#and trying really hard to be a hero even if there's no glory in it -> grey warden if I go Davrin

[invinciblerodent]

If I'm interpreting things right and we'll be able to choose factions as an origin for our Rook, so far (even though it's the group we know the least about), I'm kinda leaning towards the Shadow Dragons for Ver.

I mean, I was lowkey kinda thinking that she's a lower-middle-class kinda human woman from Tevinter (maybe an Antivan immigrant? we'll see), and now that I've read The Missing, I know that the Shadow Dragons are a secretive organization the only known goal of which is essentially to free the slaves of Tevinter, which is the least objectionable thing I can think of. It would work, and it seems that Varric has worked with them prior AND that Neve might be one of the first companions to be recruited, so it feels right enough to me as a story so far.

I think Ver might be sort of an enforcer-type of character, a warrior who is kinda less the brains, and more the muscle of an operation (kind of a "boots and eyes on the ground" type of person), and sort of "bears witness" to events more than she'd participate in organizing them- which is my excuse for why she might not be used to taking on a leadership position, why she might not know a lot about anything (as well as why she might not know the members). It's also my very clever way to work in that her nickname is technically, unintentionally, the Spanish verb "to see", lol.

I think she'd be likely to have heard OF Neve before, but doesn't know her directly, and I'm pretty sure Neve is gonna be the spymaster-type of person, so she would likely know everything about everyone anyway lol.

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @morishitoshi

[evilminji]

You know what I would kill to see?

Nedzu, in the Zone.

He IS a registered Hero, after all. He probably gets calls for missions. Failing that, he's still legal allowed to intervene. Like, say, if some poor four year old were losing their shit? Got separated from their mommy, their headache, which has been getting Ochier ALL DAY has finally gotten Really REALLY bad... and they... they just CAN'T! So they melt down.

Whoops. Four year old with portals.

In a crowd.

Luckily he, Mr. Principle, is a "cute" looking sort of Hero. And as an educator, well trained in de-escala-*CRASH!* Some jackass glory chasing young thing, with no care for innocent lives around them, smashes onto the scene. Terrifying the poor child. Which obviously makes their non-existent control WORSE.

Starts throwing the word "villian" around.

Nedzu is going to EAT his license in front of him.

The poor thing is hyperventilating, crying, clinging desperately to Nedzus suit. Things are being flung from portals. Sucked into portals. He's seen no less then 53 SEPERATE dimensions on the other side of those rifts. At least two were to the open void of space.

He narrowly dodges a portal straight into the heart of a volcano. Can feel the blistering heat singe his fur. Alumni from HIS school, at least, have arrived to actually SAVE people. Get the crowd away from the danger zone.

And to think, all he wanted was some tea.

How this MORON doesn't recognize him, he has no idea. His graduates are actively SHOUTING his identity, for heavens sake. Yet the glory hound continues to chase his so called "villians" at the expense of everyone around him.

He's about to throw the boy to a near by police officer, to get to safety, when the worst occurs. The tract of land he was about to push off of disappears beneath them. The boy's mother screams. He activates High Specs, world slowing as his mind rushs. Twisting, he throws the boy high.

The portal closes before he can see if it is Eraserhead or Cementoss who will be the one to catch him. The odds were 68.3% in Eraserhead's favor. He hopes... Aizawa, does so take these things quite hard, he hope he will not blame himself.

There was no way to catch him in time.

He was already gone.

Gravity arrests, slowing to a drifting meander. The air thick with something the burns his sensitive nose. Green. Everything is a very peculiar green. This is not a planets or if it is, it is countless times larger then Earth. A gas giant of some sort? There does not appear to be a horizon.

In the distance, an almost stereotypical spaceship changes destinations. Now aiming right for him. It seems aid might be on the way. With nothing better to do, he waits. They slow to a stop, a hatch opens, and... oh? A young Hero student! Hello there young man! I am Mr. Principle of the illustrious UA!

And just? Danny? Trying to return this small furry alien guy back to his alien hero school? Getting the run around and "hmmmm, let me look that uuuup *takes forever* yeeeeah, soooorry. You're in the wrong department. You'll have to fly like three days to this OTHER department, fill out 260 forms, and dance for our amusement. Byeeeee~"

Like? He just wants to get this guy HOME! Why are you all LIKE THIS!?

All while Nedzu is " :) My, this is FASCINATING. I am learning new things, battling wits, learning new languages, AND guiding a promising young mind towards a future of Better Heroics? Delightful! This is practically a vacation!"

He even stops by the Fentons for dinner. Some fudge. A little light destruction of Goverment branches on the side. Just? A Grand ol adventure of Nedzu.

Danny suffers through bureaucratic hell. But Nedzu? The most mentally stimulated he's been in years. His crops are watered and his fur is groomed. Thriving! New toys!

Then?? He just... shows back up to work.

How did he return? Where has he been?? Who is this glowing green Hero Child groaning face down on his very expensive carpet? *sips tea* wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy! *maniacal Nedzu laughter*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @lolottes @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @spidori

[ma1dita]

forever falling: luke castellan & his four great loves

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.3k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four great loves of Luke Castellan’s life and how it will end up killing him) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i held myself hostage in my car outside the gym until i got this right this morning — listened to forwards, beckon, rebound by adrienne lenker while writing this, thank you for your patience and happy september!

edited, doing taglist when i get back from the gym lmao

—

Falling to his death is taking a lot longer than Luke Castellan thought it would.

For a man with a multitude of regrets, he finds that he can count his biggest ones off the four bloodied fingers that stain his peripherals with every bump and tumble down the jagged rocks of Mount Tamalpais.

What a waste of a life.

Everything he’s ever tried to accomplish has come to this final, humiliating moment of being at someone else’s mercy. Life is so unfair, he thinks, to give everything for love and have it kick you off the side of a fucking mountain that reeks of eucalyptus and regret. Sure, it was wrong to steal the master bolt, to turn his back on camp, poison Thalia’s tree, have his little sister hold up the sky, try to kill Percy Jackson every so often, and cause all this chaos… (I mean you know how this goes) but the pros outweigh the cons here! Promise.

Luke was so sure that they would all see reason—that he was doing this all out of love, no matter how convoluted and backwards his way is compared to theirs, even if he’d never admit that. Change is supposed to be uncomfortable and war was never meant to be pretty. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, really. The gods weren’t meant to win.

But at the end of it all, love must be his greatest weakness. It has to be.

The Fates should be slicing through the fibers of his lifespan by now, ripping through the embroidered memories in his mind. Nothing of his is his own anymore—not his life, nor his love.

Love, if he’s learned anything in the two wretched decades that Hermes himself has cursed his existence with— hurts like a motherfucker. That, or Thalia was definitely wearing steel-toed boots when she kicked his ass off the cliff. He’s given his life for love, dedicating himself to the greater good of protecting his loved ones, and no one, not even the gods could stand in the way of that. A method to his madness or his undeniable naivety, he still can’t tell, but it's gotten him falling deep into an abyss at the hands of a bunch of kids who continually undo his plans to change the world.

Maybe love is little deaths then, and maybe Luke Castellan loves too hard.

There has never been a single moment in his life where he hasn’t gone down fighting—he never lets anything go, holding what’s important to him so close to his chest that it suffocates. Luke believes that after everything he’s been through, he was never meant for mediocrity—not even when it comes to love. Maybe his death would mean something then— maybe that is his glory. To love someone to death, even if it was wrong— if this is his end, maybe his death will bring peace he knows his love never could.

Four names run through his mind like most things do, intense and fleeting. His final thoughts as he plunges toward the earth are his last act of prayer. If the gods have never listened before, well, these thoughts are all he has to comfort him; they feel heavy behind his lips the further he falls.

Could the Fates be wrong?

His fatal flaw manifests itself into the names of four women he knows he could never deserve in this lifetime, but he’d die trying. He is, dying. This fall from grace is proof enough that he was never meant to be a hero. Excessive wrath bleeds from his being until all that’s left is love, and he’s ashamed of it.

Gods, he’s such a fucking loser.

Luke’s neck cracks against stone at the bottom of the cliff, white hot pain crawling up his spine with only one remaining thought clanging around in his brain—he should’ve never fucking come back to San Francisco.

And while we’re talking about regrets—Luke recognizes that the one thing he’s never had control of is love.

So he lets go, feeling the weight of his body crumple against the downhill slope of Mount Tamalpais like a puppet cut from its strings without a single cry of pain because Luke Castellan finally comes to accept the loves and losses of his life. His landing feels softer now, rolling to a stop like the waves on Westport Beach. Then he sinks into the earth with a bated sigh and it feels like gentle hands of loves that once believed in him.

Luke closes his eyes before his world spirals into black—because if these few moments are all he has left, he’d like to take this time to remember them.

MAY CASTELLAN [storgē - στοργή]

Luke Castellan was born into this world half-mortal, half-god, but 100% May Castellan’s son. From the moment he came into this world, he was fully her own. Hermes was a factor, yes—but the manifestation of a demigod is wholly that of the mortal parent in every aspect visible to the naked eye. Blood runs alongside ichor in his veins, but Luke is all hers in every way that matters—from the slope of his nose, his dark velvet curls, and the honey-molten warmth of his eyes. And they were happy together, once upon a time, even if it was mostly just the two of them.

The gods make their half-mortal children in the likeness and image of their human love since their own forms are ever changing. There is nothing permanent about being immortal—leaving their partners with babies that look like them but are vulnerable to the Mist. And when you love a god, the only tangible reminder left behind is one that goes where you cannot follow. Things most can’t understand— speedy baby steps padding down the hall, tiny hands unlocking the pantry door, and a motor mouth able to transmit meaning through toddler gibberish.

But before Luke even knew what love was, his mother made sure he knew hers was stuck to his being—like peanut butter and jelly on the roof of his mouth from all the sandwiches she made. His clothes used to smell like chamomile from her morning brew and his fingers were often stained blue from Kool-Aid powder. May would always let him mix, even if she had to pretend to not see him sipping from the big spoon in the pitcher. Loving a trickster meant she knew how to raise one.

