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yesimwriting · 5 months

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Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #coriolanus x reader

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thesunrisesss · 5 months

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Something I love about Suzanne is the fact that she leaves so many things for us to pick up on if we pay attention. One of the things I really began to pick up on was just how juxtaposed Peeta and Katniss and Snow and Lucy Gray are. We all know that she created both young Snow and Lucy Gray to resemble Katniss and Peeta, but the way she compares and contrasts them is just *chefs kiss*

Of course, the dynamics between the pairs are vastly different. Rachel said it beautifully in an interview regarding the comparisons between Katniss and Lucy Gray, “Lucy Gray is a performer forced to fight, Katniss was a fighter forced to hunt”, but I’ve heard little about people comparing Snow to Peeta.

My headcanon is that Snow also has a deep disdain for Peeta. Not in the same way that he loathes Katniss, but because he can’t help but see Peeta as a "weaker" version of himself.

Peeta wants Katniss to be free and is willing to let Katniss make decisions for herself. A fantastic example is when she starts her situationship with Gale. Peeta doesn’t force her to be with him. But, when Lucy Gray sings her ballad during her interview, Snow can’t help but feel disgust over the fact that he doesn’t have control over her; that she could be giving her love to someone else when he feels like he is the only one deserving of it.

Peeta cares so deeply about Katniss, showing time and time again that he’s willing to put his life on the line to ensure she survives and I believe that Snow can’t help but hate him for it. He can never fathom caring about someone more than he cares about himself; only caring about self-preservation. Snow may see Peeta's compassion and think it’s a waste of time. He probably believes that at some point Katniss will betray Peeta, much like he believes Lucy Gray did to him.

Suzanne writes with such intention, leaving no loose ends in any of her stories. There are so many comparisons between the characters that it is hauntingly beautiful, but she also makes them very distinct and unique. I can't help but believe that this decision to create these characters in this fashion was not only intentional but extremely implied.

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angel-of-the-moons · 7 days

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Hiii, how about writing some fluff about Poe teaching reader who’s a new pilot for the resistance some of his tips on flying? The rest is up to you. I’m missing Poe as well :,)))

Baby Wings

Poe Dameron x Reader

TW/CW: Nothing!

A/N: I might consider writing this on my tablet because lord help me, typing these out on a tiny phone screen is not good for my hands! 😩

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

You couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering inside of your belly as Poe Dameron--the Poe Dameron--leaned into your cockpit to point out the controls of your new X-Wing.

You had just been appointed to his squadron as a fledgling pilot. You had originally been a smuggler that the Resistance hired routinely, and apparently, a flight maneuver you performed in a dogfight with a few weequay pirates got Poe's attention.

If you could fly like that in an old hunk of clunk freighter, how would you do in something designed for finer maneuvers, for dogfights?

How good would your skills be against the First Order?

Your senses were currently buzzing as everything Poe invaded the cramped space. The smell of oxidized metal, or smoke and ozone from patching up hull breaches and walls to the base; the smell of sweat and cheap juice he'd downed before spotting you in the hangar and rushing over to offer his "expertise".

He wasn't looking at you, he was practically laying on you, actually; as he supported his weight on the console with one hand and pointing out the dials, buttons, levers and latches you'd need to memorize to control your new fighter.

His face had thin rivulets of sweat trickling down his gloriously almost-olive skin, his dark raven curls falling around his face, clumped with excess sweat. His suit was soaked too, the orange having dark stains from the moisture his body was sweating out thanks to the damned heat of this Force-forsaken planet.

But honestly, you sent a silent prayer to whomever was listening for the heat, because you hoped--like some foolish schoolgirl with a crush on a galaxy-famous athlete--that Poe would get sick of the heat and tear off the top half of his suit to cool his heated skin.

You were so absorbed in staring at him, that you had almost entirely forgot to listen to him. You only realized your brain lapsed when he turned his head to smile that trademark grin of his, wrapping up his last sentence.

"...and then that's the yoke, obviously. Don't need to tell you that. Got it?"

"Wh--oh! Y-yep! Got it, commander..." You cough awkwardly, four fingers fiddling pointlessly with the controls.

"Kay, theeeeen..." He smirked at you from the corner of his eyes as he turned back to your control panel. "...repeat everything I just told you. Y'know... So I know my impeccable lessons stuck."

"I, uh--well, uh. This is the..." You began to blubber out, trying to find something you did know and give a quick, half-assed explanation on what it did.

Poe barked out a hearty belly laugh, "Don't even bother, darlin'... If you were paying attention... You'd know that I squeaked in a line about me being the former Emperor of Kashyyyk. And, as handsome as I am, unfortunately, I feel ike the wookies might have an issue with me wanting to claim the throne. ...If they even got one."

Your face flushed with color and you buried your face into your hands, "Stars, I am so sorry. I-I really was trying to pay attention, I just..."

"Got lost in all this--" He leaned back to gesture to his messy, sweaty form. "--primal, god-like, drop-dead gorgeous attractiveness?"

From the bottom of his ladder, you could hear BB-8 tweet out a response that called Poe out. You swore you could make out "nerf-herder" and "Hutt's armpit" in-between his refuting whistles and beeps.

Poe leaned back on the ladder and frowned at his round companion, "Hey, you little womp-rat! I will have you know a lot of people find me handsome!"

BB-8 once again doubted that claim, your abilities once again picking out few choice words such as; "drunkards", "a blind quarren" and "brain-dead jawa".

You need to laugh at their bickering overpowered your embarrassed, darkened cheeks and you titter and snort at what little you could pick ou.

Poe looked at you with a playful scowl, "What're you giggling about?"

You cover your mouth and point down at BB, who tweeted as he spun in a circle.

Poe looked between you and BB, his jaw going slack as his amber eyes looked to the both of you in disbelief.

He finally looked back at you for a final time, pointing at you.

"You," He pointed down at BB-8. "Can understand him?"

You rub the back of your neck. "W-well sort of... I spent a lot of my childhood working in a droid repair shop, and--"

Poe clapped, whooping happily, "Oh, I knew I liked you! Finally, somebody else who can hear what this little metal butterball is shouting at me! You'd be surprised at how many people don't understand droids!"

He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "...Sometimes I think they're the lucky ones."

BB-8 twittered and shrieked a response, beeping rapidly in an irritated manner, making Poe laugh once again.

Finally, he leaned into the cockpit once more, winking at you.

"C'mon, darlin'... let's go over this again so the info soaks up into that pretty little brain o' yours. And if you do a good enough job on the pop quiz... maybe we can hit the local cantina!"

#🌙 answered #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #star wars

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anarchotahdigism · 2 months

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I know i say "wear a mask and riot" and "fuck a peaceful protest" but I'd had a nice long post about how digital work and advocacy is praxis (or can be) on my old account. Right now, COVID is spreading and killing thousands of people in the US alone and nearly all """radicals""""" and """""leftists"""" are philosophically no different than the fascists they claim to oppose because they are so thoroughly wedded to eugenics that they refuse to wear and enforce masking. COVID causes long COVID in 10-30% of cases so the so-called US alone may well be a majority disabled nation now due to rampant eugenics forcing the spread of COVID. Long COVID is a rotting death and makes everything an order of magnitude more difficult if you still are able to do the things you were prior. Repeated COVID infections means you're guaranteed to be immunocompromised permanently and disabled in other ways you'll likely find out the hard way. With 40% of cases being asymptomatic and most only showing severe symptoms after 2-3 infections, and many starting to drop dead after 3 to 5 infections, many people accrue damage from and spread COVID without realizing it until it is far, far too late. As a result, it's guaranteed that the ableists have disabled and killed people. They've kept disabled people like me who are high risk out of radical spaces & communities. They've abandoned solidarity for everyone but the abled, ableist middle class while focusing most of their efforts on electoralism, despite the clear and constant failures of such actions. The BLM Rebellion of 2020-2021 had significant---albeit broadly temporary--impacts on electoral politics, society, and communities because it was a constant and ongoing rebellion that was also much more disability inclusive than prior leftist movement moments. For the first time, people recognized the need for remote actions & support because while masking was at the high water mark, more abled people understood that a lot of us disabled could not and would not risk COVID but we had had skills vital to the project. Things disabled people were absolutely critical for during the BLM Rebellion: police scanner observation and transcription, evacuation coordination, event & route planning, translation services, postering, graphics art & design, self defense seminars, radio nets, mutual aid fundraising, mutual aid distribution, bail fund coordination, zine writing, mask & test distributions, contact tracing (remember this??!??!), car brigades, organizing medical supplies, teaching first aid skills, and countless other roles often organized & performed remotely. For every fighter, there are at least a dozen support roles and with some thought and effort, those roles can be aided or done digitally. Posting on its own can be praxis in that it shares information, knowledge, tactics, demonstrates that there are other radicals out there willing to do what they can, normalizes radicalism, and in some cases, regimes pay close attention to internet support.

