your way. They are going to revel in the different facets of you they can explore. Don’t be scared.

#writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanfiction #how to #how I do it anyway

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deadinside-butstill-horny · 3 years

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The Night We Met

Part One - The Night We Met

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: Murphy's sister travels to Colombia after realising Steve might not quite be A-Okay and meets the Javier Peña.

Content Warnings: 18+ Smut-ish (I wouldn’t wanna read it out to my mom), dry humping, dirty talk in Spanish which reader doesn’t understand so does it really count?, gratuitous love of the black shirt from the torture scene.

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you'd like to see anything in particular. If it's in my wheelhouse, you'll definitely see it.

Pedro in the black shirt in this scene is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie.

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake.

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin' airline ticket. You had attempted to grab life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentarial bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into a full scale panic attack if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim.

You were fuckin’ dumb.

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar.

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

His calls had gotten less and less frequent until he stopped returning them all together and the only reason you knew he was alive were your pep-talks with your sister-in-law, trying to help her keep her shit together, but hell, you weren’t a therapist or a miracle worker. So when Connie rang asking to stay at your place you had obliged and she had returned to Miami a mere shell of her former self.

After a mammoth amount of prodding over the course of two days you managed to wring the truth out of her, not the nuggets of information she had given you over the phone in hushed whispers during her time in Colombia but the whole messy story; the communist Elisa Alvarez, Steve’s kidnapping and the cold edges your brother was developing.

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn't have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed. A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret.

You had to check on Steve.

He hadn’t answered a single one of your many many calls. You packed light and told Connie the morning of, and whilst she didn’t like it, she understood. You supposed that a part of her was relieved to know her husband would have someone in Colombia that wasn't there to kill him.

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother's address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other. The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian.

When the plane finally touched down, you stood from your seat emptying the last few drops of whiskey which had tried to evade you onto your tongue, you picked up your backpack and queued to leave the plane.

The second you left the aircraft the humidity hit you like a brick wall, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. On a normal evening you would appreciate such a warm climate, but now the heat meant frustration to your tired brain and it only added to your baseline levels of anxiety as your hairline and upper lip were drenched as you walked through the arrivals gate.

Cards on the table; you didn’t have much of a game plan, you spoke no Spanish and stuck out like a sore thumb. You had the address but no means to get there, you didn’t relish the idea of getting in a taxi as a woman alone in a foreign country, but with little to no other options you went to hail one of the cabs that sat outside the airport.

Your fears turned out to be for naught, well not quite naught as the man had raked his eyes across your body for a large percentage of the trip in his mirror, but he had the good grace not to kidnap or murder you, which for you meant it was a successful journey, how low you had set the bar was just occuring to you.

After paying the gentleman he dropped you outside what appeared to Steve’s apartment building. You take a moment on the pavement to recollect yourself ready for your reunion. Peeling your denim jacket off, you decide instead to wrap it around your waist, tying the sleeves securely. With a harumph, you grab the handle of your suitcase, and drag it behind you. Your success thus far gives you a second wind of determination.

Though apparently dumb luck can only get you so far, because after heaving your suitcase up a flight of stairs and rapping on the door of apartment 20 until your knuckles ached, it began to dawn on you, you had no clue if this was even the right building.

“Fuck.” you mutter to yourself, you should’ve rang Connie or tried Steve again when you landed, but you’d been so single minded in carrying out your plan all common sense had apparently abandoned you. So with a million different scenarios of things you could’ve done better playing out behind your eyes you dragged your suitcase to the small lobby of the building, where the front door stood.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here.

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands,you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

You must have sat with your head in your hands for around three hours before anyone of note arrived, you had received strange looks from residents in their comings and goings as they stepped around you, your expectant looks turned to disappointment when you realised they weren’t Steve. In fairness, you, a gringa sitting on the stairs at 2am, most likely wasn’t a daily occurrence to these homeowners.

By the time he came through the door, your eyes were closed and your head was leant on the bannister, trying to get what little rest you could. Your eyes opened a crack to see a man and a woman enter the building and turn right, the man had his arm around her as he stared at you in confusion, the look was so quick you may have missed it if you blinked, but they were talking in low whispers of Spanish and from the looks of things he didn’t give you a second thought.

So you extended him the same courtesy and shut your eyes once again, you heard the metal jangling of keys going into the lock, the sound of smacking lips and then the door was closed. You figured that was the end of it, instead you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you, your eyes shot open as he rounded the corner.

“Estás bien?” The man questioned. It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you, as you took him in you were struck by your stupidity, how could you have dismissed this man so quickly even in the throes of a mental breakdown. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own as you realised he was waiting for a response.

“Uh… no hablo... español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi...Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason.

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda... does he know you’re here?”

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed.

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second.

“I’m Steve’s partner, Javier.” He held out his hand which you were more than happy to take in a shake, his tan hand was soft yet strong as it held your own captive within it. “C’mon in I’ll give him a call, God knows what time he’s planning on getting back.”

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again.

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it's a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive.

So you nodded and used the hand he hadn’t released yet to pull yourself up into a standing position. He wasn’t particularly tall but he still towered over you, your eyeline gave you a great view past his black shirt which was unbuttoned quite liberally, you assumed that was courtesy of the woman he’d entered with.

“Thank you,” you nodded at him with a genuine smile of relief. He didn’t reply, only grabbed the handle of your pull along suitcase before extending his arm towards his apartment and motioning to wordlessly say, after you.

Now you know how people say when you can feel a stare? You had the sensation before, but as you leaned over to pick up your backpack from the bottom step, you felt his eyes laser focus on your denim clad ass. You turned your head in disbelief and found his eyes still lingered there for a moment before meeting your own. Unbelievable. Part of you was flattered, the other part was bemused that he had a beautiful woman in there waiting and here he was ogling you.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more.

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man... Good to know.

...

As it turns out Javier’s girlfriend, or what you we’re starting to think was more of a one night stand, was not happy with the situation at all, you came to this discovery as Javier pointed you to the sofa before beginning arguing with her in hushed Spanish, the beautiful woman huffed and sent a dirty look your way before storming out and slamming the door behind her, with enough power to make it shake in its bearings. You raised your eyebrows at Javier from your seat. He shook his head with a sigh and began lighting up a cigarette, he turned and offered you one.

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

He smiles before clearing his throat and moving over to pick up his landline. Javier presses a combination of buttons, before putting it to his ear and blowing the smoke from his lungs. His eyes met yours as the phone rang, he gave you reassuring wink.

“Murphy? … Yeah… you need to get back to your place now... You’ve got a guest.... No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother's partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months.

“He’s on his way,” He confirmed what you already knew but you liked hearing him speak so you nodded in thanks. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments, as you two perfect strangers shared one another's company.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“God, yes.” You all but moaned at the offer. Javier chuckled, and grabbed a second glass from his cupboard, before pouring you both a generous serving. He walked around the back of the sofa, and passed you the glass of liquid gold and took a seat next to you. Close enough to initiate something, but not touching, quite a respectful distance.

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner's sister and he was doing the decent thing.

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with false surprise, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.” You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it's a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds.

He flicks through the channels, for a few seconds before sighing and dropping the remote in your lap. Taking your assignment seriously, you sit up, bringing yourself a few inches closer to the man next to you, purely accidentally of course and begin flicking through the channels as Javier had done moments before, though 3am TV scheduling left a lot to be desired.

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“Ah, now we’re talking.” You mumble, eyes stuck on the screen of the Colombian Soap opera playing. The two of you sat in silence once again as you slowly sipped on your drinks watching drama play out.

You watched in silence for around ten minutes, not understanding a single word of what was being said. The scene was on two latino actors sitting in a bedroom. The woman was sat on the bed being confronted by the man in a serious tone.

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman's tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman's words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son... I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…” Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

“Oh shit,” You gasped at his words, but your attention diverted to the screen where the two had continued their heated argument and began kissing or rather where the man was devouring her neck, “I’m getting vibes that he might be open to forgiving her.”

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own.

How was he so goddamn warm?

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

You took a gulp of your drink, trying to refocus for the third or fourth time this evening, trying so desperately to reign in your inner school girl and focus on the television, though that didn’t help as the actors were now eating one anothers faces on a bed. The silence was thick with tension, though that could’ve been entirely on you; one innocent touch of a man's elbow and you’re a blushing mess.

Get a grip Y/N.

The silence dragged on as you pretended to watch the soap opera you had absolutely no understanding of in a futile attempt to ignore the man next to you. You can only imagine what he thought of your levels of focus on the tv, as you stared at the box in the corner of the room like it was the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time and you were getting ready to write a full-scale analysis on the work of art.

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia... Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host. You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully.

“Steve stopped answering the phone, I mean he’s always been shitty at checking in, even when he was in Miami. When he got here we’d have a catch up every week or so, we all know how dangerous it is for you guys over here, so we joked about calling it ‘the alive check’. For the last couple of months, I was checking in with Connie more than Steve but he’d still pick up once every week, without fail. Then four weeks ago the fucker stopped answering my calls all together and Connie showed up on my doorstep with Olivia in tow last week.”

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it's probably ‘cause he’s busy... He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

“My brother always answers my calls. Or at least he used to. I can’t begin to understand what you guys are going through, but I’m not losing my brother to some piece of shit Colombian drug dealer.”

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

“How is he?” You interrupt Javier’s attempt at diffusing the situation with humor, turning to him on the sofa. You rearranged yourself, bringing your leg up so your knee touched his thigh as you gave him your full attention, you plucked the smoke from between his lips and held it between your two fingers as you spoke. “Tell me Steve’s fine. Tell me I’m worrying for nothing and I’ll get back on that plane and leave tomorrow morning."

You take one drag and offer it back to him, he accepts it, deliberately looking you in the eyes as he places the cigarette in his mouth, attaching his lips to where your own had been seconds earlier. He takes it from his mouth and stubs it on an ash tray that rests on the arm of the sofa, his focus is single minded on his task. The pressure in your lower stomach is mounting as you stare at the tanned man before you who is carrying out a menial task that has you more turned on than you’d ever admit.

When the red tip is extinguished thoroughly, taking much longer than you thought it needed to, Javi turns to you, his mahogany eyes have you pinned in your tracks. You found yourself admitting they were gorgeous for the second time this evening, they were the type of brown you could never quite describe, they had so much depth, not quite a chocolate, not quite coffee, they were rich and deep pools. They reminded you of the forest, not the green leaves but the earthy brown, the strong beams of wood that held everything up around it.

Javier's hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

“Quiero saborearte…” He whispered so lowly you barely even heard it before he leaned in that last inch and captured your lips in a single, chaste kiss. Your lips connected and you realised the heat you had felt from his arms had been nothing. Fire coursed through your veins upon contact, surging through your blood and going south to a pressure that built in your lower stomach.

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching. He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system. You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother's partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve...

“... This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint.

“Never is.” He leaned forward and captured your lips. You didn’t have any fight left in you, exhausted and at wits end you embraced your spiral into stupidity instead and your hands glided across the clammy skin of his neck to grab at his short ink black hair. You wrapped your fingers around it to drag him closer to you, your lips clashed, all teeth at first but you didn’t care as his tongue began to fight against yours for dominance.