His mother’s love was sugar sweet. It was in the cookies she baked, the kisses she’d press against his broken skin, and in the confectionery words she’d whisper to him before bedtime. As the years passed by, May would end up repeating herself and the ‘i love yous’ were more for her instead of him—like a mantra she needed to remind herself of who she was. But Luke always understood. When her voice would fail and tears would replace it, Luke learned to wipe away what his father left behind for him to take care of.

His identical chocolate irises watched hers turn to emerald, and it was then he knew that too much sugar could make everything rot.

THALIA GRACE [eros-ἔρως]

There was always this intensity whenever he was with Thalia Grace, the daughter of Zeus. And she made sure he always knew it—a static spark igniting between the two of them as soon as their eyes met in the streets of Charleston. Like him, Thalia always made sure to get what she wanted, two north poles of a magnet bullheading through life to get what they’re owed. By that same evening, they were elbow-deep in the golden dust of a dragon that had come home to find two bushy-browed little freaks with arrogance quadruple their size.

Luke and Thalia were a match made in hell—one always trying to outdo the other to get the upper hand when it comes to control. And at 12 years old, it was the first time Luke had ever had anyone fight by his side. But they were both short fuses and she always set him alight—a glint of her father rushing through her glare so hot that it burned blue. He would do anything to keep her attention on him since grabbing devotion by force is all he’s ever known. Moving quickly and being in her face was the only way to remind his mother of her affection so he assumed the same would go with her. That, and he couldn’t help being extra fidgety— being a son of Hermes meant he couldn’t sit still for long.

Though with Thalia’s growing annoyance of Luke, it was established that their dependence on each other was one of necessity to survive the odds stacked against them. She was repelled by what made them so similar, hubris that blinded them from wanting to figure out the difference between surviving and living. There was a poison of hate in their love for one another. A shame in wanting a love that understood the attraction that linked them so early on in life, however innocent.

Both were too alike and were burned the same.

They burned each other. A type of selflessness and selfishness that battled each other for balance, so close but so far away.

There was always something about Thalia that blistered at his confidence. A forbidden part of her he couldn’t bear. It’s why he spit words of acid instead of encouragement once he realized the Furies wanted her the most when they were running for their lives, Luke was always the fastest runner anyway—dragging little Annabeth up Half-Blood Hill and by the time he realized he’d left her for dead she became a hero (he admits now that he could’ve run circles and saved her too; he just didn’t want to).

Thalia Grace gave everything for this love. But she sure as hell never trusted him to do the same for her.

The spark they shared was snuffed out that day. And Luke continued to burn without her.

ANNABETH CHASE [philia- ϕιλία]

Luke Castellan had never been chosen for anything before. Growing up in the mortal world, he was used to watching families eat together through restaurant windows and children playing in parks that he would pass by, taking slower turns around the block so he could imagine what it felt like to be wanted. Luke was never once beckoned to take part, but he accepted long ago that he didn’t really belong anywhere.

It was nice to think about though.

The daughter of Athena doesn’t remember it anymore, something so trivial in that big brain of much more important thoughts—but when she reached her hand out to him instead of Thalia (after almost breaking his skull in with a rusty hammer), it meant everything to him. The kid thought he was a monster at first sight, and she still chose him after everything.

Annabeth Chase grew up idolizing him and he thrived because of it.

Like ambrosia, Luke was strengthened by her faith and it made him feel powerful. Having the daughter of Athena in his life was like being awarded a gold medal. He loved Annabeth like she was his biggest prize, gleaming on a shelf for him to admire when he was feeling down about himself. Both him and Thalia raised her with pride; with little to no material possessions, they learned to make something out of nothing—and they made it golden. He chased that feeling and it made him greedy for her affection—she announced his place in this world of cruelty. The harsh hands of fate were gilded by Midas himself as long as he had Annabeth. And she put him on a pedestal too—an unattainable goal in her mind that the highest form of glory was to be like her older brother and best friend.

Luke Castellan was finally good at something, and he had the proof to show for it in the shape of a small girl with inquisitive eyes. With her, all of his answers were right. To choose each other and be reciprocated with equal fervor helped him idealize what it felt like to win in life.

However Annabeth was not just his best student, but a prodigy that learned to outplay the trickster. An intellect like hers was never meant to corrode in a dusty, dark corner.

YOU [agape- ἀγάπη]

Plato wrote that humans were once created whole— with four arms, four legs, and two faces fused back-to-back for the entirety of their mortal existence. They were at peace, and how could you not be?

With your soulmate at your side, you could face anything, even the gods. And eventually Zeus felt threatened by their power, in knowing that humans could be invincible against any pain, suffering, and doubt as long as their soul was physically and intimately tied with their other half. So he separated humans from their soulmates in a snap of a finger. It was just another thing that jealousy would take away from humankind by immortal beings that would never understand what it means to live with an ending.

There’s a misconception that love is being together in our original state until the gods took it away. But in fact, it was written to be that love is the desire to become whole with someone else, in addition to yourself. Love is the choice to spend your life trying to find your other half—as we are destined to roam until we have someone to share the rest of our time. Humans have long accepted that we don’t know when the end will come—but the act of searching for our person to share it with, that is love.

Love is the ultimate sacrifice to meet your partner wherever they’re at, to make a home out of the rubble of your past and still choose it anyway knowing that the both of you will go hand in hand into the future. It isn’t glory like he’d convinced himself in the past; it’s not accomplishing some heroic feat worth the recognition of the gods—he knows by now that he couldn’t give a single shit about them. The answer had always been right in front of him, unwavering against the test of time with fluttering amethyst eyes and laughter that renders him senseless.

Why go through all that trouble? one might ask. But that is also his answer.

Fate had never cut him loose— tumbling down Mount Tamalpais was one of the many proofs of that, and with nothing else to do, Luke comes to the conclusion that loving you is a lifelong commitment he made to make more time with you.

Shitty deal, he thinks, trying to beat Kronos at his own domain without anyone’s help must have been a waste for it all to end so pathetically.

But loving you was a choice he made every day, even in your absence. It’s his reminder and solemn vow that loving you could never be a waste. Luke laments not being able to take you to meet his mother, or giving you the white house with the big bay windows, but by giving up his life, honor, and whatever glory is still attached to the name Luke Castellan— it must be worth it as long as you’re living the life you deserve.

Even if it means he’s not part of it, he hopes you’re still searching for him too.

—

In the end, even as he falls to his death, he finds himself calling out to his father for the last time. His plea reaches deaf ears of course—but he isn’t begging anymore. Luke Castellan thanks his father for the first and last time in his life and embraces his losses if it meant that he mattered. If not to the gods, then to his mother. To Annabeth. Thalia, even for a short moment, and you.

Especially to you.

Unwavering and without question, to live to the fullest is to have been by your side walking through the woods of Camp Half-Blood and hearing the sound of your cackles through the air, sending animals scattering from something he said.

Because to be loved despite everything he has done, everything he will do��� Luke thinks he must be the luckiest man to have ever lived.

Death blankets the weary traveler, and time is an unflinching hand pulling him through a rip in reality. He’s gone in the blink of an eye, falling in reverse to where he needs to be next.

Somewhere, Atropos raises her scissors away from the indelible strand of his life force as she takes a breath and sits back, her sisters unable to do anything else but watch. This boy was becoming more trouble than what even the gods knew he was worth.

Luke Castellan must be lucky, indeed.

—-

Ding.

450, 451, 452, 453…

A wet cough from a satyr next to you disrupts the silence in the elevator up to Olympus; you give him a sideways glance that makes him shift closer to the door with what you hope is a blush and not a fever. It’s warm and stuffy in this 3x4 crystalline box that shoots towards the heavens, and a bit crowded for a weeknight—though you suppose it is the Winter Solstice.

You haven’t been back here since your ex-boyfriend stole the master bolt.

There’s a moment where you wonder if the Fates have ever found your predicament funny, but then the satyr sneezes with a boom.

537, 538, 539, 540…

It’s almost dusk now as clouds roll through the night sky and into the distance. Frost lines the metal frame of the elevator shaft and if you’re flying at the speed of light, it doesn’t seem to be a problem. But this trip is taking much longer than you thought it would for a decision you made on a whim.

You still have a final to take in the morning, and Annabeth wasn’t answering your calls—then her location on Find My iPhone sprung from San Francisco to the middle of Manhattan from the span of your trip on the Long Island Railroad.

Something was up. The sense of something important trickled down your spine like second nature. Can’t this thing go any faster?

It was second nature for you by now to know when something was up, especially with the trio. You’d always make the time for them. Besides, your life has been a little too quiet lately. Being an adult demigod does that; there’s no monsters that bump in the night anymore, just the ones in your head and the ones that make you take finals three days before Christmas.

…600.

Ding.

Weaving through what seems to be a celebration fit for the gods, your glove-clad hands push through the sea of minor godlings, heroes, and Olympians. Aphrodite sends you a wink that makes you feel hot to the touch before you realize Hestia’s eyes are also on you, the both of them clearly whispering about your treacherous love life. You shove your gloves and scarf into your jacket pocket. Bowing your head lightly in greeting, you keep walking further into the grand hall.

It seemed you were always a hot topic up here on Olympus. Great.

The music is so loud you can feel it in your chest, thumping away to the accelerated beat of your heart and by the time you grab a glass of ambrosia-spiked champagne to help with the lump in your throat, you hear the sound of your name in the midst of all the chaos.

A gentle hand grasps your shoulder then, and it’s Percy Jackson adorning a cup of punch and brand new wispy white tendrils that hang across his face. There’s a story that should follow, but he gapes at you like a fish out of water. Looking up at him (this boy grows like a weed!), both of your confused faces mirror each other as you sidle out words he’s still able to hear over the music, “What’s the celebration for? And why have none of you been answering my calls?”

The son of Poseidon swallows hard, until the smell of salt and sea foam surrounds you and you find yourself staring at the god of the sea himself, standing alongside him. With a smile soft like rippling water, he gently says, “I’ll leave you two to it. And I’ll call your father and stepmother over. Good to see you,” Poseidon says your name as he takes his exit. You hoped it was a good thing then, that he knew you.

Percy wondered why he was always left to make the difficult decisions.

He almost sounds like his father when he speaks, calling for your attention again as he clears his throat.

