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#if only wings didn’t take me ages maybe I’d do them more
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Soap has always been your hype man. Before you met him, your confidence was utter shit. Then he slung an arm around your shoulder—literally taking you under his wing—and you haven’t been the same since.
Sparring on the mats in the gym? He’s barking orders—keep your hands up, lass! Protect your face!—and singing your praises when you get in a good hit, knocking him back a few steps.
“That’s it, hen! Fucking hell, woman, look at you! Damn near took me out with that right hook!”
He coaxes you through discouragement when you just can’t get that kick-punch combo he’s been trying to teach you for ages. You want to quit but he won’t let you, squeezing your shoulders and giving you tips on how to improve, even though he’s told you a thousand times already.
“Don’t hold back now. You’re just a wee sweet thing but I know you’ve got some fire in your belly. Come on. Let it out. Hit me with all you’ve got!”
And when you do finally get it right? He has his arms in the air, victorious, before he scoops you up into a hug.
Drinking him under the table on a Friday night? Soap is the one cheering you on the loudest. Sure, he talks a big game, and he’s competitive as fuck. But you’re his weakness, his Achilles heel. He wants you to win. He wants to see you confident with victory, even as he plays it off.
“Ya cheeky lil’ shite, I’ll get you next time. You can run that mouth all you like, sweetheart.”
When you gloat and rub his face in it, he gives you the fondest look of adoration on planet earth.
The only time he’s suspiciously and noticeably not hyping you up is when you have a date. He’s kinda…grumpy about it actually. And he scowls a lot with his arms crossed, grumbling.
“What did you say this boy’s name was again?”
“You’re not running a background check on him, Soap,” you reply smoothly.
“Just thought I’d give him a wee talkin’ to. You know, man to man.”
You shoot him a look that clearly says, not going to happen.
He doesn’t say anything when you leave. No parting words of encouragement. You had expected at least an off-color joke like the ones he tosses around with the rest of his team, something about staying safe and using condoms. But his gaze is uncharacteristically solemn as he watches you walk away.
However, Soap will be right there with ice cream and beer in hand when the date doesn’t work out and/or you break up. You’re a mess—eyes puffy, can’t stop crying, putting yourself down because I just wasn’t good enough for him—but Soap sits on the edge of your bed as you cry on his shoulder and he gently corrects you.
“Come on, my bonnie girl, you know that’s rubbish. He’s the pile of steaming pig shite you should be cussin’ out. Don’t waste your tears on him, all right? He doesn’t deserve them and he certainly doesn’t deserve you.”
You manage a watery little smile and Soap cups your cheek, kissing your forehead.
That kiss stays on your mind. For weeks and weeks. It was a simple kiss—a gesture of comfort, nothing more—but the firmness of his chest beneath your hand on his heart, and the way you wanted to just melt against him had you entertaining a thought you had never considered before.
Maybe…maybe Soap wasn’t just a friend.
After that, you looked at him in a new light. But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him about it. If he said no, he didn’t share your feelings, you were certain it would break your heart in two permanently.
So, when Soap came back from a mission, bloodied, bruised, and wincing in pain, you thought you were going to be sick with worry. As you flew into his hospital room, he was already sitting on the edge of his bed. And he caught you with an arm around the waist, hugging you into his side with a small grunt of relief.
“I’m fine, hen, I’m fine. A few bumps and bruises, that’s all.” Then he gets this little smirk on his face. “Although it couldn’t hurt if you worried your pretty head over me. Just a wee bit.”
You gave a shaky little laugh and mumbled you’re so full of shit but he just shrugged. And then his smile faltered and—God help you—his gaze fell to your mouth. He brought his hand up, cradling your cheek in his palm, his thumb tracing along your lower lip.
“Johnny,” you whispered because your body was on fire with want, and if he didn’t mean it, you were going to combust.
He cupped your chin, his thumb anchored just beneath your lower lip. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. Pressing his mouth to yours in a deep, searing kiss was enough to take your breath away and tell you everything you needed to know.
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magpiepills · 22 days
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Volume 6
Bat’s Recs Masterlist
I’m a little shocked and amazed that I’ve been consistently doing this list for 6 weeks now. I e probably just jinxed it.
Anyway, on to the smut!
Please like, comment, reblog, and follow the writers that get you double horned up. Let them know they ruined your underwear. They love it.
⚠️charge your vibrator and lock your door⚠️
Untitled by @ozarkthedog
This isn’t even a fic but let me tell you- Joel Miller jumping his bedding to thoughts of you? Say no more. Stain them sheets, honey.
Amateur by @ezrasbirdie
Oh noooo! Poor technologically unsavvy Joel got caught watching porn and running his dick my his bestie’s daughter?? What a shame. I love horny Joel. I love that he kinda sorta wishes she would call him daddy. He’s gonna get a computer virus on his little beige windows 2000 desktop, but it’s worth it.
Tick by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin
I’m not sure I really have anything horny to say about this, but this is still just a perfect, heart breaking, real fic. The part in the passenger seat?? Im getting choked up again just thinking about this. Maybe have your Charmin double roll handy.
Adrift With You pt 6 by @morallyinept
This fic is updated every Sunday and I wait for it like a dog next to the door. I am fully on this island with Frankie and Jude and watching it all unfold. No spoilers about this chapter, but, holy hell. There’s no smut yet, but the story development is just second to none. Just three and a half more days until the next chapter!
Declined by @alltheirdamn
I read this and was inclined to go out and pop my hood and just beat the shit out of whatever is under there. Start pulling stuff out. If only there was a sexy middle aged mechanic who would repair whatever I broke in exchange for sex. Life’s not fair.
Code Broken series by @auteurdelabre
I read this all in one go. Joel is kinda dark and kind of a creep and reader is kind of frustrating and skittish, but when they connect? The smut smuts. It’s so hot. From the first time to the last time and the times in between. Ughhhhh. This one is fully worth dropping whatever bullshit you’re supposed be doing to read.
Between Two Lungs by @ozarkthedog
Another by ozarkthedog, yes. This fic had me at pussy stacking. I will always read Joel x Tess x reader, but this one was just so good. So sexy. There’s not enough pussy stacking in fic. They’re such an easy throuple, too. Sigh.
Fluffer by @proxima-writes
Here we have pornstar Dieter getting his face ridden by someone he thinks is his fluffer. Add this to my list of careers I wish I had pursued. Seriously, this is so Dieter.
Captive by @joelsgreys
Edit: I put the wrong review with the wrong fic cause I’m a dumbass! Here’s the correct horny review!
This fic makes me want to get kidnapped. I need daddy Joel to come get me, keep me in his boarded cabin, make it weird for other people, and creampie me on the reg. I don’t think that’s asking too much. I’d will myself to have Stockholm syndrome for this man. I’d make excuses for him. I’d validate him nightly. “Well you had to massacre and pillage that camp, baby! You didn’t have any choice! Now, come to bed!” Insanity.
Crimson and Clover by @gasolinerainbowpuddles
Red wings Javi G. Puddles, you’ve got a way of taking something I didn’t know I was into and making me so into it. He was so sincere and so tender and so, so horny for menstrual reader. Period sex is rarely written in such a real way, but in a way that is also nasty and makes me want to have nasty, messy period sex on the bathroom floor (of a huge house in Mallorca.) a girl can dream.
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yanyanderes · 1 year
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can’t get the thought of yandere rottmnt turtles x villain (y/n) out of my mind
yeah there’s a lot of potential for angst and stuff, but i’m gonna focus on the crack. put everything under the cut cuz it’s a long ramble
like, (y/n) and the turtles are fighting, leo keeps flirting with (y/n), raph yells at leo because he doesn’t want to make (y/n) uncomfortable, mikey is being an absolute fanboy (like (y/n) could literally grab him by the face and throw him to the ground and he’d be like “omigosh i’m never washing this face again!”) and donnie’s the only one (except raph kind of) taking this fight seriously because he just wants to get the handcuffs on (y/n) so they can take them to the lair
i like the thought of (y/n) being all frustrated and yelling “TAKE THIS FIGHT SERIOUSLY!!” and donnie’s like “YES I’D LIKE THIS TO BE OVER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE” but leo says something along the lines of “aww (y/n) you’re so cute when you’re mad” making donnie yell at him and (y/n) throw him into a wall or something
like, donnie and (y/n) are the most enemy-like. donnie’s the only one who fights them seriously, they’re the biggest rivals, but they also end up agreeing with each other a lot of the time, and (y/n) actually respects the amount of effort put into his inventions
possible donnie villain arc? haha, jkjk…. unless-
i also like thinking at some point during a fight, one of the brothers says something like “haha i’m totally (y/n)’s favorite” and they all start arguing, to the point where they stop physically fighting just to argue. like, even donnie stops fighting to argue and (y/n) is just standing there like 🧍
and then the turtles all turn to (y/n) and go “(Y/N) I’M YOUR FAVORITE RIGHT?!” and (y/n) goes “WDYM I HATE ALL OF YOU!!”
or maybe (y/n) is super manipulative and says something like “i mean, i hate all of you, but i hate this one turtle a little less” and they all start arguing even more and (y/n) uses the opportunity to get away
bonus points if (y/n) works with/under another villain and there’s a platonic yandere. there’s so many possibilities.
foot clan (y/n), where foot lieutenant and foot brute are platonic yans and cassandra is a possible romantic yan.
draxum henchman (y/n), where draxum is (y/n)’s father figure and huginn and muginn are like annoying little brothers.
big mama worker (y/n), where big mama dotes on them all the time and they’re employee of the month every month and she spoils them. they could spend a week doing nothing but having tea with her and she’d still pay them more than any of their hard working employees.
(y/n) who was a student of hypno-potamus before he was mutated but continued supporting his career anyways.
(y/n) who works for repo mantis, they were looking for a job and couldn’t find success anywhere else so they ended up at repo mantis salvage. (y/n) didn’t judge him for being a crazy mutant, and repo wasn’t about to complain about another set of hands helping him out, and he ends up being like a cool uncle.
(y/n) who works under meat sweats. their dishes actually impressed him, especially with their young age, and he took them under his wing. even after being mutated, he still finds opportunities for (y/n) to really show off their skills.
i’m sure i’m forgetting someone but that’s enough rambling for me-
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fairy-verse · 25 days
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can i ask for more uh kross interaction? or fun facts? like what do they do together? does cross ever like get cuddly, the only way cross can, and just hold onto killer?
“Killer, I swear—”
“Hah! Then you must swear a lot, Crossy,” Killer sang as he continued to dance circles around the black-and-white hybrid, shuddering from the cold but having far too much fun to feel bothered by it. The winter winds might be on Cross’ side when it came to warning him about the oncoming freezing night, but he just couldn’t help the way he loved the sight of Cross outside in the light of the setting sun. That white-yellow light just made Cross’ wings shimmer so beautifully, and the faint colour of purple sparkled brilliantly as he moved, like gemstones.
Killer loves to tease Cross and it drives the black-and-white fairy mad with annoyance! Rarely will he have peace and—and—and oh… The sweet kisses Cross receives when he finally catches Killer is the loveliest reward in the world.
Cross yearns for companionship and is secretly very clingy. Killer yearns for attention and is openly clingy. Cross + Killer = Profit.
Even though Killer takes clear pleasure in driving Cross up the wall with his shenanigans and mischiefs, he loves it even more when he has Cross so flushed and so smitten that his wings flutter on their own from the overabundance of emotions he’s experiencing.
Cross can easily be persuaded to not rise early in the morning from having his usually feisty mate nuzzle up to his chest and purr in blissful slumber.
