#but more to do with his own perception of himself

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I saw your post and honestly this is my first time making a request. How about arcane characters with a cat like reader? Idk it's just a thought that came (sorry if that's a bit weird)

Dunno whether this answers your request like you imagined. Also probs shit fire time writing for some of these characters.

Viktor found your cat like personality quite interesting and humorous if he wasn’t within the lab, working with things that normally didn’t capture your interest, unless they glowed of course.

Other than that it felt as though you were intentionally acting up in his lab for a reaction, like a cat would gauge the reactions of their owners before pushing a glass off the table. That’s how Viktor often felt with you

Then he has to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t touch anything dangerous because you were captivated by its light.

‘No, it’s dangerous and could hurt you my dear.’ He so often warms you as he guides your hand away when he felt it was dangerously close to what he was working with. Your mind didn’t head his warning, only the fact that there was a shinny object in the laboratory and it was the only thing you could focus on.

‘If so dangerous, why is it shining as though it wants me to touch it then?’ You responded, daring to touch the object once more and Viktor swore you either knew what you were doing and playing him for a fool, or you had no self preservation skills within your entire body to fight back against your urge to touch a dangerous foreign object.

It’s literally a stand still between the two of you and one that happens far too often that Viktor knows that this was all part of your plan, and unfortunately for him he falls for it almost always. He watches you while you watch him before doing something rash, making think you’ve actually touched the dangerous object, only to look at you unamused when you smiled at him mischievously as you wiggled your unharmed fingers at him.

This often leads you to being banned from the lab for pulling a stunt like that, however this was more for your safety and for him to calm his racing heart. You’ll kill this poor man with your antics but he wouldn’t want you any other way, especially when you cuddled up to him for warmth and sleep there.

It soothes him just as much as it soothes you.

Ekko found himself often wondering where it was you went sometimes.

He sees you in once place and then you disappear the next, returning to base only when you felt it necessary of you to do so, illusive and vague of where you’ve been it was often a bit frustrating. You could’ve been in serious danger for all he was aware and when he confronts you about this behaviour of yours, you’d only shrug and say:

‘Where it is a go on my own time isn’t something you should waste time worrying over.’ Before leaving to go elsewhere within the base and lounge against one of the trees thick and sturdy branches, eyes closed in content as you softly drift off into a light nap.

How the fuck you got up there, he’ll never know other than the fact that you managed to get up there in the first place with effortless ease.

Ekko’s nickname for you was either kitty or something along the lines of a cat based pun. You hated all of them equally but Ekko only feels more vindicated when you only proven his perception of you right whenever you displayed a trait that was common amongst cats. Whether that’d be silently judging everyone from your perch way up high, or lounging in his bed, more specifically where he had laid moments prior, feeding off of the warmth that lingered there or otherwise Ekko would find humour in you cat like traits because they were the things he loved the most.

(In a timeline where they actually have phones I can imagine him sending you cat memes and saying ‘this you?’ Or ‘I found your relative’ he thinks he’s funny, and he is but you won’t admit it out of petty pride)

However the one thing that you could always hold over Ekko’s head was the fact that you could silently manoeuvre your way into a room without him knowing and managing to catch him off guard. Ekko didn’t find it particularly funny but he lets up eventually and admits that it was kinda funny that you managed to take him by surprise. This was why you were more suited to missions heavily requiring a person with an abundance of stealth and agility.

‘Always landing on your feet aren’t you?’ He’d tease but you would let it slid as you shrugged your shoulders and reply. ‘What can I say? It kinda comes with the territory don’t you think?’

‘You sure you weren’t a cat in your past life or something?’ She would ask as she raised a brow at you as you cuddled into her side, much like a cat would when in they wanted to leech off is the warmth of a human.

‘No, why you ask?’ You say as you began to close your eyes, her warmth blanketing you almost immediately, and becoming increasingly sleepy.

‘You act like one for starters with how lazy you are.’ She pointed out and you’d only scoff at her, resting your head on her shoulder, having become too comfortable with your current position to even be bothered to move.