During the height of the Jina Amini rebellion in 2022, the Iranian regime tried to cut the internet repeatedly to stifle information out of and into Iran to hinder protest coordination and outrage. It also paid extremely close attention to when the rebellion was trending and refrained from reprisals until the mass attention of the internet citizenry turned away. Posting literally helped save lives by forcing the regime to wait, buying people time to organize, prepare, and act accordingly in Iran and internationally. Personally, I will always remember and be grateful for the Palestinians who turned out across the world, but especially in occupied Palestine, for Iranians. Iran is not the only regime that will wait until posts slacken and attention wanes before massacring people. If you are disabled, if you have arrest risks, if for any reasons you don't want to be involved in a radical riot, but you want to support those who can and do, there is so much you can do year round but especially things kick off!! Any skills, resources, knowledge, or support you can organize or contribute is valuable! eSims for Gaza right now are monumental in ensuring Gazans can coordinate information, requests, record Israeli occupation war crimes & apartheid cruelty, and many disabled graphics designers are offering their services in exchange for esim donations. It's been incredible to see.

The people who are against digital activism are ableist and racist and ignorant as hell beyond that. You can make an impact and even save and change lives while homebound. Begging genociders to stop profitable genocides has never and will never work. Riots & boycotts work because they directly confront and attack power and if those actions are supported by communities, they can continue for quite some time, as we saw with the BLM uprising. Regimes do not fall because people ask regime leaders to please stop committing atrocities; they fall when the people are able to bring to bear the sum of their hopes and wrath and bring the fight to those who have been oppressing them. That requires inclusive community & an outright rejection of the regime and its systems of cooptation & recuperation.

If a revolution or movement isn't inclusive, if it excludes the disabled, the poor, the marginalized, the oppressed, it's not a revolution or movement, it's just another genocidal regime change.

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daisychainsandbowties · 8 months

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Is it just me or does shin hati lacks personality?

i think it’s pretty obvious i don’t think of Shin as lacking in personality. i love what i’ve seen of her so far - think Ivanna is absolutely killing it with her performance so far, playing this mixture of intensity and homegrown Jedi calm, of a girl who is very alone and also trying to hold herself away from caring about anyone she might have to kill. i mean, i don’t know why you think she has no personality (i’d be interested in hearing your reasons) but to me she’s a fantastic character. if you know me you know that it takes A LOT for me to write fic for a character or a ship. so if wolfwren has moved me, i can pretty much guarantee i don’t sell out for looks with no personality.

but let me actually explain why i like Shin

firstly, she’s had very little screen time, to the extent i’ve probably got gifs of every frame of her so far on my blog. meanwhile Sabine has all of Rebels, Ahsoka has The Clone Wars, and Huyang is, frankly, a very typical example of a speaking droid. reminds me of c3po (i think he’s great, just not original characterisation). and they’ve all had more screen time in these four eps than Shin, who nonetheless has, in my opinion, demonstrated tremendous presence in every single scene she’s appeared in.

how she shows up on Lothal, stands there and says in her maddeningly calm tone, “we’ve been looking for this.” it’s just… so tongue-in-cheek, and Shin could so easily have sic’d the droid on Sabine and made her escape, could have smacked her against a wall with the Force and strolled away. but she chooses to stay. and the way she dances around Sabine’s blows… grabs the hilt of her saber to manipulate her in the fight, putty in her hands. flips her over her shoulder and plays plays plays with her… the grace and the wildness and the strange fascination of their fight. god she’s just!! so intriguing.

i think people pay too little attention to how much characterisation there is in a fight scene. we have Sabine fighting with a style that’s very much a mesh of form 1 and form 3. it’s defensive, it has hints of Ahsoka in it, her own modified and slightly more useful variation of Soresu (form 3) and then we have Shin. i need to examine her moves more closely to tell what forms (i think definitely forms plural) she’s drawing from - not much makashi, which makes sense since Baylan is Jedi-trained. her movements remind me of Maul’s style in The Phantom Menace, but there’s an element to her style that feels more… joyful, freeform, free verse.

she spins and pirouettes and barely avoids the cut of Sabine’s lightsaber. there’s relish in those movements. she can clearly block blaster bolts magnificently, has the athletic and acrobatic ability for ataru (the form yoda favours, and anakin to an extent). she’s a muddle of contradictions. silent so often but when she fights, when she flies that fighter…she’s golden.

and wry, too. watch for those slight smiles. the “you almost got them” and her hop-skip in the forest on Seatos, the “hello there” energy reminding me so much of Obi-Wan. and then her obvious terror when the Inquisitor falls, spewing green smoke. at the time i thought she was afraid for herself, of Ahsoka, but she was really afraid for Baylan. he’s trying to be a Jedi Master to her - there’s distance in their relationship, and GOD you can see her longing for contact, for touch, for something she can push and feel pushing back.

i think it’s why she antagonizes Morgan, why she waits to duel Sabine. she wants to… touch something and not just in a physical sense but in terms of connection. the light is so much about embracing life and i think of Shin trapped in the middle of that, not good or evil, light or dark, but caught in a terrible silence. her care and her fire is contained but it burns. especially when she fights, when she loses her temper “you have no power”, choking Sabine at the end, and that’s just the fire that creeps out under the door! beware the smoke.

the moments of fear, of guarded concern, of delight and fascination, anger and joy. i mean!! she’s a girl of few words, but when she speaks she SPEAKS. and when she doesn’t you can see so much going on in her body language, her face, her eyes, her actions. i think both of her fight scenes are beautiful examples of character through conflict.

i always use duels and fights for character-building. a fight is boring with nothing behind it - and with Shin we see, at first, fascination. wanting to prove herself, to show she’s the better padawan, but she also… i think she could have killed Sabine very easily. i would have run from Ahsoka too, but she honestly could have murdered Sabine right there. i love how they’re creating this sense that Shin is both… disturbed and intrigued by Sabine in episode 4. angry and also… holding her by the wrist, standing between her and Morgan.

listen, i am going to ship wolfwren whether or not my cows come home, but i really don’t bother with characters who aren’t interesting. so, yeah, i think Shin has plenty of personality! i love what star wars has been doing with the girls who have red(ish) sabers lately. i adore Reva, i am regularly insane about Trilla Suduri, and i think Shin is very different from them but no less fascinating! i’m loving the tentative line she’s walking between dangerous and vulnerable.

and, yeah, i think they should kiss.

#shin hati #wolfwren #ahsoka show spoilers #anon #i think it might be a case of wait and see? i’m not saying you’re wrong anon btw #you can (and should) feel however you want about a character #but i do encourage attentiveness with characters who don’t get many lines if spoken dialogue #they are often shouting in other ways 💖#but yeah i love her. kissing her confused little forehead #have thoughts about loth wolves and shin i need to cook but!!! woah

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codmw2019-2022 · 4 months

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COD MW 2022 - Soap

John 'Soap' MacTavish's Operator Bio from Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2.

//Operator Bio:

Name: Soap Citizenship: United Kingdom/Scotland | Language: English Faction Affiliation: SpecGru | Status: Active

The Scottish born, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, is a fearless, self assured and instinctive hard-charger. He remains the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection in Royal Army history. He earned the nickname ‘Soap’ for cleaning house with remarkable speed and accuracy in room clearance techniques and urban warfare tactics. He is competitive, daring and always looking for a win.

Soap is a trained sniper and demolitions expert, often operating in isolation and under pressure, performing critically timed activities in support of clandestine missions. He is a risk taker, a fierce competitor and a fighter in every sense of the word.

Soap has spent the last seven years carrying out both covert and overt operations around the world. In 2019, he was chosen to be part of Captain Price's newly formed elite special operations unit known as Task Force 141.

(AN: Just realised while writing the Operator bio out that they have changed it since MW3 has come out. Will find clips of the old bio and create a separate post for that.)

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod mw2 #modern warefare ii #operator bio #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #task force 141 #cod 141 #tf 141

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 1 year

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writing request:

IDK JUST SOME ANGST FLUFF THAT ENDS WITH HERO AND VILLIAN CUDDLING ON THR COUCH PLEASE

I need to feel something in this dark world

(OFCOURSE THIS IS JUST A REQUEST YOU CAN CHOOSE TO DO IT OR NOT)

First off, I am truly very sorry this is late. High school and finals are responsible. Also, ty for the request 💙💙, this is right up my alley!

Stars in a Pitch Black Sky

TW: Violence, the agency is toxic, self-depreciation, blood mention

Word count: 1.29 k

Villain kicks Hero’s legs from underneath them, their body slamming into the asphalt. The criminal pins the hero down with their boot, letting it rest on their ribs, earning a soft whimper from them.

They expect resistance, a hand trying to claw at their boot, but they receive nothing. The crime-fighter doesn’t even stir, staying so terribly still to the point that the villain would’ve thought they were dead, had they not heard the exhausted panting.

As though trying to get their attention, Villain slowly increases pressure. Nothing. . .

The hero was normally relentless. Irritatingly so. They never gave their nemesis a chance to recover, their attacks swift, their movements skilled and unpredictable. The villain never wanted to admit that their fighting had the graceful air of a mesmerizing dance. Hero had this fiery passion blazing in their eyes, as though this job was bound to their soul, their legacy inked in with the blood coursing through their veins.

