i shouldn't be allowed to make this

HDM month | week 3: favourite relationship

Lyra & Will

“She could see from his eyes that he knew at once what she meant, and that he was too joyful to speak. Her fingers were still at his lips, and he felt them tremble, and he put his own hand up to hold hers there, and then neither of them could look; they were confused; they were brimming with happiness.”

Of course “queer” is a slur. That’s the point. I am not naive enough to let myself forget that cisheteronormative society wants me dead, and that the least it will settle for is exploitation. So I take that word, “queer,” and make it part of me, as a reminder of who and what I am. Don’t make me censor it and forget myself.

i was reading up on how to handle emotions and someone was like “allow yourself to feel the emotions but set a time limit” and i was like yeah ok i do that makes sense but then they were like “give yourself a day or 2” ??? my dude literally no one has time to feel things for 2 days i am on a schedule


Version 2.0 of this post (I, II)


I just need to rant a bit here, okay? Okay. So we all love dragons. Anyone who says dragons aren’t cool are lying to themselves. HOWEVER one thing that pisses me off to nO END is the fact that the designers of dragons in movies and tv shows seem to think that making their “dragons” actually dragons is too overrated. Nooooooo they’ve just gotta make them WYVERNS.

So some background, in case you didn’t know. There are lots of deviations of dragons. Dragons are the most well known, but there’s wyverns, drakes, and like a crap ton more that I don’t have the time or energy to list atm. Dragons have four legs and separate wings. Wyverns have two hind legs and their arms are their wings. Herein lies the problem.

Exhibit A- Smaug: he’s supposed to be a dragon. Yet, he doesn’t have front legs. Because it looks “cooler”. ??? Wyvern.

Exhibit B- The dragons of Game of Thrones: are also supposed to be dragons. BUT WHAT DO THEY NOT HAVE. Front legs. Wyverns.

Exhibit C- The dragons (some) in Harry Potter: this is a bit different because I know there are different species so MAYBE some of them don’t have from legs. But the two main ones we see (the one in the first task of the triwizard tournament and the gringotts one) are TECHNICALLY wyverns.

Now I may have not seen every single dragon production out there, but of the ones that did it semi right would be Merlin (Kilgarrah and Aithusa, although cringily animated at times, had the correct anatomy) and then *cringe so hard* eragon the movie. Although Saphira literally HAS BIRD WINGS WHICH IS A WHOLE DIFFERENT STORY THAT I WONT GET INTO.

I just don’t understand what’s so hard about animating in two more front legs for dragons. In my opinion, a dragon with four legs is just as, if not more, epic than one with two. And don’t even get me started on if the animators of Queen of Shadows give the ACTUAL wyverns of Throne of Glass four legs instead of two. I am positive I will be spitting flames and channeling my inner dragon if they do that. Like no. I will not have abraxos be misrepresented in that way. I got over saphira because the whole movie was a joke but I don’t think I could ever get over that disgrace in queen of shadows.

That is all.


My half of an art trade with tosquinha, who in turn made me this fabulous house crashing Thranduil (x). Eeeeehehehehe.

BEHOLD! Hobbit/Feanorians in ugly sweaters. Well, kind of ugly. I wanted a Silmaril sweater for Maedhros and that just sort of ended up looking nice. I don’t think I can make ugly sweaters… Aaaaaaaaand I was done with sketching and everything when I realized you already drew a Maedhros and Maglor with their brother family, the kidnapped adopted Elrond and Elros. And with Maglor as the knitter too! Clearly we have a true understanding of what’s IC for them. Pfft. But in being a novice knitter, Maglor can knit only one size. Because Elf babies in big bulky sweaters. They’ll grow into them eventually. In like eighty years.

In the twins’ world, Maglor is mama. Maedhros is to be tormented. Hehehe.

For Sabine

 Color. That’s what Sabine loved. That’s what she lived for. And, even as the air exploded around her in a fury of orange and red fire, there was a part of her that yearned to stop and watch the flaming ash: like sparkling drops of gold raining down on her. But, the searing heat, making the air sizzle and pop, pulled her away from that desire rather quickly. 