‘I’m not lazy, I’m merely taking advantage of the beauty that is power naps.’ You defend yourself and it was Sevika’s turn to scoff, having heard this excuse countless times before, and it never stopped her from continuing to compare your personality to that of a common house cat.

She disliked it at first, finding it weird and annoying at the fact that you didn’t seem all that bothered with the ongoings of Zaun, instead favouring to rest in high places that provided warmth or close to it and watching everyone with clear judgement within your eyes. However that judgment did end up saving her from time to time, not that she’d ever admit to this, as she was confident in her own abilities to smell a bitch from a mile away.

Though the more as time passed she grew to find it somewhat easier to deal with, though you cuddling up to her for warmth did put her off now and then, affection wasn’t commonplace in Zaun; so forgive her for not exactly taking to it immediately. Though each time you did cuddle into her side, her urge to create distance between you dwindled, from Perivale shoving you away from her, to slowly accepting that this was her life now.

‘Sure, that’s a hell of a way to avoid saying that you’re lazy.’ Sevika smirks when you glared at her, clearly insulted by this, before moving off of her to go rest elsewhere on the bed you shared and making sure your back was towards her in an effort to show your disagreement with her statement. ‘Not. Lazy. I just like napping.’ You retorted.

‘Yeah, sure keep telling yourself that, I’m sure it’ll be true one day.’ Sevika jokes and your shoulders only deflate more, knowing you’ll never win this war with Sevika when her mind is made up. She’s always in the right in most cases.

Mel is all too familiar with your cat like traits that nothing you do is out of the ordinary to her.

She finds humour and amusement in you participating in things commonly associated with felines. A human cat is what you were in her eyes as you slept the easiest you’ve ever slept when besides her, her presence was calming and was more then enough to have you reduced to a relaxed state before succumbing to sleep.

She just had that effect on you and you loved it as much as she does as she got to run her hand down your back.

‘You’re practically purring.’ She teases.

‘It’s not my fault you know exactly what makes me melt.’ You replied as you smiled up at her, never having gotten use to having this absolute goddess of a woman bless you with her smile, her heart, her everything.

Mel smiles softly. ‘You don’t exactly made it much of a challenge.’ She says as she watched the way you practically leaned in towards her touch, eyes closed in content with a smile spread across your face that she swore your nonexistent tail would be swishing from side to side. She has been in this position countless times before and yet it never gets old with how content she felt when moments like these between you and her freely exist within her mind.

You don’t exactly make it hard for her not to love you like she did, it came to you as easy a breathing as that’s how quick you were to fall for her, almost as if it was as though you were breathing; Easy, effortlessly and natural.

‘How can I when you read me so effortlessly and without fail?’ You replied back in almost a purr, a mischievous smile spread wide across your lips, ‘I shouldn’t need to hide myself from my lovers eyes, for she knows me all too well.’ You add. Another thing Mel adored was your cunning but cautious mind and the way you seemed oddly too relaxed for some, watching those very same individuals like they were merely mouses that squeaked about their freedom; like you were being amused by rather was being said in meetings as though you knew something they didn’t.

You were like the Cheshire Cat, often times speaking in riddles that only she herself understands.

Mel kisses the tip of your nose. ‘You smile like the cat that caught the canary,’ she says as she pulls away. ‘Learning more about you is more interesting and intriguing than the last.’

‘Then I hope I stay that way for a long while.’ You said, smirking when you felt her kiss your lips.

[animeyanderelover]

Dear lord above, I at least want to write something today but with the little energy I have I do not want to publish something that was requested and write it with less motivation so just have those quick Hc's.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, blackmailing, threats, violence, disrespect, overprotective behavior, abduction, death

Tags: @lovley-valentine7

Fushiguro Toji Hc's

🪱​Toji for me is very interesting to view because he has been pushed to a point beyond return and he himself has embraced this fact already years ago. He just doesn't care about anything anymore. His wife was his only hope but even that has been taken away from him and with her death any chance for him to ever be a decent man has passed away too. For Toji you are no saving grace. How could you be when what he is feeling for you is so much more twisted than what he was feeling for his dead wife? As irresponsible and neglectful of other lovers and even his own child he is, Toji is actually very perceptive of his own emotions as soon as he realises that there is something brooding within him. His wife made him want to change and be a better person for her. That simply isn't the case with you. When Toji looks at you he only feels that primal desire to keep you to himself and to murder anyone who even attempts to get in his way. With no morals he feels like he has to uphold back and with nothing to lose either he willingly walks into the hurricane of his growing obsession. He wants it that way. Because whether he is going to admit it or not, those feelings make him feel alive.