So seeing them like this, letting themselves remain limp under the villain’s foot is definitely unorthodox.

“What is wrong with you?” they ask, strangely frustrated.

“I’m not dead,” the hero replies listlessly.

“Well, you’re as good as like this,” they retort, cocking an eyebrow.

“What if I. . .” they trail off, breathing laboured, “don’t really care?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” the criminal barks. They dig their heel into the crime-fighter’s ribs, resulting in a groan from them. “Fight back!”

At this, the hero finally snaps.

“For what?” they shoot back, forcing the criminal’s shoe off them, finally standing up and slamming their body into the building behind them with so much force that it draws a sharp gasp from the villain.

“To be the agency’s old poster hero? A shiny, little weapon that’s been used so many times, it’s gone dull and rusty?”

“I-but the news is chock full of articles about you. You’re the city’s favourite hero!” they protest.

Their nemesis lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. “The articles – are simply there to sate the public until a brand new hero gets all the spotlight. It’s a performance. The government throws out these ‘heroes’ so that no one questions them.”

Villain’s eyes widened and the hero’s bruising grip on their shoulders softens, as does the diamond-hard gaze.

“I was just some experiment. A coverup. I’m no one’s hero,’ they say softly, their cold fury crumbling to nothing as they worry their bottom lip between their teeth. They let go of the villain, which was sloppy and unprofessional and so unlike the hero.

“You save people. You show up to fight me no matter what,” the villain reasons.

The crime-stopper sucks in a careful, measured breath, as though it was their last. “I only fight you because they tell me to. You’re far from the worst thing out there. The agency just labels anyone with functioning braincells who isn’t their goddamn puppet ‘a threat’. ” Hero snorts inelegantly, but the look in their eyes is anything but amused. Desperate. Broken.

The confession leaves Villain dumbfounded, and their agape jaw quickly snaps shut. They want to say something to soothe their enemy, but they were never one for gentle words and complicated feelings. Because they currently have no one they care about to have any knowledge of. . .basic human emotions, apparently.

Yet here they are, practically itching to find a way to offer their nemesis any comfort they can. “I- the people don’t care about the agency, Hero. Just because they made you feel like your time is over or whatever stupid publicity stunt they’re trying to pull – doesn’t mean it actually applies to you.”

Hero only gives them a wry smile, and it seems to age them decades in matter of instants, even though they’re young, like the villain. Too young. “It was nice feeling like I meant something, even if the affirmations were false. A pretty lie is something to hold on to.”

Villain tilts their chin up, cautiously, as though they are more fragile than glass. “What are you planning on doing now?”

“I,” the hero starts, “I don’t k-know!” And with that, the hand on their jaw started to get wet with the steady flow of tears that they immediately wipe away, their face flushed and their throat burning like acid was forced down it with the shame, the tears tasting like salt on their tongue.

“You can stay with me,” the villain offers, pulling the hero close to them. They flinch violently, letting out a sharp gasp, but they cling onto their greatest enemy like a lifeline.

“Just until you figure things out. My civilian identity arouses no suspicion. I have a legal source of income too.”

“Why?” the hero rasps, pulling away from the embrace, “Why would you help me? Why do you care?” they ask, their form trembling with every step they take.

“Because,” they breathe out carefully, “I care about you,” they realise.

“I have no one to hold on to. No one I know whom I give a damn about. You know me better than people who’ve seen me with my mask off every day.”

And it was true. Because when the hero showed up to all those fights, it almost felt like they were keeping each other company more than anything. Old friends and perfect strangers mixed into one.

Hero takes the risk of believing them. The lesser of two evils, if their intentions prove to be rotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♤♤♤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Villain’s house is spacious, decorated in a way that was both luxuriant and simple. The place smells like expensive. Like exotic wood and potted plants with their fragrant blossoms, like fancy tea and brand new furniture, like the villain themselves: the crisp pages of a book mixed with the criminal’s musky perfume, though they currently smell more like blood and the day’s activities than anything else. But no matter how striking the difference is between their estate and the hero’s practical and brilliantly staid apartment, they both have one major thing in common.

The air reeks of mind-numbing loneliness in both places.

Reluctantly, the criminal rips off their mask, offering the hero a shy smile. Even though their features are somewhat sharp, maybe a little less harsh then the hero’s, but still defined, they look incredibly soft. It makes the city’s saviour wonder how they ever saw them as a menace. They reciprocate, feeling completely exposed as a scar underneath their eye is revealed. The villain’s smile widens to a grin.

“You’re cute.” They trace the shape of their scar with their fingers, and if the hero was blushing a few moments ago, right now they can pass off as a very convincing beetroot.

Moments later, Villain settles themselves on the couch, much too tired for anything else, patting the spot next to them. Hesitantly, Hero joins them.

“What movies do you like?”

“Thrillers,” the hero answers, without missing a beat.

At that, the villains laughs and raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You felt more like a Disney movie kind of person. But I’m into thrillers too.”

“Don’t patronise me,” they chide jokingly.

Villain smirks and reaches for the remote, picking a film neither of them had seen before. They pull the hero into their lap, even though the crime-fighter was the taller of the two. They’re ridiculously light, they note. They need to eat.

Halfway into the movie, Hero still perched on top of their lap, Villain asks them, “I’m getting takeout. Pizza or Chinese? Or something else?”

“Chinese is my favourite. Go for it!’ they chirp excitedly.

Villain’s heart doesn’t melt. It spontaneously combusts. “Do you know how tempting you are to spoil?” they stage-whisper, stroking the hero’s hair.

Hero just laughs softly in response.

Yes, the world gets dark. Hope is a thin thread to cling to, a precarious journey to make. There is a fine line between trust and utter foolishness and mistakes are inevitable, but to avoid everything in fear of them is to avoid living, to be a living body with a dead soul. Because between every wrong choice, there is always a right one, a chance we'd regret not seizing. Because even in the all-consuming darkness of a pitch black sky, the stars never fail to illuminate the night.

Notes: Thought I'd finally answer one of my asks before going back to radio silence for a while!

Tagging for comfort fics: @roblingoblin285

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichakii @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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streets-in-paradise · 9 months

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Anonymous Hero - Hector of Troy x (Fem)Warrior!Reader (requested)

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Requested by @g-m-kaye

“ (...) If you’re still taking fic requests for TROY (?) I’d be super duper excited if you’d write an AU fic for Hector x reader character where Hector, instead of being married to Andromache, falls for a slender Trojan warrior who has his back in the first melee… but unexpectedly turns out to be a woman when Hector demands the warrior remove his helmet & reveal “his” identity 👀 (I’ve always loved the “girl masquerading as boy” trope - ever since Shakespeare!) … and pls do make it as steamy as you like!! Lol (...)”

Hope you will like this, darling! I loved writing it.

Word Count 2.5 K

Warnings: Hector going through a Li Shang bi panic, Single Hector AU ( sorry, Andromache. You are great, but we love your man). Very few proofreading ( it’s almost 3 AM and i’m tired, but wanted to get it posted)

Summary: In the heat of battle during the arrival of the greeks Hector ends up greatly impressed by the courageous response of a singular soldier, but this stranger refuses to claim ríghts on the feat. Feeling even more intrigued about him afterwards, the prince is determined to find him in full unawareness of how the peculiar fighter has quite a few more surprises to give.

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @helie-brain @rfkfan

The sound of the bell brought the expected news nobody wanted to hear. Greek veils in the horizon, a thousand ships about to reach trojan shore, giving the impression that Agamemnon had emptied the continent to avenge the insulted honor of his brother. As the city observed the spectacle with horror, heralds were calling all the available men to fight in what would be the first defense in a crushing war. The disastrous numerical difference forced desperate measures and the army commanded by Prince Hector needed to engross its lines somehow. For so, many soldiers who weren’t in optimal conditions were needed: young lads stepping into combat too soon and old men following the example of Glaucus.

Fillment additions, men that were there for numbers but weren’t warriors in the heroic sense of the term. They had very little possibilities of success against the myrmidons, fearless and bloodthirst beasts that were presenting a hard challenge to the Apollonian Guard even before the landing of Ajax. If some of the best in Troy were suffering because of them, arming that sacrificial reserve sounded like pointless cruelty. Those men were doomed to be nothing more than fresh meat to engross the downs of Achilles and Ajax, easily removable obstacles slowing down their encounter with more qualified enemies. No one would have expected much of them, at least until one proved the assumptions of the strategists to be completely wrong.

After Achilles performed miracles throwing a spear that killed Tecton from an impossible distance, doing so with a cocky bragger naturality, the elite warriors were completely discouraged. Even Hector experienced true horror for the first time in many years, sensibly affected by the death of the friend who had always got his back in the battlefield. Despite the myrmidons being implicitly warned to leave him for their leader, many tried to take that contextual advantage doing their shots in trying to take down the prince. Clearly, not everyone was willing to listen after being exhorted to fight through a hubris induced speech about reaching immortal glory.

