#and he has no idea how to talk to people sensibly

[noegrets]

I love him, and I love to hate him! Gin is a really wonderful villain. He's extremely skilled, extremely perceptive, and able to hold in that he knows something until the right moment — unlike a certain protagonist we know who just has to blurt out his deduction the moment he has it.

Example: Gin knew when Sherry was hiding in the fireplace — because he could hear her breathing! — but let her think she had escaped so that he could learn more about the situation and better confront her later. How many other times has Gin actually known more than he's let on? When Conan was hiding in the locker, did Gin really just coincidentally decide to stop looking right then — even with Conan breathing heavily right there?

Does Gin really forget the names and faces of the people he's killed? If yes, that's kinda cool in its own evil-zen way (and lol at the tag: #go ruthless guy with face blindness and shitty memory <3). But I also wonder if he really was being 100% serious when he said that, or if this is just another example of him being more aware of the situation than he's led us to believe.

Gin is also so so so horny to be an assassin. He's absolutely found his calling in life. He's got the classic car and the black trenchcoat and the long hair draped over the black trenchcoat because he doesn't even need to be subtle. And he's got the gun and the cigarettes and the cigarette lighter from his classic car and the cigarette smoke in the noir shadows... And he's gotten ever more impatient and homoerotic as the series has gone on. Which on the one hand is awesome, but on the other hand makes me a little bit worried that such a cool character as Gin is in danger of becoming flanderized for the sake of senselessly hot violence. He can maybe have a bit of senselessly hot violence sometimes, as a treat. Or as a character flaw, ooo, that would be awesome. But I think Gin would generally be much more into sensibly hot violence.

Example: Gin caught an FBI agent, stuffed his gun into the FBI agent's mouth, and asked the FBI agent if he'd be willing to spill the secret location? The FBI agent unintelligibly went murfmumrmah with the gun in his mouth. And Gin goes, hm? not willing to talk huh? And then Gin shoots the FBI agent dead.

Either: 1) it's a plotpoint that, actually, Gin doesn't need the secret location and this was all a ruse just for some sadistic fun! (hot and sensible, very good, yes). Or 2) Gin really does need the secret location but he got too horny to hold himself in check (hot but not very sensible and might veer into out-of-character territory if he does this sort of thing too often without it being addressed in some way!)

Like, this easily could be a flaw, and he has made other mistakes in the past that could be attributed to horny impatience (example: he made extremely predictable choices when ensuring the death of someone he really wanted to see dead). But if Gin keeps messing things up by being too horny, it's a bit weird that Vodka never comments on it (hey Aniki, are you sure that was a good idea?), it's never an issue for him, etc etc.

Gin messing up due to horniness is at odds with his other characterization of being so extremely perceptive and competent. He's also sadistic, yes, but you can't just throw his other characterization away for the sake of a sadistic scene. Unless you are writing it that way very much on purpose!! If written well, this would make Gin more complex and probably hint at the mode of his future downfall. But if written poorly, it could make Gin lose the cool characterization he had before.

So, ultimately, Gin is a character I love enough to worry that he might get flanderized! :X

[snaggletoothedbastard]

My tutor is a knob.

For the sake of privacy and convenience, I will be referring to him as Mr Knobhead.

Here's the deal.

A while back, Mr Knobhead decided it would be fun to make our tutor group watch a video. Specifically, this video.

Watch it if you want, but if you don't want to I'll just sum it up quickly: it's a sort of comedy skit from the 80s or 90s about a boy called Kevin who is, of course, played by an adult man. It's Kevin's thirteenth birthday. As soon as he turns thirteen he basically becomes a caveman. He embodies every stereotype that has ever been pinned on teenagers: he's bad-tempered, he's rude to his parents, he won't do as he's told, you get the idea.

I have no idea why Mr Knobhead decided to show us this video. When we saw it we were like "sir what the fuck" and he tried to justify himself by saying "well you know some teenagers really do act like this, especially the ones I interact with". I wonder why.

The reason I'm so upset about this is because I didn't really think about it properly at the time. I was offended, sure, but I didn't realise quite how offended this silly little video would make me until I got older and witnessed more examples of Mr Knobhead having absolutely no respect for his students.

A couple of years ago he would regularly start debates during tutor, usually about the school uniform, which practically every student hates with a burning passion. The rules are quite strict. You have to tuck your shirt in, you have to wear your tie at all times, you have to wear black socks, your skirt can't be more than five centimetres above your knees, your trousers can't even vaguely resemble jeans, your shoes are basically limited to piss-catchers

or these.

If you wear jewellery it can only be one necklace, one bracelet, one ring and/or one pair of earrings; you can't have facial piercings, and your necklace has to be hidden under your shirt, which seems to defeat the point of necklaces but hey ho. If you wear a jumper you can't tuck it into your skirt or trousers, and you have to wear the blazer on top of it.

Basically, it's all very old-fashioned and controlling and pointless.

And these debates are pointless, because Mr Knobhead will dismiss anything the students say, even though he's the one who starts the arguments in the first place. Any time someone makes a valid point he'll either say: "well you're very young so you have a very strong sense of justice and it's expected of you to make bold statements like that" or: "I'm not in charge of this so I can't make any changes".

If I haven't made it clear already, this man is an absolute wanker.

There have been a couple of times in which I felt irritated enough to make a point. The first time, I criticised Mr Knobhead's claim that wearing an office job-type uniform "prepares us for the workplace", which is ridiculous because there are lots of jobs that require different uniforms, and if a student plans to be a doctor, or a builder, it wouldn't be very appropriate for them to come in wearing scrubs, or high-vis and a hard hat. And also, the sixth formers at my school don't wear a uniform. They're allowed to wear whatever they like, even though they are closer to entering the workplace than a great deal of the younger students.

I pointed this out to Mr Knobhead, and he didn't really have much of an argument for it. He kind of just said, "well yeah they don't have to wear a uniform because some people aren't going to need to wear a uniform for their job". Which literally contradicts his other argument.

The second time was about a year later (and we were still having the same old boring conversation). I mentioned to Mr Knobhead that I have sensory issues, and I have had to ask the school for permission to take my tie off, because it's a clip-on tie and in order to wear it I have to do up the top button of my shirt, which makes it really tight around my neck. This once caused me to have a meltdown, which is what prompted my parents to contact the school and ask them to make an exception for me. I said this to Mr Knobhead and his response was: "would you wear a tie if you had to do it for a job?"

No? I wouldn't? Not if I could help it?? The fact that I can't wear my tie for most of the time I'm in school should have answered his question. If there are jobs that make people wear ties I'm going to avoid them like the plague.

I would rather break the rules and get in trouble for it than have an easily-avoided meltdown. Because meltdowns are scary and painful and exhausting, and could potentially cause me to injure myself or someone else, whereas breaking one rule is only going to get me a telling-off from a teacher. Which is obviously not pleasant, but it's better than a fucking meltdown.

And I'm not the only one breaking the rules. Probably more than half the school does it. Because we're beyond the point of caring.

What's really ironic is that the adults who essentially just take the piss out of young people are not stopping us from acting like their "stereotypical teenagers". They're practically encouraging it. If you refuse to show us basic respect, we are going to get angry. We are going to retaliate. You can't expect us to be goody two-shoes golden children when you make out we're all dickheads that don't deserve to be taken seriously or have our needs met.

If you treat us like criminals, we might as well act accordingly.

[xenodile]

"Shuro loves Falin for the same reasons he hates Laios" Completely and utterly wrong, could not be further off base.

I get the impression a lot of people watching Dungeon Meshi as it airs, or are a bit removed from its original manga run, have forgotten that Laios and Falin being monster freaks wasn't actually apparent until the events of the story. The only person that knew Falin loved monsters as much as Laios was Marcille because they were best friends at school.

Once Laios and Falin were in an adventuring party together, they both had public facing personas because they had both learned through their separate upbringings that being super interested in monsters and dungeons wasn't normal. Laios is the blunt but well meaning, outspoken and opinionated guy we all know, but Falin was way more withdrawn and soft-spoken, non-confrontational, easy to get along with. Everyone that interacted with Falin would say she's a sweet, gentle girl that everyone likes. Because she was, frankly, kind of a doormat.

The whole thing with Toshiro's infatuation with Falin is he doesn't actually know her. She is outwardly very polite and reserved, and that appeals to Toshiro because it meshes with his cultural sensibilities and how he was taught people are supposed to behave. Then he sees her marveling at a caterpillar in a private moment and decides on the spot that she's the ideal woman and proposes without actually talking to or getting to know her.

And his lack of understanding of Falin as a person is brought to the forefront in every action he takes after she gets eaten. He leaves the party and makes no attempt to contact the two people that Falin loves the most. Whether it's a matter of him just not knowing how much Falin cares about her brother and Marcille, or actively avoiding Laios to rescue Falin himself, he's demonstrating that he doesn't actually know what's important to her or understand how she feels.

Then when he meets Laios's party on the lower floors and they go over what happened, it's made even more blatant that Toshiro's affection is shallow and half-baked. He came into the dungeon a week too late and neglected his health the whole way down, so he was in no state to actually try and save Falin when he got there. When Laios talks about eating monsters, something Falin was thrilled about, Toshiro is disgusted. He threatens to kill Laios and turn Marcille in, which would never fly with Falin. His anger at the use of black magic is entirely based in his selfish idea of Falin being tainted and blaming Laios and Marcille for "ruining" his attempt to rescue her, as Kabru points out that Toshiro would have done the exact same thing in their shoes and that he's being a hypocrite. To say nothing of how he'd rather kill Falin after she's been transformed and "put her to rest" rather than put any effort into saving her, because that would require further involvement from Laios and Marcille and methods that Toshiro doesn't approve of.

And there's the fight he has with Laios, and Toshiro's subsequent confession that he had hoped to just take Falin home with him. He at no point gives consideration to what Falin feels or what she might want, only what he has decided about her based on the most surface level observation. Just like how his problem with Laios arises from his refusal to just talk to him about his boundaries, he has no actual connection with the woman he claims to love because he just wouldn't actually talk to her.

Like it's not a coincidence that every time his attraction to Falin is brought up, another character goes "yeah he's being weird about it".

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐱 𝐇𝐢𝐦, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐞𝐚𝐫

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Street racing, Friends to More? (You’re more in denial than he is though 😒), smoking, one (1) ass spank, EVENTUAL SMUT, car sex, brief breast play, unprotected sex, buying ice coffee as aftercare.

𝐀/𝐍: That summary is so corny lmaooo

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Miguel’s idea of a good time: a high-speed joyride. Yours? Riding him until the sun rises

For someone who lived in the chaotic heart of Nueva York, your days were just as predictable as the last during high school.

School work, your part-time work, and family took up most of your time. Your world was one of routine and stability, with little room for the unexpected.

Then came Miguel O’Hara who tilted your world enough to knock you off balance from your usual routine with his enigmatic self.

Just like yourself, Miguel kept people at arm's length and low maintenance, most of the time. Albeit, his stoicism was what drew you into him. He didn’t pressure you into talking but he still kept you around, drawing you further into his world.

However, in moments of adrenaline, he became an ambushed thrill seeker. And things took a turn when he got into cars, more specifically street racing, which only amplified this side of him.

It started off during college years with one impulsive bet and he got addicted to the thrill pretty quickly. Soon, he developed rivalry and friendly competition with other drivers.

If it hadn’t been for Miguel, your life would’ve remained a series of quiet lonely nights with nothing much to look forward to. As a matter of fact, you would’ve never gone anywhere near a street race or anything this risky.

But after graduating college with no more academic stress to think about, going to these races has become a routine for you.

You found yourself surrounded by different cars outside an abandoned warehouse by the docks, their sleek bodies illuminated by the dim streetlights.

The air was charged with anticipation along with the guttural roads of engines as divers burned rubber. The scene was alive with energy but amidst the chaos, Miguel’s voice managed to cut through to you.

“Stop whining and just sit back, por favor.” Miguel snapped, his voice strained, as if you were pushing him to his limits. He was already behind the wheel with the window rolled down.

You’ve been begging him to sit on the passenger seat while he had been preparing for another race. But no matter how many times you asked, you were still met with the same answer.

“Those dirty benches are so uncomfortable,” you complained further. You were standing outside of his car with your hands resting on the edge of the open window.

Miguel’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, enough for the veins to bulge slightly as he turned to you.

His expression was a mixture of frustration and resignation. “Could you just listen to me?” He sighed, his voice softened but still firm. “This race is going to be shorter, so you won’t be sitting there for long anyways.”

You crossed your arms over the window frame as you leaned in, accepting defeat.

“Fine…” you huffed, still feeling salty about the uncomfortable bleachers you had to sit on. Hopefully, you could find a good spot this time around. Though, you didn’t turn to leave just yet, “Oh and by the way, is there anything I can give you if you win?”

Miguel furrowed his brow inquisitively “Why? What’s the occasion?”

You flashed your teeth in a grin that tugged on his nerves. “I’m feeling extra generous. So what do you want? And be sensible, please.”

You emphasised the last sentence with a firm tone.

He paused longer than you anticipated but you could see he was thinking. Either he was skeptical about the sudden generosity or he was coming up with an answer. “What about those tamales you made the other day again,”

“Oh uhm,” you chewed on your lower lip. That wasn’t an answer you would have imagined he would give. “I was thinking you’d ask for something more tangible,”

“Food is tangible,”

“Yeah…until you eat it and it’s gone.” You quipped. The first time you tried to make tamales, it didn’t turn out well. But Miguel still finished off his serving and gave you a positive verdict.

At the time, you assumed he was only being nice to spare your feelings. You didn’t expect him to actually like it so much that he would request for you to make it again.

Suddenly, you remembered his wish list that he saved. “What about those gloves you’ve been eyeing instead?”

He pulled a face. “You’ll get me those? No complaining that it’ll hurt your pockets?”

“Yep, I think I owe you after I accidentally broke your mug anyways,” you said, almost too eagerly. At least buying some gloves would avoid another mess in the kitchen.

“Alright, I accept. Just don’t expect me to lend you any of my stuff for a while.”

You pressed your lips together in mild annoyance before you spoke hesitantly, “…I’m gonna take a seat now,”

You turned your heels before you ascended up the stairs and took a seat on one of the bleachers. The seats were metal and you could feel it digging into you. A few people brought blankets to sit over it— you regretted not doing that.

The crowd was a mixture of seasoned racers, newcomers, and regular spectators, all feeding off the thrill of the event.

Despite being surrounded by a diverse group of people, you still felt out of place. It might stem from the fact that your sole purpose here was because of Miguel.

You weren’t too interested in the other cars or in placing bets. Hell, you weren’t that enthusiastic about racing as much as Miguel.

But regardless of that, you would still attend these events just to watch him. You kept your focus on his car, positioned perfectly for an optimal view.

It was Miguel and another driver— a 1 on 1 race. The flagger stood between the two cars with both hands raised, signaling the drivers to get ready. Your pulse quickened as you waited in anticipation, both cars revving their engines.

Finally, finally, the flagger lowered his hands and immediately both drivers slammed their foot down on the gas, launching them both forward and leaving a trail of smoke behind— almost tangible with its raw energy of the race.

The acceleration was impeccable; both cars became a blur as they sped down the road. The sound of the engines roaring and tires screeching reverberated in the open space, vibrating in your chest.

The other car was fast, but Miguel’s driving skills and raw power of his car gave him an advantage. His movements were fluid and precise as he manoeuvred each turn with unflinching accuracy.

His car was a few feet ahead of his opponent and close to the finish line. In a matter of mere seconds, his car crossed first and a chorus of cheers and screams erupted from the crowd.

You watched his car pull up to the side before he killed the engine and stepped out. Immediately you leaped to your feet and dashed towards him with exhilaration.

His adrenaline was infectious, fuelling your own excitement. You wanted to get to him first before people formed a crowd around him and share the moment of victory.

As you drew closer to him, he turned towards you. The last thing you saw was his growing smirk before you collided against his chest and wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace.

The impact knocked the winds out of him, literally, before his back hit against the hood of his car. The sudden action stunned him into momentary silence before he let out a low chuckle.

After recovering from his surprise, you felt his arms wrapped around you to pull you closer. For a while, you stayed like this, with the fabric of his clothes rubbing against your face. He wouldn’t let anyone else do this and you knew that.

“Not gonna say anything?” He teased, still having his arms around you. “And here I thought you’d be excited for me,”

“My ass hurts,” you mumbled against his chest.

“Uh huh. That’s what you’re complaining about?” You felt one of his hands reach lower to smack your rear in retaliation. “Not gonna congratulate me for winning?”

“Oh yeah…that too hmm.” You said in feigned disinterest just to prod him further. You could sense that he was amused by your obvious acting. He loosened his grip on you slightly, just enough to look down at you with a growing smile.

“I just won that race, you know?” There was no hint of annoyance or anger in his tone as he said that. He was mirroring your unserious attitude.

“So I guess I’ll be getting you those gloves now,”

“That also means you’ll be dishing out your wallet for me,”

“That’s not an issue. I think I’m more financially sensible than you are,”

“Sure…it better be a good brand and not some cheap gas station ones,” he remarked as he opened the door and stepped back inside his car.

You followed suit and hopped onto the passenger’s side. “What kind of woman do you take me for?”

“The kind that probably won’t get me the brand I want.” He started the car and pulled out of the edge. “Just be glad it’s gloves instead of something actually expensive.”

He drove further away from the crowd of people until you reached a more quiet side of the docks. He killed off the engine before he reached over to his jacket pocket.

He pulled out the last cigarette packet, but the moment he put it between his lips, you reached over and grabbed it. Fortunately, he wasn’t holding it with his teeth, so you managed to take the stick out of his mouth before crumpling the paper between your fingers.

“Aye— what the shock was that for? I was gonna smoke that,” he scowled. snapping his head to glare at you.

“I know,” you rubbed the tobacco grit between your fingers before it landed on his lap.

“And I don’t even have a new pack on me,” he huffed out in irritation before leaning back against his seat to sulk for a moment.

You were going to say he looked like a child right now, but you decided to spare him the teasing after the mess you made on his lap.

“Good, I don’t want to stain my hands again,” you said, looking at your soiled fingers before rubbing them clean on your clothes.

“You really are a pain in the ass sometimes…”

“Yeah? You’re lucky I didn’t use a water gun this time,”

His muscles tensed at the reminder, like he had just been pricked by a thorn. The colour drained from his face, his annoyance giving way to his dread as he recalled the last time you doused him with a water gun after he tried to light a cigarette.

“Please don’t use that thing on me again,” he shuddered, you could almost see the flashback behind his eyes he remembered how soaked his clothes were that day.

After you both graduated from college, Miguel developed a habit of smoking. You didn’t know if he picked it up from someone else’s influence or if it was from stress.

At first, you didn’t think much of it until you saw how many sticks he would smoke a day. From that point on, you made it your mission to get him out of his habit before he fell further into the addiction rabbit hole.

“Well, I don’t need to now, but I got this just in case,” you reached for your own jacket pocket and pulled out a mini water gun toy. You could see from the clear plastic that it was filled to the brim.