🪱​Unashamed and direct, Toji is everything but subtle to express that he wants you. From the very first day he is suffocatingly possessive of you and aggressive and rude about it. He easily tracks you down via your odor as his experience of being an assassin really are more than just useful and overall just frightful for you. Honestly, he doesn't plan to woo you. He just wants you to be his and he doesn't expect to care about what you think. Initially that is indeed the case. That is until he discovers that underneath all that possessive greed other feelings for you start budding. Tender feelings which remind him of the emotions he had for his previous wife. He does care after all. Subtle changes happen only then but only when it involves you. He still continues his job of assassinating people as long as it earns him his money and he still doesn't give a shit about people overall. He doesn't have the capacity to do that. The only one spared from the blatant disrespect and rudeness he expresses to his surroundings is you. It's all he finds himself capable of. Better for only you, still the same asshole and ruthless murderer to everyone else. That should be more than enough for him.

🪱​Jealousy is not a word that Toji would use to ever describe himself. It isn't a word that you would use to describe him with either. Overly possessive is a description much more fitting for a man like him and it is indeed his raging possessive emotions for you that reign predominantly whenever he catches sight of someone else with you. However, he is no grown manchild who barges in the moment he spots such a sight as long as the interaction has a practical function like you buying something and asking for advice or taking care of other business. What Toji hates though is idle chatter with no bigger meaning behind it all and that is when he always interrupts the conversations and pushes you away. His enhanced senses give him the advantage of being able to tell when there is a case of someone liking you a bit too much and then everything is over. No matter what you do, the other individual always gets hurt and the best thing you manage to do is have Toji tone down his violent response to the point where no bones are broken and only a few large and throbbing bruises serve as a reminder for the next few weeks. It's no surprise that you never see the face of such people ever again.

🪱​Toji has confessed to you what he is doing to earn his money as he doesn't even bother to paint himself as the good guy. This is just who he is and how he does things and it only leads to you fretting from a very early stage on for everyone. He's made it clear to you that he is not going to ever murder you but everyone else is a free game and it is this fear that Toji uses to keep you on a leash if he senses that you have rebellious thoughts. He has absolutely no problems assassinating whoever is a thorn in his eyes but that doesn't mean that he brags about it in front of you. There seems to be some semblance of decency that he relearns as soon as he starts living with you and this is one of them. It's such a casual routine for him that it might even happen that he brutally taunts someone, swiftly ends their pathetic life afterwards and then brings some takeout back home for you and him. Still, if someone from your surroundings suddenly disappears you always know whose doing it is. He never confirms it verbally to you but sometimes his green eyes give you that look that have you quickly shut up. You've learned to know what it means. 'Careful now or someone else will be next.'

🪱​You're already stuck in a relationship with him long before he has abducted you but at that point you already know that this outcome is inevitable. However, despite all the shit you have grown through at that point already you still manage to be mildly flabbergasted when he one day drags you to the place the two of you will live in together from now on. It's a decently sized apartment and whilst the kitchen has already been littered with cups of instant ramen it is much cleaner than you expected. You find out soon after that this place has actually only been recently purchased by him and that's how you find out that he's basically been living in the houses of other woman or hotel rooms before he met you. He's literally telling you that he's been homeless before he decided to live together with you, realising that you shouldn't have to adapt to his previous lifestyle. He doesn't expect you to act like a housewife and keep the apartment clean though. By all means, you can litter too if you want to as he is used to living shitty. You do abide by some basic expectations you have yourself though as you do not want to live like a racoon in a trash can and Toji lets you do as you want.