He tasted as good as you imagined, he was the right combination of sweet and bitter, with undertones of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue. Your response to his assault on your mouth told him it was go time, Javier pulled you into his lap and his hands lowered to your ass. Your body was flush with his own as your breasts pressed against his chest, you could feel every solid line of his lithe body against your own.

You licked at his honied tongue, before withdrawing and pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on the soft plush skin. His mustache tickled your upper lip, a sensation you weren’t used to but could so easily grow to love. This made him tighten his grip on your backside in response and he let out a throaty groan at the meat he found there, Javier was definitely an ass man, you felt his bulge pressing against your core as you both began grinding against each other in earnest. You felt like a horny teenager as you grinded on a man you barely knew.

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throught your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

He said it with such surety that your body convulsed in on itself without even needing to know what the man above you was saying. You could only hope it was absolutely filthy and profanity ridden, because then at least, the sentiment would be shared. He bit at the lobe of your ear before his hands left your breasts and travelled to the hem of your tank top, getting ready to pull it over your head.

It was strange to say that you remembered your brother was on his way here as a man tried to take your t-shirt off, but that’s just the way it went. You knew if that top came off, dry humping would be the most PG action of the night and if Steve turned up and found you mounted on his partner, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled.

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man's hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser.

Sighing, you threw your body sideways before you could change your mind and ended up on your back. Javier followed you, caging you with his frame as he covered your body with his own. Gripping your face like he was a starving man and you were the only sustenance he’d ever need. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to give in to that magic tongue but you couldn’t let this go any further so you placed a hand on his chest.

Taking your cue he paused his tongues assault on your mouth and stopped, resting his forehead against your own. You were both breathing heavily trying to come back down to reality, his eyes were no longer the chocolate brown you’d been comforted by when you met, but rings of obsidian staring into your soul. You wanted this man, my god you did. But this would make more problems for Steve.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, foreheads and bodies pressed against one another until both of your breathing evened out. The silence dragged, heavy in the air as you two strangers both waited for the other to break it.

“...Is Steve okay?”

“...No... He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding.

The loud knock on the front door startles you both as you’d been so wrapped up in one another you’d not heard the steps leading to it. The two of you split apart like a pair of guilty teens caught in the act. You both stared at each other for a second before he nods at you and walks to the front door whilst rearranging his bulge discreetly in his jeans, this was something you pretended not to see as you sat back up right on the sofa. You had only a moment to fix yourself, as you pulled your tank top from where it was hooked by your breasts and ran your fingers through your hair so you didn’t look like you’ve just had the ravaging of a lifetime.

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve's voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “...what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it's not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.

Steve looks from you, to Javier and then back to you once more in complete surprise. It takes his brain a hot second to process that you’re here in front of him and in Colombia before he rushes you. Clutching you tight and hugging you to his chest. You hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob leave your brothers chest before he collapses into you. The front door and Javier’s bedroom both in rapid succession, giving you the privacy you knew your brother would need after breaking down like this.

You couldn’t support Steve’s weight with your considerably smaller frame and the two of you fell to the ground as you held your broken brother. His body shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in your shoulder.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia.

This had definitely not been a mistake.

Part Two

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #narcos fic #pedro pascal x reader #I LOVE THE BLACK FUCKING SHIRT #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #murphy!reader

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gammija · 3 years

Text

How the Web helped Magnus mark his Archive

Have you ever seen people talk about how the Web was involved with getting Jon marked, but didn’t feel like going through every episode to find every little reference to spindly spidery legs? Well, worry no more! Because in this list I’m going to do just that. With quotes, ‘cause I never half-ass theories on tma

In chronological(ish) order, ranging from: - Undeniably Spider-involved - Suspiciously Web-adjacent - (and Web!Tapes propaganda) Let’s go!

- 22, 123: Prentiss being in Carlos Vittery’s basement

Martin may be the one who lead Prentiss to the Institute, but only because Prentiss was hanging out in Vittery’s cobwebbed basement, for an unknown reason:

022 Colony Martin: “I turned on my torch and shone it around, but was disappointed to see that all those spider webs that I remembered seemed old and unremarkable. If there were spiders there, none were easily seen, and… for a second I thought that the only interesting part of my return trip was that it would land me in prison if I wasn’t careful. Then, I heard movement. From the other side of the basement.”

The same Vittery who had already told Annabelle about his experiences:

123 Web Development Jon: “I-It’s apparently a list of people whose names appeared in the various pieces of text Mr. Cox was pasting into the code. It’s unclear if they were meant to be users or victims, but I cannot help but note that there seem to be the names of several statement givers who found their way to the Institute, including noted arachnophobe Carlos Vittery.”

Which might mean nothing if it weren’t for:

- 38, 40: A spider lets Prentiss be found

Not only does a spider cause Jon to knock down the wall to where Prentiss was hiding in the tunnels...

038 Lost and Found Sasha: “A spider?” Jon: “Yeah. I tried to kill it…. the shelf collapsed.”

...But according to Tim’s speculation:

040 Human Remains Tim: “I think they were almost all in the Archives. I have a theory, actually. I think they weren’t ready to attack when you found the tunnels.”

Which, if true, means that if the wall hadn’t been broken, Prentiss might’ve attacked with bigger force and killed Jon outright, instead of neatly marking him.

- 35, all of s2: A Web table lets a Stranger into the Institute

Although it’s never said who or what ordered the table to be delivered, the addition of the Web lighter with it makes it easy to guess. As Jonah says in 160: the Not!Them mark turned out not to have been necessary because of the Unknowing, but this was certainly a nice back-up to have.

- 80: Jon steps out for a smoke

Giving Jonah the opportunity to brutal pipe murder Jurgen.

080 The Librarian Jon: “I’m going to have a cigarette. Don’t… Don’t.” [...] [SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PIPE MURDER] [...] Jon: “Sorry, I’ve been quit for five years now, but th -”

While nothing in the actual text of the episode points to Web involvement, addictions like smoking fall under their domain. Add to that the recent gift of that lighter, and Jon saying he didn’t smoke anymore, it’s certainly suspicious.

- (91: Daisy only went to the Institute when she got the tapes

Okay, this one is mostly web!tapes propaganda, but I think it’s compelling web!tapes propaganda. I’d link the post I made about this earlier, but it has simply vanished from this universe, as far as tumblr is concerned... In any case:

091 The Coming Storm Daisy: “You ask me to take a tape over to this murdering freak, and I’m all set to tear you a new one for it. But then I get the cassette in my hand, and suddenly all I want to do is deliver his tapes, and spill my guts.”

If it’s from Jon, not only would this be the furthest reaching compulsion by far, in only in season 2 no less, but it would also be the only one that is transmitted via the tapes/another person outside of the Institute(Basira) instead of just Jon speaking directly to the person. While, if it’s the Web’s doing, making someone want to do something they don’t realize is weird at the time, is totally in their wheelhouse! And it’d make them responsible for convincing Daisy that Jon’s a monster, ergo, his Hunt mark.)

- 121: Oliver was sent by the Web

121 Far Away Oliver Banks: “Honestly, I’m still not exactly sure why I’m here. But you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head. Easier to just do what she asks.”

Aka, the man who told Jon what he needed to hear to wake up, nice and alive and marked by both the Stranger and the End, when he hadn’t been able to for 6 months.

- (130: The Web leads Jon to Jared)

130 Meat Jon: “I found this tape tucked in a corner of my desk drawer, covered in cobwebs. I suppose subtlety has gone out the window a bit, and the question is now simply… how much I trust the Spider to have my best interests at heart.”

Not only did this one tape lead Jon to get his Flesh mark, which Jonah had conked up by getting Jared to the Institute too soon, but arguably it also made Jon confident enough to go into the Buried. Which the rib didn’t even help with! What did help though, was...

- (134: Tape recorders and Martin got Jon out of the Buried)

Even if you don’t believe that the tapes are from the Web, there’s still this conversation:

134 Time of Revelation Peter: “What does – puzzle me though, and I mean that genuinely, is – why you were piling tape recorders onto the coffin while Jon was in there.” - Martin: “I don’t know. And I just – felt like it might help. He’s always recording, and I thought it – it might help him… find his way out.” Peter: “Interesting. Were you compelled?” - Martin: “I don’t know. Maybe? I-I, I definitely wanted to do it. [But] I’m not sure where the idea came from. Peter: “You should watch out for that. Could be something dangerous.”

Implanting ideas in someone’s mind, specifically making them want to do something, without them knowing that the idea is coming from outside, is something the Web isn’t a stranger to (056, 059). It might also be the Eye, but wouldn’t Martin know what an Eye compulsion would feel like, by now? On a meta level, it’s a curious thing to point out. Would anyone have protested if Martin got the idea of the tapes on his own?

And there you have it! 8 instances of arachnid involvement. There are more small mentions of Web-like interference with Jon here and there in other episodes, and of course his first Fear mark in 081, but these are the ones that seem to very clearly point towards the Mother of Puppets, or some of her avatars, having helped Jonah in bringing about the end of the world. There’s still the question of why, what their ‘plan’ is now, but I’m sure we’ll find out about that soon enough - Dare I say, March 25th or earlier, even

#tma #the magnus archives #tma s4 #magnuspod #the web #web!tapes #tma theory #tma meta #text post #if anyone somehow has a link to the post I mean with daisy and the tapes and 91 PLEASE send it my way #it is gone from my tumblrs pov #hopefully this helps anyone?#i mostly talk to the people in ea and they are just as deep into the theories as i am #but i sometimes see posts that remind me that thats a minority of people #magnus archives #now back to work. woe is me #also as always feel free to add or correct me if you feel so inclined

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busycryin · 3 years

Text

REPOST - THE NIGHT WE MET

THE NIGHT WE MET

PART ONE - THE NIGHT WE MET

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: You decide to travel to Colombia on a whim, there you meet a gorgeous stranger that just so happens to be your brothers partner.

Anon was worried about losing my work when I switched blogs, so fear not. I’m reposting on here but I have no intention of deleting my other blog, it’s where I got my first 200 notes and I’m honestly blown away by it. I’m happy to announce I’m working on a fourth part. I’m not sure when I’ll post it as I’m still in the idea stage but it’s definitely a start, ay!

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you’d like to see anything in particular. If it’s in my wheelhouse, you’ll definitely see it.

Pedro in the black shirt is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie.

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake.

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin’ airline ticket. You had attempted to grab your crappy life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentary bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into one of your full scale panic attacks if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim.

You were fuckin’ dumb.

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar.

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn’t have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed. A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret.

You had to check on Steve.

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother’s address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other. The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here.

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands, you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

“Uh… no hablo… español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi…Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason.

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda… does he know you’re here?”

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed.

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second.

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again.

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it’s a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more.

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man… Good to know.

…

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

“Murphy? … Yeah… you need to get back to your place now… You’ve got a guest…. No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother’s partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner’s sister and he was doing the decent thing.

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.” You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it’s a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds.

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman’s tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman’s words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son… I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…” Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own.

How was he so goddamn warm?

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

Get a grip Y/N.

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia… Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host. You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully.

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it’s probably ‘cause he’s busy… He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

Javier’s hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching. He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system. You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother’s partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve…

“… This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint.