Miguel’s face fell further at the sight. “Oh my God. Where did you get that from?”

“There was a small kiosk selling these toys,”

“Okay. Okay I won’t smoke anymore. Just put that thing away…”

You aimed for his neck and pressed on the trigger to spray the water. The water pressure force wasn’t as strong as the bigger water guns you had back at home, but it still did the job.

Miguel jolted at the sudden spray. He rubbed his neck that was now wet. “I just said I won’t smoke, why would you spray me?”

“That was a warning,” you replied, the soft sound of the water sloshing inside added to your taunt.

“Dios…At least give me the water gun before I deck you,” he extended his hands out to reach for the water gun so he wouldn’t get sprayed again.

But you knew better and pulled your hand away so the toy was out of his reach.

“Yeah…I’m not falling for that,” you knew that if you handed it over, he’d likely use it against you until it was empty.

“Do you really have to act like a parent with my smoking habits?” He groaned, still annoyed about being sprayed.

“You know that no one else will have the patience to do this,”

“Siii, but you’re so annoying when you do it,”

Something struck you at that moment, maybe it was realisation or an awakening. The moisture in your mouth dried instantly and your voice dropped to a more serious tone. “One day you’ll miss me doing it when I’m not around anymore,”

His face warped, like he had just tasted bile. “¿De qué estás hablando?

“You know we won’t be this close when you settle down,”

You knew he wouldn’t be this free-spirited once he tied the knot with somebody. It was why you never held your tongue and always tried to savour every moment with him, making each one memorable while keeping him on his toes, so you’d have no regrets.

But at the same time, you kept a lingering guard up and braced yourself because at any given moment, he will drift away from your life without even realising, leaving you stuck in a cycle of longing.

Miguel scoffed at your words. “Like I’d ever be in a relationship, and I’m perfectly happy with that,”

You rolled your eyes, not convinced in the slightest. “That’s a lie,”

“What are you talking about? You know I don’t want to be tied down to some prissy girl that’ll just nag at me all the time,”

A romantic relationship with Miguel never really crossed your mind but as you listened to his words, you found yourself slipping into a dangerous territory of what-if’s.

Being friends with Miguel was like standing in front of an unmasked door, behind which lay different shelves that were locked up with different keys, all revealing different sides to him.

You’ve known Miguel for a long time and you got to witness many of those sides; his pressure-cooker moments, his happiest times, and even his vulnerable self, despite his hard exterior.

So it was only natural for you to be curious on how he might behave as a life partner. Would there be a completely different demeanor that you’ve never seen in him before?

You couldn’t recall him flirting with any girls either even though he had slept with some. It was hard to imagine, but you had to ask.

“Hypothetically speaking, what if that prissy girl was me?”

His expression changed with shocking duality, you almost didn’t recognise this side of Miguel. You couldn’t pinpoint where your words had struck him the most, his heart or his head. But you could definitely see how conflicting he was.

“You…you don’t know what you’re saying. How would I even respond to a question like that?” His voice almost slipped as he spoke.

Maybe the question was too broad, so you took a more direct approach. “Okay, simple question: would you tie me down if you had the chance?”

He let out a sigh before his lips formed a tired smile. “You’re not giving me any options to avoid this, huh? Always looking for the upper hand.”

What was that supposed to mean? He was avoiding a direct answer, for sure.

“No, just curious…”

“Yeah, I probably would…” he finally admitted. You would think you would be surprised by his answer, given his closed off behaviour and his reluctance to any intimate connections, but you weren’t.

“Why’s that?” You asked.

“Probably because you’re the only one that stuck around when no one else did. You don’t get super clingy, and yet, you somehow manage to piss me off.” He sighed, you almost didn’t catch his lips curled up. “But despite that, I still find it endearing. Maybe I like having you around me more than I let on,”

You were taken back by his statement. You've never heard him talk about you like that before. Sure, he had reiterated multiple times that you’d piss him off in the past, but this time it sounded almost…affectionate, in his own gruff way.

But you didn’t want to look too surprised so you masked the effects of his words with a joke. “Ohhh, was it the water gun?”

“Could you shut up about the water gun for five minutes?” He seethed through his teeth, exasperated.

He turned his head away and from the reflection of the side mirror, you could see him squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Seeing Miguel annoyed like this was one of the things you were used to witnessing from him. But right now, you couldn’t help but notice that he was holding something back.

Maybe it was because he had just confessed that he would date you and he was pissed off that you coaxed that information out of him. You couldn’t tell.

But you didn’t expect him to turn in his seat and pull you into a firm, almost desperate hug. You could feel his breath fan against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You wrapped your arms around his form and patted his back, a gesture that felt intimate and oddly routine. You knew that initiating an embrace like this was outside of his comfort zone, and yet he still melted under your touch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured softly.

Miguel’s grip on you tightened in response to your words before he pulled away to look at you, his eyes searching your face. “Cállate y bésame entonces.”

You tilted your head and you couldn’t hold back a witty remark when you said “Just a peck?”

Miguel didn’t say anything at that, instead he gave you a low scowl before his lips connected with yours with a quiet intensity. The kiss was neither hesitant nor overly passionate but something in between— like testing the waters.

Everything was deliberate from the way he pulled you closer to his hands sliding up to cradle your face. His touch kept you grounded in the moment.

You were grateful the kiss was kept at a controlled pace rather than it being more sensual— or you would’ve lost your senses.

The kiss broke naturally and left you both breathless. Miguel’s forehead rested against yours while still holding your face.

“Move to the backseat,” his order came out as a rough whisper. However you were still dazed from the kiss that you didn’t pick up what he said at first.

“What?”

“The back,” It took a moment for his words to fully register in your head. Once you clocked on what was happening, you felt your adrenaline spike.

Though you couldn’t bring yourself to question it further since you were more focused on the uncomfortable position you were in with your body still being twisted to face him.

You nodded, not trusting your own voice, before you shifted out of the passenger seat. Everything felt more electric as you opened the back door and both slid inside.

You slipped off your jacket and placed it on the seat beside you before you felt Miguel’s hands on your hips. He guided you onto his lap so you were straddling him and facing him directly.

The backseat offered more room and allowed more natural closeness.

“You know,” you began, trying to put some levity into the moment, “this is a bit dramatic, even for you.”

Miguel gave you a blank look, unamused by your comment. “Coming from someone who carries a water gun in their pocket,”

Before you could retaliate to his words, he pressed his lips on yours again. With the current position he had over you, he could deepen the kiss just by tilting his head so his lips locked in firmly.

You couldn’t help but lace your fingers through his locks as he kept kissing you. His hands hike up under your shirt, resting his hands over your bare waist and pulling you closer to him. You shivered at his touch.

He pulled away to look at you with caution. “May I?”

Out of instinct, you nodded mutely

He lifted your shirt up higher, pushing both sleeves over your shoulders but didn’t take it off all the way. Instead he let it hang around your neck, too desperate to touch you further to finish the job.

You were expecting him to yank your bra off. But instead, he pulled each cup down gently, gradually exposing each breast. It was a pleasant surprise given that you were accustomed to rough treatment from previous partners.

But experiencing a different side, specifically from Miguel, evoked a feeling that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. A fluttering sensation took flight in your stomach before you felt a slickness in your panties.

Were you seriously getting this turned on by his gentle touch? The thought almost sounded absurd, yet the soft caress of his fingers made your heart race in ways you hadn't expected.

He pulled you forward into him again and buried his face into your chest. You felt his hand slide over your back to unhook the bra clasp and allowed it to slip off. He peppered wet kisses over each breast.

You gasped when you felt his tongue flickered over the stiff nipple, arching your back further into his mouth. To add onto the mounted pleasure, he started grinding up against you so you could feel his hard on beneath you.

You pulled yourself away so he could fumble with his jeans and pull the flier down. The scene folding in front of you was making your head spin as he managed to get his pants fully off before he looked back up at you.

You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head right now but judging by his heavy breathing and how staggering his movements were, it was safe to say that he was as much of a mess as you were.

You pulled your own pants along with your soaked undies before you shifted closer and hovered over his throbbing cock.

Sinking yourself lower, you felt yourself burn up as you stretched out to accommodate his thickness. Miguel’s head hit the back of his seat with a shaky groan. Your silky walls were pulling him deeper eagerly until you felt his balls clench with your ass.

“Guide me ... I've never done this before,” You didn’t know why you didn’t say anything beforehand, but the feeling of him buried deep inside you made you quickly realise how real this moment was.

You noticed the flicker of surprise in his eyes before it quickly vanished. You weren’t a virgin. You’ve both had your fair share of experiences with your separate partners. But you’ve never topped anyone like this— especially in a car

“Okay…just relax and…start lifting your hips and then drop back down,” there was a startling shift in his tone to something more tender yet raw.

Hearing him talk you through it made you wonder how often he had done this in his car. But you forced yourself to dismiss the thought further before you opened the door to jealousy. You never had room for that and you weren’t going to start now.

You lifted yourself up, but not too high that he would slip out, before you dropped back down. He was reaching your deepest heat and feeling the friction from his dick in this position was dizzying.

Immediately, a breathless groan erupted from his throat and his grip on your hips tightened. He had to gather himself before he spoke again.

“Good…just do that again,” his approval went straight into your head but you managed to keep yourself controlled.

You repeated the same action until you were fully accommodated to his dick inside you and found a rhythm you were comfortable with.

You wanted to savour every moment and feel the pleasure you were taking from him. As you kept rocking your hips, both your moans and labored breaths filled the car.

“Is this okay?” You breathed, as if the noises he was making right now weren't obvious enough.

“Sí. Just like that,” he struggled to spatter out as you kept moving.

You tried to control your breathing, focusing on keeping a steady pace with your hips rather than the overwhelming desire pooling in your stomach.

Everytime he would utter more words of encouragement, it sent a shiver down your spine, making it increasingly difficult to maintain your composure.

His eyes seemed to linger onto yours longer than what you were used to and it made your heart stutter. You didn’t like the effect he was having on you just by his eye contact alone so tried to block it out by dropping your gaze to where your bodies were connected.

That only did you a disservice, however, because now all you could think about was his confession from earlier with his words replaying over and over in your head.

A sharp gasp slipped out from you when you felt him piston his hips up against you in sync with your pace. The sudden thrust from him caught you off guard and almost lost your grip.

He picked up on your reaction and stopped immediately, rubbing your hips apologetically. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

You wouldn’t say it hurt you but the sensation definitely felt like a jolt. “No no, you just caught me by surprise. Could you do that again?”

You could sense something inside of him snap before he reacted to your words immediately. He jerked his hips up against you and began a somewhat controlled pattern. But he didn’t let his desires overwhelm him at the expense of your comfort.

No matter how attentive he was to you and your needs, you couldn’t bring yourself to lean into his touches for too long, afraid that you’d get too attached.

Every fiber of your being was screaming at you to give in and let your emotions take over. Yet, a small part of you grappled with caution, afraid of losing control and ending up getting hurt.

Soon, you couldn’t keep up with his pace but his hip thrusts alone were enough to give you the friction that you needed from his cock.

You buckled against him with each thrust, sending your body into a frenzy. You could feel yourself losing control and letting him do the work.

You’ve never felt anything like this before. Blood was rushing to your ears, thumbing in sync with your pulse, making it hard to think. Maybe it was the lack of ventilation in the car, or the confined space combined with both your laboured breaths.

No that can’t be it, you thought. The heat spread through your body was too intense to be explained away so easily.

Miguel, what have you done to me?

You were going to ask Miguel to slow down or maybe ask why you were feeling this way but all that could come out of you were desperate whines.

As your body moved on its own, reacting to the sensation you couldn’t quite place, a moment of clarity hit you like a wave. All the thoughts and emotions that you’ve been pushing away tonight came crashing down with an undeniable force.

That was when you realised that taking a step further with your relationship with Miguel didn’t sound so bad. You could come around to the idea of having him as more than a friend. It was risky but it didn’t have to be complicated.

Maybe you could do more than just test the waters with Miguel. As your climax built, it wasn’t just a physical release. It was an emotional awakening.

“Don’t hold back,” his words were direct but enough to coax you further. “That’s it, let me hear you,”

The moment you felt yourself contract around him, Miguel pulled your face in and latched his lips onto yours almost desperately.

That was enough to fully tip you over the edge. The tension that had been knotting in your stomach finally snapped as you reached your climax.

Your body shuddered and arched against him as you felt yourself unravel. Your body slumped onto his chest from exhaustion.

Miguel gasped, giving one last jerky thrust upwards before he reached his own peak, filling you with his hot release. His broken moans almost came out as a whimper as he buried his face into your neck.

He lifted you off his cock, almost reluctantly, before you both came down from your high. The stretch from his dick was still present, even after pulling out. You definitely were going to be sore for a while.

The car was starting to feel stuffy now with the limited space and the intensity of the moment in the car.

Miguel broke the silence, his words wrapped with vulnerability, “Don’t ever leave me,”

There was a foreign warmth that spread across your chest but instead of masking it, you caved into it. “Wouldn’t dream of it,”

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead, something you never thought you would do. But the tranquility of the afterglow didn’t last long when Miguel’s hand subtly slipped into your jacket pocket, where you kept your water gun.

Without breaking eye contact, he retrieved the toy, with so much stealth, you barely registered what was going on. By the time you realised, your reaction time was too late.

Miguel had already aimed the water gun at you. Your eyes widened in shock and a sudden burst of adrenaline surged through you, triggering your flight or fight.

“Ay ay ay!” You exclaimed before you were sprayed on the neck. The smugness from him was almost palpable now as he kept spraying you.

“That’s what you get for surprising me while I was smoking,” he gave a wolfish grin.

You squirmed beneath him, trying to avoid the spray of the water tickling your neck, but his aim was relentless.

“¡No es divertido cuando el uno que no se divierte eres tú, eh?" He taunted, echoing your earlier words.

“Okay okay I got it—” you yelped. The spray halted abruptly, and you quickly wiped your neck.

When you turned to look at him, you saw the water gun was now spattering, nearly empty. You couldn't help but snicker. “That doesn’t hold a lot of water, you know.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed the toy aside. He shifted in his seat under you as he was becoming uncomfortable.

“I need to get out of this car,” he muttered.

Oh.

You took this as a hint to climb off his lap to adjust your bra before pulling your shirt and pants on. He did the same, getting himself fully situated again then reaching over to open the door.

You were immediately overwhelmed with the crisp breeze against your flushed skin. You took a few deep breaths, taking in the fresh air.

The dock was desserted now with the crowd from earlier long gone, the only evidence from the event were the tire tracks on the floor.

Stepping outside made it easier to clear your head and think straight. Looking at Miguel, you realised those moments of excitement and fondness towards him weren’t just from the height of pleasure, but they were anchored in something deeper.

Your heart started raced as you watched Miguel, who was leaning on the car door silently. His hand hovered over his mouth absentmindedly, an old habit as a smoker.

You sucked in the air between your teeth before you spoke. “What are you thinking about?”

He hummed before leaning in closer to you. “You…and how annoying you are…”

You frowned. “I’m serious,”

“Oh well…” he started, his eyes still on you before they dropped to the ground. “I was just thinking how unfair it is that you made me feel so good and then you shut it off while I have to deal with the aftermath,”

You felt a chill thread down your spine. “What makes you think that?”

“You don’t seem affected by this like I am, you just got out of the car like it was nothing,”

Yikes.

You hadn’t realised how nonchalant you must’ve looked while you were in deep thought after getting out the car. You swallowed dryly and opened your mouth to speak before the situation was blown out of proportion.

“Well you’re wrong…and that’s not the post-sex talking.” It felt cathartic saying that out loud, almost like the words solidified your feelings.

“Dios…” he muttered to himself, his face flushed with embarrassment. It was ironic having him be more emotionally exposed than you were right now. He looked back at you with a sheepish expression, his voice sounding slightly nervous now, “So you feel the same? You’re affected by it as well?”

You scoffed at his obliviousness, but you couldn’t blame him. You hadn’t exactly been explicit with your feelings. “Yeah, you really had an influence on me,”

Miguel turned his face away to conceal his bashfulness, but you could see it clearly. It was refreshing and this tender side of him would be a memory you’d keep locked in your head. “You…can’t say stuff like that and expect me to stay calm,”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts. “Well, we don’t have to figure it out now,”

You looked out into the horizon and noticed a glow from afar. “The sun is rising,” you said. “Do you wanna get some ice coffee?”

Miguel looked at your kind of sight before he turned to you. “Yeah, I think we both need it after…that,”

He pushed himself off the car, took your hand, and lead you to the passenger side. Once you were in, he took his seat behind the wheel.

Miguel started up the car before driving off, leaving the dock side and heading into the awakening city. The ride was quiet now, with the newfound tenderness that hung in the air as you tried to locate the nearest coffee shop before the rush hour began.

Maybe you could discuss things properly after some caffeine.

This fic is literally the embodiment of Shut Up and Drive by Rihanna

Water gun inspired by this vine

[brynn-lear]

a/n: I won't be writing a oneshot about this since I already have a yan!capitano fic series I'm committing to, but I might randomly post about this idea more every now and then lol. tagging this AU as #the captain and his duchess

Yandere noble!Capitano who couldn't stop asking Fem Tutor!Darling to spar with him. With the weight of his inheritance, █████ must strive to be as great— if not greater— of a Captain like his father, the Duke.

But before he gained his infamous strength, you were his beloved mentor. You were a prodigy in swordsmanship with high confidence to boot. Hence, you gleefully accepted the Duke's request to tutor his eldest son. Coming from a minor noble household with only a title to uphold and not much else to boast, it's only natural to grasp unto that opportunity. It just so happened you've been clearing off competitions, and the duke has a good eye. Your parents, bless their souls, wouldn't dissuade you from your decision. Pride meant nothing when there's not even food scraps on the table. With a heart that still bleeds for the misfortune of those around you, you set off on horseback alone.

Whoever it was you were expecting to teach, it certainly wasn't a terrified noble hiding behind a helmet. Young █████ was not to blame. He carries the same dignified moral compass as his house, but he was ill-prepared to talk to people other than his family and servants. In fact, you couldn't get a word out of him as soon as you're done assessing his skill level with a first match.

Much to be desired, but the foundation is there.

... Perhaps you were too harsh with your phrasing.

"Young master," you shook your head, knocking on his door. "I couldn't teach you if you scamper about- hiding like meek prey in the closest room you'd burrow yourself in."

█████ didn't made a sound. You sighed. Truthfully, you wondered if you had done something to offend. It couldn't possibly be due to fear of authority. You're 21 and he's 19, not to mention that he is to be future sovereign Duke of Snezhnaya while you're not even reserved a seat in the council.

"F-Forgive him, Lady (Y/n)!" Elena squeaked. "He's not usually like this. I believe this is because..."

You raised an eyebrow. "Because...?"

The maid hurriedly shook her head, heat crawling up her neck. "N-No, I mustn't say. As a servant, I would step out of line."

"I'm pretty good at keeping secrets, you know?" You grinned. Skillfully, you placed a hand on the wall, leaning closer as if cornering her. You tucked the few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "I'm not from this House, I wouldn't scold you for a little bit of sin."