🪱​After years of not having looked properly out for his own hygiene Toji actually finds himself caring about such aspects again but only because it is very obvious that it bothers you. He's never really minded that he smells like sweat, blood and fast food but you do, especially whenever he gives you a bear hug. He very much forces physical affection on you as he has only ever promised to draw the line at physically harming you. Honestly, you do realise from an early point on that Toji lives in a different world than you do and that you wouldn't be able to escape and run away from him even if you had the opportunity. There's no way for you to escape someone with senses as enhanced as his and immense physical abilities that easily outperform top athletes. So as strange and frightening as it is, you try to adjust to a life with him even if only to protect family and friends who are very much a green light for him to threaten and end if you do something stupid. You're actually allowed to go outside as soon as he knows that you have learned how things work but you aren't allowed to interact more than necessary and if you just want to go outside to have fun he always accompanies you.

[whathorselegs]

I don't think Chuuya would ever be jealous of Dazai finding a new partner in Kunikida. However, I do think at first, he'd be resentful he was 'replaced' by someone as boring as an uptight pencil pushing nerd. If Dazai was going to find himself a new partner, he could have at least put the effort into finding someone with flair, with gravitas.

That is, until he actually finds out more about Kunikida. What a good martial artist he is. Kunikida might not live for the fight like Chuuya does, but he's down to get his hands dirty in fight and Chuuya admires that.

How loyalty to his own and protecting his friends is so important to Kunikida that he's willing to put his life on the line to keep others safe.

That Kunikida's sense of justice comes his own experiences and morals and it's not just what society tells him they should be.

Okay, yeah, Kunikida's still kind of a nerd, but he's efficient, perceptive, a quick thinker, he puts that academic nonsense Chuuya doesn't really care for to use out on the field.

And Kunikida can be pretty terrifying when he wants to be. Chuuya physically shuddered when he heard what Kunikida pulled to defeat Akutagawa. Both from his own awful memories of being electrocuted, but also a strange thrill, an excitement at the idea of going to toe to toe with someone so resourceful in a fight he's physically outmatched in.

And the resentment changes into admiration. In fact, Chuuya's starting to think Dazai doesn't deserve such a partner.

The next time the mafia and agency work together, Chuuya starts paying more attention to Kunikida than he is to Dazai.

Kunikida is oblivious, after all, he doesn't really know Chuuya. He's just happy to find a person from the mafia so cooperative for once. It's making the case go much more smoothly. He doesn't realise it's because Chuuya's actively trying to impress him.

And Dazai comes to the horrifying realization that Chuuya shamelessly is trying to poach his partner from him. Right in front of his eyes. Well, he can't have that, he will not be out done by Chuuya.

[novaursa]

Legacy (dragon in the garden)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Once more, be aware of time jumps and how canon events and the timeline don't match the plot of the story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the dawn

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The memory came to Tywin Lannister unbidden, like a faint whisper carried on the wind as he rode through Highgarden’s fragrant gardens. The sights and scents of the Reach stirred something deep within him, a reminder of another time, long before the crown’s descent into chaos and ruin.

It was a warm day, the kind that Highgarden seemed to conjure effortlessly. The castle was alive with color, the gardens bursting with blooms of every hue. Tywin had ridden at the head of King Aerys II’s grand procession, the gold of House Lannister glittering beside the red and black banners of the Targaryens. At the time, Tywin had still been the Hand of the King, and though his duties weighed heavily on him, there was a quiet pride in his station.

He remembered the moment he first saw her during that visit. She was only a girl then, with her silver-gold hair glinting in the sunlight like threads of moonlight. She moved with an elegance beyond her years, a natural grace that captivated everyone who saw her. Lords and ladies alike were drawn to her like moths to a flame.

Tywin had stood on a shaded terrace, observing the gathering below. King Aerys, resplendent in his black and red robes, sat on a dais, his expression a mask of smug satisfaction as his courtiers fawned over him. Beside him stood his daughter, the Princess Y/N, who charmed the assembled lords with her sharp wit and radiant smile.