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throat your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man’s hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser.

“…Is Steve okay?”

“…No… He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding.

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve’s voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “…what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it’s not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia.

This had definitely not been a mistake.

#pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #repost #narcos fanfiction

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cora-vizsla · 3 years

Note

Congratulations on 200! If you're interested and inspired, I'd love a little something about Cabur and Paz's life post chapter 8. I just love them ❤

Thank you so much! I feel terrible this took so long but I was so swamped with school work haha. I was going to write some little blurbs but this idea popped into my head the other night when I was trying to fall asleep. This isn’t beta’d or read through a ton so if there are any mistakes I am sorry!

10 Years

Paring: Paz x reader

Rating: Explicit because that’s how Paz and Cabur are.

Story: Cabur

Warning: fluff. A bit of spiciness but it didn’t get really descriptive. Fear. Honestly, I cried writing part of it. I’m sure you’ll guess what part. I’m pretty sure this counts as angst? Yeah probably. I wrote it.

You rushed into the main meeting room only to skid to a stop. Din was sitting at the head of the stable but everyone else was absent.

“What is going on? I thought we had a meeting?”

“I canceled it.”

“You.. canceled it? I thought this had to do with some really important stuff? Like epically important?”

“It can wait. Everyone else had places that they needed to be so we will just wait. You’re actually needed in the shipyard anyway.”

“The shipyard? Did something break down?”

“No. Your husband needs you to go on a mission with him.”

You looked at him and put one hand on your hip.

“A mission? We aren’t warriors anymore, Din.”

“I know. You somehow domesticated my bullhead of a brother into a school teacher. You have to go through. I’m pretty sure I can manage without you for a while.”

You huffed and set the datapad down on the table.

“If you say so. What stuff do I need?”

“Paz has it taken care of.”

“And why am I just finding out about this?”

“Ask your husband. Not my wheelhouse, prudii.”

You puffed out another sigh and turned, leaving Din alone. You walked down the great halls until you finally made it outside, orienting yourself towards the shipyard. It had been hard work, but Mandalore was finally beautiful again like it should be.

Once you made it to the shipyard, it was easy to find Paz. He was standing at the end of the ramp of his newer ship. He hadn’t wanted something new, but Leia had insisted on something more reliable since you had to visit her often for negotiations.

“There is my love.”

“There is my husband who apparently has been keeping a mission from me.”

He smirked at you and pulled you close, bumping his forehead against yours. You smiled as the sound of beskar rang out around you.

“We don’t have time to wait though. Get in your seat and you will find out everything as it’s time to do so.”

You huffed but knew he wasn’t going to budge. Once you climbed into the cockpit and strapped yourself in, you pulled your helmet off and looked back as Paz made he way to his seat.

“Sit tight, mesh’la. It won’t take us too long.”

XXX

When the ship landed and you walked down the ramp, you instantly knew where you were. The smell hit you which filled you with so many conflicting emotions. On one hand, it felt like a home that you forgot you had. On the other, the pain of the memories felt like the weight of the galaxy on your chest.

“Come with me, mesh’la.”

You looked up at Paz but nodded. You trusted him with everything you had. If he was bringing you back to this place there had to be a reason for it. You listened to the wildlife and the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees around you. You thought it was interesting that it looked exactly the same but absolutely different all at once. When you finally made it to the clearing your muscles remembered the path to, you stopped as soon as you made it past the trees.

“It still looks the same. It’s been so long.”

“Some things just last.”

Paz walked past you, carrying two bags over his shoulder. You watched him and thought back to the first time you saw him walk into the clearing. It felt like an eternity since that had happened. You followed your husband up the steps into the building and smiled fully at everything.

“Paz, this place is spotless. How did you manage this?”

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we have things to do.”

“We just got here.”

“I am well aware of that, mesh’la. That hardly matters. We will have time to relax here just not now.”

He dropped the bags down and head back out the door without any explanation. You let out an exasperated sigh and followed, rolling your eyes under your helmet. It took you a few paces to catch up to him but once you did you realized he was heading back towards where the village used to be. You grabbed his arm and skid to a stop.

“Paz, I don’t want to go back there.”

“We need to.”

“No. No I can’t.. I can’t go back there. Please.”

He turned to face you, looking down like he always had to. He used his fingers to tilt your head up so you were facing him, having done it a thousand times with your helmet on so he knew your eyes were on him.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Then trust me.”

“Ni ganar chaabar.” (I am afraid.)

“Ni Kelir gotal'ur gar morut'yc. Ni cuy' staabi olar ti gar. Ratiin.” (I will keep you safe. I am right here. Always.)

You nodded and let him turn, leading the way the rest of the way down the road. The only sounds that you could focus on was the crunching of your boots on the ground. You kept your eyes trained on Paz as he came to a stop right where the road opened up.

You placed your hand on your chest plate, biting your bottom lip to stop the tears from falling. You felt Paz place his arm on you arm but your eyes were trained forward.

“I wanted you to see this, mesh’la.”

“I don’t understand.”

What you expected to be devastation and ruin, was instead beautiful buildings and people walking around care free. You watched children scream and laugh as they chased each other, almost knocking over a few adults in the process.

“Leia heard of this place when she heard your story. She sent resources here and helped the people that were still left behind. A lot more people got away than we thought. So now they have rebuilt. There are people who enjoy life and are safe. There are children who learn and will grow old. No one will be hurt like they were before. No one is alone.”

“Paz I.. I don’t know what to say.”

“Come. The village elders want to see you.”

He led you down the streets slowly as you looked at everything. It felt like a dream to see the place prospering and so full of life. Once you reached the elders building you were met by smiling faces.

“Our Cabur has returned.”

You stifled an inhale as you realized you recognized the faces in front of you.

“You.. you’re alive.”

“Because of you, my dear. When your riduur contacted us and sent help, we had to see you again. Thank you, Cabur, for taking care of the children who had no one. Thank you for eliminating the threat that nearly destroyed us.”

“I thought you all died. I thought I failed.”

“No, my dear, you are the very reason why we are standing here today. You have rebuilt more than Mandalore, Cabur. Your love and compassion has reached across the galaxy. I am so glad that you are getting to see that.”

XXX

After spending the day with the village, you and Paz made your way back to the home you had lived in for so long. Once you were inside you pulled your helmet off and walked to him, pulling his off as well. He smiled down at you as you looked in his eyes.

“Paz, I can never thank you enough for this. For everything.”

“I knew how much this place meant to you. You did everything to keep this place safe and I saw all the pain and worry every time you thought something was going to go wrong on Mandalore. This place haunted you. The very least I could do was show you that you did made a difference.”

“You could have just told me.”

“Or I could whisk you across the galaxy and spend our anniversary together the same way that we started it.”

Your face fell as you dropped your hands from his chest.

“Our.. Oh stars Paz I am so sorry. I have been so busy and I-”

“Stop. You have always been terrible at remembering dates. You help my brother run an entire civilization. Let me take care of the dates and anniversaries. Yes?”

You nodded and let your shoulders relax. Paz put his hands on your arms and smiled fully. He started pulling your armor off, setting it gently on the counter. You hummed and shut your eyes, basking in the intimacy of him taking your armor off of you.

“Why don’t you go take a shower. I’ll get food ready.”

“You’re too good to me, you know?”

He kissed your forehead and turned you towards the refresher, pushing you gently.

“Go, love.”

XXX

You wrapped the towel around yourself once you were done and looked in the mirror. Your face had aged since the last time you looked at your reflection in that spot. For a moment you wondered if Paz could still love you even though you weren’t the young bullheaded warrior you used to be. Before you could let your mind wander too far you laughed at yourself.

There was never a day that Paz didn’t make you feel loved and cherished. No matter what was going on, he was your best friend.

“Mesh’la, did you drown in there?”

You smiled and walked out with the towel still wrapped around your torso. Paz was placing a bowl of fruit down on the table in front of the couch and grinned at you. He had pulled his own armor off, leaving him in his black under shirt and pants.

“You act like you’ve never seen me before.”

He walked to you, pulling you into his arms.

“You are just as beautiful as you were the first day you walked out in a towel.”

“You’re a sap, sweetheart.”

“For you.”

He carried you over to the couch, setting you down gently before sitting down and propping your legs on his lap so he could be closer.

“Shouldn’t I go get dressed?”

“Sometimes you say the craziest things.”

You giggled at him and looked over at the bowl of fruit.

“Is that fresh?”

“Picked just for you.”

He plucked a piece of the fruit from the bowl and to your surprise, brought it to your lips. You gently took it into your mouth and smiled as he sucked the juice off his own thumb, pulling it from his mouth with a pop. He continued feeding your pieces, playfully running the fruit along your lips every few pieces, watching you use your tongue to catch the juice.

“Aren’t you going to eat any of it?”

“Hmm, guess I probably should.” You smirked and got up, moving so you were straddling his waist. You grabbed a piece of the fruit and mimicked how he was feeding you. After the second piece of fruit, he took the bowl from you, setting it gently on the table next to him. Next he pulled off your towel, completely exposing you.

“You didn’t each much fruit.”

“I much prefer you.”

“I’m not fruit.”

“Could have fooled me.”

He reached up, lacing his hand through your hair and pulling your head forward to kiss you. His other hand gripped your waist as he pulled you flush against him. When you pulled away to let yourself breathe he looked up at you with lust blown eyes.

“I still will never know what I did to deserve a woman like you. I thank the stars every day that you not only forgave me but chose me as the one you would love.”

“You’re an easy man to love, Paz.”

“I haven’t always been.”

“No, but I wasn’t exactly an easy woman to love at that point either.”

“I disagree. You’ve always been incredible. Every time I think you couldn’t possibly be more or do more, you prove me wrong. I have been blessed to have you by my side. Anyone that is in your life is lucky to have you.”

You bit back a smile and placed your hands on each side of his face.

“You’re a sap, Paz Vizsla.”

“And you love it.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he growled out.

You let out a giggle as he stood, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He walked directly into the room that you had built for him all that time ago, tossing you down on his bed. You propped yourself up on your elbows as he pulled his shirt off, revealing his body that you loved to stare at.

“I hope you never stop looking at me like that.”

“Don’t think that’s possible.”

He grinned as he pulled his pants off, climbing up onto the bed between your legs. You smiled up at him when he braced his arms on each side of your head. He was always so imposing but he never scared you.

“I love you, mesh’la.”

“I love you too, Paz.”

He crashed his lips to yours while he shifted himself so he was slotted at your entrance. You smiled against his lips and pulled your leg up to wrap around him, letting him glide into you with ease. He groaned once he was fully seated in you and sighed.

“Stars you feel so good, mesh’la. It’s like you were made for me. It’s like your body was made just for me.”

“I feel the same way. There’s no other explanation. The galaxy made you to fit perfectly with me.”

He nodded and kissed you again. You whimpered as he started to slowly roll his hips into you. There had been times when sex with Paz was rushed or full of furious passion. This wasn’t one of them. He was showing you how much he loved and cherished you. He worshiped your body as he made love to you in a way only he could.

When you were younger, the only thing you thought could mean this much was fighting. The movements and dancing around the fighting mat were poetic to you. But nothing in the galaxy compared to the way that you and Paz moved together.