“You know you purr in your sleep,” Cross said, smiling fondly as he cradled Killer’s cheek, enjoying the sight of his sockets seeming bleary despite the lack of light within them.
“I don’t purr in my sleep,” Killer objected, yawned as his wings quivered when he stretched, and immediately slumped back down onto Cross’ chest. “Maybe you just heard me kiss your bosom in my sleep,” he teased but immediately faltered into a light blush as he looked up at Cross’ face, seeing only a tender smile filled with fondness and affection. It made Killer’s exposed soul flutter.
Cross would hold onto Killer and never let go if he could, but Killer gets restless after a while and Cross cannot forgo his duties, so it is with great shame that he must release his little mate.
“I am not little, you’re just freakishly tall.”
“Oh…”
“Psh, not in a bad way, you big softy. You know I love the way you tower over me when you get all protective and possessive; hmm? Criss-Cross,” Killer sang.
Cross blushed.
Killer got to see firsthand how strong and intimidating Cross can be when engaged in battle or when protecting those he loves, and by the stars, he felt a primal need to just immediately take him back to the nest and have a faerling with him. He immediately choked at his thoughts and blamed his spring fairy tendencies for that.
Cross pretends to not notice how much Killer stares when he’s training, but he knows; he knows all too well and he’s purposefully showing off.
Killer is insufferable when it comes to bragging about how he caught Cross before anyone else could. After all, what fairy wouldn’t want a Warrior/Knight fairy for a mate? There is hardly any better for making strong and healthy faerlings!
“I would love to have a faerling with you one day, Killer.”
“Ach! W- wh—hehehe, what is this about, Crossy?” Killer choked, laughing nervously even as he blinked in shock as Cross’ hand came to trail the edges of his soul, touches so light it almost tickled.
“You don’t have to answer me yet, I just want you to know that… That I’d really love to have a faerling with you. I could even be the one to carry it if you’d like.”
Being rendered speechless for the first time in ages, Killer found himself unable to answer for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a faerling… He just didn’t think anyone would ever want one with him, being a hybrid and all. But then… maybe Cross had that same thought hidden within that thick skull of his, though unwilling to reveal such insecurity in this tender moment where he just wanted to show Killer how much he wanted to bond with him.
… A faerling.
“Heh…”
Cross lifted his gaze to meet with Killer’s.
“Maybe I’d like that… one day,” Killer said, and the smile that broke over Cross’ beautiful face made Killer’s façade slip as his brows furrowed and his lips quivered with emotions. He couldn’t help but smile, too.
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The Winged Servant - 4
cws: emotional state that's verging on a panic attack, emotional manipulation, discussion of whumpee's death, whumpee trying to stop himself from having any type of preferences, let me know if I missed anything!
masterlist
Everyone here had their own set of rules. Some were easier to follow than others. Her Majesty the Queen was particular about me being graceful, while no one else really cared how I walked. Prince Ryan made sure that I knew every task I was given was for me to finish completely and perfectly, while Prince Cardan found it entertaining to give me two tasks I clearly couldn’t complete at the same time. The separate rules could be confusing sometimes, but generally, they weren’t too hard to figure out.
Jayden’s rules were hard to figure out. Maybe because of the lack of them.
Jayden was the only other servant here. Still higher ranking than me, because he was human, but closer than anyone else. Higher ranking enough that he could’ve treated me like everyone else did—like all I was useful for was servitude. It would only have been fair.
He didn’t treat me like that. He smiled when he saw me and gave me leniency when I made mistakes. Good servants didn’t have likes and dislikes, so of course I didn’t like working with Jayden more than I liked any of my other tasks, but I was incredibly grateful when I did work with him.
Jayden was in charge of making meals for everyone, and I helped with dinner every night. It was my last task before eating dinner and getting any punishment I’d earned during the day. Maybe making dinner wasn’t a difficult job, or maybe Jayden tended to give me the easy parts of it, but either way it was usually the least eventful part of my day.
“Hey, Onyx! Good to see you. Can you start some rice?”
“Yes, sir.” Rice was easy. Rice was put two ingredients in the same pot easy. Rice was I don’t want you doing difficult tasks easy.
Jayden gave me easy tasks and treated me like a human.
Of course, it was better than I deserved, and I really shouldn’t have accepted such kind treatment, but it was… nice.
“Once that’s cooking, start on the dishes, yeah?”
I nodded. Dishes were easy, too, just more time consuming. Jayden didn’t like doing dishes—said that his hands were wrinkled enough from age that he didn’t need them wrinkling more from getting soaked in water all the time. He wasn’t that old—his sixties, I thought—but I liked his wrinkles regardless. His hands were softer than anyone else’s when he patted my shoulder or squeezed my hands. Or maybe his hands were just kinder than anyone else’s.
Dishes were also easy to get lost in. It was a routine—rinse, soap, scrub, rinse, dry, repeat. It was easy for me to do, and easy for me to zone out while doing, because of the repetitive nature of it. Jayden didn’t usually mind when I zoned out, though. He would tap my shoulder if he needed my attention. It was kindness that I was taking advantage of, I was almost certain, but it was nice regardless.
He tapped me on the shoulder today, and I turned, but he wasn’t the one standing behind me.
“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” I mumbled, dropping to my knees and bowing. I was supposed to bow when royalty entered a room, which meant that I was late right now, but Prince Ryan wasn’t supposed to be here. That’s not how the schedule worked. I swallowed around a lump in my throat. “May I assist you with something?”
“Sorry to interrupt. Jayden, you’re finishing dinner on your own, but Onyx will be back to serve it like usual. Onyx, we’re doing your punishments from this morning. C’mon.”
Punishments were supposed to be after dinner. They were always after dinner. I made mistakes throughout the day, and then I was punished for them after dinner, before bed, so that I’d have the opportunity to rest in between punishment and the chores of the next day. Punishments were never-
But Prince Ryan was standing in the kitchen right now, and he had just told me that I was being punished, and I was always supposed to do what the royal family told me to. That rule trumped the others—do what you’re told.
I scrambled to my feet as he walked into the hall, following him to the office. It had hardwood floors, which were easier to get blood off of than the carpeted ones in the bedrooms. If I had to serve dinner while bleeding, I would probably make more mistakes. Prince Ryan knew that. That’s why my schedule was the way it was.
He glanced back at me as we entered the room. “Sit down somewhere. I have a little bit of paperwork to finish filling out, and then we’ll get started.”
Prince Ryan had an entire filing cabinet dedicated to me. Most of it was papers documenting my mistakes and punishments. I’d known that already, but usually he didn’t do it with me here. He said I was more useful doing almost anything besides watching him write things down.
I sat down on the floor next to his chair, trying to keep my posture perfect. He didn’t ever fill out paperwork with me, and he didn’t ever punish me before dinner, and of course I wasn’t supposed to question anything the royal family did but I didn’t understand why everything was so different today. Jayden had been weird too, and Prince Cardan had said that thing about how tonight I was going to-
“Fuck, Onyx, are you crying? I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“My apologies, Your Highness.” I hadn’t realized I was crying, too focused on the discrepancies of the day, but I rubbed at my cheeks immediately, trying to get myself to stop. I wasn’t supposed to cry around other people. It made me look pathetic and attention-seeking. Her Majesty hated it. Prince Ryan tolerated it occasionally, but I still shouldn’t be doing it, especially when he hadn’t even touched me.
“What’s wrong? You’re not usually this…” He looked me up and down. “This pitiful.”
“My apologies.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question. Is it because I’m doing punishments before dinner today?”
“No, I just, I don’t want-” That wasn’t right. Good servants didn’t have wants besides wanting to serve the crown. “Um. I would be, I’d be very grateful to live, Your Highness. Are you killing me tonight?”
He blinked. “No. What?”
“The punishment time was wrong, and, and His Highness Prince Cardan said that I would die tonight.”
Prince Ryan exhaled through his nose, and I flinched at his frustration. “Yeah. He did, you’re right, I forgot about that. Okay. Listen, you understand that you’re supposed to trust the things we say to you, right?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“That’s good. I’m glad. You believed him because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and I appreciate that, but the thing about Prince Cardan is that he entertains himself by making my life as difficult as he can. The reason I’m punishing you early tonight is because we have other places to be after dinner, which you weren’t told about because servants like you don’t get to know about these things in advance. Cardan said what he did because he thinks you’ll die, which he’s wrong about. He also thinks it’s funny to watch you worry about things. You're not dying.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Your Highness,” I sniffled.
“Yeah. But you’re not supposed to let this type of thing get under your skin and affect your performance, and this is definitely affecting your performance.”
He was right. He was always right. I was a servant. I needed to focus on completing my duties as a servant, and trust that the royal family had my best interests in mind. Letting myself get stuck on these things would only negatively affect my behavior. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
He stared at me for another moment. “You need to stop crying.”
“I know. My apologies.”
“My mom is- the queen is going to have my head if you’re all sniffly and jumpy like this after dinner. You get the rest of the time it takes me to fill this out, maybe three minutes, and then you need to be able to keep yourself composed.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you.” Three minutes. I breathed as deeply and quietly as I could manage. Three minutes was enough. It would have to be.
~
Taglist: @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox
ps: sorry I swear I was going to punish onyx in this chapter but ryan thinks he gets to monologue every time I write him. BUT next chapter's first draft is done, I've just gotta edit it, so onyx will for sure be hurt soon.
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bidonica · 2 years
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Art in HotD - 1x04 “King of the Narrow Sea”
(more art in Westeros) - (more art in HotD)
I didn’t set out to do an episode by episode analysis, but it’s not my fault this show keeps giving me material, so,,, Also I’m sorry for not embedding the references in the post and linking them out instead, but Tumblr keeps a ten images limit per post and I’d rather anchor the commentary in screencaps.
The episode opens with a look at the inside of Storm’s End (which we never got a description of in the books because all the action happens outside). It’s very spartan and undecorated, which sort of tracks with the Baratheon vibe.
Back in King’s Landing, we get a shout out to the textile art of Qohor and Norvos, which shows that they really are doing their homework because the tapestries are only mentioned in passing in the books when describing the council room. Unfortunately we don’t get to actually see them because Viserys decides to be a dick about it to Alicent. Boo.
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We get a good look at the fresco under the wisteria arbor in the godswood. It seems like another instance of Valyrian taste being inspired by Roman antiquity, as it’s reminiscent of Roman garden painting:
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It seems to be a more naturalistic, loose style of painting compared to both the more archaic looking erotic art from inside the Keep and the “international Gothic” style painting behind Viserys in the previous episode. This decorative naturalism tracks with both the paintings we got from imperial Rome, and the Renaissance approach to landscape.
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Are those braziers to the left here dragon shaped or griffin shaped? the way the wings are rendered makes me unsure, but I would actuaally love if - kind of like in the real Middle Ages - the heraldic representation of animals wasn’t entirely accurate (see also the Velaryon seahorse sigil). Or it might really be a griffin, a Connington gift or an Essosi import just like the aforementioned tapestries. I also wondered how many pieces on set were commissioned and how many bought ready made because they fit with the aesthetic.
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The dragon in Rhaenyra’s room. At least she doesn’t get sex/fertility art in the room where she supposedly grew up. My immediate reaction to the picture, however, was to associate it with the erotic paintings because it’s sort of flat and the lines are bold, but it’s also very flowery and ornate in a way that I associate more with the hunt painting from episode three that I “dated” to Jaehaerys’ reign. On the other other hand, the fact that it hides/signals a secret passage makes me think this might also come from Maegor’s reign.