She looked extremely offended. Suppose you should've expected that much from the most honorable Harbinger House's staff.

"I'm inclined to believe that this young maid's hypothesis requires no detective to solve."

You both looked to the direction of the voice. It was Prince Zandik, cousin to █████ and heir to the throne. Though to both of you, you are his most favorite gladiator and he is your best sponsor.

"Greetings, Zandik. You appear just about anywhere, huh? Are you sure you're not pulling my leg about the secret twin rumors?"

"Not one for tact, as always. But that's just how I like you, Lady (Y/n)."

Elena looked at you incredulously, wondering just where on earth did you find the audacity to refer to the Prince without proper decorum. Zandik doesn't seem sensitive to your lack of sensibility. You and Zandik have been friends since childhood was never a secret, but those who would recently find this resurfacing fact never fail to act surprised.

"I'd ask you why you're here, but the answer would be dull and overly verbose." You feigned a yawn, which made Zandik chuckle. "So, instead, why don't you tell me what you know about this █████ situation? Does he fear women?"

Zandik schooled his expression, but you can almost just about hear him say that's your best guess?

"█████ has never been one for sublime subtlety." Zandik rolled his eyes. "He admires you greatly, couldn't you tell?"

"Me? And greatly?" You scoffed. "Please, he'd outpace me with just a few lessons.

Zandik laughed. You both knew that to be true, but the future isn't quite as close to that prediction.

"Since the day I discreetly snatched him from his quarters to observe one of your sparring sessions, he has maintained a keen interest in tracking your career." The Prince remarked. "Do you recall the first bouquet of roses you've received?"

"I wasn't meant to be the recipient, do not reopen old wounds." You cringed. It was an unfortunate mistake from the messenger.

"Forgive me, I meant the second bouquet you received." He crossed his arms. "One from a secret admirer who curtly explained how he couldn't bear to see the sadness from your face and made it his honorable responsibility to buy you a larger bouquet."

You blinked.

"N-No way. I'm pretty sure that's from, um, my father."

"Buy you the most expensive bouquet in Snezhnaya? With what money?"

... A cruel but fair point.

"He even dons the same headwear as you do— the helmet he would rarely take off, did you not find it identical to your own?"

You paused.

... Wait a second.

"Well, I shall remove myself from this conversation. I have dull and overly verbose matters to attend to."

"Zandik, halt!"

[sargebarnesx]

Jealousy

Pairing: Jim Hopper x female reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Age gap, dirty talk, unprotected sex, sex in his office, Hop’s a bit of a dom

Words: 2.3k ish?

Summary: Phil Callahan has a massive crush on you and Jim Hopper doesn’t want to admit that he’s jealous.

Author’s Note: please forgive me for two things: 1. If Hopper seems a bit OOC, it’s been a while since I’ve watched ST but I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while. 2. If I missed any warning/info that should have been provided. I haven’t posted fanfic on tumblr in about a decade so I’m out of practice. Hope y’all enjoy though!

Jim Hopper would never admit to being jealous.

He would describe himself as laid back when it came to relationships. Besides, when was he ever tied down to anyone long enough to get jealous? He would go with the flow, which usually meant he would have one night stand after one night stand and never call any of them ever again.

Until he met you.

You were a decade younger, but that didn’t bother him. You had a past, hell, so did he. He didn’t care. You started working at the station, that was great, he could see you every day and he definitely didn’t mind that. There was only one thing that seemed to be bothering him lately…

Phil Callahan had a massive crush on you.

Jim Hopper would never admit to being jealous, especially not of Phil Callahan.

You wore tight skirts and cute heels to work, a stark contrast from Flo’s ankle-length dresses and sensible shoes. You were young and pretty, what did he expect? You spent a lot of your time flittering around the station, helping where you could, filing, cleaning, making and answering calls. In between all of that, you found time to innocently flirt with Phil. You knew what you were doing; you knew it was going to make Jim’s blood boil every time he caught you sitting on the corner of Phil’s desk in your tight black skirt that hugged the curve of your ass perfectly. You were putting on a show, albeit one that had maybe gone on for too long. But you wanted to see how long it would take Hopper to crack.

Your white button-up top exposed your collarbone, giving everyone at the station a tiny peek of the smooth skin hiding underneath it. The black pumps that adorned your feet made a clicking sound as you walked back and forth and back and forth. Every time you passed by Jim’s open office door, he looked up from his paperwork in the hope of catching a glimpse. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

Neither could Phil.

Why did that make him seethe with jealousy?

Deep down, he knew why. He knew why seeing another man’s eyes rake over your body drove him absolutely insane.

He knew it was because that body had been writhing underneath him a mere seven hours ago. He knew it was because when you woke up next to him this morning, all you wanted was his dick in your mouth. He knew that you were probably still thinking about the way he railed you before your morning shower with your hair wrapped around his fist. How could you not be? He certainly was.

You were walking around the station with a familiar swing in your hips, a skip in your step, humming one of your favorite songs. Flo had commented that you were in a surprisingly good mood for a Monday morning. No one knew the things the two of you did off the clock and Jim wasn’t sure if they should. He didn’t want people to think you only had a job because you were screwing the chief. You deserved a better reputation than the one he had earned.

Jim heard the clicking of your heels getting closer as you approached his office. “Hey chief,” you say, rapping your knuckles against the door frame. You held a brown folder in your hand. “Whatcha got?” Hopper asks, holding his hand out to take the folder. Before you could respond, you slowly pushed the door closed. “Somethin’ serious?” Jim raises an eyebrow at your actions but doesn’t question you further. You set the folder down on his desk gently.

“I can feel your eyes on me every time I walk by,” you say, sitting in the chair opposite his desk and crossing your legs at the knee. Hopper leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out. You can feel the tip of his shoe rub against your ankle. “Yeah?” He remarks, “Can you feel Callahan’s too?” You nod, rolling your eyes, “Of course I can, but you looking up from your paperwork each time I walk by is what’s got me distracted.”

Hopper smirks, dragging his eyes over your exposed thighs. “Is that so?” He asks, “Not Callahan panting like a dog at your feet?”

You run a hand slowly through your hair, flipping it to one side. “Phil has been like that since high school. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to realize that if he hasn’t gotten any from me by now, he never will,” you explain. Hopper nods, his face emotionless as he moves his legs away from you. You follow his actions and lean in toward his desk.

“Besides,” you say, “I’ve had a lot on my mind today and I can’t say Phil Callahan has crossed it even once. You, on the other hand…”

“Me?” Jim asks, leaning back in his chair with his hands crossed behind his head, “What about me?”

He knows what he’s doing. That was your invitation and he knows you’ll take it. He watches as your mouth quirks up the tiniest bit in the corner, always one for a challenge. Hopper watches intently as you stand and make your way around the desk. He happily obliges when you motion for him to push his chair back a bit.

His hands immediately fly to the backs of your thighs when you straddle him and he has to hold back a groan as your hot pussy brushes against him. He takes in a sharp breath as you lean close to his ear.

“The chief wants to know what I’m thinkin’?” Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear. He nods, rubbing his hands from the backs of your knees to the curve of your ass. “I’m thinkin’ about your cock, chief, and how it feels when you’re filling up my pussy,” you place a kiss on the side of his neck, “I’m thinkin’ about laying back on this desk so you can fuck me right now.”

Jim presses his face in the crook of your neck to hide his groan. He hopes his office is far enough away from everyone so they can’t hear him. “You feel too good, baby,” he thrusts his hips up, trying to get closer but there are too many layers, “You know I’ll be too loud.”

You kiss him, deep and hard, taking his hands and pushing them onto your ass. “Maybe Phil will hear you and realize he doesn’t stand a chance,” you whisper with a smirk against his mouth. Hopper squeezes your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, undoubtedly leaving a mark.

You push yourself back up into a standing position, then take a seat on his desk. “So, are you gonna help me?” You ask, placing your right foot on the arm of his chair, feeling your skirt ride up. His eyes rake over you, going from your hip to your ankle, and you can tell his fingers are itching to touch you. “Or am I gonna have to do it myself?” You lift your left leg and place it on the opposite arm, exposing yourself to him. You trail your fingers down between your legs, feeling the wet heat that has soaked your panties.

“Touch me,” you whine, pushing your panties to the side to thrust a finger deep into your throbbing pussy, “please.” He watches under hooded eyes, his hands resting on your ankles. Your finger circles your clit and you hold back a moan, remembering that there’s only a door separating the two of you from everyone else. His hands creep higher and he traces lightly across your skin. “Unbutton your shirt,” he murmurs. You pull your fingers away from your pussy, wet and glistening, and slowly slip your buttons open.

One by one, you expose the skin of your chest to him. He can see the black lace of your bra and the swell of your breasts, heaving up and down as you pull your shirt off. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You’re so damn beautiful.” He gets closer to you with these words, filling the space between your thighs. He places a kiss at the base of your throat and you gasp as his beard tickles your skin. “Jim…” you groan, “I need you right now.”

He stands, crowding you, towering over you, with one hand on his belt buckle. You can see how hard he is, how his big dick strains against his uniform pants. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you on my desk?” He asks under his breath, palming himself over his pants. You nod, lying back over folders and papers. He hooks a finger in each cup of your bra and pulls, exposing your tight, hard nipples. “You are so turned on, baby,” he whispers against your nipple before wrapping his lips around you, “Bet that sweet pussy is soaked.”

A chill runs down your spine at his words. You want nothing more than to have him ram his thick cock inside of you, but his tongue on your tits is driving you absolutely insane. You wrap your legs around his waist. “Jim, please,” you’re getting desperate at this point. You want him inside you now.

His belt falls open first. Then he pops open the button and lowers the zipper. You’re one layer away from finally feeling him. You tighten your legs and pull him into you, whining when you feel his length pressed against you. “Easy, baby,” he says softly, “Be patient.”

He pulls away from you and pushes his boxers down, finally. His cock bobs between the two of you and he hisses when the cool air hits him. He pumps himself a few times while you watch, wetness pooling between your legs. You want your panties off, you want him to fill you up, you want to feel him. “You ready for this cock, baby?” He says. You nod, “I’ve been ready. You know this pussy is yours.” He smirks, reaches under your skirt, and pulls your panties down your legs in one movement. You squirm as he takes his place back between your thighs. The head of his cock brushes against you and you moan, bucking your hips towards him.

Jim is grinning; he loves seeing how much you want him, how much you need him.

“You want it all?”

You nod again.

He pushes into you, so familiar, so filling. He groans into your mouth, bites down on your lip, and pumps his hips back and forth. You’re gripping his biceps, your noses are touching, and his eyes are trained on yours.

“Atta girl,” he groans, “Atta fuckin’ girl, taking my cock like this. Taking my cock on my desk at the station. You think Callahan could take you like this? You think Callahan could make your pussy this wet?”

You shake your head.

“You want Callahan to fuck you on his desk out there? You wanna tease him until he can’t take it anymore?”

His thrusts are getting sloppy, his desk is creaking beneath you. He’s already gotten you there twice and is working towards a third. “Oh…baby…girl…fuck,” he moans, his words each enunciated by a snap of his hips. Your hands are gripping the hair at the base of his neck and you know without a doubt that your bottom lip will have an intense indent from your teeth.

“You want my cum? You want it deep inside this pussy?” He growls. You nod, unable to form words, unable to think with the cloud of bliss that is currently fogging up your brain. “Use your words, baby. I wanna hear you…” he says, gripping your wrists and slamming them down on his desk above your head. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice shaking, “Yes, please, cum inside me.”

Suddenly, you feel like a rubber band snaps somewhere deep inside of you. Your back arches off of the desk and your eyes squeeze shut; you wish he didn’t have your hands pinned above your head because you’d love to dig your nails into his strong shoulders. Then he’s moaning - loud and deep, while he spills himself inside of you. Your body goes limp as he wraps his arms around you. He’s so warm and you cry out at the absence of his heat when he pulls out of you. “Jim…” you whine.

“Shh,” he says, digging through his drawers to find a random towel that he knows is buried in there somewhere. It’s scratchy and has a couple of holes, but he uses it to clean you up. His rough grips have turned to soft touches. He gingerly puts your heels back on your feet while you fix your bra and pull your shirt back on. When you stand, he pulls the bottom of your skirt down and gives your ass a gentle squeeze.

It’s a silent remark, something that tells you he enjoyed himself, that he loves you, and that he wouldn’t mind a round two this evening when you both get home.

“How do I look?” You ask, gesturing to your hair. Hopper leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette, “Gorgeous, as always.”

You smooth your hands through your hair and quickly swipe under your eyes, realizing then that you’ve been in Hopper’s office for far too long, your mascara is far too smeared, and your once crisp and perfect shirt is far too wrinkled.

With one last glance at him, you reach for his office door handle and pull it open. An officer is standing there, frozen in place with his fist in the air as though he was about to knock. You slip past him, grab a stack of folders on your way back to your desk, and call over your shoulder, “Oh, hi Phil!”

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

This is long, but i need to get this out of my chest:

I have made so many post defending Penelope when people talked about her issues, her traumas but right now i feel like defending Colin.

As a woman, sometimes i naturally tend to feel defensive and shield the girl but i need to be fair here. Colin's feelings and trust were deeply hurt, Colin is insecure, soft, thoughtful, introspective, sensitive and suffers with a inferiority complex, and he struggles to know his place in society and among the people he loves, on what he should do and the expectations of society from a 22 years old man.

What many don't seem to realize is that Colin, even before knowing Penelope is LW, was very insecure about what she loves in him ( and even if she did in fact love him, because she was about to marry someone else), about being worth of her, he says he wants to do something, to publish his diaries because he wants her to be proud of him…he already didn't think he was good enough for and to her. Colin is insecure about not being good enough in every aspect of his life, tbh. His lack of purpose, faith in himself and on others loving him from whom he is runs deep. His moment of vulnerability telling how much Penelope not answering to his letters affected him, his family too was very revealing. Him screaming at Pen with tears in his eyes that he felt foolish that she read his diaries and praised him as something special. This is something i've noticed even in other seasons too. The family not caring much about his need to connect and his somewhat strained relationship with Anthony, who wasn't really a good male figure to him. It's about male ego? A bit, but it's deeper than that in the series.

Another issue is, he put Pen in a pedestal too ( much like Pen did until 2x8), to be honest, and that is never a good thing, because people are not perfect. And he needed to learn all that. There is disappointment there. But, again, it goes further. It’s him not knowing her as he thinks he should. It’s him perceiving her humanity but reflecting on his own. We have to remember he's so happy because Pen chose him, because he thinks now he's someone's priority and he's someone's focus. He has the immature idea that you should be everything in every way to the person you love, and if you can't be their protector and the hero in their eyes, why should anyone love you?

Then he finds out…and his worldview crumbles. Not only Penelope broke his trust and hurt him deeply - and she never told him and never would have - and it wasn't just himself but his family too, but she shattered his belief he knew and connected with her better than almost anyone else, she shattered his barely there newly found confidence and sense of purpose, what he thought was his sense of self now. All modern sensibilities tend to be ruffled about this, but i think it's a fitting conflict that he would have issues with her being so self-sufficient, so successful while he believes himself to be less, way less than her, so to Colin she doesn't need him, and if she doesn't need him, why would she love him? Why should she love him?

Again, there is the side of him conflicted about knowing her. The pedestal was broken, because she lied to him. She is this powerful, talented, successful woman on her own, not just the pretty shy girl with sweetness and great witty personality that he loves, the one that thinks the world of him. She talked about him, she criticized him and while it rings true deep down, it rings devastation, because she could see beyond his farce and it makes him look and feel pathetic.

So he's struggling with two things: on how to love her, all of her, and how to feel good enough for her, love himself. He's trying to accept her new wonderful aspects and her hurtful flaws because he never stopped loving her, in no moment we see anything but love when that man looks at her, when that man is crying because of her and his deep sadness and longing, his anger is laced with so much love for her. He's angry at her but mostly at himself and he needs to figure it out a way to feel like he deserves to be loved by her. It fuels his issues and he also over compensates.

His hang ups with LW becomes his tangible target. Not only he sees as a dangerous thing to her, it puts her at risk, and with that in mind he can put himself in a role of her protector again, but he fixates on the idea that without Whistledown she's the Pen that he can believe is able to love him even if he's not good enough. Without Whistledown she's not so much above him and not so far from him, because Whistledown is her critical eye, it's Penelope appraising people very analytically and if she looks closely, he doesn't think she will see much in him, as she proved before with he S3 ep1 comment. He wants to get rid of it.

Sure, he's jealous too, he envies her success but exactly because he resents how much that makes him less worthy. It's also another thing that he thinks she's putting above him. He couldn't see clearly that it wasn't something outside herself (and he gets it after), but part of who she is, and all of those parts loves him. It's foolish and it's nonsensical because he doesn't understand that she has seen his flaws but she loves him anyway. He needed reassurance just as much as Pen needed. He needed her to keep on telling she loved him and why, because it heals him.

Some people were upset he didn't make love to her that day he went to get a blanket, but i get it. He wants it, he wants her so badly, you can see it. Colin has problems communicating and doing what he wants because he feels pathetic, jealous and that makes him feel worse, makes him feel shame. It’s him, not her that was the issue at that point. His connection with her runs deeper, it's respecting her and himself, with all the conflicted feelings why he didn’t.

It’s a slow process and i’m bloody glad it took its time to be resolved. But he starts understanding that his way wont help them, it wont bring them closer. He wont solve things by controlling and being the hero. He can’t change the past, he can’t change who they are. He wont solve anything by repressing his love.

Pen words help him figuring out a lot, her spoken words directed to him and her written words that he reads again. She needs him. She tells him she needs him and his love, not grand actions. He can show love and be worthy by supporting her. He starts to understand and ACCEPT that Whistledown is Pen, and loving Pen will include that part of her personality. He grasps that it was always there and it never made a difference in how much she loved being around him and him her, how much attention she dedicated to him, how much her words, in her letters, were full of admiration for him, to her love to him, how much she is his special person. She needs him just as much he needs her, she needs his love, his charm, his intelligence, his humor, his integrity, she needs him because without him she doesn’t feel complete, she doesn’t feel happy. He’s a good man, a fine man that makes her happy, always have. And he realizes she inspires him, she always had, and that isn't a problem, that having her helping him is not a problem, because he helps her too in many ways. It’s only when he can accept himself as equal and entitled to her love as she is to his that they could truly be together and happy.

Colin had the right to feel hurt, had the right to have his insecurities, had the right to need time and had the right to need space, had the right to lash out, had the right to come to term with the changes and surprises life threw at him, specially as a sensitive person that he very much is, and i'm glad the show didn't rush that.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 1 (Alastor x Reader)

Rated Adult for adult themes, triggering content and sexual content. I wouldn't say this is dead dove but it's dead dove adjacent. Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut of undetermined sorts, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, Alastor is a serial Killer, there's murder, there's angst, there's dark content.