Tywin’s memory sharpened, focusing on a specific moment. Lord Mace Tyrell, younger and more eager then, had approached the princess with a bouquet of roses, his cheeks flushed with youthful enthusiasm.

“For you, Princess,” Mace had said, bowing deeply as he presented the flowers. “The most beautiful roses in all the Reach, for the most beautiful lady in the realm.”

Tywin had watched as the princess accepted the gesture with a polite smile, though there was a flicker of amusement in her violet eyes. “Thank you, Lord Tyrell,” she said graciously. “The roses are lovely, but I suspect the gardeners deserve more credit than you.”

The gathered nobles had laughed politely, and Mace had flushed even deeper, stammering a reply that Tywin couldn’t recall. What he did remember, however, was the way her gaze had briefly lifted to meet his own, her smile faltering for the briefest of moments. It was as though she had sensed his presence, even from across the crowd.

Later that evening, during the banquet held in Highgarden’s great hall, Tywin had found himself seated near her. Aerys, in one of his rare moments of lucidity, had boasted of his daughter’s intelligence and charm, praising her as the jewel of House Targaryen. Tywin had offered a measured response, careful not to provoke the king’s volatile temper.

“You must be very proud, Your Grace,” Tywin had said. “The princess embodies the strength and beauty of her house.”

Aerys had preened at the compliment, though his attention quickly shifted elsewhere. The princess, however, had glanced at Tywin, her expression thoughtful.

“You flatter me, Lord Lannister,” she had said softly, her voice steady and composed. “But I suspect you do not offer such praise lightly.”

Tywin had inclined his head, acknowledging her perceptiveness. “No, I do not,” he had replied simply.

The memory shifted again, to a quieter moment in the gardens the next day. He had found her there, surrounded by a cluster of children from noble houses, all vying for her attention. When she saw him, she had risen gracefully and dismissed the others with a kind word, leaving them to scamper off among the flowers.

“Lord Hand,” she had greeted him, her tone polite but curious. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I came to see the gardens,” Tywin had replied, though they both knew it was a lie. He had no interest in flowers or idle strolls. He had wanted to see her, to understand the unique blend of strength and warmth that set her apart from the rest of her family.

“You don’t strike me as a man who enjoys gardens,” she had said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “They require patience.”

Tywin had allowed a rare smile of his own, though it was brief. “Patience is not a virtue I cultivate easily,” he had admitted. “But even I can recognize beauty when I see it.”

The memory faded as Tywin’s horse came to a stop before Highgarden’s grand gates. He blinked, the present rushing back to him with the murmur of his guards and the rustling of banners in the wind. His gaze shifted to the carriage behind him, where she now sat with their son, a living testament to the choices and sacrifices that had brought them here.

Highgarden had been the site of many memories, but this visit was different. It was no longer about the past or the ambitions of a mad king. Now, it was about legacy—his legacy. And for the first time in years, Tywin felt a flicker of something unfamiliar: hope.

Mace Tyrell rode alongside Tywin at the head of the procession, his green and gold attire vibrant in the sunlight. He gestured animatedly as he spoke, his voice carrying over the steady clatter of hooves. Tywin, as always, remained composed, offering only curt nods and the occasional word in response to Mace’s enthusiastic chatter. Beside them, Ser Barristan rode in quiet vigilance, his sharp eyes scanning the path ahead.

Behind them, the carriage carrying you, Damon, and Lady Olenna followed. The crowds lining the road murmured in anticipation, their curiosity piqued by the sight of the Lannister-Targaryen union and the young heir.

Inside the carriage, you adjusted Damon in your arms, his tiny hands reaching for the folds of your gown. He gurgled softly, oblivious to the spectacle outside. Olenna, seated across from you, smirked as she peered out the window. “The Reach loves a good show,” she remarked dryly. “And this one promises to be quite the spectacle.”

You glanced out the window, your expression composed despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. The sight of so many eyes fixed on the carriage was both unsettling and humbling. “Let them look,” you said softly. “If they wish to see a Targaryen, they may.”