In that spirit-wrecking point of the battle, with a temple destroyed and priests slaughtered by an enemy that knew no limits, the disorganized crowd of elite warriors fleeing left a chance for the relegated men of Troy to shine. A small, slender soldier that could have made Ajax laugh if he would have faced him courageously assumed the role of Tecton protecting the prince in the chaos. Hector was equally moved and amazed by the man fighting beside him. He looked weaker than his brother, probably a young lad from that desperate aid reserve, yet he was fighting with the push of a man twice his size. He followed all the way through the carnage inside the temple and would have gone to the end of the line accompanying him to the encounter of Achilles, if Hector himself wouldn’t have commanded otherwise. The sacrificial devotion of that soldier felt personal beyond any measures, it left a mark on his memory that eclipsed the shocking first impression Achilles wanted to feel being causing him.

Although relegated due to his fragile appearance, that nameless young man fought with the kind of honor the famous greek warlord lacked and Hector was finding a strange sense of hope in that. He also couldn’t help admiring some of his gracious movements at times, wondering if he could perhaps have been a disguise of the god defending his altar. That would have at least explained the most incredible aspect of the situation: his unexplainable attraction towards him.

No details of the episode were referenced in the war council that night. Archeptolemus, his political rival in religious circles, would have used it against him and the prince was already very much irritated by his misuse of religion to discredit him. If the soft looking soldier was Apollo fighting beside him or just a regular mortal he had just fallen for, he would have to figure it out by himself. The hopeful reminder of him helped the prince tolerate the newest terrible choice of his brother. Although Paris promised an easy resolution meant to take place the next morning, he was walking to his death and he wasn’t ready to let him die. Unlike his mysterious new favorite, the youngest prince didn’t possess any dormant courage to be released in a critical situation.

Paris needed to meet that man, either to exhort miraculous bravery in him or to make him desist from that purpose. It was the excuse that Hector invented to himself in his mildly desperate search for him.

“ Troy is worth fighting for because even the simplest of our men can make a difference. “ He was saying to his men in formation during the motivational speech that morning.” Agamemnon brought to us a parade of famous heroes without any inside cohesion. He expects us to tremble upon him because his battalions are all commanded by one of those, but yesterday we learned a valuable lesson. Their army is weak where ours is stronger. They are glory seekers harangued by leaders who think like arrogant children, we are men fighting for our country. We don’t rely on the fame of our heroes, but in the strength of our hearts!”

Ovations cutted him off for an instant, but he waited enough to continue and evaluated the reaction.

“ Yesterday we lost a hero, a man I loved like a brother, but that loss didn’t paralyzed us.Someone else made his way reclaiming his spot beside me. Not a fighter in a chariot, not an apollonian, but a simple man. He performed heroic acts worthy of being sung, but disappeared without claiming any authorship for his feat. While greeks are too preoccupied with making history to care about each other, even the smallest trojan is already a hero.”

Hector roamed the extension of the front lines on his horse,visually searching for the reaction revealing the man in question.

“ We have humble anonymous heroes that double theirs in courage and worth, and I now command this man to show himself and reclaim the honors he deserves.”

A tense silence followed the end of his speech, soldiers looking at their sides full with confusion searching for the one refusing such a high reward.

“ It is an order.” Hector finally reminded them. “ In the name of the loyalty he displayed, I demand him to give one step ahead.”

Suddenly, a slender figure emerged from the crowd and the prince got off his horse as he approached. His evident satisfaction made Paris hold a chuckle, especially because he noticed how his brother observed him.

“ I want the army to be a witness of my gratitude. “ Hector explained to him once he was finally standing in front of him. Only a shorter distance separated them. “ In a battle won by men desperate for recognition, you saved my life asking nothing in return. You have won my admiration and sincere affection; Troy must remember your name.”

The multitude started cheering until the honored fighter removed his helmet, surrendering himself to the pressure about knowing his identity. A sepulchral silence followed his movements, confusion spreading even further than before and the youngest prince was the only smiling face easy to spot.

Hector discovered a beautiful woman staring back at him and never before he had found anyone so desirable.His lips slightly parted despite him trying to pretend he wasn’t observing her in complete awe.

“ Do with me what you judge properly, my lord.” She fearlessly exclaimed. “ I surrender myself to you for disciplinary action.”

He recognized her, a young maiden from a remarkable family of trojan aristocrats. Firstborn daughter and her only brother was fifteen years old. The boy was named Ilus, at least he remembered that, but he couldn’t remember much of her and it frustrated him.

" I must assume you are here as a replacement for Ilus Peiroide. " He asked her in an affirmation. " A young boy, too young. His frame provided an easy hideout for you. "

" He is my brother. " The lady replicated. " Is the king of Mycenae the only one who can fight for his brother? I would rather bring dishonor to my family than burying Ilus. "

Her words resonated deeply with him. Not only his fondness of her kept increasing, Hector simply couldn't blame her. However, he had to act as a leader.

" At least allow her to plead her case, i like her." Paris commented, doing his brother the favor of saying what he couldn't. " This is my war, one that is being fought over a woman I brought here. Wouldn't it be a blatant hypocrisy if we don't let this girl speak?"

She smiled at him, only deviating her attention from Hector for a brief instant, to what Paris replied with a friendly wink.

" You don't have much time, the greeks will arrive soon..." Hector pointed out. " Your brave acts are not being questioned, but you must make yourself accountable for your transgression. Not to me, but to our countrymen."

The intense eye contact going on between them was loaded with a tension that didn't resemble a grudge of any kind.

" Look at them and tell them why you did this. "

" I listened to your speeches and felt the call deep inside, in my heart. " She provocatively replied, admitting reasons beyond the initial sympathetic motive palatable to their societal perceptions. " My prince, you harangue the men speaking about freedom, but the rules of war don't threaten theirs as heavily as they menace ours. Are we all going to pretend we don't know what happened to Princess Briseis just because the King can't stand the shame? A woman doesn't simply disappear or dies in war, she is taken by the winner. Women don't get the privilege of dying, we are the ones who will be reduced to slavery if the city falls. If Helen came here searching for her freedom to love... Why can't I defend my own freedom, and all my countrywomen? "

Even the ones who had reason to present objections couldn't argue with that, the presence of Helen was a disruptive element for trojan society. Her existence there had proven to challenge the traditional conceptions for quite a few established institutions, marriage being the main in the list but not the only one.

" If this ends in battle, you have one more chance to prove your value to the city. Only one, and i am granting it to you in honor of the great service you performed for me yesterday." Hector warned her. " Consider my debt paid with this indulgence. "

She smiled and that time it was for him. Hector had to pretend coldness, but he would have done anything to see that again.

" I will not disappoint you, my prince. If you pick me, I will follow you to the gates of Tartarus. "

His pulse accelerated hearing that, making him feel the improper effect that the woman had on him.

The promise turned out to be true, since another opportunity for fighting presented itself and she did something impressive. Trojans weren't as surprised as the greeks were when Hector slaughtered Menelaus to save Paris from that hopeless combat, unleashing a new battle through the breaking of the pact. To them it was clear that the story of the shieldmaiden who defied the concept of honor replacing her younger brother to save him must had inspired the heir prince. Curiously but not casually, a great victory was obtained and both performed the highlights of it. Barely after Hector triumphed in his solitary combat against Ajax, the lady forced the definitive retreat of the greeks for the day by attacking the mycenaeans.

Her spear throw killed the charioteer of Agamemnon. Not satisfied with that, she wounded him with the sword as he was attempting to control the horses. Nothing severe, the blade barely caressed his arm, but it reminded the power delirious king that he was a mortal and in that opportunity she did reclaimed the feat knowing it would increase his humiliation.

The very same men who were judging her in silence that morning celebrated her alongside Hector in the afternoon. She was invited to the palace, where King Priam allowed her to be acknowledged through his son's choice of allowing her involvement. She promised him to help in the case of her niece, if she could be allowed after the immense offense she gave to the supreme greek king. Helen herself praised her bravery, granting hers and Paris' support altogether.

It was like a dream, a very vivid dream where she was getting noticed being who she wanted to be. Even Hector, the man she had hopelessly loved in silence for many years, was looking at her in a different way.

Among the ladies of trojan high society she never felt particularly special and nothing made her feel that way. Despite being daughter of one of the local nobles in his own city, Hector barely noticed her. She used to be one of the many silly girls looking at him with pointless adoration at some special social event while his eyes followed only the frame of Princess Andromache of Thebe. A woman who represented everything she wasn't, a perfectly adjusted lady any man would want for a wife.

The order of the world was turned upside down, Hector couldn't take his eyes of her. Even without the disguise he still seemed to admire her and she felt it hitting way deeper than what the moral undertones of his speech implied.

" If I have been an inspiration for you, let me say I can finally repay you." He shamelessly admitted her as soon as they were left alone. " You inspired me today, sometimes you need strength to leave your honor behind for love."