“Listen, I need to tell you something, and I think we should…”

Shaking your head, your eyes are scanning across the room, meeting Annabeth’s as she drops the hand of the minor god she’s dancing with and makes her way over to you. From the other side of the room, Poseidon pushes your father in your direction as he juggles two golden goblets in each hand, led by his wife as they almost float towards you.

“Whatever it is, spit it out Perce. Your audience is growing by the minute.”

“Hey princess, whatcha doing here? Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” You dad grins, nudging your shoulder and handing you one of the goblets. Ariadne presses a kiss against your temple and you smile, taking a sip before hearing Annabeth’s converse squeak to a stop next to you.

“Someone better tell me what’s going on right now,” your eye twitches and then you see Annabeth’s new strands of silver that frame her face as she grabs your arm and nestles against it.

“I…um…” the sandy-haired boy begins, and then your dad groans and you elbow him hard, wine spilling from his lips as his wife giggles like the sound of tinkling bells and you’re about to strangle the teenager on the marble tile he’s planted on.

“Luke’s…”

“Dead.”

Percy’s worried voice intermingles with a new one you haven’t heard before, like a crackling sound that leaves a metallic taste in your mouth, and then a girl shows her face—black eyeliner and silver jewelry clinking against each other as she looks into your eyes and blue meets purple.

So you start laughing. Cackling even, as your head nods slightly, and after they’ve given you a moment to compose yourself you take a big gulp of the drink in your right hand to then chase it with the one on your left.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. He’s not dead,” you insist, and everyone looks at you like you’re insane, even your father, the god of insanity himself. Ariadne’s hand caresses the nape of your neck as she whispers, “Maybe we should take a seat outside, darling…”

“No…No! I mean it,” you say almost incredulously, a hiccup slipping past your lips when you take in too much air. “That motherfucker doesn’t have the audacity to die and if he did, I would know.”

“This is how we’re letting you know,” Annie murmurs, before Percy sighs and his shoulders fall heavy with what seems to be the weight of the world, “She’s right. He’s not dead.”

A myriad of responses blur in the space around you, all going hazy as you blink and stay focused on Percy.

“It’d be too easy…” you murmur, nodding again like you’re convincing yourself of the fact. Annabeth rubs circles into your forearm and you realize you haven’t breathed since the daughter of Zeus made her entrance, “I’d know if he was dead.”

Thalia Grace looks you up and down thoughtfully, “So you’re the collateral damage.”

“Thalia!”

Annabeth exclaims, her hand tightening around yours and you know deep down she’s rejoicing at the news of Luke’s survival. But for yourself, you were unsure if you felt the same, almost chuckling at the irony of almost all of Luke’s favorite people in the same room as the gods he swore to overthrow, “That’s me. You were a tree the last time I saw you.”

“That’s me. I kicked him off a cliff, thought it would’ve done the job, but he’s always been too stubborn.”

A smile spreads across both your faces. You think about Luke interrupting your date last month by barging into your apartment and how that was tough enough to explain to your roommate, much less if you tried to tell your parents and best friends in the middle of a Christmas party.

You make the choice to keep Luke’s visits a secret. It doesn’t come as difficult as you thought it would.

Hermes bumps into your little group, eyes focused on his caduceus as it pings with different messages. The rest of you go quiet, mirth dimming despite the smile on the messenger god’s face and the kids take that as their cue to exit.

“What’s happening? A group like this, and with you making an appearance,” he nods in your direction, “Must be something special.” He nudges your dad, and you’ve forgotten that they’ve been best friends for millenia.

“Your kid’s not dead. You’d know that if you were nosy in the right places,” Dionysus says through a gulp of wine, turning and walking away nonchalantly, making you smile. Hermes looks at you with his face a mix of shock and appreciation, though you’ve done nothing to earn it. He follows your father with a gust of wind billowing behind his traveling feet.

Those two are more trouble than you and Luke were.

Biting your cheek, you turn to Ariadne and scoff, “So…. Do you think I should tell my dad that the other campers snuck into the party half an hour ago?”

Your stepmother laughs, her eyes following her love across the ballroom, choosing to let everyone enjoy the Winter Solstice for once.

—

“When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?” - Ocean Vuong

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

Strap in if you dare, I’m going to talk about Riko.

Yes, he is a Bad Person. Nothing I’m about to say counters that. However… evil isn’t always so obvious as to dress in black and torture everyone you love. Evil is insidious and nuanced - it can creep in when you aren’t expecting it and have no defences. We’ve been given this incredibly complex and interesting example of it, and we’ve been given it for a reason. Riko is a character worth trying to understand.

Could Riko ever have been saved, and if so what would it have taken? What if he’d been able to follow the Fox path to redemption instead of the Ravens to perdition?

Except both Foxes AND Ravens were traumatised… the thing that ruined Riko was power. Lincoln said it: “nearly all men can stand adversity but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” Who was Riko without power? It’s hard to see.

So I’m fascinated by a different question - how did Riko see Riko?

We know how the Foxes saw him: a low-functioning sociopath with zero coping skills and the personality of a cat trapped in a wall cavity. Presumably that’s not how he saw himself. What kind of headcannon did he construct for himself, what was his own personal mythology?

We know he wanted his father’s approval, he wanted to be number one. We know how badly he dealt with those desires being thwarted.

I know how it feels to be an abandoned child. You feel like the outer edges of a person, with this gaping hole in the centre. It’s not just that you lost a loved one, it’s - how can I say it - it’s like the clasp that lets you hold on to people has been torn out too. Everyone will leave now, and you know it.

(I didn’t cope by turning my bedroom into Abu Ghraib, though.)

It’s the worst of both worlds. His father is far enough away to cause that gaping wound, yet not sufficiently gone for it to ever close over and heal.

But… despite his impossible situation, Riko wasn’t withdrawing into himself. Resentment ate away at him and he liked doing side-projects of revenge, but it was hope driving him on. I see Riko as someone with a very hot flame in them, someone determined to succeed (like Neil). He was driven, even if the goal he chased so eagerly was an illusion. I think he saw his situation as a challenge, an opportunity to prove himself and eventually take his rightful place at his father’s side (surely that’s what Kengo really meant, surely this was a test, a test he can pass if he just wins one more time...)

Imagine something like… the second son of a Roman emperor, sent to some far-off outpost to get him out of the way subdue rebel tribes. A chance to make a name for himself, an opportunity to create an elite unit where violence and skill are everything, where winning is everything. A challenge he accepts with savage excitement.

And the world views them with the kind of awe once reserved for ancient Sparta. Unsurpassed warriors, impossibly focussed. Yes, they endure conditions no one else could even consider but they always win, and everyone loves winners. They are the legends of legends. Surely his father will see.

Kevin was his Lancelot, his shining sword, his right hand. Kevin added to Riko’s status, assured him he must be a hero if he had such a splendid champion at his side.

But Kevin is beautiful, so perhaps Riko’s feelings were more complicated than that, perhaps they were feelings he couldn’t admit he had. He could still work those feelings into the overall picture though… it’s all part of Kevin being his beloved champion.

Until the champion started edging him out of his own story and had to be sacrificed. A necessary sacrifice, but losing Kevin struck a huge blow to the mythology Riko built up about himself. He could no longer look in the mirror, side by side, and see Kevin’s glory (and, yes, Kevin’s dad) reflected back as though it belonged to him too.

Despite this Riko finds a way to keep winning, even without his champion. Surely that is even more impressive? Can his father see that?

Still no response. In the story Riko constructs for himself his father does no wrong, so this towering rage he feels has to crash down on someone else. He tells himself he is punishing his troops for daring to be unworthy.

Then there is Jean, someone from a caste so low as to be unclean, even subnormal, someone it would hurt Riko’s prestige to treat with any kind of respect. But Jean is also beautiful, and those feelings can’t be worked into the myth. Their outlet is the darkness behind closed doors, along with all the other feelings that don’t fit the story of the hero.

Harming his people, his intimate possessions, was Riko’s coping mechanism for rejection and humiliation the way self-harm in many forms is to many others. (Are you hearing me if I say hurting yourself is hurting your own Perfect Court, and there is collateral damage even if you think it’s just you, because people love you and suffer because of it? Are you hearing me if I say stop being Riko to yourself?)

And maybe his enjoyment of that cruelty was, deep down, a form of denial that the cruelty arose from anguish. ‘No I’m not upset, I’m not a loser, I’m in control, I’m doing this because I like it…’ Maybe even to the point where rendition becomes sexual.

But it’s starting to unravel. He’s lost his only friend and can no longer unleash his mounting frustrations on Jean the way he wants to; he’s running out of pieces for his board.

Then he finds the fugitive his family were chasing for so long. This is his big chance. He’ll have a brand new champion for his stable or a valuable offering to please his father, he wins either way.

He captures this feral child who tells him there is no empty throne waiting by the side of the emperor, Kengo never mentions his son’s name, Riko is nothing more than a joke in that far-off capital. So much scorn in those words that the carefully constructed mythology withers before it.

First the would-be rook took the queen, then the wild-card knight escapes again, and now the whipping boy / concubine / bishop is taken by a girl with a cross around her neck. The king has lost all his men… because that’s your REAL story, isn’t it: everyone leaves you.

And then… Kengo dies.

Yes, Riko is a Bad Person. No, I do not like him. But Nora gave us two boys who met their brother for the first time, two boys who cried out their brother’s name only to see their hopes shattered. And in that moment they were one, so I cannot dismiss this monstrous, horrible abomination no matter how hard I try.

I can however dismiss anyone who says Nora is not a goddess of writing.

[pikahlua]

Can you expand a bit on why Hawks would want to keep the hero rankings rather than get rid of them? I'm having a hard time understanding why he would do that whatsoever. What "good points" are there that he would want to keep? It always felt like a major source of corruption imo, especially since one of Nagant's jobs with the HPSC was taking out corrupt heroes who found unsavory means to boost their rankings (convincing normal people to do crimes, then arresting them). Appreciate your insight as always <3

Hawks' major criticism of the hero rankings was not the rankings themselves but the popularity component of the rankings.

Saying the "popular" thing, saying the thing everyone wants to hear, isn't heroic; it's cowardly. It's conforming. Hawks is looking for a dependable hero to be a symbol, and such a symbol has to be strong in the face of criticism. They can't capitulate to what's easy and popular, especially when such sentiment stands in contrast to what's needed and righteous.