She ran, as did Ezra next to her: ran for the Phantom as quickly as they could. They weren’t usually the kind to throw in the towel on a mission and run, but this was something instinctive, like pulling your hand back from a hot pan. Besides, they were only supposed to take over the imperial ship. Never was the whole thing supposed to crash to the ground, streaming smoke behind it. It had been the imperials who destroyed the ship. Best to obliterate the whole thing, and everyone on board, than have it fall into the hands of the rebels, apparently. 

“Almost there!” Ezra huffed. 

All Sabine could manage to do was swallow and nod, out of breath. As in-shape as missions kept her, she still felt like her lungs were as aflame as the burning ship. Why did they have to dock the Phantom so far away? It was so that no one on board would notice, of course, but that plan had just backfired drastically.

“There!” Sabine coughed as they rounded a corner, the open door to the phantom in sight. The mission may have been a bust, but at least they’d gotten out okay.

But, as if fate were listening to her thoughts and was determined to undermine her, the ground underneath them exploded. Sabine wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. Perhaps the flames had crept into the fuel tank, but figuring out what happened hardly seemed like the most important thing in that moment. Getting out was. The force of the blast knocked Sabine right through the open door of the Phantom, hitting her shoulder on the frame, and Ezra close enough to pull himself quickly in. But, it threw white-hot shards of shrapnel at them, too. Big shards. 

Sabine felt something slip through her side with a kind of pain that she had only heard about in legends. 

Beside her, Ezra let out a cry and fell in a heap of limbs to the floor. 

Sabine tried to blink away the film of tears that had filled the bottom of her eyes. This wasn’t anything that Sabine had experienced before, and nothing she ever wanted to experience again. It was the kind of pain that made your ears ring and your vision flicker with vivid spots in front of anything you tried looking at. The kind of pain that made any movement, even something as little as breathing, an impossibility. 

But, she had to move. Move to close the doors to the phantom and set the coordinates back to the Ghost. It was only with one last surge of adrenaline, like ice beneath her hot skin, that she managed to do that, before collapsing next to Ezra and allowing herself to feel the full effect of her pain- just for a minute. 

Ezra wheezed beside her. 

“You okay?” he asked, coughing halfway through and wincing at the movement that it caused. 

Sabine could only manage a small, animalistic sound from the back of her throat, turning her head to get a look at Ezra. Something had hit him, too. A sickening, crimson red stained the fabric over his chest, spreading outwards far too quickly. Even against the bright orange of Ezra’s outfit, the red was still bright. 


“ ‘M fine,” he forced out between bared teeth. “I’ll be fine.” 

He was lying, though. Each breath Ezra took was too shallow, trying to limit any movement that would aggravate his wound. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen that way, though, and was forced to take in a gulp of air every few breaths, each time making a guttural noise that made Sabine think he’d be sick. 

Sabine glanced up to the first aid kit on the ship. Just a foot or so out of a reach, but it might as well be across half the galaxy. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, arms trembling and sweat mixing with the blood pouring from her side. Blood rushed to her head, putting pressure behind her eyes, and for a moment, she wondered if she’d fall unconscious. With one last push of faith, though, she shoved herself up, crying out in pain, and knocked the aid kit down to the floor. 

Its contents spilled out around her, and Sabine’s heart fluttered, though she couldn’t tell if it was from dismay or her condition. There were bandages… bandages… she shook her head and squinted, trying to force herself to focus. Bandages, but that’s not what they needed. Even through hyperspace, it would be hours before they reached the crew. Sabine looked at the blood pooling around them, Ezra’s blank stare and ragged breathing, her own eyes unwilling to focus. They didn’t have hours. 

They didn’t need bandages. They needed bacta. Sabine fumbled around on the floor, nearly falling face-first into it, as she searched for some. The bandages would be covered in bacta, but that wasn’t enough, and they only had a small dish and a half of the strange miracle-goo. They needed more than that, though. They needed a tank. 

Her arms finally gave out and she collapsed onto the floor, bacta dish in hand. She’d have to make-do with what she had. 