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Please be mindful. This story is dark and triggering at times. I've written portions to elicit an emotional reaction. As you should always do with dark content, even if you're not at risk of being triggered, please step back and take a breather when needed. The story will always be here when you get back. I am so tickled by the excitement this story has generated ahead of its release. We're looking at tentatively between 20 and 30 chapters (A note from future Kit: Ha! That was a cute prediction... I'm drafting chapter 37 rn and looking at 50...(Another note for future-er Kit...we're writing chapter 51 rn... we're not passing 60) posted once a week on Fridays.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Audio by Nyx Productions, Part 1, part 2

To the world, you appeared nothing more than a simple woman with a placid smile, gliding through town. The rhythmic click of your sensible black heels echoed against the sidewalk. To a trained eye, your gait could be categorized as slightly staggered, stiff, and just a little uneven, but to an untrained eye? There was nothing to see, but a modestly dressed woman, impeccably put together though just slightly out of fashion, performing the role of the ideal well-to-do wife with the precision of a clockwork automation. 

You could have taken a bus, but you would rather walk, or at least that was your story, but it wasn’t totally true. You tried to focus on the positive, a lesson your parents had instilled in you from an early age. If you couldn’t focus on the positive little bits of your life, what else was there?

It was nice to get out of the prison of your home. That is what you’d tell anyone that asked, though you wouldn’t call it a prison to anyone but yourself. They would smile and nod, like was polite and they’d make small talk about how mundane the life of a homemaker was and assure her that as soon as little ones landed her days would be filled with excitement and joy. 

What wouldn’t be said was how you wished she could brave the bus because your simple heels hurt your feet or how the idea of falling pregnant terrified you. You couldn’t, wouldn’t really, brave the bus because it would jostle you and you’d surely bump into someone or something. This time of day, the bus would be crowded and people would bump into you.

Today you couldn’t have that. 

Today you needed to protect yourself.

Stepping into the tailor shop you thanked the man on his way out, holding the door open for you on his way. With a sigh, you let the relief of an errand half done wash over you as you stepped up to the counter. Behind you, the bell above to door jingled, announcing another new arrival to the small shop.

Glancing over your shoulder, you hardly registered the tall man with tan skin and fluffy brown hair as he held the door open for his short blonde companion. An odd pair, you thought before turning back to the counter, showing the woman where the sleeve on your dress was torn, seam along the shoulder ripped and explaining your fabricated story of how it happened. 

She smiled at you with pity. This was injury to clothing she knew well though she would never be so bold as to talk about it. You were not the only woman in town to frequent the tailors with ripped shoulder seams or dark rust colored stains. These were the secrets she kept, a professional curtesy that was expected from her but always unsaid. Did the people of the city even realize the things she knew?

“It’ll be ready in a few days, Mrs. Latimer.” The shopkeeper was quick to take the dress from you, doing the work of holding it up and examining the rip. 

It was a small mercy, to not have to raise your arm much at all. The woman folded the dress neatly away and slipping it below the counter before motioning you aside while she wrote out your ticket. She was a master at multitasking, finishing your ticket as she greeted the newcomers who seemed less eager to step up to the counter than the shopkeeper was to serve them.

“What about that one?” the blonde woman whispered to her companion as you thanked the shop keeper as she handed you your ticket. The newcomers lingered, taking their time making their way to the counter. 

“Mimzy, we are here to pick up your dress,” the man’s rich voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t place it. Glancing at him, you tried to place where you could know him from but came up blank. That was just as well, Laurence didn’t let you really socialize much outside of your day to day tasks.

The blonde, Mimzy you had gathered her name was, wiggled her fingers to you in a wave as she caught you looking their way before directing her attention back to the man she was with. 

“Yes, yes. And you need the lining of your coat restitched,” She made a show of rolling her eyes, performing for an audience of only a handful, “You’re no fun sometimes.” 

“A dreadfully dull time, that’s me,” the man laughed lightly.

“I’m just saying,” Mimzy continued as you stepped toward the door, “You’re a good man. A decent man. You should find someone, is all. You don’t gotta settle down but you don’t gotta be alone all the time either.” 

You cringed, struggling to push open the heavy door, trying to not listen in on the pair’s clearly private conversation. You had been too eager when you pushed on it and your shoulder didn’t hold up to the stress well, pain flaring. It was easy enough to forget how painful your shoulder was in the moment. 

It wasn’t so bad, as long as you didn’t overdo it. Pushing open the heavy door yourself was clearly enough to count as overdoing it today. 

“Here, allow me.” The man pushed open the door for you, holding it open with a palm high along the edge of the door, giving you plenty of space to exit. 

You ducked under his arm with a mumbled word of thanks. It didn’t matter, he didn’t seem to really be listening for it anyway as he directed his attention back to his companion as he let the door begin to fall closed as soon as you were out of striking range of it.

“And why should I-” the rest of his words were lost behind the closing door. 

Alastor sat in the empty lounge, sipping his rye as Mimzy talked on and on while she changed. The dress surely would fit her just how she wanted, it was custom fitted but that didn’t stop her from putting on this whole production every time they got back from the seamstress. 

He knew the song and dance well enough, having known the woman for the past few years. She would change. He would complement. She would complain. He would reassure. She would blush and call him a flirt. He would move on with his day. 

“Oh!” Mimzy interrupted herself, earning a raised eyebrow from Alastor. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what, my dear?” 

She popped her head out from between the curtains, “I think I found myself a new juice supplier. You’re off the hook.”

“You think?” Alastor downed the rest of his drink in one smoothe gulp.

“Ya- Laurence’ll be able to take over soon and you’ll be off the hook again. I know you ain’t eager for that amount of risk. Told you it was only temporary.” 

Alastor hummed in acknowledgement as Mimzy went on and on about Laurence. He was tall, not as tall as Alastor, she assured him, but still tall and handsome. He tuned out her ramblings, mind instead turning back to the woman Mimzy had pointed out at the tailor shop. Such a timid little thing, fashion just outdated enough to stand out. 

Mimzy smacked his shoulder with a bar towel, leaning across the counter to look him in his eyes as she demanded his attention, “Yes?”

“You’re distracted,” she stated simply. 

“Just thinking about tomorrow’s broadcast.” Alastor answered simply, running his finger over the rim of the empty glass. “That’s all.” 

“Mhm,” she narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned back from her. “You sure you ain’t thinking about a pretty face?” 

“Haven’t seen any prettier faces than yours today.” 

Mimzy laughed loudly and teased, “Flirt! But I know it ain’t my face that’s got you distracted. Was it the doll at the shop? She was cute!” 

“She’s got a man,” Alastor countered. 

“And how the hell would you know from not speaking to her at all?” 

Alastor shrugged, “Just got a feeling about her.” 

He could tell Mimzy that she had that hollow look in her eyes that a woman got when she had a partner that got a bit too rough with her. Hell, he could point out the way she couldn’t manage to open the door to the shop, her shoulder weak from strained muscles. Did the man that called her his toss her around by the arm last night? Yank her a little too roughly?

He wouldn’t though because it didn’t matter. It wasn’t worth having Mimzy ask questions about his past or worse, assume the reason he had no partner of his own was due to any reason beyond him not desiring to be weighed down. 

“I bet a charming lad like yourself could sweep her out from under whatever man she’s caught up with anyway. Want another?” Mimzy pointed at the empty glass as melting ice settled in the bottom. 

“I’m good, Darling- It’s early yet.” 

Your feet were killing you as you made your way home. Still, you couldn’t help but take your time. If you were out, you were not home cleaning, cooking or waiting for your husband to return. While you were out, you could pretend to be your own person and it was alright, you had to keep up appearances as long as it was the right appearance. 

Lingering in front of the newsstand, you let your eyes run over the papers and magazines each with bold words on the covers, fighting for the eye’s attention. 

The headlines were polar opposites in many cases. Some celebrated the progress and change made in the 24 months since women had been granted the right to the vote. Others bemoaned the change and the influence women could now have on the world around them, pointing at any little thing as a sign of the doom this would spell for society as a whole. 

The idea made you laugh. Two years and while you did your best to learn, you hadn’t even come close to a polling center. Your husband wouldn’t allow it. Whatever change there may have been for better or for worse, you had no part of it. 

You knew which of the papers your loving husband would pick up and celebrate. It wasn’t the same ones you would but that didn’t matter. Women may have had the right to vote but you knew you were little more than an accessory in the world you lived in. 

Moving on with your walk home, you tried to force yourself to relax your shoulders and back. The pain was starting in from tensed muscles, telling you that while you hadn’t been watching your posture well enough, you had curled in on yourself. 

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your parted lips, slowly as you pulled your head up and your shoulders back, trying to ignore the way the muscles screamed in protest. You forced your spine straight and winced at the pain in your shoulder as you worked your fingers into the tense muscle, trying to convince it to relax. 

It would pain you for a few more days yet and if you were lucky, that would be it. You just needed to be good until it had a chance to heal. 

“Good Day, Mrs. Latimer.” A man you should have known tipped his hat at you in greeting, startling you out of the thoughts you hadn’t realized absorbed you as you walked slowly down the sidewalk. 

He was closer than you had expected when he snatched your attention, causing you to gasp and flinch back, shoulder twinging in pain. You didn’t like people in your space, at least not without warning. All it would take was someone saying you were getting too close to a man to your husband and hell would rain down on you regardless of the truth of it. 

Your shoulder banged into the light post behind you. You didn’t know it was there, having lost track of your surrounding as you walked in the haze of thoughts. A gasped yelp slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Appearances. You had to keep up appearances. Swallow the pain, don’t let anyone know. Don’t let anyone see. 

“You alright?” The man asked as he steadied you, large hand gripping the outside of your shoulder only making the pain flair more. 

Shrugging out from under his grip, you painted on a false smile as you willed the tears in your eyes back. 

“I’m fine,” You looked away as you saw pity cross the man’s face. How much did he see? Surely not more than what was normal, what was acceptable?

“You be careful ma’am,” the man nodded wisely to you. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a serial killer running around. Probably not good for a lady to be out alone till they catch the bastard- pardon my language.” 

“Oh my,” you tried to play the unsteadiness on your feet as being from the terrifying news. Would be believe it? Did be believe it? “I’ll be sure to be mindful, thank you.” 

You didn’t need his pity but what you needed even less of was him seeing any real reason to pity you. Forcing your hand from your shoulder, you tried to ignore the pain, to will it away. 

There was nothing to see here. Just Mrs. Latimer making her way home from the tailor shop. There were no bruises. No torn dresses. Nothing wrong. 

Life was perfectly normal, a storybook where you were married into a family of means with your family having so very little to offer. 

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[asha-mage]

WoT Meta: Feudalism, Class, And The Politics of The Wheel of Time

One of my long standing personal annoyances with the fantasy genre is that it often falls into the trap of simplifying feudal class systems, stripping out the interesting parts and the nuance to make something that’s either a lot more cardboard cut-out, or has our modern ideas about class imposed onto it.

Ironically the principal exception is also the series that set the bar for me. As is so often the case, Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time is unique in how much it works to understand and convey a realistic approach to power, politics, government, rulership, and the world in general–colored neither by cynicism or idealism. How Jordan works the feudal system into his world building is no exception–weaving in the weaknesses, the strengths, and the banal realities of what it means to have a Lord or Lady, a sovereign Queen or King, and to exist in a state held together by interpersonal relationships between them–while still conveying themes and ideas that are, at their heart, relevant to our modern world.

So, I thought I’d talk a little bit about how he does that.

Defining the Structure

First, since we’re talking about feudal class systems, let's define what that means– what classes actually existed, how they related to each other, and how that is represented in Jordan’s world. 

But before that, a quick disclaimer. To avoid getting too deep into the historical weeds, I am going to be making some pretty wide generalizations. The phrases ‘most often’, ‘usually’, and ‘in general’ are going to be doing a lot of heavy lifting. While the strata I’m describing is broadly true across the majority medieval and early Renaissance feudal states these things were obviously heavily influenced by the culture, religion, geography, and economics of their country–all of which varied widely and could shift dramatically over a surprisingly small amount of time (sometimes less than a single generation). Almost nothing I am going to say is universally applicable to all feudal states, but all states will have large swathes of it true for them, and it will be widely applicable. The other thing I would ask you to keep in mind is that a lot of our conceptions of class have been heavily changed by industrialization. It’s impossible to overstate how completely the steam engine altered the landscape of socio-politics the world over, in ways both good and bad. This is already one of those things that Jordan is incredibly good at remembering, and that most fantasy authors are very good at forgetting. 

The disparity between your average medieval monarch’s standard of living and their peasants was pretty wide, but it was nothing compared to the distance between your average minimum wage worker and any billionaire; the monarch and the peasant had far more in common with each other than you or I do with Jeff Bezos or Mike Zuckerberg. The disparity between most people’s local country lord and their peasants was even smaller. It was only when the steam engine made the mass production of consumer goods possible that the wealth gap started to become a chasm–and that was in fact one of the forces that lead to the end of the feudal system and the collapse of many (though by no means all) of the ruling monarchies in Europe. I bring this up because the idea of a class system not predicated on the accumulation of capital seems pretty alien to our modern sensibilities, but it was the norm for most of history. Descent and birth mattered far more than the riches you could acquire–and the act of accumulating wealth was itself often seen as something vulgar and in many countries actively sinful. So with that in mind, what exactly were the classes of feudalism, and how do they connect to the Wheel of Time?

The Monarch and their immediate family unsurprisingly occupied the top of the societal pyramid (at least, in feudal states that had a monarch and royal family- which wasn’t all of them). The Monarch was head of the government and was responsible for administering the nation: collecting taxes, seeing them spent, enforcing law, defending the country’s borders and vassals in the event of war, etc. Contrary to popular belief, relatively few monarchs had absolute power during the medieval period. But how much power the monarch did have varied widely- some monarchs were little more than figureheads, others were able to centralize enough power on themselves to dictate the majority of state business- and that balance could shift back and forth over a single generation, or even a single reign depending on the competence of the monarch. 

The royal family usually held power in relation to their monarch, but also at the monarch’s discretion. The more power a monarch had, the more likely they were to delegate it to trusted family members in order to aid with the administration of the realm. This was in both official and unofficial capacities: princes were often required to do military service as a right of passage, and to act as diplomats or officials, and princesses (especially those married into foreign powers) were often used as spies for their home state, or played roles in managing court affairs and business on behalf of the ruler.

Beneath the monarch and their family you get the noble aristocracy, and I could write a whole separate essay just on the delineations and strata within this group, but suffice to say the aristocracy covers individuals and families with a wide range of power and wealth. Again, starting from that country lord whose power and wealth in the grand scheme of things is not much bigger than his peasants, all the way to people as powerful, or sometimes more powerful, than the monarch. 

Nobles in a feudal system ruled over sections of land (the size and quality usually related sharply to their power) setting taxes, enforcing laws, providing protection to the peasants, hearing petitions, etc. within their domains. These nobles were sometimes independent, but more often would swear fealty to more powerful nobles (or monarchs) in exchange for greater protection and membership in a nation state. Doing so meant agreeing to pay taxes, obey (and enforce) the laws of the kingdom, and to provide soldiers to their liege in the event of war. The amount of actual power and autonomy nobles had varied pretty widely, and the general rule of thumb is that the more powerful the monarch is, the less power and autonomy the nobles have, and vice versa. Nobles generally were expected to be well educated (or at least to be able to pretend they were) and usually provided the pool from which important government officials were drawn–generals, council members, envoys, etc–with some kingdoms having laws that prevented anyone not of noble descent from occupying these positions.

Beneath the nobles you get the wealthy financial class–major merchants, bankers, and the heads of large trade guilds. Those Marx referred to generally as the bourgeoisie because they either own means of production or manage capital. In a feudal system this class tended to have a good bit of soft power, since their fortunes could buy them access to circles of the powerful, but very little institutional power, since the accumulation and pursuit of riches, if anything, was seen to have negative moral worth. An underlying presumption of greediness was attached to this class, and with it the sense that they should be kept out of direct power.

That was possible, in part, because there weren't that many means of production to actually own, or that much capital to manage, in a pre-industrial society. Most goods were produced without the aid of equipment that required significant capital investment (a weaver owned their own loom, a blacksmith owned their own tools, etc), and most citizens did not have enough wealth to make use of banking services. This is the class of merchants who owned, but generally didn’t directly operate, multiple trading ships or caravans, guild leaders for craftsfolk who required large scale equipment to do their work (copper and iron foundries for the making of bells, for example), and bankers who mainly served the nobility and other wealthy individuals through the loaning and borrowing of money. This usually (but not always) represented the ceiling of what those not born aristocrats could achieve in society.

After that you get middling merchants, master craftsfolk and specialty artisans, in particular of luxury goods. Merchants in this class usually still directly manage their expeditions and operations, while the craftsfolk and artisans are those with specialty skill sets that can not be easily replicated without a lifetime of training. Master silversmiths, dressmakers, lacquer workers, hairdressers, and clockmakers are all found in this class. How much social clout individuals in this class have usually relates strongly to how much value is placed on their skill or product by their society (think how the Seanchan have an insatiable appetite for lacquer work and how Seanchan nobles make several Ebou Dari lacquer workers very rich) as well as the actual quality of the product. But even an unskilled artisan is still probably comfortable (as Thom says, even a bad clockmaker is still a wealthy man). Apprenticeships, where children are taught these crafts, are thus highly desired by those in lower classes,as it guaranteed at least some level of financial security in life.

Bellow that class you find minor merchants (single ship or wagon types), the owners of small businesses (inns, taverns, millers etc), some educated posts (clerks, scribes, accountants, tutors) and most craftsfolk (blacksmiths, carpenters, bootmakers, etc). These are people who can usually support themselves and their families through their own labor, or who, in the words of Jin Di, ‘work with their hands’. Most of those who occupy this class are found in cities and larger towns, where the flow of trade allows so many non-food producers to congregate and still (mostly) make ends meet. This is why there is only one inn, one miller, one blacksmith (with a single apprentice) in places like Emond’s Field: most smaller villages can not sustain more than a handful of non-food producers. This is also where you start to get the possibility of serious financial instability; in times of chaos it is people at this tier (and below) that are the first to be forced into poverty, flight, or other desperate actions to survive.

Finally, there is the group often collectively called ‘peasants’ (though that term is also sometimes used to mean anyone not noble born). Farmers, manual laborers, peddlers, fishers- anyone who is unlikely to be able to support more than themselves with their labor, and often had to depend on the combined labor of their spouse and families to get by. Servants also generally fit into this tier socially, but it’s important to understand that a servant in say, a palace, is going to be significantly better paid and respected than a maid in a merchant's house. This class is the largest, making up the majority of the population in a given country, and with a majority of its own number being food-producers specifically. Without the aid of the steam engine, most of a country’s populace needs to be producing food, and a great deal of it, in order to remain a functional nation. Most of the population as a result live in smaller spread out agrarian communities, loosely organized around single towns and villages. Since these communities will almost always lack access to certain goods or amenities (Emond’s Field has a bootmaker, but no candlemaker, for example) they depend on smalltime traders, called peddlers, to provide them with everyday things, who might travel from town to town with no more than a single wagon, or even just a large pack.