And now, on to the good stuff: the scene where Daemon is banished to the Vale by Viserys gives us a clear, well lit look at the columns in the throne room. Let’s rewind the tape for a moment: the Great Hall in GoT looked like this...
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It makes sense that it looks different two centuries later, and it has become richer and more refined. It also makes sense that Robert’s regime would have tried to hide or destroy the Targaryen signifiers around the Keep as much as possible (though in the books it seems limited to Robert taking down the dragon skulls and no substantial structural change is mentioned). But I also think HotD is jumping at the chance to imbue its design choices with lore in a way that GoT never cared to do, so - besides having an Iron Throne that’s more in line with how it’s described in the books - it makes the throne room another celebration of the history of House Targaryen. And once again it does so by looking at Imperial Rome: enter Trajan’s Column.
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Trajan’s column was a monumental column, and as such didn’t serve a structural purpose like the ones in the Great Hall, but like their obvious inspiration they seem to depict war scenes - if you enlarge the screenshots above you can see soldiers wearing helms, warriors on horseback, archers, and in the bottom frame of the column on the right what seems like a cluster of shields (maybe a callback to the testudo formation, also depicted on Trajan’s column?)
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The middle row here is the most interesting because it seems to depict a dragon wing flying over soldiers, while a crowd overlooks the scene from a balustrade (possibly cheering for the dragon?). If we assume that these columns have been designed with the Roman blueprint in mind, the narrative should be continuous across the different rows, so it’s unlikely that this scene is the conclusion of a war as it’s in a middle row.
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Hard to tell which war, though. The armors and weapons depicted are stylized enough that it’s difficult to date them or even place them geographically; these could be scenes from the Conquest (the first two Dornish wars?), or wars from Valyrian history. Either way, this version of the Great Hall has been designed so that people who enter it see not only grandiosity, but also a long and victorious history; makes sense especially because relatively to Westeros, Targaryens are *new* and foreign, even more so when the Keep was built. The decorations on this most public facing room establish loud and clear that the house of the dragon is strong and has a history, something the sometimes very old nobility of Westeros has got to respect - and fear.
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elamimax · 1 year
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I wrote a short story set in a specific universe. For context:
Humanity has been conquered by a largely benevolent precursor species that took one look at the galaxy and went “alright, you kids can’t take care of yourselves. You’re getting drugs and therapy,” and subsequently set out to put everyone’s toys on the top shelf until they could be trusted to play nice. They’re called the Affini. It’s generally a kink setting that includes a lot of petplay, consent play, and similar triggers that are associated with a setting named after a first entry called “the Human Domestication Guide.”
None of that is all that relevant to this, though. None of those triggers, other than forced therapy and healthcare. I’m using the setting as a way to explore what “curing” my mental health issues might do for me or to me. If someone “fixed” me, where would that leave me? For that reason, expect a bit of internalised ableism, or at least explorations thereof. Idk. I have thoughts farting around in my brain and I’m making it everyone else’s problem.
———————————
“Sometimes I mourn her. The artist I almost was. Or used to be, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I used to be an artist. Not just a writer but an author. I wrote a bestseller, back when that still meant something.”
“Oh?”
“I was… fifteen? Something like that. I wrote about pain and sadness but with more eloquence and gravitas than most people my age did. It was a chart-topper for a bit and it meant that for a decade, people paid attention to what I wrote, which meant I could write more and, maybe more importantly to me at the time, it meant I could live off of it.”
“But then the Affini arrived.”
“Then the Affini arrived. Exactly. Money became meaningless, so ‘bestsellers’ stopped existing altogether. Can’t have a bestseller if you’re not selling them. But it was more than that. God, it’s what, fifty, sixty years ago now? Jesus, I’m old. Anyway. For a few decades I actually just kept writing. Didn’t have to worry about food or anything anymore, so I just wrote for the hell of it. I think those might be some of the best years of my life.”
“What changed?”
“I did. Or rather, I didn’t. And that was a problem. I have… a chemical imbalance. Or I had, I guess. It makes regulating emotions almost impossible. Every feeling is the most feeling I have ever felt in my life. It used to be. I wasn’t scared, I was existentially terrified; I wasn’t happy, I was ecstatic; I wasn’t sad, I was distraught, etcetera. And that wasn’t going to last.”
“Why not?”
“Do you know how hard that is? When I fell in love, I abandoned everything for that person. Family, home, whatever. I have cheated so many times because whoever I loved, I loved more than anyone I had ever loved before. And I’m not even going to entertain the notion of justifying that. Anyway, it meant that I’d broken my life to pieces a dozen times over. But the Affini were actually remarkably willing to let me do my thing. The town I was from had surrendered peacefully, and I had too. I had no issues with our leafy overlords.”
“But they took issue with your lifestyle.”
“You could say that. When you have a brain like mine, sometimes you need it to shut the fuck up. It all gets too much. Pills. Alcohol. Weed. Whatever you can get your hands on. Except the Affini only allow you to go so far. You can’t hurt yourself, you see. So the first time I got so drunk I was ready to pass out in the street, they were on me in less than a minute, I think. Flushed the alcohol from my system. They were very worried. Two more times and I was put under permanent supervision. An Affini had taken me under her wing to make sure I didn’t ‘seek more self-destructive behavior’. That’s when they did a proper scan and found the imbalance.”
“Did that fix it?”
“Yeah, it did. I wasn’t scared or angry or sad all the time anymore. It was great. Right up until I tried to write anything.”
“It didn’t work anymore?”
“It didn’t work anymore. Oh, I wrote a few more books — writing is a craft as much as it is an art form. Words are just words — but I didn’t have the power to move people anymore. You know, I think that… When we read a story, we expect things to be slightly larger than life. A monster has to be the scariest monster ever put to paper because otherwise we can’t imagine it. The page dilutes the emotion so you have to lay it on thick.”
“And you were good at that.”
“I was really fucking good at that. I wrote a love story so heartbreaking people sent me death threats. Best thing I ever put to paper. Anyway. When that imbalance was fixed, I couldn’t write about that anymore. I felt things so strongly that, when I put them to paper, they resonated with people. But after that, all I could write was rote fluff.”
“So you couldn’t write grand works anymore?”
“It’s not even that. Like… I had no reason to write anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Why do we write? Why do we tell stories? Sure, you can say something about mythology and passing on knowledge and all of that, but there’s more to it than that, right? Anyway, when the monetary incentive disappeared, I kept writing. I never did it for the money, and anyone who says that all fame is awful is fucking lying to you. But that’s not why I did it. I wrote because if I didn’t, my head would fucking explode. My head was full and projectile vomiting the stories and emotions in my head onto the page was how I dealt with that. When the feelings became ‘normal’, the well of word vomit dried up.”
“So what did you do?”
“What any self-respecting artist whose entire identity revolves around suffering would do: I tried to kill myself.”
“Which failed.”
“Obviously. More xenodrugs. More therapy. God, so much therapy. And it was good and necessary, don’t get me wrong. Being alive is a lot better than being dead. I learned to value my life, that there is more to life than achievement and creating Good Art or whatever that means. You can have a meaningful life just being happy.”
“But you’re not?”
“No, I am. I’m more consistently happy now than I’ve ever been before in my life. But even the happiest person in the world will mourn the loss of a loved one, and I think I do still love the person I used to be. I mourn her, anyway. She could have written something great.”
“And you can’t?”
“Not really, no. Even if I could write with the memory of how I used to feel things, I kind of can’t. I wrote because I had to. When I hadn’t written in a while my hands itched and my eyes burned. The whole world was… have you ever seen the air above a hot stove? Like that. Without that drive… what’s the point?”
“For others to read the story, no?”
“You don’t understand. We live under the yoke of a civilization so grandiose and successful it spans entire galaxies. There are trillions of sapient beings that coexist under the Compact. What story could I possibly tell that has not already been told better?”
“Wasn’t that true before, too?”
“Sure, but back then I didn’t care! I have no story I have to tell, no way to tell it if I did, and no reason to tell any at all. Sometimes I do resent them for that.”
“The Affini?”
“Yes. It’s why I tried to end it. They took away what had felt like my purpose, because it was self-destructive. I am happier now and that, I think, counts as a win for them. I have no desire to end my life, which is mostly fulfilling and content. That I resent them for not letting me choose to be miserable is almost part of their entire ethos: that us humans, if given the choice, will choose to be miserable so often that we can’t be trusted with the choice to begin with.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
“I do. But I wonder sometimes if it matters. I wonder sometimes how many great works of art the universe has lost to the Affini. I understand that they desire to reduce pain. To reduce harm. To make the universe a happier, healthier place. But I wonder. How ethical is it really to take away the pain from someone who isn’t done with it yet? What if my unhappiness was something I needed to feel complete, whatever the fuck that means?”
“Did you try telling them that?”
“I did. I was put into more therapy. More drugs, until I figured it out and they were absolutely sure I wasn’t going to have another go at my wrists again. I took up baking. It’s very satisfying. I made a baguette the other day. It was pretty good.”
“You’re not satisfied.”
“I think you’re misunderstanding me. I am satisfied. There is nothing that I could want for that I don’t have access to. Food. Adventure. Fiction. Love. Sex. Art. Hobbies. Attention. If I could choose now, I don’t think I’d go back. But if past me were to meet current me, I think she’d try to kill me and then herself for how hollow she would think my existence. I don’t have a use for ambition and drive anymore, but she did. I think she’d be very upset at how comfortable I’ve gotten not doing much of anything.”
“But she was unhappy.”
“Deeply. Sometimes. She was also very happy sometimes. She wasn’t a monolith. She was just very extreme. When file the tip off of a pencil, they become a lot more difficult to properly write with.”
“You feel like a filed down pencil.”
“Yes. But at least I won’t hurt others or myself anymore. I’m happy. Comfortable. I just wonder. And I mourn. The universe is happier with the Affini in it, but I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t less beautiful for it.”
“You’d rather people be in pain?”
“That’s an unpleasant way of looking at it.”
“You make it sound like hurting someone is good because it could make them a better artist.”
“I’m saying that the universe wasn’t a happy place before the Affini were in it, and now that they are, it’s like everything is different. A sunrise feels so much better after a cold night. Food tastes better when you’ve been hungry. Soft beds feel better after a long, hard day. I’m not saying every day should be hard or that every night should be cold or that people should go hungry. Just that warm and soft and full used to mean something and I feel like they don’t. Not anymore. Not really.”
“Adversity breeds… happiness?”
“We appreciate the good more if we have the bad for contrast. We’ve raised the baseline and cut off the deviations. I worry sometimes that that’s what the Affini are too busy doing. Equalizing a sine wave. Was I disabled? Most definitely. I was fucking broken, much as my therapist hates that word. I was a shell of a person when they brought me in. But not every broken thing needs to be fixed, and I don’t think all of them understand that.”
“So what would you do if you could go back?”
“I’d write something, I think.”
“And if you couldn’t go back, but you got it back? Your muse?”
“There was no muse.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What would I do if I had my pain back?”
“Yes.”
“I think I’d still write. I think I’d fall back into old self-harming patterns and keep it a secret. Try to be better about hiding from them.”
“What if you didn’t have to hide?”
“If you’re broken? Around Affini? You hide or you get fixed. You don’t really get a say in it. Affini hate broken things. Or maybe they love broken things because they can fix them. I feel like I used to be able to read them, but I can’t anymore. Like I’m too healthy to understand them, nowadays. I don’t know why they do what they do, but they do it. Protect you from yourself, at all costs. Yeah, hiding would be the only option. The only real option, anyway. I’d hide.”