" Is that an invitation?" She teased him. " Don't keep me waiting, I'm not a child anymore."

Hector sipped some wine without breaking eye contact through the action, then left the cup to subtly lay a hand on her cheek.

" Then you must be aware of how you are making me feel."

She lifted her head just a bit, showing how delighted with his touch she was.

" How can I doubt it when you are looking at me like this?" She purred with want. " I fully meant what I told you this morning. Pick me, I could be yours if you want me. "

Infatuated as he was, he could have proposed ríght there after that suggestive comeback, but he límited himself to kissing her hoping that could help him slow down.

#troy 2004 #hector of troy #eric bana #hector x reader #hector of troy x reader #eric bana x reader #troy fanfiction #troy

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howtofightwrite · 1 year

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Hi! I need some advice on how to write battle plans. Like in war and such. I’m also having to come up with terrain for this chapter I’m writing. This is a Star Wars story with two Jedi if that matters. Do you think you can help me?

I'm a bit under the weather right now, so this response is going to be fairly brief. We'll be back to our normal schedule as soon as possible.

The Star Wars part matters a lot. Most science fiction settings have specific considerations that heavily affect how combat encounters play out, and what needs to be considered for planning.

In particular, combat in Star Wars can be roughly broken down into three parts. Space, ground, and characters. The ground and characters being separate groups is somewhat artificial, but it does reflect how the films (and most Star Wars media, for that matter) is written.

Space combat has a lot of considerations and, generally, has a rock, paper, scissors relationship going on. Star Wars tends to split starships into three groups: Capital ships, starfighters, and bombers. This is less consistently illustrated on screen, and tends to be something that exists more in the support material. Basically, capital ships (usually) have heavy flak defenses against incoming fighters. Fighters have a significant maneuverability advantage over bombers, and bombers are (usually) equipped with long range ordinance to deal crippling damage to enemy capital ships. (Beyond that, there are a lot of ships that perform better in their role, or partially step outside of their role.) The resulting structure is that capital ships operate as the heavy firepower supported by starfighters who have the specific job of screening off any incoming bombers. (In the original Trilogy, the TIE Fighters, TIE Interceptors, and TIE Advanced are the Empire's fighters, with the TIE Bombers as their only bomber variety. The Rebels use X-Wings, A-Wings as their starfighters, with the Y-Wings and B-Wings serving as their bombers. If you ever wondered why the sent in Y-Wings on the first trench run, here's your answer.)

Star Destroyers (Imperial-Class, and the Executor SSD), Mon Calamari Star Cruisers (these are noted for not having a standard design pattern, so a lot of the weird globby capital ships in Return of the Jedi are all MonCal Star Cruisers), Corellian Corvettes, and Nebulon-B Frigates cover most of the capital ships you see in the original films.

If you want to expand beyond that, then the original Thrawn Trilogy by Timothy Zahn is a pretty good place to start. Thrawn is a very well written strategist, especiallyin his original outing, and Zahn introduced a lot of strategically interesting mechanics to Star Wars that hadn't been set up in the original films. This included the concept of interdictors which could create an artificial gravity well to force ships out of Hyperspace.

Moving on to ground combat, Star Wars is a setting that's usually pretty good about paying attention to combined arms. Most starfighters and bombers (including all of the ones I mentioned above), are able to provide close air support, and capital ships can provide targeted orbital bombardment (in the case of some larger capital ships, they can obliterate entire cities, and fleets effectively wipe out entire planetary civilizations. Usually the reason not to do this is because the faction in question is unwilling to do so, or the planet has some direct strategic value.) This is on top of a lot of atmospheric only speeders and walkers that exist. Also technology like energy shields which can (in some cases) provide full protection against orbital bombardment, and a heavily fortified planet may have surface-to-space ion cannons and/or turbolaser batteries, which could make life very interesting for an invading fleet attempting to clear the planet.

A lot of the time, ground combat in Star Wars will either focus on the vehicle combat directly or mix between vehicles and infantry combat. Actually drafting up battle plans in situations like this is going to depend primarily on strategic considerations for where they're fighting. If repulsorlifts don't work on the planet, then T-47 speeders aren't an option, and everyone's restricted to walkers and treadded vehicles. If it's an exceptionally dense urban environment that needs to be taken (mostly) intact, then you're probably looking at normal infantry for a long drawn out campaign, where they're unlikely to use anything heavier than a concussion rifle. If the goal is to simply turn a facility into a crater, you can do that with a few proton bombs fired from a flight of Y-Wings.

It really depends on what you need done.

After that, the films have very strong focus on duels between major characters. Characters (especially Jedi) tend to quickly carve through, or easily evade, any ground units sent after them. If you're a named character in Star Wars, the real danger is another named character, not some random troopers (even if they should pose more of a threat.)

It might be worth digging up a copy of Empire at War. It's an older Star Wars RTS, but a very well made one, which embraces some of the setting's strategic depth, and has enough interesting concepts to get you thinking.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#how to fight write #Starke answers #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #Star Wars

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vict12r · 4 months

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@4thdistrict liked for a lyric starter !

‍ ‍ “ we all still die, what will you leave behind? ”

‍ ‍ ‍ ― willow tree march, the paper kites.

#4thdistrict #❛ a fighter forced to perform. ➴WRITING.#❛ to put yourself back together. ➴4THDISTRICT ⁀ FINNICK ODAIR.#sorry. SORRY.

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usafphantom2 · 1 month

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The real secret behind P-51B/C/D Mustang range

The P-51 Mustang

Controlling the air proved key to controlling the ground. The long-range P-51 Mustang fighter was invaluable to the Allied victory, enabling resumption of strategic bombing after heavy losses suffered by unescorted bombers in 1943. Developed for export to Britain, models modified by the British to use Rolls-Royce Merlin engines became America’s most capable wartime fighters.

In fact, in December 1943 the first Merlin-engined P-51B/C Mustangs entered combat in Europe. These P-51s provided sorely needed long-range, high-altitude escort for the US bombing campaign against Germany.

The P-51D arrived in quantity in Europe in the spring of 1944, becoming the USAAF’s primary long range escort fighter.

Thanks to its ability to excel in long-range escort duty, the Mustang was the first single-engine plane based in Britain to penetrate Germany, first to reach Berlin and first to go with the heavy bombers over the Ploiesti oil fields in Romania.

How was the iconic Mustang able to perform such long-range escort missions? Not because of its drop tanks.

The secret behind P-51B/C/D Mustang range

‘Lots of planes could carry drop tanks: P-47, P-40, P-38, etc.,’ says James Gibson, former MP&P Engineer at Boeing, says on Quora.

‘The real secret to the Mustang’s range was not the laminar flow control wing, or the Merlin engine. It was the addition of a fuselage tank behind the cockpit halfway through production of the P-51B. This additional internal tank increased fuel capacity by 85 gallons: original P-51Bs only had 184 gallons in the wings. The addition increased total fuel to 269 gallons or some 30%. Further adding two 75 gal drop tanks you reached 419 gallons. The later D&H models carried 110 gal drop tanks for 489 gallons.

‘But when you carried so much fuel you had to be aware of which tanks you were using at which point in the flight. On take-off you used the rear fuselage tank. This tank effected the center of gravity of the plane. You didn’t want to tangle with a 109 or a Focke Wulf when carrying fuel in the rear tank. So you burned it first and then switched to the drop tanks about halfway to Berlin.’

Gibson concludes;

‘You would then burn off the drop tanks, hopefully before engaging enemy fighters. But if they struck early you could drop those tanks and thus be clean and maneuverable. This was the fight profile that allowed the Mustangs maximum range and best performance when over target.’

P-51D Mustang print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. P-51D Mustang “Dorrie R” – 44-63422 / 134, 15th FG, 78th FS “Bushmasters” – 1945

Photo credit: U.S. Air Force

Dario Leone

@TAGC17 via X

Dario Leone is an aviation, defense and military writer. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviation Geek Club” one of the world’s most read military aviation blogs. His writing has appeared in The National Interest and other news media. He has reported from Europe and flown Super Puma and Cougar helicopters with the Swiss Air Force.

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lynnlovesthestars · 15 days

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Congrats on the 400 followers!!💖 I've been working up the courage to ask for a match up for my Tav haha, sfw/nsfw is all good!

My Tav is a tiefling in her mid 20s named Ace - a Mephistopheles Tiefling with short cropped copper hair and blue eyes that dart around any room she's in. Chewed nails, bad posture, permanent eye bags. She worked in Baldurs Gate in a secretarial/bookeeper role for a library and is a bard - just a more storyteller focused one than a musician/performer! Contrary to the stereotypical bard, she has crippling anxiety and zero rizz, though she tries her best to mask this.

Ace's experience with the general public meant she's been thrust into her leadership role in the group - a position she was not prepared for. Having no experience as a fighter, she is forced to learn on the go, hiding her inexperience behind a facade. Cries often in her tent when she thinks the party is asleep and blames herself for not being competent enough if a party member is hurt or something goes wrong on their journey.