The only groups lower than peasants on the social hierarchy are beggars, the destitute, and (in societies that practice slavery) slaves. People who can not (or are not allowed to) support themselves, and instead must either eke out a day to day existence from scraps, or must be supported by others. Slaves can perform labor of any kind, but they are regarded legally as a means of production rather than a laborer, and the value is awarded to their owner instead. 

It’s also worth noting that slavery has varied wildly across history in how exactly it was carried out and ran the gamut from the trans-Atlantic chattel slavery to more caste or punitive-based slavery systems where slaves could achieve freedom, social mobility, or even some degree of power within their societies. But those realities (as with servants) had more to do with who their owners were than the slave’s own merit, and the majority of slaves (who are almost always seen as less than a freedman even when they are doing the same work) were performing the same common labor as the ‘peasant’ class, and so viewed as inferior.

Viewing The Wheel of Time Through This Lens

So what does all this have to do with Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time? A lot actually, especially compared to his contemporaries in fantasy writing. Whereas most fantasy taking place in feudal systems succumbs to the urge to simplify matters (sometimes as far down to their only being two classes, ‘peasant’ and ‘royalty’) Jordan much more closely models real feudalism in his world. 

The majority of the nations we encounter are feudal monarchies, and a majority of each of their populations are agrarian farming communities overseen by a local lord or other official. How large a nation’s other classes are is directly tied to how prosperous the kingdom is, which is strongly connected to how much food and how many goods the kingdom can produce on the available land within it. This in turn, is tightly interdependent on how stable the kingdom is and how effective its government is.

Andor is the prime example: a very large, very prosperous kingdom, which is both self-sufficient in feeding itself via its large swathes of farmland (so much so that they can afford to feed Cairhien through selling their surplus almost certainly at next to no profit) and rich in mineral wealth from mines in the west. It is capable of supporting several fairly large cities even on its outskirts, as well as the very well-developed and cosmopolitan Caemlyn as its capital. This allows Andor to maintain a pretty robust class of educated workers, craftsfolk, artisans, etc, which in turn furthers the realm’s prosperity. At the top of things, the Queen presides over the entire realm with largely centralized power to set laws and taxes. Beneath her are the ‘great houses’–the only Houses in Andor besides the royal house who are strong enough that other nobles ‘follow where they lead’ making them the equivalent of Duchesses and Dukes, with any minor nobles not sworn directly to the Queen being sworn to these ten.

And that ties into something very important about the feudal system and the impact it had on our world and the impact it has on Jordan's. To quote Youtuber Jack Rackham, feudalism is what those in the science biz would call an unstable equilibrium. The monarch and their vassals are constantly in conflict with each other; the vassals desiring more power and autonomy, as the monarch works to centralize power on themselves. In feudalism there isn’t really a state army. Instead the monarch and the nobles all have personal armies, and while the monarch’s might be stronger than anyone else’s army, it’s never going to be stronger than everybody else’s. 

To maintain peace and stability in this situation everyone has to essentially play Game of Thrones (or as Jordan called it years before Martin wrote GoT, Daes Dae’mar) using political maneuvering, alliances, and scheming in order to pursue their goals without the swords coming out, and depending on the relative skill of those involved, this can go on for centuries at a time….or break apart completely over the course of a single bad summer, and plunge the country into civil war.

Cairhien is a great example of this problem. After losing the Aiel War and being left in ruins, the monarch who ultimately secured the throne of Cairhien, Galldrian Riatin, started from a place of profound weakness. He inherited a bankrupt, war torn and starving country, parts of which were still actively on fire at the time. As Thom discusses in the Great Hunt, Galddrian's failure to resettle the farmers displaced by the war left Cairhien dependent on foreign powers to feed the populace (the grain exports from Tear and Andor) and in order to prevent riots in his own capital, Galldrian choose bread and circuses to keep the people pacified rather then trying to substantially improve their situation. Meanwhile, the nobles, with no effective check on them, began to flex their power, seeing how much strength they could take away from each other and the King, further limiting the throne’s options in how to deal with the crisis, and forcing the King to compete with his most powerful vassals in order to just stay on the throne. This state of affairs ultimately resulted, unsurprisingly, in one of Galladrin’s schemes backfiring, him ending up dead, and the country plunging into civil war, every aristocrat fighting to replace him and more concerned with securing their own power then with restoring the country that was now fully plunged into ruin.

When Dyelin is supporting Elayne in the Andoran Succession, it is this outcome (or one very much like it) that she is attempting to prevent. She says as much outright to Elayne in Knife of Dreams–a direct succession is more stable, and should only be prevented in a situation where the Daughter Heir is unfit–through either incompetence or malice–to become Queen. On the flip side, Arymilla and her lot are trying to push their own agendas, using the war as an excuse to further enrich their Houses or empower themselves and their allies. Rhavin’s machinations had very neatly destabilized Andor, emboldening nobles such as Arymilla (who normally would never dream of putting forward a serious claim for the throne) by making them believe Morgase and Trakand were weak and thus easy to take advantage of. 

We also see this conflict crop up as a central reason Murandy and Altara are in their current state as well. Both are countries where their noble classes have almost complete autonomy, and the monarch is a figurehead without significantly more power than their vassals (Tylin can only keep order in Ebou Dar and its immediate surrounding area, and from what she says her father started with an even worse deal,with parts of the capital more under the control of his vassals than him). Their main unifying force is that they wish to avoid invasion and domination by another larger power (Andor for Murandy, Illian and Amadica for Altara) and the threat of that is the only thing capable of bringing either country into anything close to unity.

Meanwhile a lack of centralization has its trade offs; people enjoy more relative freedoms and social mobility (both depend heavily on trade, which means more wealth flowing into their countries but not necessarily accumulating at the top, due to the lack of stability), and Altara specifically has a very robust ‘middle class’ (or as near as you can get pre-industrialization) of middling to minor merchants, business and craftsfolk, etc. Mat’s time in Ebou Dar (and his friendship with Satelle Anan) gets into a lot of this. Think of the many many guilds that call Altara home, and how the husband of an inn owner can do a successful enough business fishing that he comes to own several crafts by his own merit. 

On the flip side both countries have problems with violence and lawlessness due to the lack of any enforced uniformity in terms of justice. You might ride a day and end up in land ruled by a Lord or Lady with a completely different idea of what constitutes, say, a capital offense, than the Lord or Lady you were under yesterday. This is also probably why Altara has such an ingrained culture of duels to resolve disputes, among both nobles and common folk. Why appeal to a higher authority when that authority can barely keep the streets clean? Instead you and the person you are in conflict with, on anything from the last cup of wine to who cheated who in a business deal, can just settle it with your knives and not have to bother with a hearing or a petition. It’s not like you could trust it anyways; as Mat informs us, most of the magistrates in Altara do the bidding of whoever is paying their bribes.

But neither Altara nor Murandy represents the extreme of how much power and autonomy nobles can manage to wrangle for themselves. That honor goes to Tear, where the nobles have done away with the monarch entirely to instead establish what amounts to an aristocratic confederacy. Their ruling council (The High Lords of Tear) share power roughly equally among themselves, and rule via compromise and consensus. This approach also has its tradeoffs: unlike Murandy and Altara, Tear is still able to effectively administer the realm and create uniformity even without a monarch, and they are able to be remarkably flexible in terms of their politics and foreign policy, maintaining trade relationships even with bitter enemies like Tar Valon or Illian.  On the flipside, the interests of individual nobles are able to shape policy and law to a much greater extent, with no monarch to play arbiter or hold them accountable. This is the source of many of the social problems in Tear: a higher sense of justice, good, or even just plain fairness all take a back seat to the whims and interest of nobles. Tear is the only country where Jordan goes out of his way, repeatedly, to point out wealth inequality and injustice. They are present in other countries, but Jordan drives home that it is much worse in Tear, and much more obscene. 

This is at least in part because there is no one to serve as a check to the nobles, not even each other. A monarch is (at least in theory) beholden to the country as a whole, but each High Lord is beholden only to their specific people, house and interests, and there is no force present that can even attempt to keep the ambitions and desires of the High Lords from dictating everything. So while Satelle Anan's husband can work his way up from a single fishing boat to the owner of multiple vessels, most fisherman and farmers in Tear scrape by on subsistence, as taxes are used to siphon off their wealth and enrich the High Lords. While in Andor ‘even the Queen most obey the law she makes or there is no law’ (to quote Morgase), Tairen Lords can commit murder, rape, or theft without any expectation of consequences, because the law dosen’t treat those acts as crimes when done to their ‘lessers’, and any chance someone might get their own justice back (as they would in Altara) is quashed, since the common folk are not even allowed to own weapons in Tear. As we’re told in the Dragon Reborn, when an innkeeper is troubled by a Lord cheating at dice in the common room, the Civil Watch will do nothing about it and citizens in Tear are banned from owning weapons so there is nothing he can do about it. The best that can be hoped for is that he will ‘get bored and go away’.

On the opposite end, you have the very very centralized Seanchan Empire as a counter example to Tear, so centralized it’s almost (though not quite) managed to transcend feudalism. In Seanchan the aristocratic class has largely been neutered by the monarchy, their ambitions and plots kept in check by a secret police (the Seekers of Truth) and their private armies dwarfed by a state army that is rigorously kept and maintained. It’s likely that the levies of the noble houses, if they all united together, would still be enough to topple the Empress, but the Crystal Throne expends a great deal of effort to ensure that doesn't happen,playing the nobles against each other and taking advantage of natural divisions in order to keep them from uniting.

Again, this has pros and cons. The Seanchan Empire is unquestionably prosperous; able to support a ridiculous food surplus and the accompanying flow of wealth throughout its society, and it has a level of equity in its legal administration that we don’t see anywhere else in Randland. Mat spots the heads of at least two Seanchan nobles decorating the gates over Ebou Dar when he enters, their crimes being rape and theft, which is a far cry from the consequence-free lives of the Tairen nobles. Meanwhile a vast state-sponsored bureaucracy works to oversee the distribution of resources and effective governance in the Empress’s name. No one, Tuon tells us proudly, has to beg or go hungry in the Empire. But that is not without cost. 

Because for all its prosperity, Seanchan society is also incredibly rigid and controlling. One of the guiding philosophies of the Seanchan is ‘the pattern has a place for everything and everything’s place should be obvious on sight’. The classes are more distinct and more regimented than anywhere else we see in Randland. The freedoms and rights of everyone from High Lords to common folk are curtailed–and what you can say or do is sharply limited by both social convention and law. The Throne (and its proxies) are also permitted to deprive you of those rights on nothing more than suspicion. To paraphrase Egeanin from TSR: Disobeying a Seeker (and presumably any other proxy of the Empress) is a crime. Flight from a Seeker is a crime. Failure to cooperate fully with a Seeker is a crime. A Seeker could order a suspected criminal to go fetch the rope for their own binding, and the suspected criminal would be expected to do it–and likely would because failure to do anything else would make them a criminal anyway, whatever their guilt or innocence in any other matter.

Meanwhile that food surplus and the resulting wealth of the Empire is built on its imperialism and its caste-based slavery system, and both of those are inherently unsustainable engines. What social mobility there is, is tied to the Empire’s constant cycle of expand, consolidate, assimilate, repeat–Egeanin raises that very point early on, that the Corenne would mean ‘new names given and the chance to rise high’. But that cycle also creates an endless slew of problems and burning resentments, as conquered populations resist assimilation, the resistance explodes into violence that the Seanchan must constantly deal with–the ‘near constant rebellions since the Conquest finished’ that Mat mentions when musing on how the Seanchan army has stayed sharp.

The Seanchan also practice a form of punitive and caste-based slavery for non-channelers, and chattel slavery for channelers. As with the real-life Ottoman Empire, some da’covale enjoy incredible power and privilege in their society, but they (the Deathwatch Guard, the so’jhin, the Seekers) are the exception, not the rule. The majority of the slaves we encounter are nameless servants, laborers, or damane. While non-channelers have some enshrined legal protections in how they can be treated by their masters and society as a whole, we are told that emancipation is incredibly rare, and the slave status is inherited from parent to child as well as used as a legal punishment–which of course would have the natural effect of discouraging most da’covale from reproducing by choice until after (or if) they are emancipated–so the primary source for most of the laborers and servants in Seanchan society is going to be either people who are being punished or who choose to sell themselves into slavery rather then beg or face other desperate circumstances. 

This keeps the enslaved population in proportion with the rest of society only because of the Empire’s imperialism- that same cycle of expand, consolidate, assimilate, repeat, has the side effect of breeding instability, which breeds desperation and thus provides a wide pool to draw on of both those willing to go into slavery to avoid starvation, and those who are being punished with slavery for wronging the state in some manner. It’s likely the only reason the Empire’s production can keep pace with its constant war efforts: conquered nations (and subdued rebellions) eventually yield up not just the necessary resources, but also the necessary laborers to cultivate them in the name of the state, and if that engine stalls for any sustained length of time (like say a three hundred year peace enforced by a treaty), it would mean a labor collapse the likes of which the Empire has never seen before.

A note on damane here: the damane system is undoubtedly one of chattel slavery, where human beings are deprived of basic rights and person hood under the law for the enrichment of those that claim ownership over them. Like in real life this state of affairs is maintained by a set of ingrained cultural prejudices, carefully constructed lies, and simple ignorance of the truly horrific state of affairs that the masses enjoy. The longevity of channelers insulates the damane from some of the problems of how slavery can be unsustainable, but in the long run it also suffers from the same structural problem: when the endless expansion stops, so too will the flow of new damane, and the resulting cratering of power the Empire will face will put it in jeopardy like nothing has before. There is also the problem that, as with real life chattel slavery, if any one piece of the combination of ignorance, lies, and prejudice starts to fall apart, an abolition movement becomes inevitable–and several characters are setting the stage for just that via the careful spreading of the truth about the sul’dam. Even if the Seanchan successfully put down an abolition movement, doing so will profoundly weaken them in a way that will necessitate fundamental transformation, or ensure collapse.

How Jordan Depicts The Relationships Between Classes

As someone who is very conscious in how he depicts class in his works, it makes sense that Jordan frequently focuses on characters interacting through the barriers of their various classes in different ways. New Spring in particular is a gold mine for this kind of insight.

Take, for example, Moiraine and Siuan’s visit to the master seamstress. A lesser writer would not think more deeply on the matter than ‘Moiraine is nobly born so obviously she’s going to be snobby and demanding, while down-to-earth Siuan is likely to be build a natural rapport and have better relationship her fellow commoner, the seamstress Tamore Alkohima’. But Jordan correctly writes it as the reverse: Tamore Alkohima might not be nobly born, but she is not really a peasant either–rather she belongs to that class of speciality artisans, who via the value placed on her labor and skill, is able to live quite comfortably. Moiraine is much more adept at maneuvering this kind of possibly fraught relationship than Siuan is. Yes, she is at the top of the social structure (all the more so since becoming Aes Sedai) but that does not release her from a need to observe formalities and courtesies with someone who, afterall, is doing something for Moiraine that she can not do for herself, even with the Power. If Moiraine wants the services of a master dressmaker, the finest in Tar Valon, she must show respect for both Tamore Alkohima and her craft, which means submitting to her artistic decisions, as well as paying whatever price, without complaint.

Siuan, who comes from the poor Maule district in Tear, is not used to navigating this kind of situation. Most of those she has dealt with before coming to the Tower were either her equals or only slightly above her in terms of class. She tries to treat Tamore Alkohima initially like she most likely treated vendors in the Maule where everyone is concerned with price, since so many are constantly on the edge of poverty, and she wants to know exactly what she is buying and have complete say over the final product, which is the practical mentality of someone to whom those factors had a huge impact on her survival. Coin wasted on fish a day from going bad, or netting that isn’t the right kind, might have meant the difference between eating that week or not, for a young Siuan and her father. 

Yet this this reads as an insult to Tamore Alkohima, who takes it as being treated with mockery, and leads to Moiraine needing to step in to try and smooth things over, and explain to Siuan-

“Listen to me, Siuan and do not argue.” she whispered in a rush. “We must not keep Tamore waiting long. Do not ask after prices: she will tell us after we make our selections. Nothing you buy here will be cheap, but the dresses Tamore sews for you will make you look Aes Sedai as much as the shawl does. And it is Tamore, not Mistress Alkohima. You must observe the properties or she will believe you are mocking her. But try thinking of her as a sister who stands just a little above you. A touch of deference is necessary. Just a touch, but she will tell you what to wear as much as she asks.” “And will the bloody shoe maker tell us what kind of slippers to buy and charge us enough to buy fifty new sets of nets?” “No.” Moiraine said impatiently. Tamore was only arching one eyebrow but her face may as well have been a thunderhead. The meaning of that eyebrow was clear as the finest crystal. They had already made the seamstress wait too long, and there was going to be a price for it. And that scowl! She hurried on, whispering as fast as she could. “The shoemaker will make us what we want and we will bargain the price with him, but not too hard if we want his best work. The same with the glovemaker, the stockingmaker, the shiftmaker, and all the rest. Just be glad neither of us needs a hairdresser. The best hairdressers are true tyrants, and nearly as bad as perfumers.”

-New Spring, Chapter 13: Business in the City.

Navigating the relationship between characters of a different class is something a of a running theme throughout New Spring–from Moiraine’s dealing with the discretion of her banker (‘Another woman who knew well her place in the world’ as Moiraine puts it), to having to meet with peasants during her search for the Dragon Reborn (and bungling several of those interactions), to wading through the roughest criminal parts of Chachin in search of an inn, and frequently needing to resort to the Power to avoid or resolve conflict. Moiraine’s ability to handle these situations is tightly tied to her experience with the people involved prior to her time as a Novice, but all hold up and give color to the class system Jordan presents. It also serves as set up so that when Moraine breaks the properties with a different seamstress near the end of the book, it can be a sign of the rising tension and the complex machinations she and Siuan find themselves in.

Notably, Moiraine and Siuan’s relative skill with working with people is strongly related to their backgrounds: the more Moiraine encounters people outside her lived experience as a noble daughter in Cairhien, the more she struggles to navigate those situations while Siuan is much more effective at dealing with the soldiers during the name-taking sequence (who are drawn mostly from the same class as her–common laborers, farmers, etc), and the people in Chachin, where she secures an lodging and local contacts to help in the search with relative ease.

Trying to navigate these waters is also something that frequently trips up characters in the main series as well, especially with the Two Rivers folk who are, ultimately, from a relatively classless society that does not subscribe to feudal norms (more on that below). All of them react to both moving through a society that does follow those norms, and later, being incorporated into its power structures in different, frequently disastrous ways.

Rand, who is not used to the complicated balance between vassal and monarch (which is all the more complicated as he is constantly adding more and more realms under his banner) finds imposing his will and leading the aristocrats who swear fealty to him incredibly difficult. While his reforms are undoubtedly good for the common folk and the general welfare of the nations he takes over, he is most often left to enforce them with threats and violence, which ultimately fuel resistance, rebellion, and more opposition to him throughout the nations he rules, and has down-the-line bad ripple effects on how he treats others, both noble and not, who disagree with him. 