You loved him and it showed in the way your body responded to his touch. Time and time again he showed you how much you meant to him, so you showed him the same any time your hands were on him.

The only thing that mattered was you and him.

The night was spent making love and talking about the past. Thinking about the past and talking about everything you had been through didn’t hurt like it had before you found out about the village. Something in you had healed. Your husband had helped you yet again heal when you didn’t think it was possible.

You knew without a doubt that everything you had been through had been worth it if you could feel the type of love that you shared with Paz. The galaxy was a giant place filled with things that could very well hurt you, but you knew as long as you were in Paz’s arms you were safe.

You knew you had your happy ending.

#paz x female!reader #paz x you #paz vizsla x you #paz viszla #Paz #star wars #starwars #cabur #fanfiction #fanfic #ask cora #ask maiihem

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crazy-czech-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Kristen Stewart - Howard Stern interview

Yesterday I saw the interview with Howard Stern and wow. I’ve never seen her so openly speak about the Twilight era and relationship with Rob. So I decided to transcript the parts about Twilight and Robert because I couldn’t find it anywhere. If you have time go watch the whole interview it’s really worth it!

****

H: The way they’re covering your romance with Robert Pattinson and all this.. I had him on the show and he said no relationship could survive the intense scrutiny that we were under. It was insane.

K: Yeah it was. I mean we wanted to like keep it ours so it was like this thing of going like..well do you like live openly and share your life in a way that actually entitles you to living it sort of more freely and naturally or do you like put it on lock because you hate the idea of perpetuating this like commodified version of your..something that feels real to you and you’re like ‘I’m not selling you shit’! But then you actually deprive yourself of like so many experiences. Like we didn’t walk down the street holding hands because we were like ‘Don’t wanna give it to them’ but then we didn’t get to walk down the street holding hands. And it sucked.

H: Of course it sucked because the best part of the relationship with anyone..

K: Is screaming from the rooftops!

H: ‘I’m in love!’

K: Yeah!

H: And walking around holding somebody’s hand.

K: I know.

****

H: ....Not only were you falling in love with Rob on the set.. Which by the way I think is the biggest mistake an actor can make.

K: There was nothing I could do.

H: The director was even nervous because the first time you guys kind of auditioned together to see the chemistry..it was an immediate chemistry between the two of you.

K: Yeah, yeah. It’s so weird like actually being honest about this like it’s been so heavily consumed and I have this fear that people would assume that maybe I’m like..’oh cool you’re still pushing that narrative’ and it’s like ‘No I’ve actually never been allowed to just say what happened’. Because I was so self conscious about seeming like an attention seeker.

H: Or taking advantage of the fact that you guys were dating.

K: Yeah exactly. We were together for years. That was like my first..you know..

H: Love.

K: Yeah. I mean like I was super in love with my high school boyfriend. Super in love with him. But me and Rob were like little older and it was like *GOGUM*.

H: He’s a charming guy.

K: Yeah he’s the best.

****

H: Rob when he was here told me with Twilight that they wanted to go a whole other direction . They wanted you to be smiling and him to be smiling. Be a lovable little vampire. And he said it was tremendous pressure to act that movie the way he wanted to.

K: Yeah. Honestly thank god he had that.. I mean he like..he wouldn’t do it the other way. And I don’t think he even had that in his wheelhouse like his body wouldn’t do that. And I mean mine either. I was like..The only reason this is good is because it’s like “Aaargh” and they were like ‘But it’s not fun!’. We took a lot of slack. Like we were constantly being like reprimanded and thank god we stuck to our guns because that’s why the movie works.

H: Yes. Yes that’s exactly why the movie works.

****

H: Would you recommend to other young actresses that they fall in love during their movie or should they avoid it? Because that’s my point. You say you couldn’t have stopped yourself falling in love with Rob.

K: I don’t think it’s really a choice..

H: Isn’t it dangerous because the set is such an aphrodisiac. It’s like..

K: Maybe it’s not real. Yeah but then you could apply that to any other...What is?

H: What is real?

K: Yeah.

H: Because they cater to you, they’re treating you like you’re a star..

K: Mmmm no.

H: No? It wasn’t like that?

K: No. Not at all. ‘Get your ass to set and start smiling bitch’. And I’m like ‘Nope’.

H: But did you have a sense that you were in trouble now that you were in love. Because you’re like ‘oh this is cliched I’m falling in love with my costar’.

K: I thought that was the coolest thing ever and I was so proud of it and I was like ‘We’re like rockstars dude’. I was like ‘Yeah you wish you had this.’ You know when you have that thing and you’re like ‘This is the coolest’.

H: Well it’s cool too because you’re really trapped in like high school or college and at least you have this great outside romance going on.

K: It was fun.

H: But it’s always doomed isn’t it because it’s just too much pressure when you got famous as you did so quickly.

****

H: Trump was consumed with the fact that you and Rob Pattinson had broken up.

K: Sure. Yes.

H: And he started tweeting against you saying ‘Hey Rob you can do much better than Kristen Stewart’.

....

K: You would think that he had more important things to do. It’s absurd.

...

H: Did you ever talk to Rob about it? Did you ever say ‘Can you believe the president of the United States is carrying on about our relationship.

K: Yeah we got back together. We like went through a thing and it fucking sucked but like we really wanted to be together...I don’t remember that particular conversation but we definitely were talking about everything at that time.

****

K: I had people genuinely asking me if that relationship was real or fake. And I was like..

H: Like the movie fabricated it for publicity.

K: Right yeah.

H: But they did used to do that in the old days.

K: I know it’s such a weird studio system old school way of...You really think at this point after all these years like that I’m..like that’s how I live my life?

H: There’s no way a relationship could survive the types of scrutiny that you guys had.

K: We were also just so young you know what I mean like there are stages..life is long..yeah.

H: Was there a point you would have gotten married do you think?

K: I don’t know.

H: I wonder..imagine

K: I wanted to..Yeah no I mean like I think I’ve never...

H: If he proposed you would have gotten married.

K: I don’t know. I’m not like a super duper traditionalist but at the same time like I...every relationship that I’ve ever been in I thought ‘This is it’. I’ve never like casually dated..I mean maybe one or two..Yeah I’m not giving everyone that. But like I’ve never really been the most casual person.

****

K: (what she could have done better while acting) .. and certain parts of Twilight. New moon I totally screwed up the like devastating..I was so in love with Rob and so happy that I couldn’t imagine losing him. But now I’m like ‘oh man I could have really done better work in that movie’.

****

H: (Snow white and the huntsman) That movie did really well. And then they didn’t ask you to be in the sequel.

K: We lived in a different time then you know what I mean. I feel like the slut shaming that went down was like so absurd. And they should have put me in that movie it would have been better..not to be a dick but..

H: You’re sayin there was slut shaming of you?

K: Well they didn’t put me in that movie because I went through a highly publicized scandal. So they were like scared of touching that.

H: Because you fell in love with the director? So that’s why they didn’t have you in the sequel? That was a dumb move.

K: I think so.

H: Isn’t that wrong though? Not to put you in a sequel because you fell in love with the director?

K: Well I wouldn’t say that I fell in love with the director...

H: Oh you had an affair..

K: Yeah that was weird..that was a kind of a weird thing. But I definitely...It wasn’t that big of a deal. Do you know what I’m saying. It’s like literally..

H: No because I’ve actually forgotten about it.

K: Yeah..

H: People at the time think it’s a big deal.

K: The work is so much more important. It’s like what do you care if I..I just thought that that movie actually..we could have made a great second one and we could have done it in a functional and healthy way. And then we didn’t ultimately do that and that’s okay because I did other stuff and it’s fine but yeah..that was weird.

H: So you were blamed for not being in the second movie because you had sex with somebody. That’s what you’re telling me?

K: I did not fuck him.

H: Oh you didn’t fuck him?

K: No I didn’t.

H: Oh so why not clear that up? Why not say that?

K: Who’s gonna believe..It doesn’t even matter

H: I believe you.

K: Honestly I feel like you do and I actually feel like this is the most honest setting I’ve ever been involved with.

H: You have been so honest with this so why did you get pegged as fucking..

K: Well because it looks like..you know you make out with a dude in public it definitely looks like you...

H: Oh oh so it was an innocent sort of thing and the media made it out to be a big deal.

K: Yeah I mean look it wasn’t innocent that was like a..you know that was a really hard period of my life. I was like really young and like um...

H: Well it’s understandable you’re a young woman. Yes ok you were going out with Rob...

K: Yeah I didn’t really know how to deal with that and I made some mistakes.

H: Hey guess what everybody does.

K: Yeah exactly. And honestly it’s no one’s business and people get over shit like that. You know what I mean? It’s really not a big deal. Basically what I’m saying is the work to me genuinely was ignored in a really sort of frivolous like silly petty way. For a group of adult people who were like supposed to be running studios and making films that’s what you..I mean honestly the film industry in Hollywood is so fear based and there are like equations that lead people to massive decisions that you assume are creative that are not at all.

H: Yes.

K: And so like that didn’t fit in their equation. And I think they are idiots because if you take a little risk and you make something good people will watch it and like it and pay you.

youtube

#robsten #robert pattinson #kristen stewart #twilight #howard stern #Youtube

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samsflannel · 3 years

Text

So I ran a poll on my twitter asking this: If the car crash at the end of season 1 never happened, and John never died, would he have killed Sam in season 4 once he started drinking demon blood? And the answer that won: Yes.

So, I decided to write a ficlet about it. Read under the cut.

You can also read on Ao3.

AU: John lives to see Sam drink demon blood and go “darkside.”

“This is what I warned you about, kid.” The gun in John’s shaking hands is cocked. Fully loaded. Safety off. Pointed at-

The plastic gas station bag Dean was holding drops onto the floor past the threshold of the cabin door, and one of the water bottles rolls under the worn, wood table.

“What the fuck,” he says. Not a question. Sam’s asleep. Dead asleep on top of the sheets, book open across his chest and one of his stupid health nut breakfast bars unwrapped next to his hand. “What are you doing. Where have you been?” he whispers, hand itching for his gun.

“I told you, Dean,” John says, serious as all hell, gritting his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Dean insists, but it shivers down his spine, makes his arms go cold. Sam stirs in his sleep and Dean’s feet ache toward the open door. “Let’s just go outside for a minute, talk about it before Sammy wakes up and sees that piece pointed at him.”

John takes a minute, his shoulders dropping, a sigh pushed out of his chest, but he lowers the gun and clicks the safety on, stuffs it in the back of his pants. Jerks his head toward the door, c’mon, then.

Christo, Dean whispers when he closes the door behind them- but John doesn’t react.

“Dad, what the hell,” he shouts once they make their way around to the side of the cabin, leaves crunching under their boots. “Where the hell have you been for the last year? I’ve been looking, asking other hunters- how the fuck did you even find us out here?”

“One question at a time.” he presses the bridge of his nose between his fingers, breathing hard.

“I’ll ask as many questions as I want,” Dean pushes, stepping forward, anger blooming up in his belly suddenly. “You show up out of nowhere when we haven’t seen you in over a year and you’re pointing a gun at my brother.”