Hawks goes out of his way to pick Endeavor to mold into a leader because Endeavor has that leadership quality--he's not trying to look good in the public eye in every moment. He's consistent and dependable. He has the highest rate of incidents resolved--even more than All Might. Hawks thinks Endeavor is reassuring, that people will follow his lead.

Of course, the good part about the "popularity" component of the ranking is that it keeps people in check. To give an example, there's this concept in my old line of work called independence, which is divided into two things: actual independence and the appearance of independence. It's important for someone in my old position to be independent in fact BUT ALSO in appearance. If people can't TELL you're independent, how much does it help even if you actually ARE independent? The same thing can apply to heroes in terms of public approval. Yes, heroes need to take public approval ratings with a grain of salt, because sometimes doing the right thing is not the same thing as doing what's popular. However, consistently going against the grain without a thought for helping the public understand you, without regard for social mores or others' feelings, will eventually turn the public against you. It's the issue Katsuki had to deal with as he went through his character arc. If the public doesn't trust you, why would they take your hand when you reach out to save them?

Hawks never really goes into anything like what Nagant mentions, and I don't know if Nagant's commentary on heroes who colluded with villains for fame and glory even was a) directly referring to the hero ranking system or b) something that can be resolved by eliminating hero rankings in the first place. That issue seems like a product of fame chasing, not merely public approval, and people will continue to crave the limelight whether or not there's a ranking system. But if people aren't dependent on heroes being the only heroic ones, such as in this new list of everyday heroes Hawks is considering, the existence of fame-chasing heroes doesn't hurt society as much. People won't be depending on heroes to all be perfect and good, they'll support each other, and so the whole system won't be shaken up by the public image of heroes wavering.

As an aside, there's one other funny thing to me about this idea Hawks has.

Hawks is a young upstart, and the fact that he landed this influential political position is quite a shake-up of the status quo. Japan notoriously likes to have things happen in a certain social order, and young people jumping up the ladder ahead of their elders always makes for an awkward dynamic. I do kinda think Hawks is being considerate by not "doing things a little too fast" and completely destroying the old system, because something that radical is not always palatable to the majority opinion, especially when the person advocating for it is as young as Hawks. Just changing a system this much is already a pretty radical step based on my (limited) understanding of contemporary Japanese politics. And I direct you back to my commentary on how Hawks is building on what the older generations have given the next ones. He's always been a character that sat between the older and newer generations like a bridge, so this seems like a decent compromise.

[nicolesainz]

Hey, really love the writing😍 I was perhaps wondering if it were possible to do a Jenson Button x reader x Fernando Alonso. (Age gap with a young reader like 21years old)

Where the reader is Jenson's girlfriend and Jenson takes her along to a grandprix. After the race while Jenson's busy with interviews the reader walks around the paddock and runs into sweaty, sexy Alonso and he flirts with her FULLY aware that she's Jenson's girlfriend.... And yea some romantic drama perhaps... I fully understand if you're not able to do it though, it was just a suggestion. Thank you for your awesome work❤️

Hands close and teammates closer (JB22 x FA14)

Jenson Button x f!reader x Fernando Alonso

Author's note: Thank you so much for the support, it means the world to me! I am so sorry this too way too long to write. I hope you like it and enjoy it as much as possible.

Also Jenson admitting publicly that Fernando is his man crush, is my new Roman Empire. What do you think? Will Nando go to Mercy along with George for the 2025 season?

Warnings: angst, jealously, possessiveness,

Summary: requested

Monaco has to be one of my favourite circuits on the calendar. And trust me it is not because of the luxury and mamma mia vibes its feeling radiates. What I love, is the fact that I can get lost in the streets of the crown jewel and still be able to guide myself through the lines of the circuits and the fierce sound of engines.

Since this is Jenson's final year in Formula One, I have decided to follow him along in all the races taking place in the calendar, so that this historic season finishes off in a smooth but memorable way. What better feeling than witnessing twenty men in front of your eyes racing hard core in the fastest vehicles on earth and one of them being your boyfriend, right?

With all the eyes being on focused on the two silver arrows that are the championship contenders as well, no one really pays attention to Mclaren's lack of luck this season. Multiple engine failures, pit stop difficulties, strategy errors. It hasn't been the most perfect season the team has had.

Whether it is first, second or even twentieth place, for me, supporting Jenson through thick and thin is my priority. I have witnessed his glory days but that will not stop me from enjoying watching him fight for points in the championship to help the team get back on their feet.

What pleased Jenson even more was when both he and Fernando were into the points after a difficult races. This helped them gain some confidence agains the other midfield teams. Although Jenson wasn't very pleased when Fernando was always following me and him during the race weekend at the paddock. Well, it was mostly me he was following.

Fernando has just gotten out of a long term relationship and seeing his teammate in a happy and healthy one, wasn't boosting his mentality very much. It was the exact opposite. Jenson couldn't really be able to help him given that he hadn't been through such a difficult heartbreak ever.

At first, everything was innocent and friendly. Me and Fernando were casually chatting about our daily lives, his as an F1 driver and mine as an English Professor. Always laughing, making jokes and freely giggling with one another.

Then, when the Spanish Grand Prix arrived and all the drivers were waving at the fans from the paddock and grandstands, everyone was cheering and shouting Fernando's name, given he was the national hero and as he was waving at the audience, he grabbed my waist and held me against his side, as if I was his lady.

That night, Jenson was about to murder his own teammate for the first time. Because the downfall didn't start there. At the Austrian Grand Prix, when Fernando had an unfortunate DNF due to an engine failure, he rushed angrily back to the garage and everyone was trying to console him.

After a few moment, one of the mechanics asked me to go and seek him, given that they were told he wasn't in a position to talk to anyone else but myself, which was very odd.

Austrian Grand Prix flashbacks

"Hey Nando. I am so sorry for the malfunction." I open the door to his driver's room slowly, given that I wasn't aware if he still had his race suit on.

"Come in, Y/N, and thank you. But you know, it's never easy to retire the car after having a good race." Fernando still hadn't looked at me. It is a gutting feeling for a champion to retire so unfortunately.

"I am sure a win is close. One final push and you will be back on the top step of the podium. I have no doubts." I tried to sound as positive as I could, although I knew deep down Mclaren was not capable of winning any race or barely making it to the podium.

"You are the only one who believes in me anymore, y/n. I do not know how to repay you." He got up and took my hands into his, caressing them softly. I really wanted to pull my hands away from his grasp, but instead I made small steps towards the door.

"Jenson believes in you as well, the whole team does. Just do not lose faith in yourself."

"Don't try and give them your credit sweetheart. You are the only one." Before I could react, Fernando landed a kiss on my cheek but I quickly removed my body away from his and walked out of his room.

End of flashback

When I told Jenson, Fernando kissed me he was fuming. Obviously he asked me if I kissed him back, but I denied it. Because I hadn't kissed him, I simply ran away. If there was a hidden camera on Fernando's room I would use it as proof.

At the next race in Hungary, Jenson was still very angry at Fernando that he willingly pushed him off the track and lost 5 places at the beginning of the race, which led to Fernando getting P15 by the end of Lap 1.

Mclaren mechanics were disappointed at Jenson's behaviour. Why would he push his own teammate off the track. Rumors started spreading around the paddock that Jenson was plotting against Fernando and trying to sabotage his races so the team would take into account his bad performances and eventually fire him.

Jenson finished the race in a worthy fourth place, whilst Fernando in P11. Very mixed feelings for the results given that this was the best Fernando could do with a damaged and already underperforming machinery.

Interviewers were flooding Jenson with questions about the first lap incident, what was the actual cause, if he had done it on purpose or it was an accident. All the replied was "I didn't want to lose my position".

As if there wasn't enough drama with Nico and Lewis in the paddock and on the track, now Fernando and Jenson were fueling the media with the answers each were giving to the press.

"I needed to guard my position in order to gain more places"

"I was trying to avoid the cars behind me and eventually fell."

"I did not mean to push Fernando. Clearly driver's error that he went off the track."

"I don't know what Jenson was trying to achieve but he clearly had things going his way today. Pushing off his own teammate. Unbelievable."

"If he thinks I did it on purpose, fine by me, but I know my worth and I am aware of the mistakes I do. First lap incidents occur very often, if he doesn't already know that."

"He is a world champion, like myself. Why is he behaving like we are in go-karts? We should work as a team."

After the interviews, Jenson was called in from McLaren so he could explain himself about the incident and try to save his reputation from getting wrecked because of what he said in the press.

When I walk away from where I left Jenson, I am met with a full blown red, still in his overalls and sweaty Fernando. He is very angry and you can tell from the way his knuckles have gone white.

When he raises his head and looks at me, somehow all the anger that had possessed him, seemed to wash away with a smile covering the pain.

"I am so sorry Fernando, I have no idea why he did so. This all seems ridiculous. I will try to reason him."

"No need cariño. I will take care of him. I know exactly why he is doing so."

What did Fernando knew that I didn't? What was going on, I thought to myself as his eyes were getting shadier and lustier. The use of the pet name made me feel uncomfortable as he was crossing a line that shouldn't have been crossed.

"Why is he doing it then?"

"Because he is clearly jealous. Can't you see it? You are always coming to me in the end."

"I care about you Fernando but not in the way you imagine."

"That is why you let me kiss you the other time in Austria? I know what you are trying to do sweetheart. If you want to be with me just say it."

I was stunned by his statement. From where exactly did he extract this conclusion that I wanted to be with him. I was so disgusted by his saviour. He knew I was Jenson's fiancee. I loved him dearly, so why on earth would I want t be with another man?

I didn't calculate my actions and as Jenson was coming out of the office, my hand instantly landed on Fernando's smirking face. The slap echoed in the room and Jenson's eyes widened enough to pop out from anger.

"I love Jenson so much. There is a reason why I gave up my job to be with him and travel around the world. I will marry this man and I will not allow anyone to interfere in our relationship. I don't know from where you drew the conclusion that I am in love with you, Fernando. I am sorry but you crossed the line."