Rand also struggles even with those who sincerely wish to serve and aid him in this context: he is awkward with servants, distant with the soldiers and warriors who swear their lives to him, and even struggles with many of his advisors and allies. Part of that is distrust that plagues him in general, but a big element to it is also his own outsider perspective. The Aiel frequently complain that Rand tries to lead them like a King, but that’s because they assume a wetlander King always leads by edict and command. Yet Rand’s efforts to do that with the Westland nations he takes over almost always backfire or have lasting consequences. Rand is frequently trying to frequently play act at what he thinks a King is and does–and when he succeeds it’s almost always a result of Moiraine or Elayne’s advice on the subject, not his own instincts or preconceptions.

Perrin, meanwhile, is unable to hide his contempt for aristocracy and those that willingly follow them, which leads to him both being frequently derelict in his duties as a Lord, and not treating his followers with a great deal of respect. Nynaeve has a similar problem, where she often tries to ‘instill backbone’ into those lower in the class system then her, then comes to regret it when that backbone ends up turned on her, and her leadership rejected or her position disrespected by those she had encouraged to reject leadership or not show respect to people in higher positions.

Interestingly, it’s Mat that most effectively manages to navigate various inter-class relationships, and who via the Band of the Red Hand builds a pretty equitable, merit-based army. He does this by following a simple rule: treating people how they wish to be treated. He accepts deference when it’s offered, but never demands it. He pushes back on the notion he’s a Lord often, but only makes it a serious bone with people who hold the aristocracy in contempt. He’s earnest in his dealings, fair minded, and good at reading social situations to adapt to how folks expect him to act, and when he breaches those expectations it’s usually a deliberate tactical choice. 

This lets him maintain strong friendships with people of all backgrounds and classes– from Princes like Beslan to horse thieves like Chel Vanin. More importantly, it makes everyone under his command feel included, respected, and valued for what they are. Mat has Strong Ideas About Class (and about most things really), but he’s the only Two Rivers character who doesn't seem to be working from an assumption that everyone else ought to live by his ideals. He thinks anyone that buys into the feudal system is mad, but he doesn't actually let that impact how he treats anyone–probably from the knowledge that they think he’s just as mad.

Getting Creative With the Structure

The other thing I want to dig into is the ways in which Jordan, via his understanding of the feudal system, is able to play with it in creative and interesting ways that match his world. Succession is the big one; who rules after the current monarch dies is a massively important matter since it determines the flow of power in a country from one leader to the next. The reason so many European monarchies had primogeniture (eldest child inherits all titles) succession is not because everyone just hated second children, it’s because primogeniture is remarkably stable. Being able to point to the eldest child of the monarch and say them, that one, and their younger sibling if they're not around, and so on is very good for the transition of power, since it establishes a framework that is both easy to understand and very very hard to subvert. Pretty much the only way, historically, to subvert a primogeniture succession is for either the heir’s blood relationship to the monarch or the legitimacy of their parent’s marriage to be called into question.

And yet despite that, few of the countries in Jordan's world actually use primogeniture succession. Andor does, as do some of the Borderlands, but the majority of  monarchies in Randland use elective succession, where the monarch is elected from among the aristocratic class by some kind of deliberative body. This is the way things are in Tarabon, Arad Doman,Ghealdan, Illian, and Malkier, who all elect the monarchs (or diarchs in the case of Tarabon- where two rulers, the Panarch and the King, share power) via either special council or some other assembly of aristocrats. 

There are three countries where we don’t know the succession type (Arafel, Murandy, and Amadicia) but also one we know for sure doesn't use primogeniture succession: Cairhien. We know this because Moiraine’s claim to the Sun Throne as a member of House Damodred is seen as as legitimate enough for the White Tower to view putting her on the Sun Throne as a viable possibility, despite the fact that she has two older sisters whose claims would be considered superior to her own under primogeniture succession. We never find out for sure in the books what the succession law actually is (the country never stabilizes for a long enough period that it becomes important), but if I had to guess I would guess that it’s designated,where the monarch chooses their successor prior to their death, and that the civil war that followed the Aiel War was the result of both Laman and his designated heir(s) dying at the Bloodsnows (we are told by Moiraine that Laman and both his brothers are killed; likely one of them was the next in line).

One country that we know for sure uses designated succession is Seanchan, where the prospective heir is still chosen from among the children of the Empress, but they are made to compete with each other (usually via murder and plotting) for the monarch’s favor, the ‘best’ being then chosen to become the heir. This very closely models how the Ottoman Empire did succession (state sanctioned fratricide) and while it has the potential to ensure competence (by certain metrics, anyways) it also sows the seeds of potential instability by ensuring that the monarch is surrounded by a whole lot of people with bad will to them and feelings of being cheated or snubbed in the succession, or else out for vengeance for their favored and felled candidate. Of course, from the Seanchan’s point of view this is a feature not a bug: if you can’t win a civil war or prevent yourself from being assassinated, then you shouldn’t have the throne anyways.

Succession is far from the only way that Jordan plays with the feudal structure either. Population is something else that is very present in the world building, even though it’s only drawn attention to a handful of times. In our world, the global population steadily and consistently rose throughout the middle ages and the Renaissance (with only small dips for things like the plague and the Mongol Invasion), then exploded with the Industrial Revolution and has seen been on a meteoric climb year over year (something that may just now be stabilizing into an equilibrium again, only time will tell). This is one of the pressures that led to the collapse of feudalism in the real world, as a growing aristocratic class was confronted with finite land and titles, while at the same time the growing (and increasingly powerful) wealthy financial class of various countries were beginning to challenge the traditions and laws that kept them out of direct power. If you’ve ever read a Jane Austen novel (or really anything from the Georgian/Regency/Victorian eras) this tension is on display. The aristocratic class had never been as secure as people think, but the potential to fall into poverty and ruin had never been a greater threat, which had ripple effects for the stability of a nation, and in particular a monarch who derived much of their power from the fealty of their now-destabilized vassals.

In Jordan’s world however, we are told as early as The Great Hunt that the global population is steadily falling, and has been since the Hundred Years’ War (at least). No kingdom is able to actually control all the territory it has on a map, the size of armies have in particular shrunk consistently (to the point where it’s repeatedly commented on that the armies Rand puts together, some of no more than a few thousand, are larger than any ‘since Artur Hawkwing's day’), large swathes of land lay ungoverned and even more uninhabited or settled. Entire kingdoms have collapsed due to the inability of their increasingly small populations to hold together. This is the fate of many of the kingdoms Ingtar talks about in the Great Hunt: Almoth, Gabon, Hardan, Moredo, Caralain, to name just a few. They came apart due to a combination of ineffective leadership, low population, and a lack of strong neighbors willing or able to extend their power and stability over the area.

All of this means that there is actually more land than there are aristocrats to govern it; so much so that in places like Baerlon power is held by a crown-appointed governor because no noble house has been able to effectively entrench in the area. This has several interesting effects on the society and politics of Randland: people in general are far more aware of the fragility of the nation state as a idea then they would be otherwise, and institutions (even the intractable and mysterious White Tower) are not viewed by even their biggest partisans as invulnerable or perpetual. Even the most powerful leaders are aware, gazing out constantly, as they do, at the ruins of the hundreds of kingdoms that have risen and fallen since the Breaking of the World (itself nothing more, to their understanding, then the death of the ultimate kingdom) that there are no guarantees, no promises that it all won’t fall apart. 

This conflict reflects on different characters in different ways, drawing out selfishness and cowardice from some, courage and strength from others. This is a factor in Andor’s surprisingly egalitarian social climate: Elayne and Morgase both boast that Andorans are able to speak their minds freely to their leaders about the state of things, and be listened to, and even the most selfish of leaders like Elenia Sarand are painfully aware that they stand on a tower built from ‘the bricks of the common folk’, and make a concentrated effort to ensure their followers feel included and heard. Conversely it also reflects on the extremely regimented culture of the Borderlands, were dereliction of duty can mean not just the loss of your life, but the loss of a village, a town, a city, to Trolloc raids (another pressure likely responsible for slow and steady decline of the global population). 

The Borderlanders value duty, honor, and responsibility above all else, because those are the cornerstones holding their various nations together against both the march of time and the Blight. All classes place a high value on the social contract; the idea that everyone must fulfill their duty to keep society safe is a lot less abstract when the stakes are made obvious every winter through monsters raiding your towns. This is most obvious in both Hurin and Ingtar’s behavior throughout The Great Hunt: Hurin (and the rest of the non-noble class) lean on the assurance that the noble class will be responsible for the greater scale problems and issues in order to endure otherwise unendurable realities, and that Rand, Ingtar, Aglemar, Lan (all of whom he believes to be nobly born) have been raised with the necessary training and tools to take charge and lead others through impossible situations and are giving over their entire lives in service to the people. In exchange Hurin pays in respect, obedience, and (presumably) taxes. This frees Hurin up to focus on the things that are decidedly within his ken: tracking, thief taking, sword breaking, etc, trusting that Ingtar, and later Rand, will take care of everything else.

When Hurin comes up against the feudal system in Cairhien, where the failures of everyone involved have lead to a culture of endless backstabbing and scheming, forced deference, entitlement, and mutual contempt between the parties, he at first attempts to show the Cairhienin ‘proper’ behavior through example, in the hopes of drawing out some shame in them. But upon realizing that no one in Cairhien truly believes in the system any longer after it has failed the country so thoroughly (hence the willingness of vassals to betray their masters, and nobles to abandon their oaths–something unthinkable in the Borderlands) he reverts to his more normal shows of deference to Rand and Ingtar, abandoning excessive courtesy in favor of true fealty.

Ingtar (and later Rand) feel the reverse side of this: the pressure to be the one with the answers, to hold it all together, to be as much icon and object as living person, a figure who people can believe in and draw strength from when they have none of their own remaining, and knowing at the same time that their choices will decide the fates and lives of others. It’s no mistake that Rand first meets Hurin and begins this arc in the remains of Hardan, one of those swept-away nations that Ingtar talks about having been left nothing more than ‘the greatest stone quarry for a hundred miles’. The stakes of what can happen if they fail in this duty are made painfully clear from the start, and for Rand the stakes will only grow ever higher throughout the course of the series, as number of those ‘under his charge’ slides to become ‘a nation’ then ‘several nations’ and finally ‘all the world’. And that leads into one of the problems at the heart of Rand’s character arc.

This emphasis on the feudal contract and duty helps the Borderlands survive the impossible, but almost all of them (with the exception of Saldaea) practice cultures of emotional repression and control,spurning displays of emotion as a lack of self-control, and viewing it as weakness to address the pains and psychological traumas of their day to day lives. ‘Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather’, ‘There will be time to sleep when you’re dead’, ‘You can care for the living or mourn the dead, you cannot do both’: all common sayings in the Borderlands. On the one hand, all of these emphasize the importance of fulfilling your duty and obligations…but on the other, all also  implicitly imply the only true release from the sorrows and wounds taken in the course of that duty is death. It is this, in part, that breaks Ingtar: the belief that only the Borderlands truly understand the existential threat, and that he and those like him are suffering and dying for ‘soft southlanders’ whose kingdoms are destined to go to ruin anyways. It’s also why he reveals his suffering to Rand only after he has decided to die in a last stand–he is putting down the mountain of his trauma at last. This is also one of those moments in the books that is a particular building block on the road to Rand’s own problems with not expressing his feelings or being willing to work through his trauma, that will swing back around to endanger the same world he is duty-bound to protect.

I also suspect strongly that this is the source of the otherwise baffling Saldean practice of….what we will call dedicated emotional release. One of the core cultural Saldean traits (and something that is constantly tripping up Perrin in his interactions with Faile) is that Saldeans are the only Borderlanders to reject the notion that showing emotion is weakness. In fact, Saldeans in general believe that shows of anger, passion, sorrow, ardor–you name it–are a sign of both strength and respect. Your feelings are strong and they matter, and being willing to inflict them on another person is not a burden or a betrayal of duty, it’s knowing that they will be strong enough to bear whatever you are feeling. I would hesitate to call even the Saldaens well-adjusted (I don’t know that there is a way to be well-adjusted in a society at constant war), but I do think there is merit to their apparent belief in catharsis, and their resistance to emotional repression as a sign of strength. Of course, that doesn't make their culture naturally better at communication (as Faile and Perrin’s relationship problems prove) but I do think it plays a part in why Bashere is such a good influence on Rand, helping push him away from a lot of the stoic restraint Rand has internalized from Lan, Ingtar, Moiraine, et al.

It also demonstrates that a functioning feudal society is not dependent on absolute emotional repression, or perfect obedience.  Only mutual respect and trust between the parties are necessary–trust that the noble (or monarch) will do their best in the execution of their duties, and trust that the common folk in society will in turn fulfill their roles to the best of their ability. Faile’s effectiveness as Perrin’s co-leader/second in command is never hindered or even implied to be hindered by her temperament or her refusal to hide/repress her emotions. She is arguably the one who is doing most of the actual work of governing the Two Rivers after she and Perrin are acclaimed their lord and lady: seeing to public works projects, settling disputes, maintaining relationships with various official groups of their subjects.

The prologue from Lord of Chaos (a favorite scene of mine of the books) where Faile is holding public audience while Perrin is off sulking ‘again’ is a great great example of this; Faile is the quintessential Borderland noble heir, raised all her life in the skills necessary to run a feudal domain, and those skills are on prime display as she holds court. But that is not hindered by her willingness to show her true feelings, from contempt of those she thinks are wasting her time, to compassion and empathy to the Wisdoms who come to her for reassurance about the weather. This is one of those things that Perrin has to learn from her over the course of the series–that simply burying his emotions for fear they might hurt others is not a healthy way to go about life, and it isn’t necessary to rule or lead either. His prejudices about what constitutes a ‘good’ Lord (Lan, Agelmar, Ingtar) and a ‘bad’ one (literally everyone else) are blinding him, showing his lack of understanding of the system that his people are adopting, and his role in it.

Which is a nice dovetail with my next bit–

Outsiders And the Non-Feudal State

Another way Jordan effectively depicts the Feudal system is by having groups who decidedly do not practice it be prominent throughout the series–which is again accurate to real life history, where feudalism was the mode of government for much of (but by no means all) of Medieval and Renaissance Europe, but even in Europe their were always societies doing their own thing, and outside of it, different systems of government flourished in response to their environments and cultures; some with parallels to Feudalism, many completely distinct.

The obvious here are the Aiel who draw on several different non-feudal societies (the Scottish Highland Clans, the Iroquois Confederation, the Mongols, and the Zulu to name just a few) and the Seafolk (whose are a combination of the Maori and the Republic of Piracy of all things), but also firmly in these categories are groups like the communities in the Black Hills, Almoth Plain, and the Two Rivers.

Even though it’s an agrarian farming community made up primarily of small villages, the Two Rivers is not a feudal state or system. We tend to forget this because it looks a lot like our notion of a classic medieval European village, which our biases inherently equate to feudal, but Jordan is very good at remembering this is not the case, and that the Two Rivers folk are just as much outsiders to these systems as the Aiel, or the Seafolk. 

Consider how often the refrain of ‘don’t even know they’re part of the Kingdom of Andor’ is repeated in regards to the Two Rivers, and how much the knowledge of Our Heroes about how things like Kingdoms, courts, war, etc, are little more than fairy tales to the likes of those Two Rivers, while even places unaffected directly by things like the Trakand Succession or the Aiel War are still strongly culturally, economically, and politically impacted. 

Instead of deriving power and justice from a noble or even a code of law, power is maintained by two distinct groups of village elders (The Village Council and the Women’s Circle) who are awarded seats based on their standing within the community. These groups provide the day-to-day ordering of business and resolving of conflicts, aiding those in need and doing what they can for problems that impact the entire community. The Wisdom serves as the community physician, spiritual advisor, and judge (in a role that resembles what we know of pre-Christian celtic druids), and the Women’s Circle manages most social ceremonies from marriages to betrothals to funerals, as well as presiding over criminal trials (insofar as they even have them). The Mayor manages the village economics, maintaining relationships and arbitrating deals with outsider merchants and peddlers, collecting and spending public funds (through a volunteer collection when necessary, which is how we’re told the new sick house was built and presumably was how the village paid for things like fireworks and gleeman for public festivals), while the Council oversees civil matters like property disputes. 

On the surface this seems like an ideal community: idyllic, agrarian, decentralized, where everyone cares more about good food and good company and good harvests than matters of power, politics, or wealth, and without the need for any broader power-structure beyond the local town leaders. It’s the kind of place that luddites Tolkien and Thomas Jefferson envisioned as a utopia (and indeed the Two Rivers it the most Tolkien-y place in Randland after the Ogier stedding, of which we see relatively little), but I think Jordan does an excellent job of not romanticizing this way of life the way Tolkien often did. Because while the Two Rivers has many virtues and a great deal to recommend it, it also has many flaws.

The people in the Two Rivers are largely narrow minded and bigoted, especially to outsiders; The day after Moiraine saves the lives of the entire village from a Trolloc attack, a mob turns up to try and burn her out, driven by their own xenophobia and fear of that which they don’t understand. Their society is also heavily repressed and regressive in its sex norms and gender relations: the personal lives of everyone are considered public business, and anyone living in a fashion the Women’s Circle deems unsuitable (such as widower and single father Tam al’Thor) is subject to intense pressure to ‘correct’ their ways (remarry and find a mother for Rand). There is also no uniformity in terms of law or government, no codified legal code, and no real public infrastructure (largely the result of the region’s lack of taxes). This is made possible by the geographic isolation and food stability–two factors that insulate the Two Rivers from many of the problems that cause the formation or joining of a nation state. It’s only after the repeated emergence of problems that their existing systems can not handle (Trolloc raids, martial law under the White Cloaks, the Endless Summer, etc) that the Two Rivers folk begin adopting feudalism, and even then it’s not an instantaneous process, as everyone involved must navigate not just how they are going to adopt this alien form of government, but how they are going to make it match to their culture and history as well.

This plays neatly with the societies that, very pointedly, do not adopt feudalism over the course of the series. The Aiel reject the notion entirely, thinking it as barbaric and backward as the Westerlanders think their culture is–and Jordan is very good at showing neither as really right. The Aiel as a society have many strengths the fandom likes to focus on (a commitment to community care, a strong sense of collective responsibility, a flexible social order that is more capable of accounting for non-traditional platonic and romantic relationships, as well as a general lack of repressive sex norms) but this comes at a serious cost as well. The Aiel broadly share the Borderlander’s response of emotional suppression as a way of dealing with the violence of their daily life, as well as serious problems with institutionalized violence, xenophobia, and a lack of respect for individual rights and agency. Of these, the xenophobia is probably the most outright destructive, and is one of the major factors Rand has to account for when leading the Aiel into Cairhien, as well a huge motivating factor in the Shaido going renegade, and many Aiel breaking clan to join them–and even before Rand’s arrival it manifested as killing all outsiders who entered their land, except for Cairhienin, whom they sold as slaves in Shara.