John looks up at him. The circles under his eyes are dark and heavy- he looks different. “Your brother isn’t your brother, Dean. Not anymore.” He licks his lips, lowers his voice. “I heard things from other hunters. Disgusting things, evil things. And I thought- no.” He shakes his head, toes the dirt. “It can’t be. So I tracked you two down. Watched him. And I saw-”

He looks like he’s going to vomit, nostrils flaring, closing his eyes. “I saw what Sam did to that demon. Sucked it dry. I saw the blood on his face, Dean, he looked-” he pauses. Breathes and makes eye contact. “He’s not human anymore.”

“You’re wrong.” Dean shocks himself with how desperate his voice sounds. His hands tingle, his palms start to sweat- “I mean, you saw wrong. Sam would never-”

“Bullshit.” John cuts him off loud, and some visceral part of Dean flinches. “Don’t lie to me, Dean. You know. And I know that you know, so let’s skip that.”

Dean stills. Looks back and forth between his father’s eyes, pleading. But not denying. And then- hurt, face hardening. “So that’s why you came here? To waste your own son? And in his sleep, too, you don’t even have the sack to-”

“First of all, you don’t talk to me that way, I am your father.” He says it matter-of-fact, like it’s enough of an explanation. John gets in his space, toe-to-toe, middle finger pointed at his chest. “Get your head on straight. I told you two years ago what would happen if you didn’t control the situation and here we are with Sam chugging demon blood like it’s water.”

“I was dead.” Dean looks him right in the eyes, leaned up on his feet, eyes wide. “Not sure if you remember, but I was in hell. For months. And you let Sam walk. Knowing how broken he was, knowing he would have done anything-”

“You never should have made that deal, Dean. It was stupid and reckless and suicidal. But you made that choice. And Sam made his.”

Dean sits back on his heels, mouth tight. Shaking his head. “What was I supposed to do.” He searches John’s face. “Let Sam rot? You don’t understand. You don’t even know how much I couldn’t do that.”

John nods, solemn. “I get that, son. I do. But it would’ve been a helluva lot better than what I’m gonna have to do now.”

Flames lick Dean’s insides, his shoulders squaring up again. “You’re not gonna do shit. Look, dad, I’ve seen it too. I know it’s bad, but Sam, he-” he searches for the right words, but comes up blank. Huffs. “We’re gonna fix it. He’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s gone too far already,” John insists, almost shouting. “Sam’s gone. That kid you know, he’s so far off the reservation he’s hit the dead end, and there ain’t no turnarounds. You get that, right?”

“No, I actually don’t,” Dean spits, scrubbing his face, then slapping his hands down on his pockets. Shrugs. “He’s still Sam.”

John stops, then. Shakes his head a little, smiling, looks at his feet. “God,” he says. “Yeah.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

John shakes his head again. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. You two-” he stops himself, like he doesn’t want to finish the sentence. He meets Dean’s eyes again. “Just let me handle this, kid. It’s not gonna be any easier for me, but we can’t let him hurt anyone.”

“Dad, why do you think we came all the way out to this bumfuck nowhere cabin?” Dean spreads his arms out. “There’s no one here for Sam to hurt. No blood for him to drink, no demons, no nothing.”

John pulls his gun from his pants. “You know, I heard other things from those hunters. Things about you and your brother that I don’t-” gun at his hip, he bites at his mouth, looks at the ground.

Dean swallows hard. Blood rushing all through his chest, climbing up his throat under his skin. “That’s not-”

“Don’t,” John says, final. “Just. Just don’t. I can’t.”

They both take an awkward pause. The knife in Dean’s jeans is burning a hole in his back pocket.

He nods his head toward John’s hip. “Put the gun away, dad. You’re not going to kill Sam, alright? We’ll figure this out.”

“I’ve got it figured out already. Stay out here, you don’t have to watch it happen. We’ll give him a hunter’s funeral-”

Dean brings his foot up and kicks the glock out of John’s hand, flicks his knife open. Jams it right up against John’s throat.

He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, almost a whisper. He presses the blade flat, not trying to cut him- not yet. “Walk away.”

John’s face remains stone-serious, cold as hell. “I’m not gonna hurt you, son. You’re not the one who needs to be stopped.” He glances down at Dean’s arm, held steady at his neck. “So you go ahead and do what you need to do, but just know that you’re making the wrong choice letting evil run free.”

“Not everything is as black and white as you want it to be.” Dean swallows again, heart somewhere down in his belly. “Maybe- you know, maybe I used to think like that too. Good or bad. That black, dividing line between us and them.”

“This is as clear-cut as they come, Dean-”

“You’re wrong.” Tears creep up in Dean’s eyes, his nose burning, and he blinks them back, tries to fucking focus. “Sam is-” he tries to think of the right words. He’s never been good with words, with expression. That was always Sam’s wheelhouse.

He settles on: “Sam isn’t evil.” He focuses on the blade, not able to look John in the face for some reason. “The thing inside of him is evil. But he’s kind and smart and a helluva lot stronger than you or me. But I guess you never wanted to see that.”

John sighs. Doesn’t respond. Fear is catching in Dean’s throat, strumming across his spine.

“Is there any chance I can talk you out of this?” Dean’s lip quivers, tears stinging his eyes again.

John gives him a look that’s almost sympathetic. Then- understanding. Or acceptance. Dean’s not sure.

He tilts his head back a little. “I’m afraid not, kid.” He says it quietly. Soft. “I’m sorry.”

Dean nods. “Then I’m sorry, too.”

The blade cuts clean, sharp, but John still gurgles on his own blood, hitting his knees hard, leaves crunching under him- and the blood, God, there’s so much, spitting from his throat in rivers, and Dean steps back so it won’t splatter.

Fuck, Dean thinks. Fuck. John stops struggling, twitching after what feels like an hour but is really only seconds. And Dean falls to his knees, too, pukes right there in the grass, hands burning with how hard he grips the ground.

He sits there for a while. It’s so quiet. The air tastes like copper. The sun begins to set, heavy and warm over the forest around him.

And then he pushes himself up. Drags John by the boots as far as his legs will carry him- tomorrow, he’ll get a shovel. Do right by his old man.

Sam’s still asleep when he comes back in, turned over on his side with the book thrown across the floor. Dean toes his shoes off, lets his jacket hit the wood floor.

He tucks himself up behind Sam, nose pressed into his back, takes a huge breath. Tries to get his hands to quit shaking.

“Dean?” Sam tilts his head back a little, stretching his legs out. “You alright?” He slurs. “Didja go to the store?”

Dean nods, eyes wide open. He pulls away from Sam, then- lays on his back so Sam won’t think something’s up. “Yeah, Sammy, I did. Got that Campbell’s soup you like.”

“Nice,” Sam says, yawns. Dean’s chest feels like there’s a gaping hole, unfurling at the edges. “Sorry for falling asleep. You want me to go get some firewood for the-”

“No,” Dean says, a little too fast. Sam turns over, eyebrow raised. “I mean, uh- no. It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” He smiles at him, the way he does when he’s about to say some stupid shit. “You need to catch up on your rest, princess, don’t let me stop you-”

Sam tries to whack him with his pillow, but Dean catches it before he can. “Dick,” Sam says.

Later, when Dean gets up to grab wood for the firepit so they can cook dinner, Sam says: “Hey.” He’s watching The Goonies on the shitty, box TV they managed to get working.

“Is for horses,” Dean retorts, easy, distracted with his boot laces.

Sam does that bitchy little sigh he does when he’s annoyed or trying to say something. “Seriously. Dean, I-”

Dean looks over at him.

“Thank you. For everything. That you do for me, I mean. For us.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Don’t get too mushy about it.”

When he gets outside, he walks faster and faster until he’s running, cold air biting the tips of his ears until he falls at the foot of the forest and heaves, nothing left to lose from his stomach.

#enjoy!! this took me about a day so please reblog if you like it!#supernatural #samdean #john winchester #spn au #spn ficlet #wincest #wincest ficlet

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megsironthrone · 3 years

Text

The “Handmaiden’s” Sister

Based on this request: so Y/N is shae’s playful n honest younger sister (think lizzy from pride and prejudice) who works in the castle n shae n tyrion keep her out of joffrey n cersei’s eye n out of trouble but at a feast hosting the northern houses a drunken joffrey notices her n tries it with her but she rejects him. she’s ab to be punished but ramsay volunteers to do the punishing himself at the dreadfort which joffrey gets smug ab. but actually ramsay was fascinated by Y/N n was saving her n they fall in love

Here you are! *Familiar Characters are NOT mine!*

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of violence, blood. Brief mentions of torture(not actual torture, but mentions of possible torture) Typical Ramsay and Joffrey. Dark! Changed a little from the request because Ramsay in love is HARD for me to write.

Pairings/Characters: Ramsay Bolton x fem!reader, mentions of Joffrey.

When your "sister" Shae had insisted that Tyrion bring you along to the Red Keep, you had been excited. You enjoyed new experiences, although not as much as your sister. Tyrion agreed, if only to keep your sister with him, and you found yourself doing honest work in the Keep. You didn't mind the work. What you did mind were the lecherous gazes and touches. Although none made you more uncomfortable that Joffrey.

He was a child by all rights, despite wearing a crown atop his head. And he was to be married to Lady Margaery. Both of those things were marks against him in your book. Add to that the stories you'd heard of his cruelty and you were not the least bit impressed or interested. That didn't stop him from trying and it all came to a head one night during a feast he held in honor of the Northern Lords that were loyal to him.

You could only avoid him so much that night as you were required to wait on the head table. That meant being in Joffrey's vicinity the entire evening. Every time you went near, there were small touches and little comments that no young boy should know the meaning of. And you were so focused on avoiding Joffrey that you didn't notice the eyes of one of the lords glued to you.

Ramsay was intrigued by you. There was something about you that he couldn't put his finger on. Oh, you played the dutiful servant very well. You acted demure and never spoke out against those stationed above you. But Ramsay could see something brewing behind your (e/c) eyes. Something dangerous. Something devious and he liked it. He knew he had to have for himself and Ramsay saw his opportunity when you finally pissed Joffrey off one too many times.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps you should look to one of Lord Baelish's prostitutes to warm your bed for the night for I certainly won't." Ramsay relished in the bite of your tone. There were only a handful of people who heard your comment, but it was enough to embarrass the poor Boy King. His face grew red and the veins in his neck popped. Still, you didn't back down.

Joffrey gripped your arm and Ramsay had to force himself to remain calm. In his eyes, you were already his and no one else should be putting their hands on you. "I could have you killed for that, wench," Joffrey said through gritted teeth. You glared at him and replied that you didn't care. Anything was better than having his hands all over you. Then you said something else not suitable for young children's ears, practically emasculating the king. Ramsay had to stop himself from laughing.

Joffrey stood, his hand still gripping your arm. The rage was evident on his face as he nearly threw you at Ser Ilyn. "Ser Ilyn, remove her head." It was then that Ramsay decided to act. He stood and reluctantly bowed to Joffrey. "Your Grace, let's not ruin this delightful feast with an execution. Besides, for such an insult, the girl needs to be taught a valuable lesson in knowing her place. I volunteer to take her back to Dreadfort with me. You'll find I have a gift for…teaching unruly servants lessons."