I ran away from the room and Jenson was following me along, trying to catch up on what was had happened. Tears were storming down my cheeks and I was all flushed up and tensed. If Fernando marked the end to mine and Jenson's relationship I would never forgive him.

"Darling please wait up. What happened?" Jenson's soft voice stopped me on my tracks. I turned around and he was met with a distraught version of myself that he had not met before.

Jenson took me into his arms lovingly, kissing the top of my head, shushing me to calm down, whilst caressing my back gently. I was so shaken by what Fernando had accused me. How could he?

"Talk to me dear. What did he say to you?" His voice was calming me down as he knew I wasn't to blame for what he saw.

"Fernando accused me of hitting on him and wanting to be with him instead of you, which in no way is true." Jenson didn't reply to what I had said. He was silent but tightened his grip on me.

"Say something, anything. I promise to my life that I did not do anything of what he said. Please trust me." I was begging him to utter a single word.

"I am trying not to go back there and chop of his dick. I know you would never do anything to harm our relationship baby. I believe you." He looked deep into my eyes and my heart instantly softened.

"I will stop being in the garage if it means avoiding him at all costs. I will go into the grandstands. I don't mind really." I offered but Jenson instantly rejected it.

"Are you insane? I will simply ask Daniel if he can take you in with him and Max. I trust them blindly, plus you will have much more fun over there." Daniel and Max, the super dynamic duo everyone had been talking about. They are two very funny guys and Jenson has a very good relationship with Daniel.

"I would never want my future wife to not be in the paddock supporting me. I love you immensely and I would hate not having you around, seeing your beautiful face and having someone encouraging me."

"I love you with all my heart Jenson. I am your and only, forever. Thank you for taking care of me. Even in a different garage, I will cheer for you. Even if that means silently so the Red Bull guys don't kick me out."

"Everyone loves me darling, I am sure they won't mind. But don't root very much for Daniel cause he is a womaniser" He winked at me and I laughed with my head hidden inside his chest.

[echobutgirlypop]

me when Lance and Keith’s connections with the blue and red lions gives them a BOND *wink* *wink* that connects to their growth as characters. me when Lance and Keith’s discovery of the blue lion mirror Keith’s parents. me when Keith’s initial closed off persona opened up after meeting Lance and lances initial need to be a great pilot like Keith grew into a talent of supporting his crew (including Keith) and developing a role in which he can support the team without trying to one up someone else’s talent (sharpshooter instead of pilot), which set both of them up for their roles as the leader and his right hand man.

SO. Let’s start at the beginning. Lance, in attempting to find the glory he’s been failing to achieve, directly piggybacks on Keith’s plan in order to save Shiro because he could not come up with a plan of his own. These characterizations allude to the fact that…

1. Lance is incompetent in everything he’s tried up to this point. His dreams of being a legendary fighter pilot are crumbling around him because he simply is not naturally talented in flying planes. Of course, he could practice and work hard to improve, which he does later in the series (which we’ll talk about later), but after he became a cargo pilot, he decided he had nothing to offer. Consequently, he began to put up an overconfident front, really the only thing he excelled in. Confidence. Even though he had achieved fighter class, his overcompensating confidence prevented him from making sound decisions and overall improving as a pilot. Lance doesn’t trust himself to make decisions in a situation as important as saving his hero, so he used Keith’s already established plan to involve himself as a savior of his hero.

2. According to Iverson, the only major authoritative figure in lances life at this point, Lance is only a fighter pilot because Keith, the best pilot, had a discipline issue. Lance knows Keith as an amazing pilot that got him where he wanted to be. While Lance would rather do anything but have to work with Keith to achieve the glory he so desperately desires, he knows that since Keith is not loved by the garrison, so Lance can take more credit for the rescue. In lances mind, he got him where he wanted once, he can do it again.

Later, we learn about Keith’s investigation of the blue lion. He’s been trying to find this thing for ages and you know who magically reveals clues Keith has never been able to access before? LANCE. He enters Keith’s life and changes EVERYTHING. Keith’s search for the blue lion gave him a sense of purpose after losing Shiro and the garrison. Just before Shiro returned he sort of hit rock bottom in terms of that investigation. When lances connection to the blue lion guided the paladins to the blue lion, Lance helped Keith discover something new, something he had never seen before. Keith had been living the past few months or even years without doing anything meaningful or developing any meaningful relationships with people his age or discovering anything new. Lance brought a spark into his life, allowing him to use his talents to explore the stretches of space and help others. Yes, the other paladins were there when they found the blue lion, but no one was as connected as Lance and Keith to each other and the blue lion. Pidge and Shiro were more involved with investigating/informing others about the galra, not the lions. Hunk did absolutely nothing (ironic considering his character was never developed in the show to the extent of the others and was fairly useless to the team, unfortunately - he deserved better). If I remember correctly, it was Allura who said that the connection Keith felt to the blue lion was present in order to bring the paladins together, or rather Lance to his lion. Quite literally, the magical connection from keith and Lance to the blue lion (an exact match to lances personality at the time) helped both of them to discover themselves and live happier lives that ultimately brought the team and sort of the universe together???

When Lance became the paladin of the red lion and keith became the paladin of the black lion, their official roles within the team accurately matched the personalities and unofficial roles that they had finally gained through their character development. Lances early journey centered around learning he didn’t have to be the best pilot in the galaxy, but instead could be a pretty good gunman and a major support pillar for the team emotionally and tactically. The journey mirrored his transition from the “confident and friendly” blue lion to the “instinctual and fiery” red lion. The blue lion, said by the dreamworks team to be the lion most accepting of its pilots, typically paladins who it/she see potential in and intend to nurture towards growth. While the red lions descriptions don’t necessarily match lances personality because the descriptions were written to match Keith, its paladin must earn the respect of the red lion in order to pilot it/her. Once he becomes the paladin of the blue lion, the confidence Lance had been parading about became more rooted in his actual skills as he finds himself useful to the team with his sharpshooting abilities. By the time he takes up the mantle of the red paladin, Lance has matured in personality and skill, allowing him to act on instinct and match the role of Keith’s right hand man (HIS INVISIBLE RIVALRY TURNED INTO ADMIRATION AND LOVE). His acts for the team and universe have proved him worthy to be the red paladin.

Keith’s struggle with accepting his new role as the black paladin was displayed much more overtly in the show. Scared of losing Shiro again and feeling unready to lead a team after a life of isolation and struggle with people, Keith was extremely skeptical about becoming the black paladin. His journey focused on learning to work with as well as lead others and develop meaningful connections with his teammates. While keith piloted the red lion, he didn’t need to work with anyone because of the sheer talent him and his lion exhibited in combat and flight. However, Shiro’s guidance in forming relationships with his teammates helped him to use his strengths to boost the team. When he became the black paladin, keith had to officially adopt the role he had unofficially grown into through the bonds he made with the paladins and the tactical knowledge he used to guide the team. The “unstable” red paladin of the beginning of the show accepted and understood the importance of adopting a major leadership position, despite his own insecurities and fears.

Lance and Keith’s shared connection to the blue and red lions, their connection to shiro, and their willingness to reveal their deepest values and emotions to each other have established them as having one of the most powerfully bonded relationships in the series. Lance and Keith have been through a lot, but despite it all, they have always been devastatingly, meaningfully, and compassionately intertwined, to the deepest internal themes of their characters and storylines.

[purplesoulcollection]

Wait… Are You Envious?

Hi, I'm planning to writing something really hurtfull for Lloyd.

So warning tag : Hurtful comment, lashed out with no reason, slightly ooc, and a lil bit angst to happy again.

Stay tune to see more...

I’m so happy today, Mrs Marbella gives me the recipe that passed down from generation to generation to me. It means she gives me the heads up to marry Lloyd, is my intention being so clear to her?

His father also is so nice and so lovely to his wife. I wonder if Lloyd will be like that, probably… yes? We’re still in the beginning of the relationship.

But don’t be bullheaded first, Lloyd still have his unfinished projects. I don’t even know their progress of their project already done or not yet?

But he already doing so much and he’s still not done yet, are he trying to become a legendary hero?

Puft…

Maybe if he’s someone else, I’ll believe it. But Lloyd… no way. He didn’t have any desire to that glory.

His fortune is the more important to that useless glory.

Of course, his family more important than his fortune for him. I believe it without even needing him to prove it.

So I go to visit him. Like usual he usually lullaby Javier first before he can sleep, so I wait in front of the Javier’s room.

And Lloyd coming out from that room, with the stressed expression.

“What’s wrong, Lloyd? Is there any problem for you?”

“Oh it’s you. Why you are here at night?”

“I visit you, Lloyd. Night time is the moment you’re free from your work, I don’t want to disturb your work.”

“Oh, okay.”

And then we headed to his room, we walk in the silent atmosphere, not like usual chattering.

Why he’s so gloomy. Usually he will be enthusiastic about working hard and thinking about his evil plans which makes Javier and I shake our heads.

This is not like him at all.

Is there something troubling him?

“Lloyd, are you not being enjoys planning something evil for other people today?”

“You! You also got me wrong too, Name!”

HUH

“What are you talking about, Lloyd?”

He grabbed my arm and shake it. “Everyone always say that I’m the worthless one, not enough handsome to being a noble, always scheming people to their end, not marriageable partner, didn’t even recognize me as a human anymore, and only care about money. And you too, Name?”

“N-no, Lloyd, calm down a bit? Are you being drugged right now? We can talk about this carefully.”

He shakes his head and continued his rambled, “I hate to hear that! I’ll always be compared to Javier, just because he was stronger, handsome, shiny, and an expert swordsmaster. And what annoyed me was that I knew that too, so I just tried to laugh it off. But it's so hard to forget.”

And then he cried. With his eyes so visibly hurting.

And here I am being speechless and clueless. Is this what buried inside his mask?

Inside his scheming persona?

So I hugged him, hugged his head from the hurtful comment.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you Lloyd, but I oblivious that you’re being hurtful and jealous. Especially toward Javier. I’m sorry.”

I pat his head. His hair became straight smooth, not like his usual style.

“But I also know, that you are not Javier. You don’t need to be like him, the brightest and the handsomest knight I ever know, Lloyd.”