And yet, despite these problems Jordan never really suggests that the Aiel would be better off as town-or-castle dwelling society, and several characters (most notably the Maidens) explicitly reject the idea that they should abandon their culture, values, and history as a response to the revelations at Rhuidean. Charting a unique course forward for the Aiel is one of the most persistent problems that weighs on the Wise Ones throughout the second half of the series, and Aviendha in particular. Unlike many of the feudal states faced with Tarmon Gai’don, the Aiel when confronted with the end of days and the sure knowledge of the destruction of their way of life are mostly disinterested in ignoring, running from, or rejecting that revelation (those that do, defect to the Shaido). Their unique government and cultural structure gives them the necessary flexibility to pivot quickly to facing the reality of the Last Battle, and to focus on both helping the world defeat the Shadow, and what will become of them afterwards. This ironically, leaves them in one of the best positions post-series, as the keepers of the Dragon’s Peace, which will allow them to hold on to many of their core cultural values even as they make the transition to a new way of life, without having to succumb to the pressures to either assimilate into Westlands, or return to their xenophobic isolationism.

The Seafolk provide the other contrast, being a maritime society where the majority of the people spend their time shipboard. Their culture is one of strong self-discipline and control, where rank, experience, and rules are valued heavily, agreements are considered the next thing to sacred, and material prosperity is valued. Though we don’t spend quite as much time with them as the Aiel, we get a good sense of their culture throughout the mid-series. They share the Aiel’s contempt for the feudal ‘shorebound’, but don’t share their xenophobia, instead maintaining strong trade relationships with every nation on navigable water, though outside of the context of those trade relationships, they are at best frosty to non-Seafolk. 

They are not society without problems–the implication of their strong anti-corruption and anti-nepotism policies is that it’s a serious issue in their culture, and their lack of a centralized power structure outside of their handful of island homes means that they suffer a similar problem to the likes of Murandy and Altara, where life on one ship might be radically different then life on another, in terms of the justice or treatment you might face, especially as an outsider. But the trade off is that they have more social mobility then basically any other society we see in Randland. Even the Aiel tend to have strongly entrenched and managed circles of power, with little mobility not managed by the Wise Ones or the chiefs. But anyone can rise high in Sea Folk society, to become a leader in their clan, or even Mistress of the Ships or Master of the Blades– and they can fall just as easily, for shows of incompetence, or failures to execute their duties. 

They are also another society who is able to adapt to circumstances of Tamon Gai’don relatively painlessly, having a very effective plan in place to deal with the fallout and realities of the Last Battle. The execution gets tripped up frequently by various factors, but again, I don’t think it’s a mistake that they are one of the groups that comes out the other side of the Last Battle in a strong position, especially given the need that will now exist to move supplies and personnel for rebuilding post-Last Battle. The Seafolk have already begun working out embassies in every nation on navigable water, an important step to modernizing national relationships.

How does all this relate to feudalism and class? It’s Jordan digging into a fundamental truth about the world and people–at no point in our own history have we ever found a truly ‘perfect’ model for society. That’s something he’s constantly trying to show with feudalism–it is neither an ideal nor an abomination, it just is. Conversely, the Two Rivers, Aiel, Seafolk, and Ogier (who I don’t get into to much here for space, but who also have their own big problems with suffrage and independence, and their virtues in terms of environmental stability and social harmony) all exist in largely classes societies, but that doesn't exempt them from having problems or make them a utopia, and it certainly doesn't make them lesser or backwards either–Jordan expends a lot of energy to show them as complex, nuanced and flawed, in the same way he does for his pseudo-Europe.

Conclusion

To restate my premise: one of Jordan’s profound gifts as a writer is his capacity to set aside his own biases and write anything from his villains to his world with an honest, empathetic cast that defies simplification. Feudalism and monarchy more generally have a bad rep in our society, for good reasons. But I think either whitewashing or vilifying the feudal system is a mistake, which Jordan’s writing naturally reflects. Jordan is good at asking complicating questions of simple premises. He presents you with the Kingdom of Andor, prosperous and vast and under the rule of a regal much loved Queen and he asks ‘where does its wealth come from? How does it maintain law and order? How does the Queen exert influence and maintain her rule even in far-flung corners of the realm? How did she come to power in the first place and does that have an impact on the politics surrounding her current reign?’. And he does this with every country, every corner of his world–shining interesting lights on familiar tropes, and exploring the humanity of these grand ideas in a way that feels very real as a result.

The question of, is this an inherently just system is never really raised because it’s a simplifying question, not a complicating one. Whatever you answer–yes or no–does not add to the depiction of these systems or the people within them, it takes away. You make someone flat–be it a glorious just revolutionary opposing a cackling wicked King, or a virtuous and dutiful King suppressing dangerous radical dissidents, and you make the world flatter as a result. 

I often think about how, when I began studying European history, I was shocked to learn that the majority of the royalists who rose up against the Jacobins were provincial peasants, marching against what they perceived to be disgruntled, greedy academic and financial elites. These were, after all, the same people that the Jacobins’ revolution claimed to serve and be doing the will of. Many of the French aristocrats were undeniably corrupt, indolent, and detached from their subjects, but when you look closer at the motives of many of the Jacobins you discover that motives were frequently more complex then history tends to remember or their propaganda tried to claim, and many were bitterly divided against each other on matters of tactics, or ideals, or simple personality difference. The simple version of the French Revolution assigns all the blame to the likes of Robespierre going mad with power, and losing sight of the revolutions’ higher ideals, but the truth was the Jacobins could never properly agree on many of their supposed core ideals, and Robespierre, while powerful, was still one voice in a Republic–and every person executed by guillotine was decreed guilty by a majority vote.

This is the sort of nuance lost so often in fantasy stories, but not in Jordan’s books. The story could be simpler–Morgase could just be a just and good high Queen archetype who is driven by love of her people, but Jordan depicts her from the beginning as human–with virtues and flaws, doing the best she can in the word she has found herself. Trying to be a just and good Queen and often succeeding, and sometimes falling short of the mark. The Tairen and Cairhienin nobility could just all be greedy, corrupt, out-of-touch monsters who cannot care for anything beyond their own pleasures–but for every Laman, Weairamon, or Colavaere, you have Dobraine, Moiraine, or Darlin. And that is one of the core tenets of Jordan’s storytelling: that there is no system wholly without merit or completely without flaw, and no group of people is ever wholly good or evil.

By taking this approach, Jordan’s story feels real. None of his characters or world come across like caricature or parody. The heinous acts are sharper and more distinct, the heroic choices more earned and powerful. Nothing is assumed–not the divine right of kings, or the glorious virtue of the common man. This, combined with a willingness to draw on the real complex histories of our own world, and work through how the unique quirks of fantasy impact them, is what renders The Wheel Of Time such a standout as a fantasy series, past even more classic seminal examples of the genre, and why its themes of class, duty, power, and politics resonate with its modern audiences.

[milkteasweetheart]

『just like heaven, introduction』

this part contains the introduction.

housewardens x reader

author’s note: i depict nrc as an actual college, so first years are 18, second years 19, etc.

summary: crowley has the bright idea of a bonding experience, specifically in the form of a dream potion.

characters: riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia / platonic mentions: dire crowley (ew), grim

genre: romance, fluff, smidge of angst

warnings: female reader, reader is yuu, reader is around ace and deuce’s height, sappy, marriage, mentions of potential children, some suggestive themes

「introduction: dire crowley (derogatory)」

It’s not a very peaceful evening.

It started with Crowley’s bright idea of a bonding experience. That is, gather the students that overblotted (and the overworked, underpaid regular joe that got dragged into solving them) and spritz a potion that will make them see each others dreams. What kind of logic does this birdbrain operate on?

“It will help you understand each other, which will reduce conflict! And since I am oh so generous, I’ve already brewed the potion required for this occasion.”

(Y/N) had the strong feeling that Crowley just wanted to get rid of the problem of overblotting the easy way, instead of actually getting help for the housewardens (and Jamil).

When asked how it works, Crowley talked in circles to the point that it’ll be easier to just go with whatever bullshit he’s come up with instead of pulling teeth any further.

So, that leads to the Ramshackle’s lounge. Grim had willingly left to spend the night in Heartslabyul with (Y/N)’s best buddies, Ace and Deuce. “I don’t wanna hang out with those weirdos! I got better things to do!” She could only hope he’d behave for the sake of Trey.

The rocking chair and coffee table had been pushed away next to the walls to make room for the beds Malleus had kindly summoned. (Y/N) will definitely ask him if she could keep one. They’re very comfortable.

After making supper with the aid of Jamil (and Azul, who butted in, which caused Jamil to glare side-eye daggers at him) and Vil, who wanted to oversee the process to assure the food they made was healthy. Before embarking on this culinary mission, (Y/N) had tasked Riddle to distract Leona from picking a fight with Malleus so that Ramshackle could be spared for another day. Riddle had seemed excited for some reason, and took his mission seriously after giving a small, blushy nod. 

「Riddle: The prefect trusts me to keep peace. I won’t disappoint!」

The meal went by… strangely. Jamil and Azul kept slipping each other snide remarks, and so did Leona and Malleus. (Y/N) had long considered carrying around a spray bottle, and these people did not help the growing need for it. Idia wisely stayed out of it. His strategy to survive the night was to keep his mouth shut and avoid conversation with anyone else other than the prefect. When Riddle attempted to make conversation, Vil would change the subject. When Riddle eventually managed to hijack (Y/N)' attention, Vil looked at him with a freezing stare.

「Vil: Foolish ventriloquist doll potato. She's got better things to talk about.」

Despite the tension, Ramshackle had not fallen, and so the headmage descended upon them with a potion in a fancy perfume bottle.

“What are the ingredients in this, if I may ask?” Vil sensibly asked the incredibly suspicious headmage, who skillfully evaded the question with the command for the students to get comfortable.

Each of the overblotted students were confident that their dreams were not that bad. Sure, letting others see what they desired wasn’t ideal, but they can surely control what they’ll see, right? Right. 

[alizalayne]

Whats the ventilation and heat like in the suit head? I can't tell if it would be warmer or more cool to wear in compaison to a faux fur fursuit head. The only thing I worry abt is how durable needlefelting is and if it can be cleaned like a traditional fursuit head. That being said I really hope you continue making these, they're cool as hell 👍🔥👍

Okay first of all I'm super jazzed to be able to talk about this with people, and I kind of went overboard answering this, but thanks for asking! Putting this up in case anyone else is curious.

The main answers to your questions are 1: wool is cooler than acrylic fur and less stinky

2: A fursuit head is a swamp and i am snorkling in it.

I mentioned this in my behind the scenes post and there are pictures there but I literally just made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece and two collapsible automotive funnels, the kind that you can bend into a shape so that you can get goo into a weird part of your car.

that snorkel piece goes straight out of a vent hole in the inside of the ear and I felted a pink skin flap in front of it and then felted white fiber into that so it just looked like a tuft. it worked perfectly, it's just that I couldn't talk in it that well. But I'm definitely going to keep using it if I can't think of a better mouthpiece for it because as SOON as I breathed inside the head instead of through the snorkel I was like oh my god everyone is living in hell.

You can see it in this picture a little bit. nobody noticed it at all!

My friend had made a much more traditional head with a bigass electric fan in it and he was having more heat issues than I was, because I cannot stress enough that acrylic fur is like, one of the most horrifically hot fabrics you can wear. I don't know how everybody is even alive!! and there's a layer of ACRYLIC BACKING on it! Also check out how "short-pile" my fur is, most of the head is only an inch thick, it's a half-inch bucket head made out of foam covered in maybe 1/3 of an inch of wool? the less space you have between the fibers the less heat gets trapped. I was shocked by how comfortable I was, and I was having migraine symptoms that day and was extra sensitive to heat. The con where we were had the air turned down and it was chilly outside, but I was shocked when I took the head off and shook my hair out and I wasn't even sweating. I had long hair in a wig cap under that thing and I wasn't sweating. It was crazy.

As for cleaning the wool, I cannot find anyone else who has done this who has cleaning tips for me, but the foam is what I'm worried about. After a few hours of wear there's nothing wrong with the wool at all, but i can TELL the foam is ever so slightly nasty, because the foam is polyurethane and wool is what you make hiking socks out of. I have some wool cleaner coming in the mail that's made for delicate needlefelted items like scarves and deposits lanolin, which is what keeps wool "alive" kind of like how you have to care for leather. It's definitely an experiment! Nothing ventured nothing gained!

I don't have an idea in mind for a second head right now and the next thing I want to make is a cowl so I can wear lower-cut tops with this head, but I might try something else if I think of an idea! I'm probably never gonna sell these because I'm weird about selling sculptures for whatever reason. They're like my living beasts.

But I definitely hope this encourages other people who might be interested in bringing needlefelt or other fiber art sensibilities to this space, that would be a massive complement and a high honor to give people a new way to enjoy a hobby that I know means a ton to a lot of people.

[dollarstorefern]

ok, so i’ve been thinking about the whole food/love symbolism in house, (i’m not sure who the first person to mention this symbolism was, but i love them so much. if anyone knows please mention them!!!) and there's one more specific element that i want to overanalyze, so just bear with me for a moment; there were four people that directly interacted with house when he was cooking in wilson's apartment (episode 3 season 6): cuddy, thirteen, wilson, and a random lady from the cooking class house and wilson took together. and i feel like these four best represent how house's love is spread. just hear me out for a second you guys.

first, you have cuddy. she comes to house and he happens be cooking; however, she never tastes the food he’s preparing. they love each other, he has love FOR her, but it's never the right time for them. (house and cuddy have such an insane and doomed relationship that i don’t think i quite understand myself tbh).

for the random lady, she's cooking *with* house when cuddy is there. this one isn’t as clean/sensible as the others, but i’m sure at least one person will get what i’m trying to say or be able to word this better. house has a certain level of understanding and care for others/strangers, but on a very grudging level. his love isn't necessarily made just for them, they'll never know the depth or spontaneity of it, and they'll never know what it means like the people close to house do.

with wilson, wilson wakes up to house cooking. house shoves the food in wilson's face, not listening to a word that wilson has to say. and wilson just goes with it! and i believe that it’s around here that house admits that he stayed up all night cooking because he was in pain, but i could be wrong. if that is the case though, that just ties into the whole idea that all of house’s strongest emotions are directly tied to his pain, all of his actions are fueled by his pain, which makes his love even more insane if you think about it. (i wish i was as eloquent as some of the other house fans on here when talking about this stuff but i only ever think about it when half-awake).

and lastly, there's thirteen. she visits house to ask for advice. and you see how precise he's being with the cooking. i don’t remember quite what he was making, something to do with chicken embryos or yolks, and extracting some of the yolk to squeeze sauce in there, something along those lines. pretty precise stuff. and thirteen tries it and says that it's the best thing she's ever eaten. quick and positive interaction.

so. we only see *two* people eat his food in this episode. two people who know what his love is like: wilson, the man that house depends on to even exist, and thirteen, basically the only character that (at this point in the show) has a chance of understanding house’s suffering, to some degree (house dreading the pain that comes with simply existing, knowing each day will be filled with pain, thirteen dreading every day, knowing that her huntingtons can only get worse and one day she’ll lose control).

also, this isn’t to say that house doesn’t/hasn’t loved other characters!!! i personally just feel like the relationships he has with wilson, cuddy, and thirteen are some of the most significant on screen relationships we see. (maybe i’m a bit biased because i adore wilson and thirteen, but we’ll ignore that).

anyways. all of this was likely just coincidence, but i don’t quite care! it’s the coincidences that make for the most meaningful portrayal of characters, in my humble (questionable) opinion!

[domoz]

A drabble trade with @doveywovy, with prompts "marriage hunt" and "cultural differences"

The brilliant orange of sunset feels like it takes an eternity to fade into dusk.

The strings of lanterns around the edges of the clearing make tonight's gathering of anxious young hopefuls look more like a festival than it has any right to. If it were only Uchiha out here, it practically would be -- there would be talking and dancing and everyone would be sizing up the others out to hunt tonight. But there’s a group of Senju huddled together on the far side of the clearing across from them, and so the atmosphere is decidedly flat. Both sides keep well apart from each other, separated only by the tiny group of participants from other clans.

"Yeah, there's no way someone's not ending up dead tonight." Izuna informs his brother. Madara groans.

"Repeating how bad of an idea you think this is isn't going to stop it at this point." Madara sighs. "Haven't you already made sure a thousand times that no one out tonight is planning on doing anything stupid?"

Izuna has had this argument with him constantly over the past few months, and he's still loath to admit that his brother has a point. Putting a pause to marriage hunts had been sensible when the village had been founded. Nearly two years in, though, and it's starting to seem like they don't have faith in their own creation to survive the pressures of a time-honored tradition.

So even though this is going to end in disaster, the best thing to do to ensure Konoha's long term survival -- and Izuna finds, these days, that he's begrudgingly in support of that outcome -- is to hold a hunt anyways, and just deal with whatever happens.

That doesn't mean he can't say I-told-you-so afterwards, though.

"Our people, yes, but I can't account for the rest of them. I mean, the Senju all came out without shoes, so it's not like my expectations are very high."

"If I've kept my mouth shut about whatever has your clan lighting fires and singing all hours of the night leading up to this, you can bite your tongue on our shoes." Tobirama’s deep voice cuts in, the man butting into their conversation by appearing from the treeline on the Senju side, where he's surely been working his perfectionist little fingers to the bone over something that's going to be a mess anyways.

Izuna turns to him with a retort like usual, but he finds himself staring open-mouthed instead. He's known roughly where Tobirama has been all day, but he hasn't had eyes on him until right this moment. He's not wearing one of the four outfits Izuna has ever seen him in. No armor, no shinobi blacks or training clothes or that mess of dye the Senju call formal clothes. He's in a wave patterned haori, a pair of hakama that's secured at the ankles, and -- and no shoes.

"What the hell?" Madara sputters out a response before Izuna can -- he's too distracted by the string of bells Tobirama has wrapped around one wrist like the rest of the Senju participants, chest squeezing tight with too many reactions to name. "What are you dressed like that for? You're joining?"

"I don't see why I wouldn't." Tobirama says in that tone he usually takes with Madara that makes it sound like the person he's talking to is very stupid, "I'm eligible, and there are several politically advantageous targets. If I participate I can also keep an eye on anyone who might be planning on causing trouble. It's good optics."

"Good optics?" Izuna says, a little too shrill, "You're the clan heir! Don't you have something arranged already?"

He'd always assumed so -- Izuna himself hasn't exactly been betrothed since before he was born, but the list of acceptable candidates for him to marry has never been very long.

He really shouldn't be surprised when Tobirama shakes his head; he's always known that the Senju don't care about bloodlines. They probably hadn't even had to read through the genealogies of all of their participating clan members beforehand.

"Wh-- you're not seriously joining a hunt for political convenience?" Madara cuts in before Tobirama can say something snarky. "That's cold, even for you, Senju."

Tobraima rolls his eyes, "It’s not like I’m aiming  to get married to someone who hates me. If it comes down to that, I won't hunt anyone at all."