Joffrey's eyes swung to Ramsay briefly before returning to you. Ramsay wasn't looking but clearly there was enough fear in your eyes to bring a sadistic grin to Joffrey's face. "Very well. Ser Ilyn, escort her to the cells for the night. Tomorrow, she shall be Lord Ramsay's prisoner and return with him to the Dreadfort." With that, Ser Ilyn lead you from the room and Ramsay met your gaze. There was a bit of relief, yet still fear and defiance in your eyes. Ramsay looked forward to what was to come.

The next morning, Ramsay pulled you into his wheelhouse behind him. You scooted as far away from his as you possibly could. Your eyes never left his as he sat back opposite you. For a few moments, he merely stared at you and you stared back. Only this time, you were glaring at him in defiance. Ramsay smirked and leaned over to say something. That was when you flinched.

"Ah, so you are the scared little mouse." Your eyes narrowed at his tone. "I am not a mouse, milord. But I know what you plan to do to me. I do not want to die." Ramsay sat back a little, still regarding you. He laughed lightly. "My dear, I have no intention of killing you." You scoffed before replying, "Torturing me until I long for death is the same."

"I do not plan on torturing you either." You blinked in surprise. "Why?" you asked before you could stop yourself. Ramsay pondered for a moment. "You intrigue me. You are a mystery I wish to unlock. As long as you do as I say, whatever I say, no harm will come to you. You shall be under my protection."

"I'm not a whore!" you snapped, taking Ramsay back for a moment. Then, he began laughing. "I never said you were. I didn't save your life just to have you in bed, although I wouldn't be opposed. I have other plans for you, my sweet." Your brows furrowed in confusion. Ramsay reached over and gripped your knee.

"What plans?" He smirked again, leaning closer until your noses were almost touching. He noticed a shiver run down your spine. "Revenge, my sweet. I'm going to teach you the ways to get revenge on those who wronged you. Including Joffrey. Nothing will stop you."

"Not even you?" Ramsay let out another chuckle. "If you can defeat me, I deserve to be defeated. But I don't think you'll want to. My plan goes beyond just teaching you my ways. By the time I'm finished, you'll never want to leave my side." Another shiver coursed through you, making Ramsay smile in triumph.

*time skip*

True to his word, when you arrived at the Dreadfort, Ramsay had his servants set up chambers just for you. He took you down to the dungeons, scaring you half to death with the many devices of torture down there. He watched your face as you took everything in. You were curious and that scared you even more than the devices themselves. But Ramsay wasn't going to give you time to adjust. He began showing you that very night how they worked and how to inflict the most pain with the least amount of effort.

That was what lead you to the moment you were in now. Covered in the blood of your unfortunate victim, breathing heavily as your (e/c) eyes met Ramsay's. He was smirking proudly, his arms crossed over his chest. You hadn't set out to hurt anyone that morning, but the man had insulted you. He had nearly attacked you when you hadn't responded to his verbal attack. After so long, you lost it.

On the outside, Ramsay looked proud as a peacock. On the inside, the man was in awe. You, this incredible woman in front of him, were not the frightened mouse he had thought. You were glorious. You were amazing. Blood was spattered on you as your chest heaved and Ramsay couldn't deny his attraction in that moment. In two steps, he crossed the room, gripping your face in his hands and crashing his lips to yours.

To his surprise, he heard your weapon hit the ground and you deepened the kiss. Whether this was love or not, Ramsay didn't know. He knew he'd never felt something so raw. So animalistic. So…intense for another human being before that moment. If it was love, Ramsay was never letting you go. You were his. Forever.

(a/n: I know it’s not the fluff you were hoping for, but I hope you like it all the same! I should probably not watch Deadly Women while I write Ramsay XD)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @etherealpotter @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @cd1242 @gruffle1 @smalltownbigheart @igotmadskills

#george r.r.martin #game of thrones #ramsay bolton #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay x reader #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: torture

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dwellordream · 4 years

Note

Maybe this is too much of a risky question, so feel free to not answer if you don’t want to, but how do you think Sansa actually viewed or felt about Arya, and how do you think she will react when they meet again?

Well, our introduction to how Sansa views Arya is through her very first POV chapter: Sansa comes down for breakfast at the inn, Septa Mordane asks where Arya is, Sansa knows Arya has snuck off somewhere but claims Arya wasn’t hungry. At this point I would not say Sansa is covering for Arya out of the kindness of her heart, I would say that, in typical sibling fashion, she really just does not want to be in the middle of a Mordane versus Arya conflict. She is not so hostile towards Arya that she is willing to throw Arya under the bus at a moment’s notice, but she isn’t going to concern herself much with what Arya is off doing. This, of course, is immediately foiled with Mordane tells Sansa that Cersei has invited her and Arya into the wheelhouse for the day, and that Sansa needs to go find Arya and tell her to make sure she looks presentable for their time with the queen. From the way Mordane says, “Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps.” I get the impression that Mordane giving instructions or warnings to Arya via Sansa is not at all uncommon, and that this probably does not at all help the relationship between sisters, if Sansa is often being asked to act as Mordane’s mouthpiece when she’s fed up and doesn’t want to deal with Arya. We then get this: The only thing that scared her about today was Arya. Arya had a way of ruining everything. You never knew what she would do. "I'll tell her," Sansa said uncertainly, "but she'll dress the way she always does." She hoped it wouldn't be too embarrassing. "May I be excused?" Sansa views Arya as unpredictable, her first POV suggests. She’s never sure what Arya is going to do, but she knows it’s probably not going to be met with approval from the people around them. “Arya had a way of ruining everything.” is point blank not a nice thing to think about your sister, obviously. Why does Sansa feel Arya ruins everything, that Arya is embarrassing to her? Well, we’re about to find out: "You better put on something pretty," Sansa told her. "Septa Mordane said so. We're traveling in the queen's wheelhouse with Princess Myrcella today." "I'm not," Arya said, trying to brush a tangle out of Nymeria's matted grey fur. "Mycah and I are going to ride upstream and look for rubies at the ford." "Rubies," Sansa said, lost. "What rubies?" Arya gave her a look like she was so stupid. "Rhaegar's rubies. This is where King Robert killed him and won the crown." Sansa regarded her scrawny little sister in disbelief. "You can't look for rubies, the princess is expecting us. The queen invited us both." "I don't care," Arya said. "The wheelhouse doesn't even have windows, you can't see a thing." "What could you want to see?" Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she'd feared. "It's all just fields and farms and holdfasts." "It is not," Arya said stubbornly. "If you came with us sometimes, you'd see." The scene is both fairly comedic, in that they are such different pages they might as not even be in the same book, and pretty much sets up what we know to expect from their dynamic. Sansa doesn’t hate Arya, but she feels that if there is one thing in her personal life (as narrow a personal life as any 11 year old has) that does not fit, that does not work the way it should, it is Arya. Arya doesn’t think like Sansa. Arya doesn’t share the same interests as Sansa. Arya doesn’t seem to care (in Sansa’s perspective) what Sansa thinks or what anyone thinks. We know Arya, does, in fact, care quite a lot about what Sansa and other people think of her, but this is not apparent to Sansa. Sansa is thrilled at the thought of spending the day with Cersei and Myrcella, viewing this invitation as the very tip of the iceberg- she’s been betrothed to the crown prince, this is going to be her life now, idyllic rides through the countryside, court gossip, spending time in the presence of the queen herself, renowned for her beauty. Traveling in a wheelhouse is a big deal for someone raised at the isolated Winterfell. Sansa doesn’t care about the outside world, she can’t stand the thought of missing out on all the excitement going on inside. In her mind, she is verging on the precipice of grownup life. Grownup ladies sit in the wheelhouse and chat and do needlework and read to one another. They do not go tearing off into the countryside looking for rubies. But it’s not just that Arya acts ‘childish’ that annoys Sansa. It’s that Arya’s behavior does not fit the standard Sansa has been raised to uphold and to see as right and proper. Arya does not nod and go, “Sure, Sansa, let me put on my grey velvet and I’ll be right there!” Arya argues with her. The big sister! The gall. Arya refuses to put on her nice grey dress. Arya plays with the butcher’s boy, someone Sansa has been taught is not a suitable companion for a highborn girl. Arya wanders off, talking to all sorts of people, regardless of class. Sansa sees herself as well on her way to becoming a woman, but not only, in her view, does her sister act like a child in comparison, it’s that she does not even act ‘like a proper little girl’. Arya disregards the gender norms Sansa has been told must be upheld. Arya is defiant, Arya is stubborn, Arya says what’s on her mind. To Sansa, this means any social situation with Arya is a ticking timebomb. She is constantly annoyed and aggravated, afraid Arya will offend Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, etc. Little does Sansa know, Arya is also often on edge in these situations, feeling like she can’t do anything right, that Sansa doesn’t like her and is ashamed of her. However, what I do not read into this initial scene, though it ends with both sisters annoyed and frustrated with one another, is genuine hatred. Arya refuses to come along, Sansa pulls the classic older sibling ‘fine, I’ll go by myself, and it’ll be lots of fun!’ hoping to use some reverse psychology, and Arya gets one last jab in as Sansa stalks off. Sansa is tearful, not because she’s going to miss Arya oh so much, but because now she’s going to have to explain where Arya ran off to, and she’s afraid it will make her look bad or that Cersei and company will think less of her for having an ‘unruly sister’. All of this is pretty realistic to the behavior of some bickering 11 and 9 year olds. Both girls are sensitive, but in different ways, which again, makes sense. Even in the midst of their fierce argument, Sansa is still giggling at Arya trying to brush Nymeria’s fur, and Arya still offers to let Sansa come along with her and Mycah. We know from Arya’s POV, moving forward, that she feels genuinely hurt by Sansa’s disapproval, that she feels the absence of a close sisterly bond, that Sansa and Jeyne’s comments of ‘horse face’ whether teasingly meant or deliberately provocative, make her feel insecure and small, unworthy and unwanted. But neither Arya nor Sansa have the skills to communicate their true feelings or exactly why they aggravate one another so much. More so, why Arya aggravates Sansa so much, as Arya is not nearly as upset by Sansa’s more ‘ladylike’ behavior as Sansa is by Arya’s ‘rebellious’ behavior. Again, I think this is fairly reasonable. They’re 11 and 9 and Septa Mordane is not at all one to be promoting conflict resolution. Ned doesn’t spend much time parenting either of them on a day to day basis as they travel south. They’ve been separated from their mother, which is a pretty big deal for two little girls who’ve never traveled before, nevermind traveled without the rest of the family. They don’t have their brothers as buffers; Sansa can’t confide in Robb, Arya can’t confide in Jon. They don’t have a ton of privacy; they’re sharing a tent or an inn bed together at night, they can’t just run off to opposite ends of the keep to get away from each other, because they’re on the road. The mundane stressors are exacerbating an already rocky relationship. But none of this is all that out of the ordinary or odd. Neither of them has flung any major insults at the other in either’s POV so far, they haven’t had any big conflicts. What really goes on to totally change the dynamic is the Trident incident, and all the emotions tied up in that. That is not a ‘normal’ situation. That is a situation none of the kids present (including Joffrey and Mycah) should ever have been in. That is four kids wandering off into the woods, miles away from any adult supervision, two of them at least tipsy, one of them carrying a weapon. Neither Sansa nor Arya woke up that day expecting things to go that way. It is so beyond the pale that what follows is the equivalent of a nuclear bomb in the relationship dynamic. There is no way either comes out of that with anything close to positive feelings, in the direct aftermath, about the other sister. It is written that way by design. It’s not a nasty spat where some cruel things or said. It’s not a shoving match over who gets to watch TV or shower first. It taints the entire relationship for the rest of the book, and it guarantees that things ‘end’ on a bad note for the sisters, because neither has any forewarning to realize that there will be no chance for a reconciliation a few months down the line. Before that, what we see is, in my current reading, a more or less ‘normal’ sibling relationship. It doesn’t excuse the bullying Arya’s experienced growing up at Winterfell (which Sansa certainly does not recognize as bullying at the time of the first book) but it is not traumatizing and earth-shattering to the level that the Trident incident becomes. This really didn’t answer how I feel Sansa will react when she and Arya meet again, but to cut things short before I go on all night: Sansa currently believes Arya is dead. She’s not thinking of reconciling with Arya or thinking of her last months with Arya because it’s painful and what is the point? Arya is dead and she’s never coming back, in Sansa’s mind. She will never have a sister again. This seems doubly true to her, no doubt, after the Tyrell scheme falls through and she is married to Tyrion. However, we do see her, as of Winds, befriending Mya Stone and Myranda Royce, neither of whom are people the Sansa we see in AGoT would have ever thought of spending time with. And before that, we see her doing the sort of things with Margaery (such as going hawking and racing horses) that Arya might have, had the opportunity arose, offered to do with Sansa. Sansa thinks of Arya as she’s warning Margaery about Joffrey. Sansa dreams about children with Willas, sometimes a daughter who looks Arya. That does not suggest contempt or disdain or lingering loathing, in my opinion. So I would say that Sansa’s initial reaction to meeting Arya again will be shock and disbelief, then overwhelming joy that not all her family is dead (assuming Arya is the first sibling she reunites with). I do not think it will be a cold stand-off between sisters. Arya has been thinking of Sansa too, frequently in A Storm of Swords, even. I truly hope that past the initial thrill of being reunited and the awkwardness of both of them being a few years older, they are able to speak openly and honestly about their childhood, that Sansa is able to apologize, that Arya is able to express herself, that both are able to agree to move forward together as sisters who love each other and who want to support one another.