“Ezra, here.” Sabine fumbled with the lid and reached over, causing a ripping pain to slip into her side that made her feel downright sick, to try to unzip the front of Ezra’s suit and apply the bacta. 

“No.” Ezra weakly tried to fend Sabine off. 

“Ezra, just-”

“No,” Ezra moaned. “You need it.” 

Sabine’s head swam. She felt cold. The pain was near debilitating. She did need it. 

“Y-you need it more.” 

“How-” He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, drenched with sweat. “How long ‘till we get to the Ghost?” 

“Couple hours.” Sabine trembled. She no longer had the energy to form complete sentences. 

“Take it.” Ezra squeezed his eyes closed. 

“You need it more.” Sabine whispered. 

“Look at you. Y’r not gonna make it.” Ezra opened his eyes, but they were unfocused and glazed over, staring at nothing in particular. It was clear that he was struggling to stay awake. 

“Neither will you. You need it more.” 

“No.” Ezra shook his head, but his strength was gone, and he was slipping into unconsciousness. Even Sabine, in her weakened state, could overpower him… if she was ever able to sit up again, that is.  

Sabine sucked in a breath and with whatever strength her body could still muster, pushed herself forward onto her knees, room spinning around her as she reached for the dish of bacta. Ezra wasn’t unconscious yet, eyes zooming in and out on the ceiling above him, but he was far beyond doing much more than lifting a finger. 

And Sabine poured the bacta over the place where Ezra’s chest had been pierced as he whimpered in protest, collapsing back against the wall when she was finally done. It might not have even been enough. Too little too late. 

“You’re more important,” she whispered, sloppily grabbing a fistful of bandages and pressing them against her side in a vain attempt to slow the bleeding. 

Ezra was more important. Ezra was, in a word, hope. He had inspired countless people with his message. When had she ever done that? Ezra made a difference. He was the change that the rebellion was looking for. And, more than anything, he was Ezra.

Sabine clutched the bandages closer to her side as her vision sparkled. She felt as though her side were ringing itself out, twisting when it couldn’t twist anymore. Ezra’s injury may have been worse to begin with, but her own was catching up with her. 

The bandages became warm as they soaked through, and though she tried to press them harder still, her grip slackened. She hoped that they’d make it to the crew in time, but she knew better than to have faith in that. As she suddenly felt a disconnect between her own thoughts and everything going on, though she could still feel the pain tenfold, but it felt foreign and distant, her last thought was that she hoped it had been enough bacta to save Ezra. Then she slipped into an unconsciousness that she knew she wouldn’t wake from. 

Despite the breathing tube, Ezra felt like he was drowning when he woke inside of the bacta tank, and had no clue how he got inside, or how the crew even managed to find a bacta tank for him to use. When he was finally pulled out and saw only four other members of his crew come to greet him, all with red eyes and tear stained cheeks trying desperately to keep themselves together, he knew what happened. He knew what had happened immediately, and he yearned to crawl back into the bacta tank and try to pretend that it never did. 

He didn’t remember much of what happened after the explosion sent huge chunks of shrapnel barreling their way, but he did remember Sabine leaning over him, face panic stricken not because of her own lethal injury, but because of his as she whispered “you’re more important.” 

But, he wasn’t more important. Sabine was their messenger. If Ezra was the voice of hope, then Sabine was the one who delivered it, who protected it and kept it strong. Ezra saw her orange phoenix in his dreams, almost haunting. It was more than just a bird. It told anybody who saw it that the rebels had been there, that there was still hope. Her phoenix had screamed: Don’t lose hope, because the rebels are fighting for you. You’ll be free one day. 

Sabine loved color. She had lived for it. 

But, it was everybody else who needed it. Needed it like a fish needed water. 

Ezra was no artist. He knew this as he picked up the orange paint can in front of one of the squadron’s new stolen ships. But, he would learn to paint the phoenix eventually. Sabine had a job that served as the heart and soul of their purpose, whether she knew it or not. And Ezra would make sure it lived on. For Sabine. 

How do you want to be remembered by history: as someone who tried to make the world better for everyone, or better only for yourself?