“But what if you didn’t? How would you feel?”
“That sounds self-destructive. That sounds like I’d be dead of alcohol poisoning, drug use, suicide or one of a million other things in a few years.”
“You’re evading the question. That’s not how you feel.”
“I think… I think I’d be angry. Vindictive. I think I’d want to hurt one of them.”
“Why?”
“Because they never asked that question.”
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fandomficsnstuff · 2 years
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A Chance Encounter - 7
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(Warnings: Fighting, blood, death, violence and an itsy bitsy hint at fluff:3)
For the words in bold, if you want to know 100% what they mean, here’s the website I use: https://www.thuum.org/translator.php  
Moodboard credit goes to @quantumlocked310 show them some love!
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Ruth looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, her eyes meeting Aragorn’s and she gave him a quick smile before looking back down at the dagger in her hand, blade made of bone and shaft of cold metal. “Legolas says they’re made from dragon bones” Aragorn noted, gesturing to the knife and Ruth nodded with a small smirk, spinning it effortlessly between her fingers before giving it to him so he could study it further. “Yes… all the bones I’ve collected from the dragons I’ve killed, they were starting to pile up… so I figured I’d use them in much better ways” Ruth explained with a light shrug, Aragorn nodding as he studied the dagger more closely. “I don’t use my… voice… as a weapon because it feels wrong. It’s a gift from Akatosh meant to aid me in killing Alduin… once that was done I-... I didn’t understand why my ability continued to grow, why my powers never faded… I know he only intended for Alduin to die, not every dragon, so why not take this gift away?... It feels too much like blasphemy” Ruth added in a quiet voice, sighing softly “I’ve only used one for fire but-... maybe it’s my old age, or maybe I’ve been spending too much time with the Greybeards… they’re monks dedicated to studying what they call ‘The Way Of The Voice’, practicing the powers that come natural to me in peace, they don’t involve themselves in anything outside their monastery…” Ruth mumbled, taking her dagger back as Aragorn gave it to her, her gaze locked on the floor beneath her until finally she looked at Aragorn “in the upcoming battle for Gondor… even with the army of dead, what do you estimate our chances as?” she asked in a quiet voice, Aragorn sighing as he looked ahead, deep in thought. “That bad, huh?...” Ruth asked half jokingly, giving him a bitter smile as she stood up, sighing “I’ll use what I can, Gondor is a city, cities have citizens, innocent people…” she murmured before nodding to herself, giving Aragorn a forced smile before walking over to Legolas who sat with Gimli, sitting down besides Legolas, giving him a soft smile before looking over her shoulder at the approaching white city of Gondor.
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“Plenty for the both of us… May the best dwarf win!” Gimli exclaimed and Ruth chuckled lightly, smirking as she twirled her daggers before putting them away, stepping to the side into an open area, a purple glow to her eyes. “Durnehviir! Hear my Voice and come forth from the Soul Cairn. I summon you in my time of need. Dur… Neh, Viir” it was as though the entire sky shook as the three words left her lips, a dark purple bubble forming in front of her on the ground, the green, sickly looking dragon emerging from it, roaring loudly as it seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Now that it was daylight, the dragon was more than a green glimpse flying past them. It’s wings were tattered and torn, a green, sickly slime clinging to it’s body, six curved horns protruding from it’s gnarly head, three on either side. It’s scales were a sickly green color that bounced through the green slime that covered most of it’s body. “Qahnaarin. Hi Bel Zu’u! But not for pleasure” the dragon’s voice was deep and dark, booming and commanding in nature as it stared down at the tiny person when compared to itself. “Fah Grah” Ruth stated, the dragon looking around the battlefield, as though it wanted to study it first. “There’s no time for thinking! Help us save that white city or I’ll banish you back to the Soul Cairn!” Ruth snapped annoyed, using her daggers to cut into and kill an orc that had dared to approach the two of them, her green eyes turning back to the dragon in front of her, gold shimmering and shining through, almost overshadowing the forest green. The dragon seemed to almost huff out in anger, as though deeply insulted but eventually it took flight, it’s tattered wings blowing Ruth’s hair from her face as she watched it fly into the sky, a sigh of relief leaving her lips as she hurriedly entered the battlefield once more. It didn’t take long for her to reach Aragorn, cutting down an orc that attempted to cut into him from the back, Aragorn turning at the sound of a thud, spotting the red haired woman smiling at him, a dark shadow covering the sky above them for a brief moment as the green dragon flew over them, burning a path forward for them using it’s purple fire, leaving a scorched path as a trail for the two of them to follow.
Ruth turned her gaze to a giant creature she had heard was called a Mumakil, a smirk tugging at her lips when she saw the blonde hair on top, her daggers sheathed as she got out her bow and drew the string back, letting arrow after arrow fly, hitting the fleeing or fighting warriors on top of the creature, so Legolas could focus on it instead. As the creature began to stumble she spotted Gimli in front of it, a frown on her face as watched him just stand there, unmoving. In the blink of an eye, she had crossed the space between her and Gimli, practically picked him up and taked him off to the side just as the Mumakil landed where he had once been standing, Legolas sliding down it’s snout, landing in front of the two of them, a cocky smirk on his lips. “That still only counts as one!” Gimli snapped, unaware of what Ruth had done as he moved on to the next orc, a smirk tugging on Ruth’s lips as she looked back at Legolas “thank you” he stated briefly and she rolled her eyes “he’s right, it only counts as one” she stated teasingly before looking over the field, watching the army of dead sweep the city and eradicate the orcs left, the fields quiet, littered with bodies but quiet nonetheless. “Ful Pogaas Dinok… And more to come…” Ruth whispered quietly with concern, her eyes moving to the soaring dragon in the sky, a frown forming on her face as she began to walk away from Legolas without a word.
The dragon landed with a heavy thud in front of her, shaking the ground and flaring up dust and dirt around it. “Kogaan” Ruth muttered as she bowed her head in respect, the dragon almost looking like it was sizing her up before nodding it’s head with the same air of respect about it. “I sense you have yet another task for me, Qahnaarin” the dragon stated casually, Legolas watching with a frown as Ruth nodded softly, using his elven ears to hear parts of their conversation. “When I summon you, what’s it like? We’re not on Nirn so… how? Is there a way back for me?” Ruth asked with worry, the dragon looking over the field for a brief moment, taking in all the dead bodies, it’s greenish eyes closing almost as though it enjoyed the sun on it’s body, head tilting slightly towards the sky. “Hevno Laan, Qahnaarin, I am not entirely sure. I feel no different from your summonings on Vus. Nuz Orin Ful, I was never truly on Nirn to begin with, Qahnaarin. What you ask is difficult, I made a pact with the Ideal Masters, it ties me to the Soul Cairn, I am never truly free. You, on the other hand, made no such deal, Tiiraaz, I cannot say with certainty” the dragon admitted in a much more quiet voice, it’s head turning to look down at the small human in front of it. “Daar Tiiraaz Hi, no?” the dragon asked as it titled it’s head at her, watching Ruth as she hesitantly nodded. “Perhaps one of the Deyra can help. They are powerful, are they not?” the dragon asked, Ruth once again giving a small nod in agreement as she kept her gaze on the ground.
“I was-… I was in a daedric realm when I ended up here… Herma Mora’s realm, or a section of it. I was looking for something, used one of the Black Books to enter, tried to leave the same way as always but I-... I ended up here” Ruth admitted quietly, the dragon letting out a sound that sounded like it was pondering, thinking over Ruth’s words. “Which one of his Black Books, Qahnaarin?” the dragon asked with a tilted head, Ruth frowning as she dug through a tiny satchel that always hung on her hip, stunning everyone who was looking when her entire arm disappeared into it, and even more so when she pulled out a book bigger than her entire torso, thick with black pages, black mist seemingly oozing out of it like a full cup, the binding of the book itself almost as dark as tar. “The… ‘Winds of Change’” Ruth read aloud without opening the book, surprisingly putting it back in the tiny satchel with no problem before looking back at the dragon in front of her. “Finish your dealings here, Qahnaarin, then read the book once more and Daal Hofkiin, return home” the dragon advised, Ruth nodding softly, still looking up at the dragon with a small frown. “You wish to see through my eyes once more, Qahnaarin, but I feel the call of the Soul Cairn, summon me at the Monahven and you shall have your wish” the dragon stated loudly, Ruth nodding as she took a step back, the same dark purple bubble of purple fire formed around the dragon, wrapping it up and shrinking, the dragon disappearing until nothing was there anymore but the scorched earth where some of the purple flames still burned on the flesh of dead orcs.
Ruth turned as footsteps approached, seeing Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf approach quietly, tired and covered in one thing or another, a soft smile gracing Ruth’s lips at the sight. “Durnehviir… the dragon you told me so much about, my dear Ruth” Gandalf stated as he walked closer to the woman, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, giving her a soft smile that made her nod. “You should see Odahviing, he looks less… dead” Ruth joked lightly Gandalf chuckling as he turned and walked over to Aragorn and Gimli, the three of them walking towards Gondor as Ruth and Legolas were left standing, the latter taking a few steps towards her. “So… a way home…” he stated, Ruth nodding softly as she looked up at the sky for a brief moment, eyes closed as she enjoyed the warmth of the sun before looking back to Legolas, smiling softly at him as she began to walk towards Gondor, Legolas soon following. “‘Qahnaarin’… what does it mean?” Legolas asked after a while and Ruth chuckled lightly “‘Vanquisher’. He was the dragon I bested but not killed, besides Odahviing but that was more of a trap than an actual fight. Durnehviir was impressed by my ability to overpower him, in return he honored me with that title… names are very important to the dragons of my world, each name holds a certain power over the dragon, like Odahviing, Durnehviir, Alduin. To be named such a powerful title by a dragon is a great honor, and in turn became my name, sort of. It can’t summon me if shouted by a dragon, it can’t command me, but Dovahkiin is used to refer to any dragonborn in time, any with the blood and soul, but Qahnaarin… that is my own” Ruth explained with a satisfied smirk, looking at Legolas as he walked by her side while they entered the gates of the white city. “When the Mumakil fell… Gimli stood where it landed but-... you moved him” Legolas finally noted, Ruth sighing softly as she nodded “yes, another word of power, or Shout, as they’re called. It’s called the Whirlwind Sprint. It sort of… pushes me forward with speed, I had a feeling the Mumakil would land on our friendly little Dwarf” Ruth stated the last bit in a quiet voice, smirking at Gimli as the two of them had caught up with the others by now.
“I’ve enjoyed my time here… despite everything. I never knew another world existed… I knew that mine wasn’t the only realm but this-... this is something else entirely” Ruth muttered as she walked past the white buildings, a smile tugging on her lips at the blinding sight. Legolas took the opportunity to study her more thoroughly, her red hair was a tiny bit longer, but he only noticed it walking right behind her, it seemed to be a darker red than before but it was mostly because of the old dirt and grime stuck in it from over a year’s travel, fighting almost every day with no chance to clean up properly. She had a tiny smudge of dirt behind her left ear, making Legolas smile as it didn’t seem like she had noticed it yet, he was almost tempted to point it out, almost. “Is there a way for you to return?... Once you’re back home?” Legolas daringly asked, Ruth looking over her shoulder, smiling at him “I would have to make a deal with a Daedric Prince… a powerful one… this was a chance encounter but perhaps it could be done. You want me to return?” Ruth asked with a smirk, Legolas’ ears turning a soft pink as he looked down “I don’t want you to leave” he admitted quietly, Ruth halting completely, turning to look at him with a deep frown, Legolas avoiding her gaze before mustering up the courage and looking at her, Ruth studying him with slight confusion. “You-... want me to stay?... I-... I think I want to stay…”
“But?”