#sansa stark #arya stark #valyrianscrolls #ask #anon

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the-starfleet · 3 years

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I now got head cannons/brain child's/shenanigans/hijinks galore! and also an ass tone of questions...

I can imagen Zip resting by Zeb's side in wolf form and Zeb just curling around him like a guarding parent. Zak maybe doing some stupid thing of seeing how long he can stay on Zeb for like a bull ride. Zeb maybe getting horse shoes and nearly bucking the person giving him them out of pain. Some play fights with Hercules and Zip. Ten Cents and Zeb racing. Zug turning fearful of Zip because his only experience of werewolves before is Hercules. Herc and Zeb having a calm moment of just talking, maybe trading stories about Zip and Ten Cents. Zeb actually coming up with a ton of puns based that he's a horse now. Zeb having a god awful time of having someone ride him for the first time let alone having a saddle on period. Zeb suddenly being really good at archery. Ten Cents and Zip's first date after Zip has been cursed, Zip transforms and the two just walk around the woods for a bit. An arc where Zeb and Zip go through deciding to join the Stars properly, for the sake of safety and also not hurting anyone in Zip's case.

Okay, now questions (Feel free to ignore). What type of horse is Zeb? What was Hercules's reaction to seeing Zeb? Do they know that it was Captain Star who cursed them? Do Zip's and Zeb's bonds grow stronger? How was Zip's first full moon? What did he do? How did he prep if he did at all? How did the Z's first see Zeb? Did he try to hide it originally? Did he call out for help and the Z's just came in to see Zeb struggling to get up? What were their first reactions? Who did Zip tell first he was a werewolf? How did he himself find out? Did he just accidentally whimper or growl or something? How did Zug start treating Zip when he found out he was a werewolf? How did the others find out and start treating him?

That's all I got for now, hope I'm not being pushy, please tell me off if I am.

(cutoff so it doesn't get confusing-)

hmm...

i can totally see Zeb being a little overprotective of Zip (considering what happens with the Zeds) at that point, they both don't know what the hell happened but they're like this now. they gotta stick together.

i think Zeb would only tolerate Zak riding him for a short while until he gives up and tells him to get off.

in certain circumstances (such as when he's inside the Zero Marine building) he'll need them. but he prefers not to wear them if given the option, he just feels better not wearing them.

YES. WHAT MAKES IT EVEN FUNNIER IS THE FACT I CAN LITERALLY SEE THEM AS THAT ONE VINE OF THE KITTEN TRYING TO ATTACK A LARGE CAT THEN IT EASILY GETS KNOCKED OVER

THAT'S TOTALLY THEM

zeb would totally win in that instance, he has four legs and tc only has two.

also horses are faster than deer so-

sounds logical enough. the other two are now scared of zip as well, because they have seen what herc is like when he's pissed. if zip was pissed, that'd be really bad.

herc may not have feelings for zeb anymore, but that doesn't mean they can't talk about the children they adopted. (basically "anyways my kid's a dog now" "mhm")

yep, pretty much. ("zip." "oh hi zeb-" "i thought i told you to stop horsing around." "..." "seriously, get back to work.")

the only crewmates he'd actually let ride him would be the Switchers, since he doesn't want to re-experience what happened with zak again.

he doesn't use the gun that he used to use and rather starts using a crossbow (and yes, the normal bow and arrows if needed) although he doesn't really do hunting anymore. since he became a centaur he kind of sees that hunting monsters is wrong, so he doesn't do it anymore.

MHM. they'd definitely have a date on the full moon at some point, it'd be kind of inevitable because they're working all day and are only able to see each other at select intervals.

here's the thing… they do actually join the Stars. Zip joins first and after convincing Zeb, there's only three Zeds left.

now it's time to answer questions-

he was like "...what the FU-" because it was a geniune surprise to him. but then he just joked about it and went "now that's just ironic- don't you all double as monster hunters? how the tables have turned." and all zeb can say is "shut up i don't know what happened"

answer to the first question can be found right here.

nobody knows it was Captain Star, not even his fleet knows. it was just assumed zeb was cursed by one of zero's enemies and zip got attacked, although both of them would've remembered if they were. that's the only conclusion they have so far.

it definitely brought them closer together, being the only two monsters of the Zeds brought a sense of trust between them.

i'm planning on writing about it at some point, but basically… he was about to go home then he was struck with severe pain, ran over to the Star building and called out for help, ten cents got him outside and pieced everything together, then zip started to transform so tc needed to get him to somewhere safe. he carried zip as far away as possible from the docks while he was transforming because he knew that wherever herc was, he'd be able to help out far more than he could. but while he was trying to find him, zip had fully transformed and attacked him. tc began to run away with zip chasing after him, casually screaming for help so who else to dive in and scare zip away but herc. zip indeed ran away but ended up being captured by zeb and zug, who locked him in his tugboat until they knew he turned back. the Stars on the other hand, all got tc patched up and let him stay with captain star until morning.

he was pretty damn worried that they'd find out so he didn't come out and purposely skipped out on the briefing (although he listened from inside the building) and didn't bother talking to anyone or coming out of his wheelhouse all day. but sooner or later they did find out- they were all shocked, (keep in mind this was before zip found out he was a werewolf) zorran and zak kept making snide remarks about him and the switchers just stayed quiet. they didn't know what to really do. until zip muttered that maybe zeb should kick zorran or zak if they made another remark, to which he laughed and decided he would. so he did and although they keep making said remarks, they make sure to never do it in front of zeb or the switchers. otherwise they'll definitely get bucked.

the first one to find out was tc, then the rest of the stars. although the whimper or growl on accident thing sounds like a good way for him to find out, he basically found out after he was told what happened the night he transformed.

when he found out, he was definitely scared. zip was now a monster that could easily kill him, he had to keep his distance. he didn't stop working with him, but he made sure to try not to piss him off on accident or do anything that might trigger him to transform or attack something.

they treated him really badly. because he was the newest, was dating a Star, and was now a monster (which they're supposed to hunt) this just pissed off zorran and zak, who already treated him really badly from the beginning. zeb (and a bit of zug) acted a little different towards him, zug was more distant but made sure to actually treat him like a friend (out of fear of him transforming) and zeb was the thing that kept him in line and prevented zorran and zak from even getting close to him. he was sick of their bullshit.

hope that covers everything!

#this is tugs #bigg city port #humanization #humanized #monster au #monster!au #long post #au #au time #alternate universe #thanks for the submission!#mutuals

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chupacabrahhh · 3 years

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*~{ Garden of Golden Deer }~* a Fire Emblem: Three Houses Part 1 drabble

okayyy this is kinda brazy, I've never written fanfic for a video game before but man fe3h really got my imagination juices goin, and it's all thanks to my wonderful Golden Deers Q v Q

[ set during the aftermath of ch5 when Miklan is defeated & you rescue the Lance of Ruin. I recruited Sylvain the previous chapter and he replaces Lorenz in my house. The professor tells her students a story her father Jeralt once told her long ago. ]

It was nearing late afternoon, and the end of the Golden Deer’s lesson for the day. Byleth had everyone practicing combat moves they had drafted earlier, the sounds of weapons clashing ringing throughout the training grounds. The professor herself was locked in special dedication with Sylvain, the Sword of the Creator parried against his newly acquired Lance of Ruin. This was the first time he was allowed a feel for the relic in combat, but his clammy grip and furrowed brow gave insight to inner turmoil unlike Byleth had ever seen on her student’s face, especially when wielding a lance with which he was already very proficient.

“Of course he must still feel some type of way over Miklan. I bet he hasn’t laid a hand on the relic that stole his brother’s humanity since the day it was handed over to him. This must be very difficult for him..” she thought empathetically. Next to Claude, Sylvain was her most cocky and skilled student with their weapon of choice. She had never seen him mishandle a lance or without a confident smile on his face, but in front of her now he kept changing grip position and shifting the weight of the Lance of Ruin away from him, his body language screaming that he still wanted nothing to do with the thing. Byleth wished she could ease her student’s troubles, but she didn’t know what to say to comfort him about wielding this Hero’s Relic when she herself still wasn’t all that acquainted with the Sword of the Creator. And her past experience as a mercenary made her nothing if not numb to the taking and end of life, either around her or by her own hand. Suddenly, a memory from years past flickered back into her consciousness from a time when she was very small and had questioned death for the first time, before it became a daily part of her existence.

“Sylvain, that’s enough for today,” she nodded at him with eyes as kind as she could emote, and sheathed her sword. “Everyone, wrap up your sparring and meet me underneath the oak tree outside of the training grounds.”