The carriage rolled to a stop, and moments later, a footman opened the door. Tywin dismounted from his horse, his movements precise as he stepped forward to offer you his hand. Taking it, you descended gracefully, holding Damon close to your chest. The whispers among the crowd grew louder at the sight of you, their admiration and curiosity palpable.

Mace stepped forward, his arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. “Lord Tywin! Lady Y/N! What an honor it is to have you here in Highgarden!” His gaze flickered briefly to Damon, and his smile widened. “And the young heir to Casterly Rock—what a fine boy!”

“Lord Tyrell,” Tywin said, his voice steady and polite as he inclined his head. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”

Mace’s attention shifted to you, his expression one of exaggerated delight. “My lady, you grace Highgarden with your presence. Truly, it is a sight to behold—a Targaryen among us!”

You inclined your head gracefully, a faint smile on your lips. “Highgarden is as beautiful as I have always heard, Lord Tyrell. It is an honor to be your guest.”

Olenna descended from the carriage next, her sharp gaze taking in the scene with thinly veiled amusement. “Mace, don’t stand there gawking like a fool. Let the lady and her child breathe.”

Mace chuckled nervously but stepped aside, gesturing toward the entrance. “Of course, of course! Please, come inside. The finest rooms have been prepared for your stay.”

As you walked beside Tywin, Damon nestled securely in your arms, you couldn’t help but notice the way the crowd’s eyes followed you. Murmurs of admiration and curiosity rippled through them, their gazes lingering on Damon’s silver-gold hair and violet eyes. You caught snippets of their whispers—"A true dragon,” “How beautiful,” “Lannister and Targaryen blood united.”

Once inside the grand hall, Mace continued to prattle about the preparations made in your honor. “We’ve spared no expense! The feast tonight will be one to remember. And the gardens, my lady—you simply must see them. They are in full bloom.”

You nodded politely, though your attention was divided between Mace’s words and the quiet exchange of glances between Tywin and Olenna. Both were masters of subtlety, their unspoken calculations nearly palpable as they sized up one another.

As you reached the rooms prepared for you, Mace gestured grandly. “Here we are! I trust you’ll find everything to your liking.”

Tywin offered a curt nod. “Thank you, Lord Tyrell.”

Mace lingered for a moment longer, as if hoping for further praise, but Olenna’s pointed clearing of her throat sent him scurrying off to oversee the feast preparations. Once the door closed behind him, you turned to Tywin, your expression unreadable.

“They are eager to please,” you remarked softly, adjusting Damon as he began to fuss.

“They’re eager to gain favor,” Tywin replied, his voice cool. “Do not mistake hospitality for selflessness.”

Olenna chuckled, settling into a nearby chair. “Oh, Tywin, you’re as charming as ever. But he’s right, my dear,” she said, looking at you. “Highgarden is a lovely cage, but a cage nonetheless.”

You met Olenna’s gaze and then Tywin’s, your resolve firm. “Perhaps. But even a cage can offer opportunities.”

Tywin studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been planning something.”

You didn’t deny it, offering only a faint smile. “I will let you know when the time is right.”

As the evening approached, the promise of a feast loomed large, but your thoughts lingered on the whispers of High Heart and the call that refused to be ignored. Highgarden was only the beginning, and you were determined to uncover the truths that awaited you.

The room assigned to you in Highgarden was as opulent as one would expect from the seat of House Tyrell. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries depicting scenes of bountiful harvests and the famed roses of the Reach, while the windows offered a stunning view of the lush gardens below. The scent of blooming flowers drifted in through the open window, mingling with the faint sound of birdsong.

You sat on a plush chaise near the window, Damon cradled in your arms. The boy was content, his hair catching the late afternoon sunlight as he cooed and gurgled softly. Tywin stood nearby, his gaze distant as he surveyed the room. He had removed his armor and donned simpler, yet still impeccably tailored, attire, the weight of command momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

“It hasn’t changed much,” he said after a long silence, his voice carrying a rare softness. He stepped closer, his sharp green eyes meeting yours briefly before flicking to the gardens beyond the window. “Highgarden looks as it did the last time we were here.”