“But… I am not sure what you want from me… with me… I can never settle down in this world, I-... I-I have my responsibilities back on Nirn, in Skyrim… I have my friend, Inigo, I have my dogs Meeko and Vigilance, I have people who look to me for guidance. I’m the Harbinger of the Companions, the Guild Master of the Thieves’ Guild, I’m meant to save the world from the dragons that roast people alive and burn down their homes, there’s a civil war tearing the country apart… how can I leave all of that behind?”
“You have a great sense of duty…”
“Master Neloth would be furious…” Ruth joked quietly, managing to pull a small smile from Legolas’. “I would like to one day meet your master” Legolas muttered, Ruth chuckling briefly “if you truly want it, perhaps. But he’s a cold man. Always scowling, thinking himself better than everyone, expects everyone to do as he says without the thought of a reward. He’s stern, ruthless and uncaring for the plight of others…”
“And yet he took you in…”
“And yet, he took me in” Ruth replied softly, a smile on her lips “he is… cold… complicated, a snob, but he took me in, fed me, taught me, I’m sure it was for his own gain but-... he still saved my life” Ruth muttered, Legolas smiling at her “I’m glad he did” he stated, Ruth smiling at him with blushing cheeks. “I’m glad I ended up here, Legolas… I care a great deal already for this world, I will see this through, help Frodo and Sam and Aragorn, and you, I promise you that” Ruth stated softly, her hand carefully taking his, as though she gave him time to pull away, but he didn’t, making her smile a shining grin.
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Ruth was sitting on the steps up to the throne of Gondor, her hair and skin washed clean of orc blood, dirt and sweat, her hair back to a fiery red now that the grime of the road and fighting had been washed away, freckles once again visible, dotted across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose as she watched a worried Gandalf. “Frodo has passed beyond my sight. The darkness is deepening…” Gandalf muttered darkly, Ruth frowning at his words, taking in a short breath and letting out a brief sigh, looking down briefly, his words weighing heavily on her heart. She had been to the Shire many times after Thorin, Fíli and Kíli’s deaths, meeting with Bilbo for tea and cakes, playing with a young Frodo as he grew up. Gandalf turned and crossed the hall, facing both Legolas, Gimli, Éomer and Ruth, Aragorn standing not too far away, his back to all of them, hands folded behind his back. “If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it” he reasoned, Ruth glancing at Legolas before standing up with a brief sigh. “We cannot give up hope, we still have our part to play in all this! We just-... have to-... figure out what that is” Ruth admitted the last bit with a sigh of defeat. “It’s only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping” Gandalf stated with worry, Ruth sighing as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Let him stay there. Let him rot. Why should we care?”
“Because ten thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom” Ruth reminded the dwarf softly, Gimli looking down with a small grumble, her eyes returning to Gandalf who was still troubled. “I have sent him to his death…”
“No, Gandalf… you’ve done no such thing, and you know that, deep down. You’d feel it if he was dead, even from way beyond your sight, you’d feel it. I feel that he’s still alive, Frodo is still alive… and as long as he’s alive, I know he will be fighting… There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth, right? We can give him that” Ruth stated desperately, Gandalf turning to her “how?” he asked, Ruth sighing softly, unsure of what exactly to do when Aragorn spoke up. “Draw out Sauron’s armies - empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate-” he was cut off by Gimli choking on his pipe in shock, Ruth nodding at Aragorn in agreement, even though Éomer stepped forward with concern. “We cannot achieve victory from strength of arms…”
“Not for ourselves . . . But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron’s eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves…” Aragorn reasoned, Ruth smirking ever so slightly. “A diversion…” Legolas stated with a smirk, looking to Ruth who gave him a subtle nod before looking back to Aragorn, Gandalf approaching him “Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait!” he whispered, Ruth stepping forward, gently placing a hand on Gandalf’s shoulder, letting it drop once he faced her. “He will… he’s too power hungry and arrogant, he wants to watch his army as they fight, watch them defeat his enemies at his orders, he’s too wrapped up in how powerful he is” Ruth stated with a small smirk “trust me, I’ve know one or two like him” she added half-jokingly. “Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?” Gimli asked, Ruth giggling lightly as she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes moving to Legolas and she gave him a soft nod, a small frown and a soft smile on her face as she looked at him.
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apirateslifefor--smee · 5 months
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Sunday, November 12 -- Background NPC: Write about a moment of your character’s life from the perspective of an NPC character. 
Time For Tea | Mary
Warnings for: xenophobia
Mr. Arnold didn’t invite street rats ‘round for tea because he wanted to impress them. Or maybe he did, but not in the same way he wanted to impress the bankers and businessmen whom I typically served. It was about putting them in their place, impressing upon them his vast power and resources to crush them if they stepped a toe out of line. He never said this, but we all knew it. 
Still, I was to treat them like any other honored guest. That much was communicated to us, quite directly, by Mrs. Arnold. 
Samuel was small and pudgy, eternally ruddy-cheeked as though he was permanently in a state of stepping in from the cold. He looked familiar, though I couldn’t initially place why. I didn’t ask, anyway— I wasn’t supposed to make idle chatter with the guests. I took his (ill-fitting) coat and disappeared to the behind-the-curtains places staff are supposed to disappear.
I always found these teatimes odd, the ones with youths not much older than I, whom I might have lived and worked alongside if certain events in our lives had gone differently. And sometimes I wondered if that was part of the point. To remind us of our own place, too.
Mrs. Barton piled my tray high with scones just as I finished making the tea, hardly giving me a second look. I knew she didn’t like me. I wondered if it had to do with the fact that I had lied about my age for this job, but I suspected it had more to do with my accent, with the fact that she probably believed my family was here to take jobs away from people who had been here longer. I’d hoped she might see something in me the way Mr. Arnold sees something in the young men he takes under his wing, but at this point I think she refuses even to look.
It was alright. Every week, I collected my carefully-printed check and took it to the bank, and there would be just a bit of money left after all the family’s expenses that I told myself I could one day use for my education. Maybe.
But it was hard not to feel jealous as I round the corner, overhearing Mr. Arnold lecturing Samuel on politics and philosophy.
Of course, it was all horribly boring. But it was a small price to pay. I could already see it— just a few years of coming ‘round for tea and Samuel would be reinvented, in jackets that actually fit him and a refined manner of speaking that made people believe he was born in this part of London and raised at a posh public school in the country. Not that he was—
Well, bloody hell. Now I knew where I had seen Samuel before. Sam, as I’d known him then. I could see it on his face, too, that he knew where he’d seen me before, too. 
I kept my expression frozen, though, as I set the tray down on the table. And Sam rearranged his expression to a neutral one just as quickly. Mr. Arnold thanked me, and I scurried away to my next task. It was all a carefully-choreographed dance: not just the things Mr. Arnold and his company did to impress one another, but my list of duties as well.
The dance continued— topping up the tea and scones, helping Mrs. Barton with the cleaning, tending to the fire, standing by in case I was needed for anything. Eventually, Mr. Arnold instructed me, as he often did, to show our guest to the washroom.
It was only when we had made it to the hallway that Sam finally spoke to me, his eyes wide with surprise. “Mary,” he breathed. “How did you- what are the chances- how are you?”
“Sam,” I replied bluntly, under my breath. “Don't do this. I know from this point forward how this is going to go. You’re going to go back in there and pretend you’ve got no idea who I am-”
“Well-”
“You don’t have to defend yourself. I wasn’t expecting otherwise.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.
“Don’t make promises we both know you won’t keep. We’re both trying to make our own way. I don’t want your help, or your pity, or any of that.” I knew better than that, at this point. “But send Stefan my best, alright? If you still talk to him.”
I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t.
“This is where I leave you,” I added, arriving at the washroom. “Goodbye, Sam.”
It wasn’t, and yet it was. I would continue to see Sam for years after, as his bond with Mr. Arnold grew stronger. And then he was off to Eton and I remained in London, still nursing my small pile of savings. That, nobody could take from me. 
He forgot about me, I’m sure. I forgot about him, too, for the most part. But one weekend I took my grandchildren to the magical town where a fall festival was happening and saw a ruddy-cheeked man instructing a younger person at a game of darts, and I had the oddest feeling that I’d seen a ghost. Or perhaps it was just someone else. These old men in their fine coats and polished speech tend to blend together, don’t they?
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rafor · 6 months
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Chapter 18 - Day 1 - The Glitch
The day was beautiful, and the house was very well located and in a well lit place. Not as bright as heaven, but not too far from it. The day before, I didn’t notice the gardens, flowers everywhere in the streets, and a very well-cared-for place. It wasn’t anything like the city I went through. Greener than ever.
Since nobody came to search for me in the morning, I decided to get outside to check the map of the city. It wasn’t far away. On my way, I saw no one. I was the only soul around. Only in the square were a couple of other dragons. They appeared really young. Maybe even younger than me. They were busy and just passing by, so they didn’t stop to talk to me. That was better for me. I could study the map better.
The city was several square kilometers in size. Yesterday, I got really lucky when I started walking around the walls randomly, since if I went in the wrong direction, I would hit a dead end at the temple location, where there was nothing but a giant crack. I’d have wasted hours for nothing.
The city was split into sections. The closer it was to the temple, the greener it looked and more suitable for royalty. There were multiple squares and a plethora of places that I could visit one day, maybe.
There was also, near my location, what was marked as the “Castle of the Ancestor”. I thought of being somewhat already in a castle, but instead there was indeed connected to the walls a second and smaller one. I could see it from a distance: several towers with banners with unknown symbols above them. I didn’t dare reach for it.
After more than an hour of still inspecting the map, which felt infinite for the amount of details, the same wyvern as before approached without me even noticing. Besides his size, it walked as if it weighted nothing with its single pair of arms that also acted as wings.
I was surprised when it greeted me politely from nowhere “Greetings, Raphael. I see you’re already exploring your surroundings. Do you need help with that?”
I replied, “I’m still learning from this map. I think that I may, thanks.”
He replied, “There’s a better one in the bookshop, if you want me to guide you to it. I’ll show you.”
I accepted, and so we went to the bookshop, another quite big building with several rooms inside. Being inside felt like a maze. Tall libraries. A ton of books of every kind and age.
The map he was talking about was well inside a hidden room. The torches turned on on their own.
I questioned him about them: “Am I wrong, or did the torches light up by themselves?”,
He replied. “They all turn on as soon as you approach them. They’ve been made by fire dragons that can make fire that summons itself as soon as someone gets closer. In the past, this ability was used to make traps or defenses to keep others away. Here they make our light.”
I was amazed by that. It worked just like magic.
We were about to start talking about this other map, but first I wished to know something: “Sorry, it’s already the second time we met, but still, I don’t even know your name. You already know mine. It feels awkward to ask, but what’s your name?”
He replied, “My apologies, I’m Leo. One of the few left after the exterminations of the Wyverns."
That was awful to hear: “I regret it. I was clueless. I didn’t aim to reveal such a heartbreaking truth.”
He replied without showing any sign of worrying “It’s okay. Don’t fret about it. I wrote a book on this topic, which you can find in the library. I can take you there if you’re interested. But I understand that you have more urgent things to learn about our world, especially if Akira was right.”