As her job suggests, Ace is a massive bookworm, preferring mythology, fables etc than non fiction work. Her bardic abilities come from her storytelling ability, a skill she used to entertain children back at the library. She has a sweet tooth, and misses the treats she bought daily on her way to work. In addition, she loves animals (Scratch and the cub are doted on), boardgames, writing and collecting soft toys.

Thank you so much for this!

First of all sorry for being so late, i got sick and getting back at my routine after getting better was a challenge xD.. anyways i think Ace, as the rizzless queen, would pair well with our favourite rizzless king, Astarion. Let's be honest here, our lovely vampire does his best, but sometimes the rizz doesnt rizz as it should.. we might say it rizzn't.

Anyways after my small comedic corner, talking about the rizzlessness (istg someone should stop me), i think that's exactlt how the two end up together.

Ace reads through Astarion's acting as soon as they get closer, she can tell his flirting skills are just a result of years of trial and error- and a lot of reused lines, and not only because, in her way, she puts up a mask to hide her anxiety. She can tell cause once he opens up about his life under Cazador, she can spot those moments where his façade cracks.

Astarion falls for the same exact reason why Ace is skeptic in the beginning: the cracks through the façade. There's only so much a good storytelling can hide, and despite her proficiency he falls for the way she stumbles ever so slightly on her words, or how she reuses that same cheeky line he has used as well, before he knows he even allows his mask to drop more often, revealing more and more of his actual personality, and that's when Ace fully ends up trusting him.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, the honey is sweet, and so are you"

#baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 astarion #lynn: updates☆#astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #bg3 x reader #astarion bg3 #bg3 #lynn 400 followers celebration #400 followers party #bg3 matchup #ask: lynn ☆#asklynn☆: request

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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hiiii!! first of all I hope you’re doing good and resting a lot! secondly I adore your writings, your style is so good and since I love reading whatever your write I wanted to request a Zoro x F!reader (if you feel comfortable!) where the reader is part of the crew and beside being a great fighter is an exceptional singer, and Zoro has always had a soft spot for her but lately that has blossomed into a gut wrenching crush (reciprocated unbeknownst to him) and he’s particularly obsessed with her voice, believing she sounds like an angel, his mind tho wanders and sometimes thinks about less pure things, like how that voice would sound in a very different context, so one night after she sang for the crew before bed he just can’t stop himself and kisses her and the tension among them explodes, it’s your choice to decide how much NSFW you want to include, I will love it regardless. have a wonderful day 🫶🏻

hi angel ♡૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა♡ i am definitely trying to rest haha, thank you; make sure you're resting too! i also hope you're doing well 💕 i am so happy you enjoy my writing, and i also liked this request a lot so thank you! i tried not to make it too long, but it's zoro, yk, he's a mess.

2.5k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; there's fluff if you consider zoro not choking her as fluff, a tiny bit of angst, and smut obvy; feat. fingering, oral (m receiving), alcohol, fun stuff like mutual pining and whatnot; reader is a singer in this fic; my islander roots are showing, i wrote abt the heat again.

the air is stale, unbearable — the humidity absolutely infuriating, turning your skin sticky. when your crew stumbled upon the abandoned village, you never imagined the heat to trap you like this. normally, you can tolerate it, but for some reason you just can’t right now. you fan yourself tirelessly, waiting alongside nami and chopper as the others go to fetch water.

your companions complain about the heat, both equally as miserable as you are, even as you sit in an empty house, away from any direct contact from the sun. you know you should preserve your energy, but a distraction might be what you all need.

with your eyes closed, you steady your breath, the corners of your lips curling upward as you start to sing. it’s nothing complicated, the words are simple, a little melancholic — something you’ve hummed to yourself over the past few days — but it forces nami to scoot closer, and chopper to hop onto your lap to listen better. the dryness in your throat turns your pitch a little lower, tone raspier; your voice echoes around the room, tumbling out of the open windows, whirling around the street.

what should have been a fifteen minute trip, turns into a thirty minute one when luffy accidentally drops most of the water they collected — since he insisted on carrying it. zoro knew it was a bad idea, but he was so determined to get back that he hadn’t thought it through carefully. he waves off luffy’s half-assed apologies, walking back with the rest of the crew, senses sharp even as he jokes around with them. as they approach the village, your voice finds him first — curls delicately around his throat, choking him harder with each step he takes.

maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the fact that missed the initial part of your performance, but rather than head inside of the house like the others, he hovers by the open window, opting to listen without the prying eyes of everyone else. he’s always been fond — more than fond, actually — of your singing, much more than he’s ever openly admitted. the vulnerability that accompanies that sort of confession is wholly too intimate for him; so he swallows down the urge, lets it fester until he can’t handle it anymore.

he’s at his breaking point and knows that somehow he’ll need to find a way to remedy this before it gets out of hand.

you open your eyes and smile sheepishly when your crew mates give you a round of applause; their words of encouragement warm you significantly, and when they pass around the water, you take a healthy sip from your glass.

perceptive as ever, you notice zoro’s absence, but have a feeling that he’s not too far away. from all the time you’ve spent with your crew mates, you’ve more or less become in tune with them. and it could be that the way you feel about zoro is much different than the way you feel about the others, but you’re acutely aware of his presence even when you don’t see him right away. so when he finally does make it inside, no amount of water can properly cool you off.

your crew mates chatter around you, their voices practically background noise as you sip more of the water. after placing the jug down, zoro lifts his shirt and uses it to wipe his face, hating the way the climate of the island has them sequestered for a bit. your grip loosens and the glass slips from your hand, shattering on the hard floor on impact, water splashing on your sandaled feet. he looks over at you, frowning at your clumsiness — it’s not like you, and while robin and sanji help you take care of the shards of glass, you try your best to not let your mushy thoughts add to your misery.

swallowing hard, you wave away the thought that made you drop the glass in the first place; and if zoro were to ask you what happened, you’d openly blame him. it was the way he boldly had his abs on display, without a care in the world, as you did your best to quench the heat that spread through you. in hindsight, you really should have looked away, spared yourself the embarrassment, and just let your imagination do its job. but no. you were curious, and more than that, hopeful.

for what exactly, you don’t know.

the rest of the afternoon is spent in leisure; you all explore another area of the island, combing through the vegetation and gathering any edible vegetables and fruits and carrying them back to the ship that’s docked on the coast. because luffy is insistent, sanji prepares dinner on the beach — which leads to a bonfire, which leads to a small party of sorts. it lasts a few hours, and you all pile back onto the sunny, sleepy and content. it’s brook who encourages you to sing another song, opting to bring out a guitar to accompany you.

silence descends on the deck as you sing another song for them — something sweet and light, but still manages to captivate them all the same. zoro included. he hangs on to every note, every change in pitch and tone, can tell that after spending the day in the heat, your voice is much breathier — sultry, even. he reminds himself that there’s nothing inherently sexual about the way you sing, but he thinks about what it would be like to hear you hit the same kinds of notes, in a more private, intimate setting.

the thoughts plague him as you continue singing, so much that he paces a bit off to the side, hoping to burn off the excess energy that’s building up inside of him. a few minutes later, you finish the song and your crew mates head off to their respective beds — as if you sang them a lullaby and placed them under your spell. when you look around the deck, zoro is nowhere in sight; you walk around in search of him, and see that a dim light is on in the kitchen. you figure he probably went to get another drink, and since you’re not exactly tired, you decide to join him.

the whiskey burns, but still can’t shake the way your singing haunts him — infiltrating his thoughts at all hours of the day, distracting him even when you fight alongside each other in battle, it’s all very obnoxious and unnecessary. he’s so enmeshed in his pity-party, that he hardly notices your presence until your arm touches his.

“you’re getting better at that,” he says cheekily before pouring another glass of whiskey.

it’s not often that zoro compliments people, so you take his words seriously and cherish them. “thanks, i learn from the best.” best meaning him, obviously. not one to care about having his ego stroked by simple, sentimental statements, for some reason he’s taken aback by your words. he doesn’t even fight you when you pluck the glass out of his hand and drink deeply from it, savoring the taste of the drink, sparking a different kind of heat that envelopes you entirely.

the way he looks at you makes you finish the drink quickly, enjoying the burn and the way it brings a light dizziness over you. after learning your lesson from earlier, you place the empty glass on the counter away from your clumsy hands and scatterbrained thoughts. zoro’s eye tracks your movements, watches the way you keep playing with your hair, a nervous habit that you can’t seem to break no matter how many times you try. several words rush up the back of your throat, ready to spill and stomp all over any residual silence in the room, but, as usual, zoro acts on instinct.

he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip — once, then twice — a maddening effect that depletes all of your self-preservation.

your lips part just as he kisses you, something he’s been meaning to do for a long, long time. he’s a selfish bastard, he knows that, but he can’t help but think that you’ll allow him this one moment to be a tiny bit greedy with you. his tongue slips into your mouth candidly, caressing your tongue, a mixture of whiskey and something sweet — a pleasant surprise, one that has him kissing you again. and again. and again. arms wrapped around his neck, you return each of his kisses; ardent and a little impetuous.