The two of them devolve into bickering, but Izuna is hardly listening. Tobirama is either going to walk out of the woods married, or never allowed to marry at all. The stupid bastard probably even thinks he would prefer that.

…It’s not like Izuna can join and do anything about it -- but that's not true, he only shouldn't. Certainly no one would be able to raise any complaint about the two of them being too closely related and, well -- it's a hunt;  if it succeeds there's not really any challenging it anyways.

Tobirama makes a noise of disgust at whatever it is Madara just said and excuses himself with, "I have more important things to worry about tonight than your empty head."

Luckily, Madara is distracted by chasing after him to try and get the last word in, so he doesn't notice as Izuna slinks away to go mingle with the hunters on the Uchiha side of the clearing. Surely, someone has some spare red rope lying around? It’s not as though he’s about to let Tobirama be inflicted on anyone else.

[belladonazeppole]

The Other Side

(This takes inspiration by @adyophene "The Greatest Showcat" art, part 2 is coming soon!! The Other Side and Rewrite the Stars are such royalflush songs.)

Let's begin, shall we?

'Right here, right now I put the offer out.' Maybe it was the booze, 'I don't wanna chase you down I know you see it, you run with me and I can cut you free.' But even if it was, what he was saying is true, Lucifer wanted to see Husk free and would help him.

'Out of the drudgery and walls you keep in so trade that typical for something colorful.' Even he could see that Husk grump and uncaring behaviour was a mask, well some of it, but that the demon cat was more than that.

And Lucifer wanted to help him to show it.

So he would take the leap.

'And if it's crazy, live a little crazy you can play it sensible, a king of conventional or you can risk it all and see.' Yes it was insane and a silly idea but for the stars he desire that everybody could see Husk as he does.

In a bold move Lucifer holds Husk hands, 'Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride.' He knew that Husk was more than just a drunk and Alastor companion maybe if people see him as he did Husk.

A true showman.

He let go of his hands in summons his cane. He would do this right, 'It'll take you to the other side! Cause you can do like you do or you can do like me stay in the cage, or you'll finally take the key.'

He make him free again.

He opens his wings and jumps, 'Oh, damn, suddenly you're free to fly! It'll take you to the other side." He offers his hand, waiting for Husk.

Lucifer smiles when Husk took it.

And then gets confused when he pulled him down.

'Okay, my friend, you want to cut me in well, I hate to tell you, but it just won't happen.' Husk say as kindly as he could. He can see what the king was trying to do and he apreciates he truly does but he can't let this go beyond an idea. He just can't, 'So thanks, but no I think I'm good to go cause I quite enjoy the life you say I'm trapped in.'

He doesn't.

He hates his life.

The chains.

The fakes smiles.

All that fucking bullshit.

But Husk doesn't want to involve Lucifer in his mess.

'Now I admire you, and that whole show you do you're onto something, really it's something but I live among the wanes, and we don't pick up apples.' He sounded like an asshole and ungrateful for refusing such offer but if that could destroy that fantasy so beat.

Even if it make hating himself even more.

'I'll have to leave that up to you.' He has to break it. 'Don't you know that I'm okay with this downtown part I get to play, cause I got what I need and I don't want to take the ride." He would keep playing as Alastor pet since he belong to the radio demon.

But god, he can't see Lucifer, 'I don't need to see the other side so go and do like you do I'm good to do like me ain't in a cage, so I don't need to take the key.' He wasn't in a cage but chains were the key didn't exist.

Since he would never let him go.

'Oh, damn, can't you see I'm doing fine. I don't need to see the other side' Since the only side that existed for Husk was under him.

He needs to leave, he was ready to run away from the king.

But the king wouldn't let him go so easy.

Lucifer crossed his arms and looked at Husk, 'Now is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and loneliness and gambles.' He knew that Husk was trying to get him to forget about the idea but the king won't let him.

He wouldn't give up without a fight.

Neither does Husk.

'If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the city. Disgraced and disowned, another one of the clowns.' The sinner bitterly said at the king, he felt tired of refusing the possibility of happiness.

Even if he had to do low blows and hurt Lucifer in process.

It hurt that Husk said that. Lucifer knew how his inaction hurt the family reputation, 'But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little just let me give you the freedom to dream and it'll wake you up and cure your aching.' But he won't give up and let him pushing him away.

He watch it how Husk was started to leave, he needs to said something soon, 'Take your walls and start 'em breaking now that's a deal that seems worth taking but I guess I'll leave that up to you.' He make his offer hoping that Husk accept it.

Lucifer would make this gamble and make it highroller.

'Well, it's intriguing, but to go would cost me greatly.' Fine he would entertain him, 'So what percentage of the show would I be taking?'

At smirk forms in the king face, 'Well, fair enough, you'd want a piece of all the action I'd give you seven, we could shake and make it happen.' He was joking of course, Lucifer would give him everything to his friend but a little banter never hurt anyone.

'I wasn't born this morning, eighteen would be just fine.' The sinner said with a smile, he was an gambler after all, and you can only win if the stakes gets higher.

'Why not just go ahead and ask for nickels on the dime?'

'Thirthy.' Husk wanted more, he started to walk closer to the king.

'I'd do twenty.' Please ask me for more the king mentally beg.

'Forty.' He was getting closer to what he desire.

'Maybe thirty.' I'll give you everything.

'Fifty.' His ultimate fantasy. An equal partnership. Husk waited for Lucifer finally laugh at his face.

But it never came.

He just smirks and Husk just knew that he accept his "offer."

In that moment something click in their minds and the both fly in joy, 'Don't you wanna get away to a whole new part you're gonna play.' In that moment Husk just let his body and mind going allow with the fallen angel, 'Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride to the other side.'

'So if you do like I do.' Lucifer said while making some ducks made of light appear, 'So if you do like me.' Husk in retaliation pulls his hat and a little Lucifer puppet comes out.

The king smiles at the trick which make Husk smile in return and If the king wanted to see his magic he would show him one hella of a show.

Just for him.

And maybe himself.

They were flying like idiots, making magic tricks and laughing of said tricks, 'Forget the cage, cause we know how to make the key.' But it didn't matter since in that single moment Husk was free again.

He wasn't chained to him.

Him won't run this fantasy.

This moment was his.

'Oh, damn, suddenly we're free to fly we're going to the other side.' For a moment they were free of everything, from expectetion and the chains it was just the two of them.

They felt peace.

'So if you do like I do'

In synch with eachother.

'So if you do like me.'

Their spark once again was ignate.

'Cause if we do we're going to the other side.'

They were unstopable in that moment.

They were the winners.

'We're going to the other side.'

[it-came-from-an-orchard]

Wonderland! Bunnydoll

It's secret to nobody that @endomentendo Wonderland AU has been spreading the same way an invasive root does in a garden (Don't tell Queenie) What some might NOT know, is that the Bunnydollers have successfully bullied them with love and pretty art to make the ship part of their canon Heck, Ragatha's mood allignement change! I call that a major victory!

So to commemorate the change and because @kookies2000 has infected half of the burrow with the WonderBug, I present thee with a small little something.

Its not very good but I had fun. And I think that all Wonderland its about

Leaves fall, birds chirp.

Twigs snap, Branches shake.

The grass crumples, dirt and sand raises in the air. 

The sounds of idle laughter chimes in, carried by the hollow whistle of the wind. Empty steps mark the ground.

The sensible response is to shake your head, turn around, and go back from wherever you came from. 

The sensible and logical thought that pricks at the mind and tells you ‘There’s nobody there’. 

So stupid and wrong. 

Out of all the creatures in the forest to find, those that find you first are probably some of the worst, and by the very nature of their bodies, this one is the most dangerous of all, as they dont get found out if they don't wish to be. 

The laughter echoes around, and if you were to close your eyes— Well, you would be really stupid, because nobody should do that in a forest. Who knows where you could trip going around blind like that? 

But if despite better judgment, you still close your eyes, or at least, the one working eye, it's almost like if windchimes were all around the forest.

Such a pretty laugh.

How can people say Chesires are bad when they laugh like that? 

“Jax! I’m not supposed to wonder this deep in, you know that!” Little Pretty Red Locks and a smile, you are not angry or mad, yet you try “At least tell me what are we looking for!”

The empty, dusty steps wave off the dirt path, leaving purple prints instead as they go up the trunk of a mighty tree

“Seriously? I have to climb? In this dress?” Only mad people talk to themselves, so this really isn’t that weird of a sight, that is, if there was anyone else with Pretty Red Locks and a smile. “Mother is gonna be upset at me if I return to the party with tears on my dress…!” 

She could have chosen not to climb, stay down on the ground, but then the enchanting laughter knew she wouldn’t. Too many a year had passed, at least he thought so, since they first started to play this game. A Cat and a Mouse. 

Why would a little mouse be in pursuit of a cat, you ask? Probably to ask for some milk, or to share a cookie. 

But there is no cat or a mouse in sight, just Pretty Red Locks and a smile. 

Climbing trees is easy, it barely takes a breeze, yet the doll struggles getting around the branches, silly girl, your dress is on the way, Why did you ever think that was appropriate clothing to go tree climbing? Mad idea, indeed. 

Leaves fall, branches creak, and the laughter is no more. A low hum bouncing around the canopies of the trees. A nameless tune that has no lyrics, and even when it does, their meaning is meaningless. Still, Pretty Red Locks tries to sing it, no matter how many times she gets it wrong. What a crazy thing to try

“Are we there yet?” She huffs and puffs the lack of air in her lungs, settling in a big sturdy branch. Yeah, they were there. That’s as good as it could get “I know I’m not a kid anymore, but you could try and give me a hand still!”

“Now, why would I do that?” The voice of nobody speaks, much mirth and much mischief in the way they sound. Just like the laughter from before “You got yourself up here without my help! If you couldn’t, why try?” 

“You told me to follow you, then disappeared and got me here!” Still airless, still amused. Are you not afraid of being this high up? 

“If I disappeared, you got yourself here” Fight a disembodied voice about semantics, if you weren’t mad before, you will be after.

“Well, We’re here-- Or *I* am here now. So what's the surprise?” 

“What surprise?” 

“I’m not going to start that with you”

“Start what?” 

Laughter again, but it's not the voice of the nobody, Pretty Red Locks laughs. 

It’s a pretty laugh.

“The view is nice from up here” Again talking to herself, because there was no other voice to answer her “You always like to be somewhere high, don’t you?” Talking to oneself means nobody answers you, but Pretty Red Locks and a smile didn’t seem to be bothered by that, her lips splayed in a wide smile for the empty space right beside her on the branch “I guess it's part of your nature”

The hollow wind carries the small hum of a melody. Down below littles colorful dots dance around unhearable music. It wouldn’t be long now until they realized the missing person among them.

“Having fun on your regular birthday?” The voice of nobody spoke, though it was lacking a bit of that usual charm. Wonder where it had gone

“What other types of birthdays are there?” The doll only got silence as a response, right, she was answering a question with another question “Yes, it’s very fun. I’m glad you came by”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the end of the world~!” 

Swinging her legs over the void of the fall, the doll swallowed the rest of the questions she wanted to ask, her conversation partner wasn’t in a responsive mood and talking to herself wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, even if she did it more often than most

“I’m gonna give you your gift now” The disembodied voice spoke and the doll felt her insides tickle as if full of loose flower petals

“Does that mean I can see you n-” Ragatha wanted to say something dumb, because she was about to answer a statement with a question. A dumb and also rude thing to do

Thankfully, she was saved from the embarrassment by a pressure over her mouth. Her lips. It felt… Warm. slightly moist, a bit fuzzy. 

Such an odd feeling

Not only was her mouth covered by something, Ragatha blinked once and she was sure something was holding the sides of her arms. It was firm yet kind, the way she always felt when dancing atop the roof of the castle, or balancing over the railing of the balconies or now, over at the top of the trees. 

She pursed her lips and that pressure moved. Ragatha realized now that she couldn’t quite breath with this strange block against her mouth, but just before she could start to worry about running out of air, the pressure left her mouth. The one around her arms remained.

Blinking once, twice. Ragatha notices her eyesight worsening. Just a second ago she could see the party below with perfect clarity, now everything seems to be warped and fuzzy. Like trying to see through an empty glass.

Something invisible in between. 

“Jax?” She called to the nothing around her. “Did you do something just now?” 

Pretty Red Locks got no answer from the empty air around her. She blinked again, the fuzziness went away, and so did the hold around her. 

She missed it already. 

The familiar humming of a distant tune came back, and while the sound bounced around, Ragatha’s gaze stood firmly ahead. The emptiness in front of her slowly filling up from the bottom up, stripes of purple and dark blue hues swirling, tangling and knotting among themselves. Forming limbs, a torso, a tail, ears and finally. 

Two big yellow eyes and a smile. 

“Happy regular birthday, Ragatha” The voice of nobody came from the mouth of this funny looking guy, but Ragatha already knew that. She have known this funny looking man for a long time now

“Happy not-birthday, Jax” She returned the gesture, smiling, not as widely but almost so as the man floating over nothing in front of her. 

“Oh! You remembered! How thoughtful!” The colourful man squinted his eyes slightly as his smile broadened even more, making most of his face “Anyway, Ready to go back?” He extended an open, gloved palm to the pretty doll with red locks and a smile, he was, admittedly, a bit surprised that she didn’t immediately take it.

“Jax, My aunt will freak out if she sees me ‘Floating’ down back to the party!” “Not let anyone see you, got ya!” Jax reached out and claimed Ragatha by the arm to himself, pulling her with him into the nothing void. 

Most people would freak out, scream, cry. To be so carelessly thrown into no ground at all, especially at such a height. 

Ragatha just giggled, barely holding on to Jax as they took step after step, moving slowly, closer to the ground. 

“Aren’t ya afraid to fall?” Jax held got tighter to her and she let go even more, slightly annoying. She should be holding onto him as if her life depended on it. What, was she mad or something?

“Are you going to let me fall?” Pretty Red Locks and the gall you had, trusting your life to a cheshire. 

“Not unless it’s funny” 

They eventually made it back to the ground and Jax lost himself in a puff of color. But Ragatha knew him to be close by. Call it a ‘Womanly intuition’. She just had a gift for this sort of thing. 

In truth, watching the scenery from up high and float back down with Jax was something she was really used to, she could quite understand what about that was supposed to be her gift. 

That feeling she got around her lips though…

She hoped she could ask Jax about it the next time they got to meet for tea. 

She enjoyed it very much

If only a feeling such as that one had a name.

[finniestoncrane]

Hello Finnie...

Curious...how do you think the rougues would talk to someone who is facing having to move back in with their parents at age 30 due to financial/personal reasons after years of living independently and their self esteem is taking a mahoosive hit 🙃🙃🙃

(I know it's becoming increasingly common nowadays due to cost of living but still...😣)

Asking for a friend...👀

Rogues Headcanons aw anon i feel you, there's nothing like a perceived setback to knock your self-confidence HOWEVER i think you're just being a little harsh on yourself, since you know that it's super common!! but you still deserve comfort and encouragement, and i apologise for how completely sappy i was with this lol 💜 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, and sickeningly sweet sentiments i hope!!

two face

i think every rogue can say they've suffered setbacks, but none like harvey

by all accounts he was living the perfect life, doing exactly what he wanted to

and then everything kind of crumbled, and he lost it all

but he built himself back up (albeit... maybe on the wrong side of morality depending on the coin flip)

so he considers himself a figure of encouragement to you!!

and he's also gruffly reminding you that self-esteem can be rebuilt

little by little, piece by piece

whether you feel like you're moving "back" or not

you can start fresh and new

scarecrow

his suggestion is a little less than helpful

mostly because his solution to his own financial issues were to... rob people while wearing a costume

and if you want to go down that route he is MORE than happy to help

but if you want to be sensible about it, he can offer support

someone to listen to you while you talk it all out

and he promises he won't psychoanalyse you too much

or talk in his therapist voice

but if after all that you're still lost, he has extra straw and fabric

poison ivy

is your parent's home like a garden? is it nurturing and safe, with a balanced ph level? do you feel comfortable and familiar?

is your parent's home like an unattended back patio made of slabs? cracks with grass? minimal space to thrive?

either way, plants will grow and plants will live

nature pushes on!! and little flowers take pride in pushing their heads up, their stems stretched

to see everything that's good beyond the things that seem so close and current

and with a little help from her, anyone can grow and become their best self, even if they've been uprooted

mad hatter

nothing in this world is perfect, and nothing goes according to plan

trust him, he knows that. he has experience in that. plenty of it

but you have to believe that it's an integral part to your story

what good would alice in wonderland have been if there had been no conflict

if she hadn't been forced to learn about herself, to undergo traumas and difficulties

all in order to get home, which she did

and you will too! he knows you have a happy ending waiting, your own wonderland to get to as a reward

bane

he's never really known a home, so to him it's actually a nice idea

you've got a backup, a safety net

and yeah, you might never have wanted to use it

but it's never a bad thing to know there's another option

and it takes strength to ask for help, and even more to accept it

and while he's pretty sure he's strong enough physically to do most things

even he has to admire the emotional strength it takes to do what you're doing

so he's giving you a pat on the back and reminding you that things could always be worse

(and that pat on the back might cause bruising)

penguin

what do you need? you need money? you need a place to stay?

he'd be offering it all up to you immediately

what good is money if he can't throw it at his favourite people

keeps them under his thumb, yknow? if they own him one

so yeah it might be a favour he'll call you out on eventually

but rest assured he's not thinking of anything else but "how can i help" and "what do you need/want"

far before he'd make any judgements

it's hard to get where you want in life, he knows that very well

zsasz

have you thought about straight up just murdering everyone?

he's kiding, he's kidding!!

besides, that's his thing. don't steal his thing, or you'll end up as a little tally mark on his skin

HOWEVER his advice would be to find something to focus on that takes your mind off of the perceived negatives

it doesn't have to be wiping out humanity in a nihilistic rampage

it can be anything!! and saving some money on rent and having the comfort of home might be all you need to find something new to become skilled at

just as long as it's not murder!!

mr freeze

it might feel like you're losing something, but there's always something to be gained too

and you never really lose what you had, because it lives on in memories and hopes

it stays with you in your plans for the future, in your dreams of what you want when you get back on your feet

or in his case, frozen in time in a glass tube

not lost, just temporarily out of reach

but he's a vehement believer in perseverance and never losing hope!!

you'll both have what you want soon enough, whether that's something new or gaining what you had

riddler

i won't lie i think he's the most likely to turn his nose up at you

like what do you mean there were unforeseen events that you weren't prepared for?

you didn't have 1588729 backup plans, one of which was for that exact chain of events!?

foolish of you really, though he will concede that not everyone has the brain power to strategise like that

in fact, it really is only him who can... so maybe he should lay off

and offer you some comfort instead, since the thought of having to move in with his parents...

well, it literally terrifies him

harley quinn

listen, she's no stranger to "set backs" in your plans

she's had everything taken from her!!

freedom, lovers, career plans (both respectable and criminal)

but she bounces back! and not just because she's a gymnast

(and also deeply out of touch with the trauma it all caused her)

but she manages it because she believes it'll all get better

and it'll all work out

and she believes that for you too!!