I questioned, “Wait, oh no, I forgot that Akira had to talk again with me. Maybe I should search for her.”
He stopped me and said, “Don’t worry, she talked with me, and she was unable today to reach for you. That’s why I searched for you, and now that we’re here, you’ve already moved on with something that you were supposed to get some help with.”
For a moment, I felt proud of my moves. I thanked him “Oh, well, thanks, I guess.”.
After that, we moved on to studying the map. First, he explained to me about the city, telling me where I should avoid going and where instead I could find some help from very kind acquaintances, as he defined them.
What I understood was right. The city was split into sectors, but I didn’t expect there to be so many. Also, there was an outside of the city. Not everyone lived within the walls, and there were some minor sister kingdoms not too far away.
He explained them better when I moved to another room with another map. The space felt infinite. We were just moving from one place to another. Each building was colossal. This one, especially from the outside, didn’t show much compared to the temple, but it had these underground rooms where I was that were bigger than those outside.
Anyway, the map showed a portion of the surroundings of this kingdom. It was not a planisphere, unfortunately. When I questioned him about that, he told me that one didn’t exist anymore. The only one that was left was destroyed in an accident some years ago.
Now the only way to reach very far places was to have an experienced guide, and even though he was one of them, he didn’t leave the walls to reach such far places anymore. He explained that it just wasn’t his job. The bookshop felt more like his home, and he was good with that.
Now I started questioning myself about his age, so when I got the opportunity while we were talking about ages, I asked him about it, and he replied, “I’m a Wyvern at about half of his average life, so about 80 years. Sadly for me, my life won’t last as long as other dragons.”
I replied, “Wait, if 80 years is about half of the average, that means that you usually live more than 150 years? That’s a lot. I could never reach such an age. You don’t look so old, though.”
He replied, “Compared to a dragon that can live on average for almost a thousand years, my life is really short.”
I replied to comfort him, “If it helps you to know, my kind must feel lucky if they reach your age, and rarely can they reach a century. Personally, I must thank whoever gave me a second chance to live. I reached maybe a fifth of that before, and what happened happened."
He became curious about it all of a sudden.
“What do you mean? Did you die or something?”
I replied, “I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure that I may have, but for some reasons, I got to live a new life here, in this world that isn’t mine. Hopefully, I won’t cause any harm. I shouldn’t exist.”,
His curiosity was more important than me starting to feel sick about the subject, so he asked,
“This means that you’ve died at one fifth of your average age, which is mine, so were you 16 years old?”
I didn’t specify clearly enough that I meant a fifth of a century.
“No, no, some time later, I don’t really remember exactly. During my years of service in the military, I lost track of my age. All I cared about was completing with success one mission after another, and nothing else.”
With a voice that sounded a bit sad, he replied, “Sounds awful. Well, I guess you’re lucky then to receive a second chance to right such an injustice.”
He sounded right to me, so I thanked him again and said, “I think I must be really lucky. Thanks.”
We didn’t keep talking about that subject. Instead, we moved on, spending essentially the whole day in the library talking about maps, kinds of dragons, elements, and some legends.
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queenmylovely · 3 years
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Perfume came naturally from Paris
For cars she couldn't care less
Fastidious and precise
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Emma to Bruce
Dear Bruce,
It’s tea time. Now that Jules and I are living in England we are trying to embrace the concept of tea time, though as you already know I prefer to take my caffeine in the form of chocolate. (Unlike Cristina, who is literally addicted to coffee.) Chocolate chip cookies, brownie bars, ice cream—any form of chocolate is welcome and acceptable, and there is excellent chocolate in England. I have become addicted to Galaxy bars.
Julian is outside talking to the contractors — I can see Round Tom waving his arms around about something — so I thought I’d take a moment to fill you in on what happened since my last entry.
If you recall, we found a silver flask at the Devil Tavern that seemed to set off all Ty’s Ghost Detector alarms. It was a beautiful flask . . . etched with flowers and butterfly wings, and the initials MF. We brought it back to Blackthorn Hall and had a look at it in the bright light of day, where I immediately remembered where I’d seen that butterfly design before.
On the Fairchild family ring.
I know this because of Clary. (I don’t spend a lot of time staring at her jewelry, Bruce, but Shadowhunters are pretty into family symbols, generally speaking. And there was that time I borrowed her jacket in Faerie and then went to Thule and everyone thought she was dead because her ring was in the pocket…but that’s a story for another time. I’ve got enough to document in the present.) So Jules and I agreed that whoever owned this flask was likely a Fairchild whose first name began with M. Genius-level Sherlock detecting, I know.
Over a lunch of toasted cheese sandwiches we decided it would be better to do a little more diligent research rather than diving right in and asking the ghost ARE YOU A FAIRCHILD, Y/N. So we sent a fire message to Helen and Aline. There are several old Shadowhunter family histories in the LA Institute library, and we asked them to have a look for Fairchilds who had first names beginning with the letter M. I guess Helen was up early, because she got back to us pretty quickly with a short list of candidates. Medea Fairchild, Myles Fairchild, and Matthew Fairchild. It wasn’t clear from the records whether any of them are ancestors of Clary, but I am curious! (I personally hope Medea is, because that is a badass mythological name.) Anyway it didn’t take us long to nominate a candidate for Owner of the Silver Flask. (Drumroll, please, Bruce.) The candidate is….Matthew Fairchild!
We deduced this because Medea died in 1802 at the age of seventy-eight, and Myles died in 1857 at fifty-nine. So, given the timeframe we’re looking at—Jem said his friends were hanging out at the Devil Tavern during the early part of the last century—Matthew, born in 1886, was the only one who fit the bill. (There wasn’t a death date for him, apparently, which doesn’t mean he lived forever or died at birth, records from around that time tend to be spotty.)
Without further ado, we returned to the dining room to contact our mystery ghost. I swear, even though we’ve swept it multiple times, that room just seems to get dustier and dustier. I’d left some papers from the Blackthorn archives (which is a kind way of saying “from the pile of junk with occasional interesting stuff in it”) stacked on the dining table, and they were all in disarray. It made me wonder if the ghost was trying to read them in our absence.
Julian cleared his throat. “Attention, ghost,” he began.
“Maybe they don’t like being called ‘ghost’,” I hissed under my breath. “Maybe we should refer to them as ‘Deceased Person.’”
“That sounds medical,” said Julian. “Like we’re in a morgue.”
We both became dispirited about the idea of being in a morgue. After a moment’s thought, Julian said, “How about wraith or phantom?”
The curtains stirred even though the windows weren’t open. Apparently phantom was the popular choice.
“Matthew?” I said, slowly. “Matthew Fairchild?”
It’s a nice name, Matthew. I thought about Matthew Fairchild, born in 1886, and wondered what he’d been like. Wondered if all that was left of him was a breath of air stirring the curtains in our dining room.
Though the curtains weren’t stirring right now. They were utterly still.
“Are you Matthew Fairchild?” Jules asked, clearly deciding we needed to be more specific.
The curtains gave what I can only describe as an annoyed little shake. This stirred up some more dust, which made the air hazy. I heard a noise behind me and whirled around. The stack of papers on the table tipped over. Papers were being flung in all directions, by an unseen, angry hand.
“So — you’re not Matthew Fairchild?” I said, fighting the urge to sneeze. “Look, it’s fine if you aren’t — we just want to help — we’ll keep looking —”
The papers stopped flying. The room was quiet again. Hushed, even, like the inside of an Institute. I guessed our phantom friend had departed and I realized I was disappointed. I’d really been hoping we’d find an answer . . .
Then Julian laid his hand on my arm. And pointed. Goosebumps exploded across my skin. In the dust on the floor, an invisible finger was writing words — writing in the old-fashioned cursive that had become familiar since our arrival at Blackthorn Hall.
One by the one, the words appeared, the letters shaky and spiky, as if the ghost were agitated.
Read the diary
The imagine of Tatiana’s diary sprang into my mind. I knew, somehow, that was the diary the ghost was referring to. More words appeared:
READ THE DIARY
READ THE DIARY
READ THE DIARY
“But I have,” I said, without thinking. “I have read the diary.”
Julian turned to look at me, a blank expression of surprise spreading across his face. “Emma,” he said. “What diary?”
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thechekhov · 3 years
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Alright, alright, I caved.
After a slot opened up in me to be able to take on another show emotionally, I decided to invest in OwlHouse. I thought I would probably like it, but it won me over faster than I thought it would.
I’ve already watched a few episodes, but I realized that it might be more fun to do liveblogs, so here I am - with a liveblog...
I will be doing this episode by episode, and probably releasing them every once in a while. Everything will be under a cut, however, to save you all dash space.
If you’d like to follow, please track the #chekhov watches owlhouse tag!
(I’d also like to dedicate this post to the Tumblr Staff Rob, who did his best to restore this post for me when tumblr queue ate it.)
Without further ado...
Episode 1!!
Fair warning - this is technically not a ‘live’ blog, because I have already watched some of the show before deciding to do this, but I’ll still react to them to round things out.
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Immediately, this reminds me of Little Witch Academia... Anyone? No? Only me? I feel like maybe I’m getting my wires crossed, but there HAD to have been some inspiration taken from there?
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“No-- my only weakness! Dying!!“
Same, big snake monster. Same.
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Oh, backup snakes? This girl is READY.
Please don’t mistreat the snakes.
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Spider breath... This kid is on my wavelength. That griffin seems to be waiting to be put out of its misery though, and I don’t blame it.
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My child... where did you get that pigeon head though.....
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Nurse mother, do you REALLY think signing up your spider-summoning daughter for summer camp will actively make her antics slow down instead of ramp up to 60?
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Awww, baby makes AMVs... But also, NO ONE TOLD YOU TO THROW AWAY THE BOOK??? I know it’s symbolic, but goodness, isn’t that a bit much???
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wait a sec, is that Eda????
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Love the realistic bilingual kid experience of replying in English when your mom talks to you in your native language. Universal.
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Love this introduction of Eda’s character. She’s got that little green scarf on and everything. Like a tiny trash grandma.
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Oooh, okay, let’s extrapolate...
Lots of bones everywhere. I kinda love the aesthetic here - it’s gross and visceral, kind of like what Luz was making with her school projects. Yet in the middle of it all we have a rather clear gothic looking structure. Is this a power imbalance in the supposed kingdom?
The five circles of stained glass seem to perhaps indicate something like Hogwarts houses? Several different types of magic?
But Luz has no reason to freak out as much as she is - she LOVES weird stuff! Haha... No, I kid, I kid. I get it.
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“Am I in the bad place?“
Eyyyyy, gotta love shows referencing other shows. :)
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“Oh dear child... I’m not like you.”
Wow, what a DRAMATIC reveal for some pointy ears. :) I love her.
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We should all aspire to have such cool and stylistically well put together wanted posters. You can tell the commissioned artist really respects her craft.
Steven Universe fans watching this:
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I’m looking too.
Okay, okay, enough shenanigans, let’s have some LORE.
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I love this landscape. Teeth or bones, or whatever they are, this is one of the more unique settings we’ve gotten, though maybe I’m prejudiced because I love body horror and bones. The darker orange and red themes fit really well here.
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Things I’m desperate for: Giraffe Lore 
Things I’m more desperate for: Eda lore. Why do her limbs fall off? Is she a zombie?
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Things I’m not quite as desperate for: Hooty lore. He can keep that to himself.
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well hello there mysterious chekhov’s glyph which will DEFINITELY not be relevant in the second chapter (or end of season? Maybe? Idk it just seems important).