his imagination pales in comparison, clearly; all those nights where he dreamed of holding you, of tasting you in this way — it’s a much more vibrant, impossibly erotic feeling. pressing your body against his, the softness obliterating the rest of his resolve, giving way to the insatiable beast that he keeps chained deep inside of him. you’ve seen glimpses of it before, so it’s unsurprising when his hands roam around, coast along your curves, and grab onto your ass. a small squeal leaves your mouth, as he leaves behind a playful kiss, his lips trailing along your jaw and landing on the side of your neck. your hips roll forward and you feel his hardened length through his pants.

a switch flips in your head, you work quickly and unfasten his pants, hand wrapping around his thick cock, twisting as you stroke him repeatedly, enjoying the moans that tumble out of his mouth and into yours as he gives you heated tongue kisses. your hand is soft around him — much different than the roughness of his — a welcomed change, one that his him craving more and more of you. it’s you who breaks the kiss again, you who gets on their knees, and you who runs your tongue flat against his cock from the base to the tip. pre-cum spills from his slit, you swipe your tongue at it, enjoying the slightly salty taste before swirling your tongue around the head of his cock.

running a hand down his face, zoro inhales deeply through his nostrils, trying to remember the last time he was this weak against the hands of another. your mouth and tongue make for a dangerous combination, coupled with the whiskey making you bolder than normal, if he’s not careful, he might fall deeper under your spell. which is all as well, he’s got you under his thumb, especially with the way his hips push forward as you open your mouth and make room for his cock. while he respects your talent as an artist, and knows that your throat is important — it’s delicate and hard-working — the way your mouth fits snugly around his girth, the way you seem so eager to take more of him, it has him acting brutish. zoro grabs a fistful of your hair, groaning quietly as he holds you steady and fucks your mouth.

slackening your jaw, you make sure to keep your teeth away as his cock slides in and out of your mouth with fervor; you can feel your arousal get the best of you as you squeeze your thighs together, your hands grabbing onto his legs to keep from falling over. he manages to shake away some of the lustful haze that took over his mind and pulls his cock out of your mouth; saliva drips down your chin, coats the length of his cock, and you inhale large gulps of air, attempting to regulate your breathing as your heart sputters, making your pulse erratic. he has the decency to look apologetic, even when he yanks you up by the arm, mouth finding yours again, placing a tender kiss against your lips.

before long, you find yourself sitting on top of the counter, shorts tugged off, panties practically in shreds thanks to that brute of a swordsman who happens to be dropping open-mouthed kisses down your throat as his thick fingers plunge in and out of your cunt, your core aching terribly as you buck your hips against his hand, mouth falling open as you moan his name loudly. he’s much too far gone to tell you to keep quiet, and you’re completely in a daze, not bothering with logic as it currently has no place in your life. not when zoro’s fingers scissor inside of you, stretching you appropriately, his tongue flicking against your skin, making your pitch shift again, letting out throaty moans as you beg him to fuck you properly.

because he simply can’t be bothered with teasing you for a prolonged period of time, zoro obliges — for both of your sake — tapping his cock against your pussy; you flinch at the sensation and he chuckles darkly, admiring your patience as he pushes his cock inside of you slowly. you wrap your legs around him, and he takes that as encouragement as he thrusts into you once, burying his cock to the hilt. the way you call out his name is enough to give him a sugar rush; your pussy clenches around him appreciatively, hips knocking against yours, your slick wetness coating the length of his cock. if he was the romantic type, he’d whisper sweet things in your ears, instead of the filthy words that he considers praise — that has you recklessly bucking your hips against his, pussy squelching loudly as his thrusts get harder.

sanji will likely have both of your heads for desecrating his kitchen like that, but zoro is beyond caring, and your thoughts, unfortunately, mirror his. maybe you’ll feel bad about it in the morning, but for now, you’re much too focused on the way he angles his hips to power into you, your toes curling as you cry out, voice hoarse as you chant keep going and don’t stop, don’t you dare stop. so when he bites your bottom lip and slams into you fervently, a flash of white passes over you, momentarily stealing your vision as an orgasm powers through you. he didn’t expect you to fall apart like this, but he’s far from complaining; in fact, he’s overly enjoying himself, and the way your pussy can’t seem to stop squeezing around him, your warm, plush walls pushing him over the edge as his thrusts get faster and his strokes get shorter.

you bite his neck and that’s all it takes to have him grabbing your hips firmly as he cums unexpectedly, fully unprepared for that level of treachery from you. he should’ve known, though, anyone with a voice that hypnotic is bound to be trouble. cum spills down your thighs, although you’re more preoccupied with catching your breath again to care about the mess.

if he ever has to confess, he’ll definitely say that you sounded just as lovely as you did when you were singing earlier. but he won’t say that, not now, anyway — because, then he’d have to admit to other things and he’s not quite ready for that yet. instead, he presses his forehead against yours, hoping to just savor this moment a little longer before returning to reality and dealing with his impulsive whims.

#fic request #thank u sm for being patient; i've been so slow w. requests lately #one piece smut #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro smut #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #‘i can change him’ 🥴#zoro can never just let someone give him head normally he gotta be savage for WHAT

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justavulcan · 6 months

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Backgrounds With Class: Boros Legionnaire

I'll be honest: Ravnica has always fascinated me. I was a high schooler when the first set came out, and I was immediately consumed creating characters for the setting. Now that we've actually received my long-awaited crossover, I thought it would be nice to write a love letter to the setting in the form of another Backgrounds with Class series. After all: some guilds have natural class choices tied in, from a conceptual standpoint. Boros and Fighter, Izzet and Wizard, Selesnya and Druid. But guilds aren’t class-restricted, and so I wonder what it would look like if you paired every class with every guild background, even the ones that seem at odds, like Izzet and Barbarian, or Gruul and Artificer. So I thought about it, and this is what I came up with. Some character concepts for each class, and each Guildmaster's Guide to Ravnica background for each class.

Boros Legionnaire

The Boros Legionnaire Artificer is a walking proof that workers in magic are just as important as workers of brass and steel to the Legion. Although her magical talents are shorter-lived than her material ones, they are certainly more flexible in the heat of battle. Armed with a sword she made and backed up by a brass construct in the shape of a large war-hound, she joined the legion to follow in her family’s footsteps- supplying the Legion has always been the family business, and she’s just taken the next logical step testing her creations in the field personally.

The Boros Legionnaire Barbarian has always been a competitive soul. The Ordruun line of minotaurs has been the standard bearers for their people in the Legion for centuries if not millennia. This minotaur is not one of those line, and if the truth is told, his motives for joining the Legion have more to do with this family he is not part of than the good he can do serving under the Warleader Aurelia. Competitive spirit and the raw zeal that the Boros embodied before current leadership ascended are far more familiar to this soldier, and his target is the entire Ordruun line- who he would very much love to show up.

The Boros Legionnaire Bard has always been a perfomer at heart, no matter the purpose of their performance. A child to Rakdos parents who somehow acquired an overwhelming respect for authority would be absolutely fascinated by the talents of a Boros bugler- equal parts inspiration and mayhem-bringer. Still, in their way their parents are proud of the literally street-shattering performances their child can put on. That they happen in the midst of quashing the more violent Rakdos parties at the head of a Boros strike force is bittersweet, but still bombastic.

The Boros Legionnaire Cleric knows that violence is not always the way of the legion. Certainly, as the military police to all of Ravnica, it is their primary function, but in a guild that deals so matter-of-factly with violence there must be those who protect life and heal both their comrades and those they go to defend. Dedicated spiritually to aiding those around them, this loxodon healer wears the heaviest armor she can tolerate and carries no weapon but that which she must from her station. For her, the Legion is and has always been meant to be a shield for those who cannot or dare not raise arms in their own defense, and a poultice laid on any wounds savagery or scheming brings.

The Boros Legionnaire Druid walks a delicate line. Armed with the Legion’s typical fiery magic, he maintains a delicate balance between his duties and the cycles of Ravnica’s limited wilderness. He’s a fan of cycles- patrolling territory, keeping routines, bringing both healers’ and embermages’ talents to bear in battle in turn, and even (secretly) inciting unrest to justify cleaning out neighborhoods with unsavory elements. Familiar with the cycle of burn-cleanse-grow of ancient forest destruction and regrowth, this centaur is as tied to the green space of Ravnica as tightly as any gruul anarch or selesnya initiate; he just views the city as subject to the same natural cycle.

The Boros Legionnaire Fighter was always a runt among his kin- noble cyclops blood adulterated by too many ogres and humans through the centuries, he barely breaks eight feet tall and will never see the immense stature of his two-story ancestors. Still, he’s a natural hand at the forge and an avid student of his runes, so he has unique talents to bring to bear against the Legion’s enemies. He hopes, secretly, that studying the ancient language-magic of his people will lend some of their more storied traits.