“You who are obsessed with money and wanted a good life with lazy and rich fortune, want to have a simple family, and always work hard to build the facilities that everyone needs are you, who charm everyone with your irreplaceable charisma.”

“Even if your responsibilities grow bigger every day, you are still passionate about completing them perfectly and making everyone happy. That's the reason why everyone in this village and I love you for who you are."

“Even if your look is slightly dimmed because of the look of Javier and his skill as the expert swordsmaster is irreplaceable to this kingdom. But you’re still his boss. He can never refute your orders because he is a knight loyal to the Frontera.”

“Really, you think so too?”

His face look brighter, it’s a good sign for me.

“Yes!”

“You are really trying to say that I’m better than Javier?”

His face looks like he wants something fishy now. He's like usual again.

“Hmm… who knows?”

“Name…”

And here he is, with his scheming face comes out.

“Wha, someone, help me from this schemer…”

“Not that fast…”

Really Lloyd, maybe you’re not the best man in this world. But your charm and existence makes my world and this world looks better than before.

The End

[lakesbian]

and now for our Checking In With The Dallon Sisters poasting

Panacea shook her head, “Tattletale found a way around my sister’s invincibility. Glory Girl was bitten pretty badly, which is why I didn’t come sooner. I think it hits you harder, psychologically, when you’re pretty much invincible but you get hurt anyways. But we’re okay now. She’s healed but sulking. I- I’m alright. Bump on my head, but I’m okay.”

victoria is demonstrably having a bad time with the previously noted psychological pain of being forcibly reminded that, no matter how hard she tries, she will never be the spotless, invincible, perfect hero she wants to be. the bug bites suck obviously but the "sulking" After being healed is an indicator of where it really hurt--not just physically.

(amy's power reminds me of. do you guys know that one tumblr post about the concept of exploring the horror potential inherent to D&D-esque fantasy healers? like, the horror inherent to being perfectly, magically healed from horrifying injury a hundred times over, and being expected to just get up and keep fighting afterwards, without any regards to how your mental health is doing. that's exactly how amy's power functions: you're made physically better than ever, and expected to get back up and keep being a hero, but you still have the memory of the pain and the lingering psychological aftereffects. but, like, you're fine now, so you just need to get over it and go back to throwing yourself in the line of fire, okay?)

amy is also right off the bat clearly not doing so hot--she's acting very shy and withdrawn and unsure compared to both of her prior appearances. obviously that is due to the horror of some random villain going "btw, remember that you're ontologically an invader into the family you are trying to belong in!" but i think it's probably compounded by the fact that amy is so used to being treated either 1. like she's intrinsically awful/unwanted or 2. like she's only valuable/desirable as a resource by Everyone But Victoria that walking into a room of heroes w/o victoria by her side is always liable to make her insecure and withdrawn.

oh, and the burnout. obviously the severe fucking burnout.

“No, I hated that he would have a normal life, because I’d given up mine.  I was scared that I might intentionally make a mistake.  That I might let myself fuck up the procedure with this kid.  I could have killed him or ruined his life, but it would have eased the pressure.  Lowered expectations, you know?  Maybe it would have even lowered my own expectations for myself.  I… I was just so tired.  So exhausted.  I actually considered, for the briefest moment, abandoning a child to suffer or die.” “That sounds like more than just exhaustion,” Gallant replied, quietly. “Is this how it starts?  Is this the point I start becoming like my father, whoever he was?”

the "every second i rest, someone dies" conundrum would be nightmarish for her even if she had the healthiest social support net on the planet, but her circumstances make it infinitely worse. she's treated by everyone in her "family" but victoria like an invader, and even victoria has unintentionally stressed the importance of using her healing power in the way that the family wants (i.e. to cover up victoria's police brutality) in order to Be A Good Family Member. amy has internalized that being a good dallon is the same as being a good hero, and failing at being a dallon is the same as being overcome by her ontologically criminal roots. so she works herself to the bone, and when she inevitably starts to falter, she views it as an indicator of something intrinsically wrong with her rather than as a sign that her family + society's expectations for her are harmful and unfair.

and dean's advice for her only reinforces this further:

Gallant let out a slow breath, “I could say no, that you’re never going to be like your father. But I’d be lying. Any of us, all of us, we run the risk of finding our own way down that path. I can see the strain you’re experiencing, the stress. I’ve seen people snap because of less. So yeah. It’s possible.”

he suggests that she try to take a break, but only in the service of "so you can heal more people in the long run." he validates the idea that she could go "down that path," as if becoming a villain--becoming A Bad Person--is a risk all heroes have to fight against on an individual level, as opposed to criminality being a result of circumstance and not even inherently immoral. and of course dean thinks that way--he's a millionaire child soldier, his entire life is predicated on individualist thought with ignorance to the ways in which systematic factors impact people. acknowledging that amy is being horrifically mistreated would mean not only acknowledging the flaws in the PRT system, but acknowledging what might lead people to stray from it, and he simply can't do that. it goes counter to every idea that his life is built on.

he never even tells anyone that amy thought about letting a child die, or if he did, it didn't go anywhere. she was desperate for help all along, increasingly ready to explode, and everyone just ignored it. because as she says:

"My sister’s all I’ve got. The only person with no expectations, who knows me as a person. Carol never really wanted me.  Mark is clinically depressed, so as nice as he is, he’s too focused on himself to really be a dad. My aunt and uncle are sweet, but they’ve got their own problems. So it’s just me and Victoria. Has been almost from the beginning."

this is also where we see another more blatant sign of her crush on victoria--it's very ambiguous as to whether dean is interpreting amy's feelings towards him as meaning "wants to date me" or "jealous of me for dating victoria" but i think it's probably the former because there's no way he would keep his mouth shut if it was the latter, lmao. really what this scene is doing is introducing all of the stressors amy is experiencing that, because they're going unaddressed, because everyone else is refusing to address them and she has internalized that's how it should be, are going to boil over horrifically later on. that burnout and fear of accidentally-on-purpose making a mistake will lead to truly being unable to heal victoria later on. that sense of obligation, that if she can't keep healing she's turning into her father, will contribute to her being unable to just walk away from victoria instead of trying to heal her. her crush on victoria--the ultimate example of how her should-be family has ostracized her--will boil over in the impulsive brain alteration & the sexual nature of the wretch's design.

and all of this would've been avoidable if not for, as mentioned in the prior post abt this interlude, the dallons' and the PRT's enforcement of wallpapering over the kid heroes' pain to Keep Up The Show.

[knuckle]

it's so odd to me that it's like a meme that shi qingxuan is an innocent flower who's never done anything wrong when he xuan calls out very explicitly that desiring to cover up for shi wudu and help him amass power despite knowing that he's a ruthless serial killer who committed an extremely grave crime that gave you unearned privileges is wrong and everyone is just like well if your family member is orchestrating murdering people and getting them raped and stealing their livelihood it's fine not to seek justice

He Xuan took pains to bring Shi Qingxuan to his hometown where Scholar He has been turned into a gruesome folk hero. Shi Qingxuan figures out what had happened to Scholar He before losing her powers. They openly see how horrific Scholar He's life was, how his loyal childhood sweetheart, his sweet little sister, and his parents all died and the former two were sold off and raped beforehand. When Xie Lian deduces that Scholar He may be the Reverend of Empty words or have replaced it because he was the only victim that rather than die in despair, died fighting, full of resentment and spirit, Qingxuan said that they couldn't compare to him.

They had fully processed how horrific how thoroughly disgusting what Shi Wudu did especially after losing powers and wanted to live as a mortal. However, even after days (which Qingxuan had time to reflect!) in captivity with Shi Wudu, after being rescued by "Ming Xiong" and Xie Lian, Qingxuan still went back to Shi Wudu the moment he was in trouble, even after "Ming Yi" also tried to stop her and asked her if it was really right, despite knowing it was not, she went ahead and selfishly picked her brother, knowing that assisting him and helping him pass the trial would level him up and give him even more impunity in the heavens.

When He Xuan points out that they had given many chances, Qingxuan is unable to argue because of knowing it's true. Even Xie Lian realizes that as an outsider he should not have interfered after a certain point despite his bias toward Qingxuan. Even Hua Cheng had a strong conviction that He Xuan was justified and had been actively lying to and at times even working against Xie Lian's investigating to support Black Water's quest. The amount of moral wrong that had to be involved for Hua Cheng to pick He Xuan's feelings, even remotely, over Xie Lian's had to be immense.

Every single justification and feeling Shi Qingxuan had, while very human or understandable, was just an excuse to pick Shi Wudu - to protect him even though it was sinful, a lesser version of what Shi Wudu had decided to do for Shi Qingxuan. It's not the same level of wrongdoing, but it is still very wrong. Especially because we all heard from Shi Qingxuan's own mouth how wronged Scholar He was, how disgusting what Shi Wudu did was.

We also have Xie Lian's deduction that Shi Qingxuan was aware Shi Wudu wanted to find another innocent if possible to switch Shi Qingxuan's fate again, which is why she initially wanted to escape. In the end, Shi Qingxuan picked familial ties and love over justice, an inversion of He Xuan's hopes for her, probably especially after seeing the deep indignation the wind master had at Pei Ming trying to help and excuse Pei Xiu, especially after being friends for perhaps hundreds of years. He Xuan too was hoping or perhaps felt a sense of justice themself that they had to give the opportunity - for whatever reason tried to give Shi Qingxuan the chance to pick the weak, dispossessed victims, whose ashes and blood fertilized the fruits of her unearned glory, over the water tyrant. And she didn't. That's why Qingxuan too had to kneel before the urns of the He family.

Also, what is there to pity about how it turned out? Shi Qingxuan has friends, has a crew who love and refer to them as Lao Feng, has been proven in their eyes a bona fide god, has a carefree, if hard life, and even did not end up having their fate switched. With the way they stand above the crowd and have the chance to actually experience hardship and the moral qualities that would aid ascension, I feel it is actually possible to ascend on real merits this time too, as a god of beggars, or a god of mercy. In the end, He Xuan was merciful, did not injure Shi Qingxuan themself, and only took her off the unearned pedestal. They even got the absolution of He Xuan not hating them after the wind master fan scene and will likely continue to have a better and better mortal life. Being physically disabled is actually not the worst thing that can happen to you and Shi Qingxuan seems to be leading a happier life than for example the Xianle trio had for the last 800 years, probably because it is Qingxuan's fate to have a happy life.