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Ah, yes. That would have been my reaction as well, to be fair. Somehow I didn’t expect to see this guy so early on. I figured he would be a low stress early villain that got assimilated into the Found Family. Kinda psyched that he’s just there from the start.
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....I’m just gonna presume this is all true and accept it at face value.
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Old Escape The Cops Lady and Tiny Little Demon King, I need your backstory. How did you meet.
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I love looking at background details, because like... you can tell the BG artists had fun. I particularly love how the 3 eyed toad doesn’t actually have any reward attached to her. Though the Knife Baby does intrigue me!
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“I write fanfics of food falling in love.”
Why am I being called out...
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“Noo! My weak nerd arms!”
Finally, a realistic portrayal of a protagonist thrust into a fantasy setting!
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.....................
Okay but. If only humans could pass through the barrier... wouldn’t that mean a human had to have deposited those things in there? Do they have a human on staff in this weird pseudo-prison??? Suspicious....
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Confession - when I initially saw ads for this show, I expected Eda to be a villain, not a loveable middle aged witch aunt figure. I am shockingly even MORE drawn to her this way. I expected betrayal. I expected her to be a lowkey threat?? But no. She’s just wholesome in the way a solid raccoon is.
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“Eda, are you okay?!”
“Yeah, this just happens when you get older...”
“........does it..?”
If I had to pinpoint the exact moment this show won me over...... it would probably be this one.
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I know it’s probably the wrong thing to focus on, but what is that insignia? Wings??? Like.... the kind OWLS HAVE?????
COINCIDENCE??? I THINK NOT!!!
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I’m really loving the landscape here. And those fireworks are... hmm... intricate?
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Gotta love the old tried and true Witch Apprentice Actually A Live In Intern trope. :)
Hold up...
Is that
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Is that Hooty? I thought he was just a door....
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Eda: This is my room for human stuff. I will also put my human in there.
. . .
Overall rating: I think this is a cute overall beginning. The prison break went hard! I enjoyed the characters and it kind of surprised me in a lot of ways. It definitely does a great job setting up a world with a lot more to explore while giving us a small taste of cool magic stuff and witchy battles. :)
Now on to Episode 2!!
Read the liveblogs in order by clicking here!
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fruitcoops · 3 years
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Could you maybe do that part 5 of truth or drink you alluded to?? :) with Jules and the lupins and basically Jules spilling ALLL of re’s secrets & Marley loving it 🥰
Oh, Jules, how I missed you. The truth or drink referenced in this ask is here (it's been an age since I did one, wow!) and SW credit of course goes to @lumosinlove!
“Please can we have alcohol?” Jules swung his legs under the table with wide, pleading eyes.
Marlene barked a laugh. “Over my dead body, baby Loops.”
“It would be,” Remus agreed with a teasing grin.
“Welcome back to Lion Pride, both of you,” she said, ruffling their hair. Both scrunched their faces up in identical expressions of displeasure. “There are fifteen cards in your deck, and if you don’t want to answer the question, you have to take a drink of apple juice. Not alcohol.”
“You used to be cool,” Jules sulked. Marlene rolled her eyes and Remus reached over to flick his ear. “Hey, that hurt!”
“No, it did not.”
“I’m gonna tell mom you hit me.”
Remus turned to Marlene with a long-suffering look. “Can I have alcohol?”
“Get crackin’, boys, the world wants to know your secrets.” She tapped the deck of cards with a wink and wandered behind the cameras again.
“Alright, here we go.” Remus sighed. “My name is Remus Lupin, I’m the Lions’ right wing, and I’m here with my baby brother to answer some questions. Take it away, Jules.”
“I’m not a baby,” Jules clarified to the camera. “I’m twelve. Who’s the most attractive sibling?”
Remus frowned. “Me? Just ‘cause I’m older.”
“As if.”
“Oh my god,” he muttered, reaching for his own card. “Oh, this should be fun. Name your favorite parent.”
“Dad,” Jules answered without hesitating. Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“First, you’re not supposed to answer that fast, and second, what?”
“Dad’s cool!”
“Dad is not cool!” Remus laughed. “I don’t have a favorite parent—”
“Liar.”
“—but mom is the cool one. Dad’s a dork, and we love him for it.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Mom would literally do anything for you. She learned to skate for you.”
“It’s not like I don’t love mom!” Jules protested as he took a new card. “I love her so much! And I know mom is your favorite, so it’s only fair. Which of us is the most successful, and which is the screwup?”
“I don’t have a favorite parent,” Remus insisted, leaning back in his seat. “And neither of us are screwups.”
“You’re more successful.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re a screwup. It means you’re twelve. Who’s the overachiever?”
“You,” Jules snorted. “You’re such a nerd. It’s embarrassing. What’s the meanest thing I did to you when we were kids?”
Remus rested his chin on his hand and thought for a moment, then turned to look behind the camera. “Since we were only kids together for, like, three years, can I say something from a little later?”
“Anything before age 25,” Marlene called.
He nodded decisively. “Sweet. In that case, it’s the time this little monster let a rat into the house, freaked out when he didn’t know what to do, then locked it in my bedroom and didn’t tell anyone until I went to bed and something ran across my sheets.”
Jules shrugged. “You survived.”
“Yeah, and you almost didn’t.”
“So dramatic,” he muttered.
Remus whacked him over the head with the next card before reading it. “Oh, god. Share the most mortifying memory you have of me. If you drink that apple juice and don’t answer, I’ll get you ice cream on the way home.”
Jules leaned back with a hum, already grinning. “Let’s see…”
“No,” Remus groaned.
“Probably—” Jules broke off to giggle. “Probably when you took me into the locker room to meet the team and the whole time I was talking to Sirius, you looked like you were about to melt into the floor. You had this stupid grin on your face—”
“Shut up.”
“—and almost tripped over your own feet, like, four times. This was before you guys were dating, too.”
“You are the worst,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms. “Next question?”
“I can keep going. There was the time you gave yourself a black eye hanging Christmas lights, and when you bounced off an enforcer when you tried to check him, and when mom asked you to defrost the chicken for dinner and you forgot so you put it in the microwave and almost set the house on fire, and—“
“Marlene.” Remus raised his head with a pitiful look. “Please make him stop. Please.”
“Okay,” Marlene laughed, a little breathless. “Alright, one sec. Jules, your turn.”
“Ugh, fine. Do you let me win at things?”
“When you were five, sure.” Remus tilted his head to the side. “Otherwise, no. Do you want me to let you win?”
“I’d be so upset if you did. I only get better because I want to kick your ass one day.”
“Language. Am I a good brother?”
“Well, yeah,” Jules said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He blinked at Remus, clearly confused. “Duh. You’re weird and annoying, but you’re one of my top three favorite people?”
“Before or after dad?” Remus teased, but it was soft with fondness.
Jules narrowed his eyes and leaned his elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Have I ever disappointed you?”
“Never. I don’t think you could if you tried. Who’s smarter?”
“Me.” Remus gave the camera a disbelieving look as Jules took a new card. “Ha! I like this one. Which of us was a mistake?”
“Oh, that is a good one. Honestly, I don’t think either of us were planned. Mom and dad definitely weren’t expecting a kid at 21 and 25, and absolutely weren’t planning on another one fifteen years later.”
Jules cast the camera a bright smile. “Oops!”
“But we’re their best mistakes,” Remus said solemnly with the ghost of a smile, as if he was repeating a sentiment that had been said many times before. “Okay, I need to have a talk with whoever set up these questions. Do an impersonation of me, or drink to—”
“Oh, look at me, I’ve got a fancy degree,” Jules mimicked, dropping his voice comically low. “I’m so cool, I’ve got a secret boyfriend and I’m not gonna tell anyone about it for three whole months even though I suck at keeping secrets. I’m tall, so I’m gonna grab my awesome little brother by the ankles and shake him around—”
“You asked me to—”
“Shh! I’m not done!”
Remus gave him an incredulous look. “They get the point!”
Jules stuck his tongue out, but grabbed a new card from the stack. “What are your best and worst memories of mom and dad?”
“Aw, man.” Remus tapped his short stack of cards on the table and bit his lip. “Best and worst…best would probably be Christmas two or three years ago, when we all went skating on the lake.”
“That’s a good one,” Jules mused.
“It’s hard to think of my worst memory of them. Um, maybe after I stopped playing hockey in college? There was a lot of walking on eggshells and it was really uncomfortable.”
Remus read the next card and his frown dissolved into laughter; he reached for the apple juice and filled both glasses to the brim, then pushed them across the table to Jules without a word. “What are these for? You have to read the card, dummy.”
“The most spoiled sibling has to drink,” Remus said with a wide grin.
“It’s not me!” Jules protested, though it was weak. “You were an only child for fifteen years!”
“Yeah, and?” His amusement only grew as Jules struggled to make a comeback. “See, you can’t even deny it! You’re the baby of the family and everybody loves you. How many times have you been to Gryffindor?”
Jules opened and closed his mouth a few times, going red with indignance.
“How many?” Remus’ expression was pure glee. “Buddy, I didn’t leave Wisconsin for anything other than roadies until you were old enough to travel, and then mom and dad had to show you off to everyone.”
“They love you, too!”
“I know they do,” Remus laughed. “They’re great parents and we both had amazing childhoods. You’re still the more spoiled one.”
“I don’t like this game,” he muttered as he drank one of the glasses. “And I’m not drinking that other one. Okay, last question. Should we see more of each other?”
“Of course,” Remus said. “I wish we lived closer to each other all the time. Do you think so?”
Jules reached for the glass, then burst out laughing when Remus’ jaw dropped. “Oh, I got you so good! But yeah, I miss you a ton during the school year.”
“You little…” Remus bit back his threat and ruffled Jules’ hair despite his protests, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “Keep that up and you’re gonna get flipped again.”
“You wouldn’t. Not on camera.”
“Try me.”
Jules bolted from his seat and tried to make a run for it, but Remus was faster—he caught him around the waist, hefted him under one arm, and turned him around until he could get ahold of his skinny ankles. “No!” Jules shrieked through his giggling as Remus started swinging him lightly back and forth. “No, no, put me down!”
“Just making sure you really don’t want to see more of me,” Remus said, alight with happiness. Jules’ fingers nearly touched the ground. “You’re almost too big for this.”
“Good,” Jules wheezed. “Are we done yet?”
Remus looked back to the camera. “Thanks for tuning into Lion Pride, everyone. Make sure to like and subscribe if you want a slow-motion tutorial on how to transform your little brother into an emergency pendulum.”
“No!”
“Can you get down by yourself?”
Jules stretched his arms toward the floor, but Remus pulled him up an inch just as his fingertips brushed the tile. “Hey! Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“Pulling me up!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus said, adding another inch.
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kinsey3furry300 · 3 years
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So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?
So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.
Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings.  So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid.  I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but  if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.
So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers  (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.
Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71  drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:
Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,
Served 90 days of active military duty; and,
Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,
Had  countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,
Is  age 65 years or older; or
Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.
As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit.  So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.
After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.
He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner
Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.
Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military.  At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.
Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.
Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.
Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.
Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.
Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.
Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be  eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.
T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!
Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard.  However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.
Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.
Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.
 So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?
Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent,  but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the  hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.
Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest  15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.
So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.
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onceuponastory · 3 years
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guilty - b.b x reader
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Darling, darling, darling, let me sing to you Let me sing to you, let me sing to you Darling, darling, darling, let me shelter you Let you into all the homes that fear has made of me How the shingles fall like dust beside your company - little words: the happy fits (also you should check out the happy fits, cause their music is really good! highly recommend.)