She turned her back to the sounds of her students exclaiming victories over the others or getting into teasing squabbles. Byleth grabbed her water canteen on the way out and took a few gulps, knowing she would need the hydration for what she planned next. A part of her felt nervous at the coming prospect but an even greater part was assured in the comfort she hoped to bring her Golden Deer. Taking a seat on a large rock underneath the shade of the great tree, Byleth closed her eyes and tried transporting herself years back in her memories of being a small girl in her father’s arms. She could recall the feeling of his fur coat’s neckline as she gripped it, could smell the crisp air of winter’s final gusts as spring made its grand appearance across the land. At this time the mountains were still capped white but the valleys were turning lush and verdant, and buds of the bravest flowers were starting to stand tall, yet withheld the magnificence of their blooms.

Opening her eyes now, she gazed upon seven colorful and expectant faces all looking up at her with mixed expressions, her own little garden she was tasked with tending. Sigh, but the face of their biggest problem plant- er, child, was not among them.

“Claude, get your golden butt over here and sit down with the others. I haven't dismissed you yet.”

“Augh Teach, I was just a few steps away from making it home free, if only you had stayed in your trance a moment longer,” the house leader lamented teasingly but obediently plopped down in the back of the bunch beside Leonie and the Lance of Ruin, which Sylvain had expectantly distanced farthest from him as he sat towards the front of the bunch.

“Professor, are you going to make us meditate because that’s really not my thing and I already promised to meet someone for tea so,” Hilda piped up next and smiled sweetly as she twirled the ends of her pink hair, hoping to be obliged to leave as well.

“No, Hilda, we are not going to meditate and I promise this won’t be long. I’d like to share a quick little story with you all.”

“A story?” Lyisthea spoke next with a twinge of annoyance coloring her tone, but her doe eyes gave away her true excitement.

“Yes, this is a story my father told me back when I was a young child, and it’s stuck with me ever since. As we continue receiving missions that send us onto the battlefield, you’re all going to have to become very acquainted with death, which still might be a difficult or painful concept for you to grasp, understandably.” The mood had shifted from playful to pensive as she brought up death, and the change had caused that prickle of anxiety to return. Lecturing about battle tactics was something she had been forced to get used to by now, impersonal, automatic and well within her wheelhouse, but storytelling with colorful language and emotional sentiment was definitely leagues outside of her comfort zone. She gulped back the fear quickly and cleared her throat to begin, not wanting the silence to stretch any longer than it had.

“This is a story about what becomes of those who die on the battlefield.” Her opening statement grabbed the attention of all her students, with Leonie leaning in the most, obviously setting her expectations high as she hungrily awaited the words of Jeralt. “It was around the end of the Lone moon and I was small enough to be carried by my father but had already seen the handiwork of what he and his fellow mercenaries were hired to do. The image of bodies lying facedown on the land had been imprinted into my mind, and as we walked among the melting snow and coming flowers, I asked him what would become of those who died fighting? Accomplished nobles had grand sendoffs, and villagers were lovingly prepared by the hands of their families, but what was to become of those violent strangers who met their end in a random battlefield? Without missing a beat, he said…”

Byleth took a moment to appreciate the looks on her deer’s faces, with Sylvain’s amber eyes gleaming the brightest of the bunch.

“They become flowers.”

“Flowers!?” Raphael booming incredulous tone contrasted the professor’s soft spokenness.

“Yes, the fighters become flowers. As their blood and life force seeped out of their bodies and into the land, the great exchange was transmuted by the goddess into the most delicate and lovely creation, flowers. What’s more, he explained, was that the soul of each warrior who had taken life as their means of living would spend their next reincarnation as a flower, to learn the lessons of fragility, powerlessness, and surrender. A brief moment in their soul’s journey back to the goddess where they embody what it means to be defenseless. A child could come running along to pick it, a deer grazing and eat it, or at the end of the year it withers to the natural cycle of the seasons, never once harming another soul in its lifetime. He says that is how balance is restored and how all warriors learn the lesson of gentleness.” Byleth concluded her storytelling with a breath and leaned back with a tiny amused expression watching the unexpected existential and poetic tale turn over in their minds.

Leonie was the first to speak up. “Pardon me, Professor, but I have trouble believing Captain Jeralt the Blade Breaker came up with a story so… uh, flowery.”

“Very perceptive, Leonie, you do know him well. You’re right that that tale didn’t originate from his thoughts. My mother told it to him. But I can assure you he does believe in its message.” Leonie blushed and huffed embarrassedly at being praised by her one-sided rival but nodded once in acknowledgement.

“So Teach, do you believe in that myth? That you and he and all of us will reincarnate as flowers in the next life?” Of course she was expecting that from Claude, a languid smirk on his face as he awaited her answer with interest.

Byleth pondered her inner self for just a moment then nodded slightly. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh, I knew that to be true, Professor! I always noticed that wherever you walk, you always take care to never step on flowers. It’s something I always admired about you..” Marianne was softly glowing with a rare joy then remembered she was in the company of all her classmates and immediately wiped the smile from her face and looked downwards.

Ignatz spoke next, the stars of inspiration lighting his whole body language. “Professor, thank you for sharing such a moving tale! I believe it must be true, as it aligns with all that I believe the goddess values as well! A-and if I may, Professor, I believe that in your next life, you will be a grand and magnificent tree, just like the one we’re all gathered under.”

“Ignatz, so bold! I’m impressed with you!” Sylvain smiled teasingly and ruffled his peer’s olive bowlcut, causing the boy to blush an even deeper shade than his proclamation had him before. “And I have to say, I agree with you. The Professor has to be a majestic and wise tree,” he said, turning his smile towards her. Byleth noticed most of the darkness had left his amber eyes and his inner light was shining through once again, so even though the storytime was a bit embarrassing and uncomfortable, seeing him embody a bit of his old self again made it all worth it, as much as the wonder in the rest of her Golden Deer’s faces. Yes, she felt herself smile genuinely, they were indeed a vibrant garden of individuals.

#WHEW UM YEAH #STAN GOLDEN DEER #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #fe3h fanfic #golden deer #fear the deer #moomoo ramblings #sylvain jose gautier #claude von riegan #Byleth eisner #Leonie pinelli #Ignatz victor #raphael kirsten #lysithea von ordelia #jeralt eisner #marianne von edmund #hilda valentine goneril

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instantbee · 3 years

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Passage of Time in RWBY V8E7 “War”

So this post is gonna be a bit out of my wheelhouse. And also quite long.

I tend not to care about setting inconsistencies, or choreography inconsistencies, or really any of the setting/timeline/etc aspects of this show that are a little off or inconsistent. I will straight up ignore a ton of stuff that isn’t the things I find interesting. Which is Characters, their motivations, backstories, interactions. Characters are really the heart of why I love this show so much and I’ll ignore or discount an awful lot in service of that. (For example I really don’t care a single whit that the Haven Academy fight wasn’t that good because the plot and character beats were interesting)

So this post is a bit outside my wheelhouse in this respect and also that I am in no way an artist, writer, animator or anything. But some people in parts of the FNDM are using this inconsistency to harp on Ruby, Weiss and Blake, and their perceived inactivity in episode 7.

So I’ll get to it and put the rest under the cut.

An entire day appears to pass during the events of Volume 8 Episode 7 “War” and it’s making people misjudge RWB

I’ll lay out the events of the episode and give some examples, then talk about what I think may have happened, then discuss the issues I have with some people’s views of RWB after this episode. I fear this may be a long one.

So It is dawn at the beginning of the episode and it is night time by the end of it.

A lot of discussion about this issue has seemed to focus on the passage of time in the entire volume, saying that the whole volume’s timeline is off but I checked and it’s just “War.” Episodes 1-6 have consistent timelines across all the groups’ concurrent plots.

The episode opens and at about 3:50, we see the Ace-Ops and JYR in their ship. It is dawn outside.

About 5:20 minutes into the episode we see Emerald peeping on Salem. it is Dawn outside.

At 10:40 as we see outside the whale it is the middle of the night. The sky is clearly visible through the clouds. There are stars and the Moon in the sky

The rest of the episode happens and we don’t super see a direct shot of the sky again.

So I’ll pop down some proof in the form of screen shots.

This is Emerald peeping on Salem at 5:20. It’s a whale TV so the picture is wobbly but it is dawn. Consistent with the previous episode’s time line.

This is the front facing exterior whale shot at 10:16 It's night time. You can see through the clouds that would be obscuring the sky and making it dark.

THIS is the shot that I think is messing up the timeline and messing up people’s analysis of the characters’ actions in the episode.

So that is night time, straight up. You can see through the clouds that would be obscuring the sky and making it dark. The sky is dark. There are stars. The moon is shining. That is a night sky. But, and this is the massive speculation portion of the post. I’m not sure it’s supposed to be.

I think, and this is only speculation since again, I am exactly zero types of artist, that the intention is for it to be so dark because of the clouds obscuring the sky. Which would make sense and be consistent with the timeline.

I think what may have happened is that they loaded in a night sky behind the clouds in order to make the animated cloud layer look darker. Since I suspect that the cloud layer is transparent or translucent and needed extra darkness. Then they didn't add in the rest of the clouds.

Because if this shot was exclusively clouds it would all make sense from a timeline perspective, and there would be no issues. So it may just be a layering/post production error where the night sky used for lighting the clouds wasn't fully obscured.

That’s the production and screenshot stuff that is messing up the timeline I think.

Now, on to the Character issues. Stuff I feel more qualified to talk about.

Some people have taken this apparent passage of time as a reason to shit all over RWB. Portraying them as uncaring, unmotivated, or in fact betraying everything they have ever stood for. Sipping tea as the world ends. This is unfair to these characters. If there is a massive time skip and a whole day has passed, RWB are not unique in having done nothing.

No one did anything. (This is why I am inclined to believe it is an error)

Winter and the Ace-Ops evidently stopped having their conversation with JYR about the bomb for the whole day and flew around for the entire day only to continue it at night.

Ironwood didn’t do anything all day.

Salem didn’t do anything all day.

Penny evidently fell for an entire day. (it is possible she did things off screen and this is the aftermath of events we have not seen)

Emerald and Mercury had their conversation, Tyrian grabbed mercury to leave. Then they evidently just hung out in the whale all day before leaving.

it is unfair that so much of the conversation has been directed to RWB not doing anything all day as some sort of character issue. That our heroines are hypocrites or betrayed everything they’ve ever stood for. That it’s our heroes not doing anything or not caring that people are dying when NO ONE did anything.

This kind of criticism isn’t new to the RWBY fandom. People like to pick reasons why our heroines are wrong and evil people, or stupid children who should listen to their authority figures. People have especially done so during the Atlas arc. (that is an entire other bag and we shan’t be opening it here)

RWB didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t believe they wasted a whole day twiddling their thumbs and doing nothing while people died. And if you think they did then you have to acknowledge that every single other character in the show did too.

I don’t have a real good closing here. I don’t think an entire day has passed and I extra don’t think an entire day passed in 5 minutes of airtime. My biggest issue is that people seem to be finding another hollow reason to shit on as much of team RWBY as they can and ignoring every other character to do so. Hollow and baseless criticism of our main characters really annoys me.

Like I said, I can ignore an awful lot in favor of character and story, and I intend to do so again here. This episode had a million and one amazing character moments and I intend to spend the mid season hiatus focusing on them. But this one really bothered me. Sorry for the long post.

#rwby #rwby volume 8 #rwby spoilers #rwby v8e7 #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna

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