[ameliaenya707]

We Cry Together

Chapter three - Random Encounters

It’d been a week. A really shitty week. Your friend had let you crash at her place until you figured out your living situation. So much for ‘forever’. Of course you felt bad just freeloading off your friend, you wanted to pay her somehow so you both decided that while you stayed her temporary roommate that you would do some of the chores. Today was grocery shopping while she was off at her office job, of which she was trying to get you an interview. The air conditioned grocery store was a sweet relief from the heat outside. You had the little list folded up in your pocket and your eyes glanced around as you pushed the shopping cart towards the freezer aisle. And you swore that out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash of red. But you quickly dismissed it as the breakup taking a toll on you. All week whenever you went out you could have sworn you'd seen the familiar tuff of ash blonde hair or the lingering scent of vanilla and lavender that you knew lingered on his work clothes whenever he came home. Of course it wasn't always lavender and vanilla. Sometimes he came home smelling like the ocean. You knew those days that he had probably been patrolling near the water in Fukuoka. God, now was really not the time to be thinking about how your ex smelled, you thought while picking up some frozen meals from the freezers. Dropping them into the cart with a huff before pushing to the next aisle. When you turned into the canned goods aisle to get some soup you froze. There he was, in all his glory. Hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets as his eyes scanned the shelf. He glanced over at you with a smile.

“Dov- sorry…” He paused, sucking in a breath, “Hey, what a coincidence…soup,” He grinned, holding up a can of chicken soup.

“Yeah…soup…”

You both stood there awkwardly for a few moments before he spoke.

“So…shopping?”

“Um, yeah…” you glanced down at your cart before looking back at him. Dressed fully in his hero outfit…he didn't even have a basket or cart…weird. Wait didn't he always order his groceries onl-

“I gotta get going, bye ba- bye!” He was ever so suddenly in a rush, looking half like he might just fly out. His boots squeaked against the floor of the store as he ran out, making a very graceless exit. Your brows raised as your brain tried to process half of…whatever that was. And did he almost call you babe? You could have sworn he did online shopping. He didn't even buy anything, he just left! The breakup must have hit him hard. You felt a little guilty. You didn't think breaking up with him would fry his fucking brain. You sucked in a breath before shrugging and turning to grab your soup. Soup. You tried to stifle a giggle. Failing to do so.

FUCK. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PLAN?! Keigo groaned as he ran his hand through his hair. Elbows resting on the wood surface of his office desk. A shiny nameplate at one edge, res cursive reading ‘Hawks’. He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. Soup? Soup?! He was supposed to play it off if you caught him, not act like a crazy man! You probably thought he took the breakup so bad he started doing crack. In his defense he didn't anticipate getting caught. Sure he'd come close to it a few times. At the autozone. The McDonald's. Well…maybe every time. But what matters was you didn't look mad to see him. Just a little perplexed. You were living with your friend now. Sleeping on the couch with such a peaceful look on your face. He should know, He was there. Not that you'd ever need to know that. No point in worrying your pretty little head. But he needed a game plan. And fast. He needed you back, no matter how he went about it. Everynight he noticed you and your friend would sit on the balcony of her apartment, drinking tea and just talking. Sometimes about him. Then your friend would go inside, but you? You'd linger for a few moments, enjoying the fresh night air. That. That might just be his one opening.

He let out a groan when he realized he still had to deal with the league. Poor thing, you were so worried when that high end nomu attacked him and endeavor. and he was pissed Dabi even pulled that shit. But he had to stay friendly. Pfft, friendly his ass. It seemed like the only way he was going to get anything out of this mission was if he became Dabi's bitch, seeing as he still didn't trust Keigo.

Get you back.

Somehow deal with the league.

Woe really was Keigo.

Other chapters

[toastandjamie]

Gimme minute because this is just me rambling so forgive any weirdness in it

One thing about Mat’s character arc in the books that I just obsess over is this idea of Running From Fate and how people react to it

Mat spends the first four books desperately trying to escape being Ta’veren. Desperately wanting to Not Be Part Of This. And all of the Ta’veren have this exact thought process and yet Mat is the only one to actually be criticized for it, by both the audience and the characters in story; and I genuinely think it’s because Mat is just so upfront about the selfishness of running from fate. Rand and Perrin both also want to escape their individual fates and do things that hurt others in order to try and escape, but both of them have this almost shield from the criticism of it because they still Do What Is Right. And they both actively talk about how they Have To. It’s just what a man does. Duty is heavier than a mountain and death lighter than a feather and so forth. Now Mat as our resident trickster could almost be considered an anti-hero in our modern analysis terms(something the show seems really keen on leaning into) so unlike his friends he doesn’t feel the same obligation to do The Right Thing. At least consciously considering he almost always does the right thing regardless. The difference being that Mat always faces these situations in steps, having to work himself into the conclusion that it’s either actually beneficial to him or that it won’t have any negative effect on him. The big thing for him is his personal safety and enjoyment. And he is very upfront about that, and openly acknowledges the selfishness of his own actions, to the point that he actively ignores his own heroic or unselfish acts because he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he’s just as much of a sucker as his friends are.

Now because Mat is so vocally open in dialogue and internal monologues about his selfish intentions it’s very easy for other characters to dismiss him and criticize him. And some members of the audience who take him at face value will also do the same. Unlike the other Ta’veren who despite feeling the same way Mat does they don’t accept the reality of their desire for freedom from the pattern.

Now as I said Mat only spends the first four books with this attitude because in Book five Mat’s character development hits a major turning point(until it’s reset when Sanderson takes over anyways) and that’s the Melindra and Rhavin incident. Melindra spends a lot of time trying to lure Mat into evil with offers of power and glory, but keeps failing because these are the things Mat is explicitly trying to avoid and escape, though he appreciates the wealth and luxury he is receiving as a consequence. Rand has to really force Mat into agreeing to go fight Sammael and that’s when Melindra turns on Mat and the whole Mat kills his girlfriend thing happens and it’s very traumatic for him. However it’s how he responds to this that is interesting. Mat has been running from fate, and fate has been pushing back H A R D. The consequences of running, of his desperate attempts at escaping or finding work arounds time and time again has resulted in him or others he cares about getting hurt. Whether it’s Rand forcing him to agree to fight Sammael tipping Melindra over to try and kill him, going to the Finn to find answers on how to escape his fate and getting prophecies he doesn’t want and hung on tree with other men’s memories shoved in his head for his trouble, or even taking the Shadar Logoth dagger and keeping it in spite of the warnings because he believed that by stealing it he could outsmart Mordreth’s curse. So what do you do when you’ve run as hard as you can and not only has it been for nothing because you keep ending up in it regardless but you keep getting hurt by trying to fight it? You embrace it. Accept what comes with gritted teeth and hold on for desr life hoping fate doesn’t drown you. You make the best of the situations your in and make use of the tools you’ve been given. Whether it’s embracing his role as a general, helping Rand and lord Bashere make battle plans and training the Band to be the most efficient and deadly army it can be or choosing to get to know the evil future empress of the enemy as a real person because you’re fated to marry her and you want to love the person you marry-or at the very least tolerate her.

You can judge Mat, say he’s cowardly or lacks real convictions. That he’s selfish or ungrateful. However the other characters are just as willing to bend their own moral codes to protect themselves and their loved ones. Mat is simply one of the only ones to openly acknowledge it for what it is and I think that’s what bothers many of the characters in the series- as well as some readers- Mat doesn’t tend to make excuses for his behavior, whether it’s him running away or embracing it, Mat doesn’t make excuses for the consequences fate puts on him. He really is, Just A Guy and No Bloody Hero.

[tashacee]

Mask Wild 💃 for the ask game!

Oooooooh Mask!Wild loves clothes. The prettier and more elaborate the better. Weird, outlandish, dazzling - they all delight him. He's collected more clothes than he knows what to do with, and has every kind of jewellery he could buy in Gerudo, with every kind of stone set into it.

That said, he's too nervous to actually wear most of his clothes. It's not just the more revealing ones like the barbarian set or the tight ones like the rubber set. He owns several beautifully cut doublets, surcoats with the most incredible embroidery, and half a dozen intricate abayas from the gerudo that he just... doesn't wear.

They're so beautiful. He loves them so much. But he's afraid of looking silly in them. He doesn't want to be judged, and hates drawing attention to himself, so he keeps them folded away and only brings them out occasionally to look at and wish he had the courage to wear them.

-

"Hey what's that?" Sky asked, wandering across the camp.

Most of the others were away from camp, fishing or foraging or up to no good (wind and spirit), and Sky and Wild were the only ones left behind. Sky had been sleeping until a few moments ago, and it looked as if Wild had decided to sort through some of the contents of his slate.

Wild jumped at his voice and shied away, hurriedly bundling up whatever it was he had on his lap.

"Nothing." he signed, but Sky was not to be deterred. He saw how his brother's hand lingered on the embroidered fabric, gold thread against pristine green.

He smiled and sat down beside him, careful not to get too close. Much as his brother was settling into the Chain, he still had strict boundaries and Sky didn't want to push him, not now. It was a day for relaxation, after all.

"That's really pretty." he said. "I love embroidered fabrics like that. It reminds me of back home, though we don't usually wear things that nice unless we're going out somewhere special."

Wild's mask dipped for a moment before his hands came up, the signs small and uncertain.

"I've never worn it." he admitted before slowly, reverently spreading it out for Sky to see.

It was a thing of beauty. A tunic made of forest green silk and heavily embroidered with stylised horses and trees in gold thread. Sky looked at Wild first for permission before running a finger over the threadwork, in awe of the garment.

"It's beautiful!" he gasped. "Why haven't you worn it?"

Wild shrugged, retreating in on himself. "Not really my thing."

Sky frowned. "But... you own it? And you were admiring it just now?"

His brother shifted where he sat, uncomfortable. "I'd look silly in it." he said. "People would laugh. It's better i don't."

"It would be pretty hard for them to laugh," Sky said mildly, "With my fist in their face. Wild, you should totally wear it! Legend would be so jealous! And everyone would love it! And you'd love it! I know you like pretty things!"