Plot: Bucky tells his girlfriend Y/N the truth about his past...and all the bodies left in his wake. A/N: My friends requested Bucky being told that what happened to him and what he did as The Winter Soldier wasn’t his fault. They also wanted to see more emotional Bucky, like the opening scene of TFATWS episode 4, so I happily obliged! cause Bucky Barnes is not a villain and if you think he is gtfo.  Also, chapter 2 of ever after is coming, it’s just these chapters are turning out to be way longer than I first thought, lmao. Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, torture, death...basically everything Bucky did as TWS. Also a lot of self loathing. This is a very angsty fic, but there’s a happy ending!
There are a lot of things in life that Bucky Barnes hates. The rain, for one thing. And John Walker. But most of all, what Bucky hates is feeling guilty. And with a past stained with as much blood as his...he has a lot to feel guilty about. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t want to feel guilty or atone for what he did, completely the opposite, in fact. He hates being unable to sleep at night without hearing screaming or seeing the blood he spilt. In all honesty, Bucky just wants it to stop. He hates closing his eyes every night and dreads actually falling asleep because he knows that’s when the nightmares begin. 
Bucky peers over from his spot on the couch to watch his girlfriend Y/N as she cleans up the things from dinner. She’s always been so sweet to him, and it breaks his heart to know that he’s not the kind of person she thinks he is. The complete opposite, actually. But most of all, Bucky hates how he knows he still hasn’t told her about his past and the type of person he used to be. He doesn’t want to tell her, not wanting to destroy her happiness.  Bucky imagines how she’ll react when he tells her. Probably run screaming in the other direction, or dump him immediately. And even though it breaks his heart to imagine that...he knows it’s what he deserves. But first, he has to tell her..and he’s going to do it today...If he can work up the guts to tell her, that is.
“Y/N? Doll? Can you come here for a sec? Please?” Bucky asks, trying to make his voice more serious, but still hating how nervous he sounds. Y/N walks over to him. She raises an eyebrow, clearly confused. Bucky clears his throat and pats the seat beside him on the couch, motioning for her to sit, which she does. 
“Buck? What’s going on?” She asks. Bucky tries not to wince at the fact she used his nickname. It still feels weird to him. Weird that he’s still alive, still loved by people enough to have a nickname, to have a girlfriend, and to be given a chance at redemption...even with all this blood on his hands. And when all the people he killed didn’t even have the opportunity to grow old and be loved. He ruined so many lives. Why should he be the one to find happiness? Why isn’t he the one who died? “Bucky?” Y/N cuts into his thoughts. She’s looking up at him, her eyes full of concern. Again, Bucky wonders what will happen when he tells her the truth. Will she even love him anymore? Or will she run for the hills?
“I uh...” He clears his throat. “I have something I need to tell you.” Her eyes widen slightly, and before Bucky can even think about what he’s going to say next, she asks:
“Did you cheat on me? Please tell me you didn’t.” For a moment, Bucky considers lying and telling her that he did cheat. Even though it’ll break her heart, it’s a lot better than admitting you’re responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people, regardless of whether or not he was brainwashed into doing so. That way, he can protect her from ever finding out the truth. She’d leave, and he could go back to being alone. Even though the very idea of losing Y/N and being alone forever hurts, Bucky knows that it’s the least of what he deserves. “Bucky, please. Just tell me the truth.” She pleads, and Bucky can see her eyes glistening with tears. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it and hopefully work through it.” Bucky’s not too sure about that one. He sighs. Even though the truth was a lot worse, Bucky knows Y/N deserves to hear it...even if it might destroy their relationship.
“No, it’s not like that. I didn’t cheat.” Y/N sighs, and relief floods her features.
“Good. I didn’t think you would do that to me. You’re not that kind of person.” Bucky feels his heart shatter. She doesn’t even know the kind of person he really was. The merciless killer. The Winter Soldier. Someone responsible for so much pain and suffering. Bucky takes her hands. He runs his non-metal thumb over her knuckles, trying not to stare too long at his metal arm and hand. Even though he was given a different one in Wakanda, one not tied to suffering, one without blood on it...seeing his metal arm still reminds him of the pain his previous one caused. “What do you need to tell me?”
“Um...” He sighs, trying to find the words. “Remember ages ago, when Sam said something happened to me? Something bad?” Y/N nods. “Well...he wasn’t exactly honest. I mean, yeah, something bad happened to me. But I did something bad. Something...worse.” She frowns. “Back when I was in World War Two with Steve, my unit got captured, and they experimented on me.”
“I know this. You and Steve told me.” Y/N cuts him off. 
“I know...but you don’t know the full extent of it.” Bucky sighs, memories flooding his brain. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, trying to block them out. “They injected me with super-soldier serum, which helped me to survive the train fall, as you know.” She nods, listening intently. “Well. I didn’t just sit and wait for Steve to find me or escape heroically or anything. I, um...I....” He takes a deep breath. Y/N squeezes his hand, and Bucky almost breaks down in tears right then. She’s too sweet for him. He doesn’t deserve her. “I was taken by the Soviet Wing of Hydra, and they wiped my memories, implanted these...trigger words in me so I’d do whatever they want. I became their...assassin.”
“What are you saying?” She asks.
“I’m saying...I was the Winter Soldier. The monster that killed innocent people and injured countless others. I’ve left so many bodies in my wake...and done so many bad things Y/N. And I don’t deserve any of...this.” He waves his free hand around at the apartment they’re both in...and at her. Y/N blinks back at him, looking slightly shocked at Bucky’s revelation. “And I definitely don’t deserve someone like you. Not after what I did or who I was. The person who tried to kill Steve, Sam, Fury and Nat-”
“But you didn’t, Bucky, you-” She leans in closer, reaching her hand closer to the forearm of his metal arm.
“BUT I TRIED TO!” He exclaims, cutting her off as he jerks his metal arm back. Y/N jumps back a little, a look of fear crossing her face for a moment. That makes Bucky feel even worse. Even though Ayo and Shuri helped rehabilitate him, and Ayo removed his trigger words, Bucky has spent many sleepless nights tossing and turning. He stays awake almost all night, wondering how much of The Winter Soldier remains within him and whether he’d hurt or scare anyone that way again. Seeing the look of fear on Y/N’s face tells him only one thing: he’s still the same monster he was before. And now he’s scared the one person he wanted to protect. Bucky panics, and his stomach drops. Drops into a black hole that he wishes would swallow him whole. “I’m sorry, I-I I didn’t mean to-” He stammers, tripping over his words. Tears threaten to spill over, and he gets up from the couch quickly. “I’m sorry....I-I should just go. Maybe just...don’t contact me. I don’t want to hurt you o-or...” Without another word, Bucky walks towards the door. 
“Bucky! Bucky, wait!” He hears Y/N following him, and he tries to speed up to avoid her. “Wait, please! Please...don’t leave.” Bucky opens the front door to her apartment, and she runs in front of him, shielding the door with her body and placing her arms out so he can’t get by her. Bucky sighs. In the past, with his true strength, he could easily move her out of the way. But of course, there’s no way he would hurt her...at least, any more than he probably already has. 
“Y/N. Let me get past, please.” He mumbles, and she shakes her head. “Doll....”
“No. I’m not moving.”
“Look, it’s better for both of us if I just go. I’m a monster. I always have been and always will be. That serum that turned me into this monster is still in my veins. Who’s to know when it will strike again, even stronger, or if I hurt you? I can’t do that. I have to go.” He argues back, his voice quieter and shaky.
“No. You don’t. I’m not going to let you.” 
“Y/N.” He sighs again, exasperated. “I don’t know why you’re fighting this so much. I mean...it’s nice, but trust me, I don’t deserve it. Now...” He leans in and presses a delicate kiss to her forehead. But despite how delicately he kisses her, there’s still pain behind that kiss. The pain of leaving Y/N, the only woman he’s ever loved, forever. Bucky almost scoffs at that. Even when he’s trying to be tender and loving...all he does is cause pain. But after everything he’s done, Bucky knows that pain is what he deserves. And Y/N deserves someone better than him. Even though saying that still breaks his heart, he knows it’s true. “You need to let me go. Please. Just let me go.” He whispers, tears falling slowly down his cheeks. Y/N shakes her head again.
“No. Stop asking me to, because I won’t.”
“Why not? You know-”
“Because!” She shouts, snapping her head up to him, tears filling her eyes too. “...Because I’m in love with you, Bucky, and hearing you talk about yourself like that, and saying you don’t deserve to be loved...it breaks my heart.” Bucky blinks at her, confused.
“But-but I did so many bad things!”
“When you were brainwashed!” She snaps back. “I know you killed people. But it wasn’t your choice. Was it?” She asks. Bucky shakes his head. Of course, it wasn’t his choice...but he still did it. And he still has to live with it. “See? It wasn’t you, Bucky. They turned you into that person. It wasn’t your conscious choice.” 
“But I-” Bucky tries to argue back, but Y/N interrupts him again
“Listen. The way I see it, you were kidnapped whilst you were trying to save the world. And when that happened, they tortured you and forced the serum on you whilst Steve chose to get it, right?” Bucky nods. “And then, they kidnapped you again, wiped your memories and forced you to kill all those people.”
“Well, yes, but I-”
“Bucky. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your choice. It's not your fault. I know you didn’t want to do those horrible things. And you’re atoning for them, aren’t you?” Bucky frowns.
“How...how do you know that?”
“I found your notebook. Sam told me it used to be Steve’s. I uh...I had a look inside and saw a list of names. Are those the people you wronged?” Bucky nods, feeling tears growing in his eyes again. 
“My uh...my therapist suggested it would be useful. It’s part of my pardon, I think. But I wanted to anyway.” 
Y/N’s eyes soften. “See Bucky? The fact you’re atoning and that you actually want to, means so much about you. You’re trying to do the right thing.” She steps forward and gently takes his hands in hers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. Because I know that’s not you. It wasn’t you then, and it’s not now. You’re the kind of guy who brings me ice cream when I’m upset, who laughs at pictures and videos of cats, and sings along to Disney films with me. You’re not a killer. You are not The Winter Soldier. Your name is James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, and it’s not your fault.” Bucky is silent for a while, as he can’t even think of something to say. He’s simply overwhelmed with emotion and the feeling of having someone like Y/N loving and supporting him. So overwhelmed, in fact, that he starts crying. Actually, he starts sobbing as the years of pent up emotion spill over. Y/N wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer. Bucky doesn’t even try to stop her, and just wraps his arms around her in return. He feels like his legs are about to give way at any moment and that he’s definitely covering her outfit in snot and tears, but she doesn’t seem to care. All she does is repeat: “You are not The Winter Soldier anymore. Your name is James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, and it’s not your fault.” She continues this phrase, trying to drill into Bucky that it’s not his fault. After a while, Bucky feels his legs give out, and the pair crash to the floor, but Y/N doesn’t let go. She squeezes him even tighter as Bucky’s body shakes as he cries, so tightly it’s as if she’s trying to transfer all her love and warmth into him. “I love you. So much.” She whispers, softly kissing him on the lips.
“I love you too.” Bucky whispers. Y/N pulls away and looks over at him, her eyes full of love and support.
“I’m here for you. I always will be. You deserve love. It’s not your fault Bucky. It never was.” She whispers. And for the first time in forever...Bucky starts to believe that. Of course, he knows he still has a lot of healing and therapy to go through. But, he knows that as long as he has Y/N there to support him, he’ll be okay.
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