The Boros Legionnaire Monk is a bearer of the light so often spoke of among the Legion. Raised in the strictest traditions of a multigenerational family of wojeks, it was always assumed that she would take her inner light and cast it about to find the darker sides of her peers and serve as one of the Legion’s investigators. Instead she’s proven her talents again and again as a natural complement to her allies’ heavy armor and broad shields, darting across and through the battlefield with a sword in hand and a growing trail of radiance behind her. Perhaps one day the light will be able to do more than show her trail, but she’s content to serve until it shows in its fullness.

The Boros Legionnaire Paladin has sworn an oath, as paladins are wont to do, to Aurelia herself. An oath of service, of fealty, of devotion, naturally. However, it paints him in an uncommon light- as one of Ravnica’s unquiet dead, a zombie still shambling around tied to a deteriorating body and encrusted with mold that peels and bleaches in the sun, he should be among the Golgari. A memory is all that stands between him and that path- one of battle, sprinting with great urgency, with an angel at their backs and surrounded by warriors in gleaming armor.

The Boros Legionnaire Ranger wasn’t taught to stalk, to hunt, and to use the bow. They come naturally, a strange talent for a human from the grittiest part of Precinct Six, raised near an iron foundry. Still, his talents are unrefined, and formal training at Sunhome has taught him to bring them to bear on the legion’s behalf, stalking and occasionally killing Ravnica’s malcontents and anarchists into the Rubblebelts and beyond. When not tasked with a mission such as this, there is always work as a support for a squad on the street, but he hungers for larger quarries than Tin street gangs and the occasional belligerent ogre.

The Boros Legionnaire Rogue lives by the motto “who dares, wins.” Daring bordering on foolhardy, even for a goblin, she is known for pelting ahead of her comrades to bring her dual swords to bear against the enemy before all others have their chance. Boastful and proud to match her admittedly sterling reputation as a promising candidate among duellists, she’s broadly disliked among the other cadets for how she seems to dodge the due punishments for defying orders.

The Boros Legionnaire Sorcerer was exposed to heavenly fire as a child- the consecrated flames of a firemane angel’s blade set alight the wagon in which her family dwelt, and her burns were grievous. As the rest of her family was a small Gruul clan that had just rampaged through a city block, that same angel had just finished leading the counterattack that cost her parents her life. Years later, fully aware of the source of her burgeoning powers and how she acquired them, she joined the legion, facing that same angel as she proved her ability with the fire that scorched her.

The Boros Legionnaire Warlock met Aurelia of the Legion for the first time as a child. At this first meeting, when she told the warleader of the Rakdos ‘surprise party’ waiting around the corner, the angel gave her a feather from her wing for her vigilance and aid to the legion. From that first meeting, she knew that the Legion was her way out of the chaos-wracked Precinct Four and joined the legion as soon as she was able. There, swearing her oaths of service, she reaffirmed her commitment to Aurelia herself, and the angel honored the oath with a pact. Now she serves proudly as embermage and medic both- whichever is needed for the engagement, she brings to bear.

The Boros Legionnaire Wizard serves as a critical component of the Boros war machine- the one that keeps their troops from being torn apart by Golgari necromancers or Gruul druids. Armed with countermagic and explosive battlemagic like few others, this dispassionate vedalken warmage is known for his poker face- in battle, his face is a mask beyond which no insight penetrates. Despite his apparently frozen demeanor in battle, his heart burns no less brightly than his comrades’, and he shows it in the rare moments between battles when he remembers who he’s protected.

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followmybones · 2 years

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Encounters at the Blooming Inn

Blooming Panic's four love interests in a Fantasy AU

headcanons + drabbles *male reader/mc intended

I don't usually write for Blooming Panic, but I wanted to do something special to celebrate @godlyaffection and his 1000+ followers! Congrats my friend! If you don't know his blog go check him out, he makes some awesome male reader content, and I hope he enjoys this clusterfuck of a post! I'll probably expand on this idea later! Enjoy!

Quest as a fighter

Came from a rough background after hanging out with the wrong crowd and being forced to take the blame for the actions of others, he turned his life around and began trying to right the wrongs he did, he felt had to prove himself, even if that meant using his unsavory skills to make the world safer.

Immediately after being released from imprisonment, he avoided using his fighting skills at all, he wouldn't even defend himself if someone started getting rough with him. It wasn’t until he saved a young child from being attacked that he realized he could use his skills to help others.

Often accepts the bounties and quests no one wants because they come from those who can't offer much, he doesn’t do that kind of work anyways, he manages the Blooming Tavern and Inn for an old man who helped him turn his life around.

Running the inn is a large comfort for him, he dislikes being alone but all the personalities who find refuge at the inn and tavern help ease him.

“Oh, hello there angel. Just a room tonight?” He looks up from a guest book and reaches to grab a set of keys.

“As long as you pay and don’t cause any trouble, feel free to stay for as long as you like.” His smile widens, and he lets his hand linger as you grab the key to your room.

“You look tired, let me get you something to eat before you head to your room, on the house, of course. If you ever need anything, even just some company, feel free to ask for me, I go by the name Quest.”

Nightowl as a bard

He came from a noble family, and against his family’s wishes, became a bard.

He snuck out when he was young only to befriend a bard who began to teach him how to play the lute and eventually suggested that he attend college and learn how to better wield his musical magic, which he did.

While trying to find his own path, he ended up making friends and finding his way in the world without relying on his parents’ names.

Lives at the Blooming Inn where he works and performs in trade for lodging. He rarely accepts quests or bounties as he’s still focused on honing his magic abilities and mastering other instruments.

Definitely focused on string instruments, prefers the lute, and honestly kind of hates the lyre (he thinks it ruins the vibe he’s going for).

Loves to use his magic to enhance his performances, he absolutely loves to show off and have fun whenever he sings or plays his lute.

His favorite songs have always been love songs, even if he rarely had someone in mind when it came to love, there was just a special magic to it.

“I saw you watching my performance,” the bard grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your hand, “anything I can help you with, cutie? Perhaps another drink.. or a private show?”

His confidence and sultry grin makes it obvious what he’s implying, but there’s a warmth and charisma to him that you can’t help but be drawn to.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he pauses to look at someone who seems to be calling him.

“Find me later if you decide you’re interested,” and with a wink, he leaves you with the words: “goodbye for now cutie.”

NakedToaster as a wizard

Came from a long line of magic users, but his parents turned away from magic, and he had to teach himself. He began hiding away in his room, teaching himself magic at a fairly young age.

At first, magic was a way to rebel against his parents, but it very quickly became something he was invested in, and he wanted to practice magic to be one of the best.

He hopes to expand the understanding of magic and the things he can do, he’s talented with magic, and he knows that, and he hopes to find out what else magic can accomplish.

He never received any formal training, so his practices are very unorthodox, but he’s still just as powerful and incredible as any formally trained wizard.

Travels around on quests, but he typically stays at the Blooming inn since it's close to multiple libraries and sites that he’s eager to keep close to for his research.

His room at the Blooming Tavern is an absolute mess, there’s research and books everywhere, and he's taken down the cheap paintings to hang parchment with his handwriting sprawled messily on there, the room is Quest’s worst nightmare.

(in a D&D world setting would probably dual-class into an Artificer)

“Excuse me, just grabbing a book from above you real quick,” a voice calls startling you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, just trying to grab so- that’s a good book.”

The wizard's face brightens as he notices the book you were skimming through. “What do you need that book for? If you’re doing research I have a better book for that. I stay at the inn a few minutes from here, if you want to join me, I could help you with that research at the inn’s tavern!” he rambles, “You can call me Toaster by the way.”

XYX as a rogue

He didn’t come from the most well-off family but they lived comfortable lives. Growing up it was easy to see he could charm anyone he came across, and he had a tendency to be a troublesome child, stealing and taking things from the kids who made nasty comments toward his siblings

He figured he could put his charm and talent to good use, with the right employer he could use his skills for more than just petty thief, and that’s when he started taking on quests

Seeing as he had a talent for getting whatever he wanted from people, he began looking for a group of adventurers to join and ended up finding himself at the Blooming Inn

Totally found the Blooming Inn on accident he said the words “I’m looking for a quest” to the wrong person once and ended up meeting the fighter, Quest, who took care of the Blooming Inn and Tavern

He often goes on quests with some of the other inhabitants of the Blooming Inn, even if his personality could be insufferable at times, they couldn't deny his talent.

“Mind if I join you?” Taking your shrug as an invitation the rogue with odd facial piercings sits next to you.

“I’ve come to properly welcome you to the Blooming Inn and Tavern by buying you a drink and providing you with some lovely company. I promise to keep my hands to myself,” he winks.

“What brings you to these parts anyways? Great adventures, searching for your gods, simply looking for some company?”

Before you get the chance to answer someone yells, “Xyx!” and the man next to you sighs, “well that’s my cue, I’ll buy you that drink next time doll.”

This post was done in association with @/godlyaffection & others for 'Adventure Awaits' fantasy themed event

#blooming panic #blooming panic x reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #xyx x reader #nakedtoaster x reader #quest x reader #nightowl x reader #event post

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