Wild hummed, not sounding convinced, but he reached out and ran a wistful hand across the tunic.

Sky leaned in. "Go on." he breathed. "At least try it on. For me."

That did it. Wild's eyes flicked up and Sky would swear he was smiling. He nodded.

"Okay." he said and then gestured to Sky to turn around.

Obediently, the Chosen Hero returned to the fire and waited until he heard Wild's soft footsteps approach. He turned, and grinned.

He looked incredible.

The tunic fitted him perfectly, not too tight but clearly well enough tailored that it sat comfortably around his waist and then hung down to his knees. The neckline was a little lower than he normally wore, showing scarred and pitted flesh down to just below his collarbone, and the sleeves cut off halfway down his forearms, but it looked good. Sky didn't find himself looking at Wild's scars, for all that they were more visible. The tunic looked fabulous on him, and that had his whole attention. He'd even swapped out his mask, exchanging his normal blue one for a matching green edged with swirls of painted leaves.

The effect was glorious.

"Wild, you have to wear this more often." he gushed. "You look amazing. The others are going to love it."

Wild bowed his head, shifting from foot to foot. "Really?" he signed.

Sky nodded emphatically, grinning. "Really!"

Wild looked up at him, and once again Sky was certain he was grinning.

"Thank you, Sky."

[markantonys]

today's gawynposting topic is: the "gawyn wants to be a hero" fandom narrative

i think it is complete nonsense to believe he still holds this attitude by the second half of the series, and i will fight brandon sanderson himself on it. we all know that sanderson's characterizations should be taken with a grain of salt at best, and at worst dismissed as inaccurate contradictions of jordan's characterizations, and he simply missed the mark on this aspect of gawyn's character. (in my opinion he struggled with the 3 trakand siblings even more than he did with mat, but that's another topic.) and unfortunately, recency bias makes this the general fandom memory of gawyn, even though it contradicts what we saw of him under jordan's pen.

gawyn's actual arc in this regard is more nuanced. to me, he reads as a representation of a young man who's been fed patriotic idealizations of war ever since he was a kid, and maybe at first he's eager to get a taste of real war, but when he actually does, he's given a brutal and immediate awakening as to the true horrors of war. it is nothing like it was told to him growing up, and he doesn't want anything to do with it anymore, but he's already signed up for it and so he has no choice but to keep going.

and that brutal awakening happens aallll the way back in book 4, the tower coup:

Most frightening to Min, with that blood-masked face and half-glazed eyes, with his body tensed almost to quivering and his hand upflung as if he had forgotten it, he never raised his voice or put any emotion into it. He only sounded tired, more tired than she had ever heard anyone sound in her life.

“If anything happens to them,” he said in that expressionless voice, “to Egwene or my sister, I will find you, wherever you hide, and I will make sure the same happens to you.” Abruptly he stalked a dozen paces away and stood with his arms folded, head down as if he could not bear to look at them any longer.

here min is doing what she does best - completely misinterpreting other people's behavior - but to the observant reader, it's obvious that gawyn hasn't turned into some violent, emotionless psychopath all of a sudden. instead, he's incredibly traumatized by what's happened today and has shut down as a coping mechanism. in fact, his behavior here is very very very similar to trauma behavior rand frequently demonstrates. a later line in this scene even describes gawyn as "brittle, ready to shatter at the wrong blow", aka the same analogy used for rand's whole "hardness vs. strength" arc.

as of today, book FOUR, gawyn no longer has any delusions about battle and heroism and glory. for further evidence, let's take a look at some of his reactions to dumai's wells, this time from his own point of view:

Young, as indeed all the Younglings were—many did not need to shave beyond every third day, and a few still only pretended even that—but Jisao wore the silver tower on his collar, marking him a veteran of the fighting when Siuan Sanche was deposed, and scars beneath his clothes from fighting since. He was one of those who could skip the razor most mornings; his dark eyes belonged to a man thirty years older, though. What did his own eyes look like, Gawyn wondered.

the younglings as a whole are meant to represent young men - boys, really - getting indoctrinated with patriotic ideals to make them eager to join up, and ultimately ending up dead or traumatized beyond repair because of it. these are teenage soldiers being manipulated and used by adults & institutions for their own ends, and yet fandom treats them like they're psychopathic monsters who love to murder their own mentors. jordan literally chose to name them the YOUNGLINGS, guys, like, i think he was trying to say something here.

Once he would have felt regret; he had grown up believing that if two men must fight, the duel should proceed honorably and cleanly. More than half a year of battles and skirmishes had taught him better. He put a foot on the Aiel man’s chest and wrenched his blade free. Ungallant, but fast, and in battle, slow was often dead.

Turning his bay with a sigh, he rode back down to see what the butcher’s bill had been this time. That had been his first real lesson as a soldier. You always had to pay the butcher. He had a feeling there would be bigger bills due soon. The world would forget Dumai’s Wells in what was coming.

in both of these passages, we see very clearly that gawyn has long since lost the idealization of war he grew up with. he is very aware of the true cost of war, and the prospect of future battles fills him with grim resignation rather than eagerness at more chances for Glory. he knows by the ACOS prologue that there is no glory to be found in war, only death. but he keeps on going because he feels trapped out of any other path, and because he feels a responsibility to the younglings and to the white tower.

and so sanderson's TOM passage where gawyn muses about how maybe the reason he hates rand so much is because rand gets to be a hero the way gawyn wants to be - total bullshit. as of the coup and certainly as of dumai's wells, gawyn has been thoroughly disabused of any heroic notions and has no interest at all in being a hero or gaining glory. if we think that incorrectly blaming him for morgase's death isn't a good enough reason for gawyn to hate rand for so long, then i can definitely buy that he hates him because in his mind rand is responsible for overturning the world in a way that caused gawyn all this trauma and loss of innocence and that broke his family apart, but i cannot buy that he's jealous of rand for getting to be the big hero despite being a lowly peasant.

that being said, in AMOL gawyn's characterization is more or less back on track, and his stated reason for going after demandred is because it needs to be done for the good of the last battle and he considers himself someone unimportant who can be risked for the task*. the idea that his motive is Wanting To Be A Hero is a fandom invention caused by that wonky OOC scene in TOM which apparently dictated gawyn's entire characterization forever despite 12 previous books of him not being like that.

*on this note, i came across one more line from his ACOS prologue that broke my heart: the inscription on his spyglass from morgase

“From Morgase, Queen of Andor, to her beloved son, Gawyn. May he be a living sword for his sister and Andor.”

a sword for others' use. that's how gawyn sees himself, because his own mother (along with gareth bryne and many others, i'm sure) taught him to see himself that way ever since he was a child. is it any wonder that gawyn is so self-sacrificial in the last battle without stopping to consider how his death might harm others? a sword is only worth anything if it's useful, and no one mourns it if it gets broken in battle.

of course he knows egwene will be hurt by his death because of the bond, but at the same time, he so deeply thinks of himself as disposable and as a sword meant to protect people who are more important than him that when he is put into a situation where he can sacrifice himself for a chance of saving someone more important (activating the rings which will kill him for a chance of helping egwene escape the sharans; going after demandred for a chance of taking out the person doing the most damage to the light's army without needing to risk more important people in the attempt), he's going to take it. he's a LOT like lan and rand in that way, convinced their duty is to die to protect others, but lan and rand got to unlearn that and live, and gawyn never did. and i am tired of people writing him off as a character meant to embody "cautionary tale of a mediocre white man arrogantly assuming he's more capable than he is" because that is so completely not what his character is actually about, and what his character IS actually about is really fucking sad!

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

I recently saw someone say that ZK should be together because they challenge each other and I was like "When did that happen again?".

The only person that constantly challenges Zuko is Iroh, he was the one trying to steer him to the right direction from the start. The only member of the Gaang that actually tried to do the same is Aang, S1E13 when he asked him if they could be friends in another time. Zuko even remembers that half a year later. Katara didn't give shit about him. She offered to heal him in the S2 finale but it was after she assumed that Zuko had already changed. Zuko doesn't particularly remember that as something that stirred his heart and mind, he only remembers that the water was special.

At this point, they don't even challenge each other to be a better bender. Zuko wants to be better so he can take on Aang and Katara simply wants to learn waterbending so she can fight in the war and help Aang restore balance.

After Zuko joins the Gaang, they have minimal interactions. You could say she challenges him to do better if he wants to earn her forgiveness but I don't think Katara really cared if he earned it or not. After she forgives him, she teased him once and emotionally supported him before he saw Iroh, which is something Katara does constantly to everyone (I can name 5 more instances of that just in book 3) and her healing him after defeating Azula. Zuko on his part never really challenged her. In TSR he only wanted her to forgive him, that's why he takes on that journey and is okay with her doing whatever she wants (even if that means she'll be haunted by the murder forever). Then he also takes her with him to fight Azula which... Isn't challenging her as a person either. Not to mention that between Sokka, Suki and Toph she's the best option.

So yeah... I wrote all of that to ask "When and how exactly do they challenge each other?"

"They challenge each other" is just "Sun/Moon, Fire/Water" 2.0; As someone who likes quite a ton of villain X hero/enemies to lovers ships, the "they challenge each other" thing is one of THE go-to arguments for that kind of ship, even when it makes no fucking sense. Same for "the good guy is the devil, actually."

Them NOT challenging each other in any real way is part of why I could never get into zutara as a ship. Their dynamic really did not exist before he joined the Gaang and was very clearly purely platonic. They were not around for each other during most of their hard moments or critical points in which the narrative pushed them to make difficult choices.

They were not there to pick each other when they were truly down, the most we got was Zuko taking advantage of Katara's trauma to earn quick forgiveness (though he did end up genuinely bonding with her, hence him recognizing that AANG had been right) and two seconds of her comforting him when he sees Azula's breakdown. Katara's true moment of glory is being reunited with her family, while Zuko's is becoming Fire Lord, aka when they're away from each other.

They're in the same friend group, care about each other, and will hang out if they're around the same area. That's it. Nothing anywhere near the level of "We pushed each other to grow and change as people" like Zutarians pretend, because they weren't around for 95% of each other's arcs.