You looked up, curious. “The last time?”

He nodded, a faint shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It was many years ago, during the height of your father’s reign. I accompanied him on a royal progress to the Reach. You were there, a young princess, adored by everyone.”

You tilted your head slightly, surprised by the memory. “I barely recall ever visiting Highgarden with my father.”

Tywin’s expression shifted, a touch of amusement glinting in his eyes. “That’s because you spent most of your time in the gardens, surrounded by admirers. Lord Mace was barely more than a boy himself then, but he and his sisters followed you around like devoted attendants.”

A small laugh escaped you, the image vivid despite your lack of recollection. “I can imagine. Mace still carries that same eagerness, though now he directs it toward his endless attempts to curry favor.”

Tywin’s gaze softened further as he continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “You were the centerpiece of every gathering. Even your father seemed proud in those moments, though he scarcely showed it. The lords and ladies were enamored with you, charmed by your wit and grace. I remember thinking then…” He paused, his words trailing off.

“What did you think?” you prompted gently, your eyes searching his face.

He met your gaze, the weight of unspoken thoughts evident in his expression. “I thought that your father did not deserve you as a daughter. That you were too bright, too capable to be overshadowed by his madness.”

The sincerity in his words left you momentarily speechless. Damon squirmed in your arms, breaking the silence, and you smiled down at him before replying. “I never knew you thought that way. Back then, I was just a girl, oblivious to much of what was happening around me.”

“You were a girl,” Tywin acknowledged. “But even then, you carried yourself with a dignity far beyond your years. It was why the lords adored you—and why your father sought to keep you close.”

You looked away, the bittersweet memories of your father stirring uneasily within you. “He kept me close because I was useful to him,” you said quietly. “A tool to be married off, just like Rhaegar.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. “You were no tool. Not to me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with implications. You met his gaze once more, searching for the deeper meaning behind them. “And yet, here we are,” you said softly. “Bound by necessity, much like those days.”

Tywin stepped closer, his hand resting on the back of the chaise. “Necessity, perhaps,” he said, his voice low, “but not without purpose. What we have built is more than circumstance. It is strength, and it is enduring.”

Damon let out a soft coo, his tiny hand reaching upward. Tywin’s expression shifted slightly, the faintest trace of warmth softening his features as he leaned down to brush his fingers over the boy’s hair. “He is proof of that.”

You smiled faintly, watching as Damon’s small hand grasped Tywin’s finger. “He is our future,” you agreed, your voice steady. “And I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

“As will I,” Tywin said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

For a moment, the three of you remained in quiet companionship, the past blending seamlessly with the present. Highgarden’s beauty and the memories it evoked were undeniable, but the strength of your family, forged in the fires of adversity, was what truly grounded you.

Tywin straightened, his commanding presence reasserting itself. “Rest while you can. The feast tonight will demand much of your energy.”

You inclined your head, watching as he moved toward the door. Before he left, he glanced back, his expression unreadable. “The lords of the Reach may admire roses,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, “but even they know the value of a dragon.”

As the door closed behind him, you looked down at Damon, his eyes staring up at you with innocent curiosity. The weight of Tywin’s words settled over you, a reminder of your purpose and the strength you would need to navigate the challenges ahead.

The gardens of Highgarden were a masterpiece of design and nature, a testament to the wealth and refinement of House Tyrell. Lush greenery stretched as far as the eye could see, interspersed with vibrant flowers in every hue imaginable. Fountains burbled softly, and the air was rich with the scent of roses and lavender.

You sat beneath the shade of a sprawling oak, Damon cradled in your arms the next day. His tiny hands reaching for the petals of a rose you held just out of his grasp. His silver-gold hair gleamed in the dappled sunlight, and his violet eyes, flecked with pale green, seemed to captivate everyone who looked at him.

Lady Olenna Tyrell sat beside you, her sharp gaze surveying the small crowd of noblewomen who had gathered nearby. They hovered at a respectful distance, their murmurs and admiring glances directed at Damon.

“He’s a handsome boy,” one of the ladies said softly, her voice carrying just enough for you to hear. “A true Targaryen, isn’t he?”

“And a Lannister,” another added, her tone tinged with awe. “Such a combination… it’s no wonder he’s destined for greatness.”

Olenna smirked, leaning slightly on her walking stick as she addressed you. “It seems your son is already causing a stir, my dear. Not that I’m surprised.”

You adjusted Damon in your arms, your gaze sweeping over the ladies before returning to Olenna. “It’s as you said—symbols and pawns. They see him as both.”

“They see him as a future king,” Olenna corrected, her voice low and pointed. “Even if that’s not what your husband has in mind. The boy’s blood is enough to set tongues wagging from here to King’s Landing.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your focus shifting to Damon, who was now giggling at the rose in your hand. His laughter was light and innocent, a stark contrast to the weight of the expectations already being placed upon him.

One of the braver ladies stepped forward, curtseying deeply before addressing you. “My lady, your son is truly a wonder. May we approach to offer our congratulations?”

You inclined your head gracefully, your expression composed. “Of course.”

The small group of women moved closer, their eyes fixed on Damon with a mixture of admiration and reverence. One of them, a young lady with dark hair, smiled as she spoke. “He has the look of both his houses. The strength of the lion and the beauty of the dragon.”

Olenna chuckled softly, her sharp wit laced with amusement. “A fine compliment, though I doubt the boy is concerned with such things. He’s more interested in that rose, it seems.”

The ladies laughed politely, their attention still on Damon as he cooed and reached for the flower again. You allowed yourself a small smile, though your mind remained guarded.

Another lady, older and more forthright, leaned in slightly. “My lady, may I ask… does Lord Tywin often dote upon the boy? It is rare to see him so taken with anyone, even his own blood.”

Olenna raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by the question. You glanced at her briefly before replying. “Lord Tywin values legacy above all else. Damon represents that legacy, as well as the unity of our houses. He is proud, as any father would be.”

“And you, my lady?” the older woman pressed. “Are you content?”

Before you could respond, Olenna intervened with a sly smile. “Contentment is a luxury few of us can afford, wouldn’t you agree?”

The ladies chuckled nervously, unsure how to interpret Olenna’s remark. You took the opportunity to shift the conversation, your tone calm but firm. “I am fortunate to have a healthy son and a husband who values family. That is enough for me.”

The group murmured their agreement, though you could sense their curiosity lingered. Damon squirmed in your arms, drawing your attention back to him. His tiny hand brushed against the rose, and you finally relented, letting him grasp it carefully.

Olenna watched the scene with a softening expression, though her sharp tongue wasn’t far behind. “If only the rest of us could quiet a crowd with a single smile,” she said dryly. “You and your son have quite the effect on people.”

You looked at her, your lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve been surrounded by admirers in a garden.”

Olenna chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Touché, my dear. Touché.”

The ladies eventually drifted away, leaving you and Olenna in relative peace. Damon, still clutching the rose, began to drift off to sleep in your arms. The sight of his tiny form, so vulnerable and full of promise, filled you with a fierce determination.

“He’s the future, you know,” Olenna said quietly, her tone unusually gentle. “Not just for your house, but for all of us. Make sure he’s ready.”

“I will,” you replied, your voice steady. “No matter what it takes.”

Olenna nodded, satisfied.

The forest was quiet except for the rustling of leaves and the crackling of the small fire at the center of their camp. Arya Stark sat cross-legged on the ground, sharpening Needle with slow, deliberate strokes. The Brotherhood Without Banners moved about the clearing, preparing for the night. Hot Pie was stirring a pot of stew, its savory scent wafting through the crisp evening air, while Gendry was busy repairing a dent in his helm.

The chatter among the men was subdued until one of them, Tom of Sevenstreams, leaned closer to the fire, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. “Have you heard the latest from the Reach? Highgarden’s been bustling with nobles, all of them clamoring for a glimpse of the dragon babe.”

Arya’s hand froze mid-stroke. Her sharp gray eyes flicked to Tom, her heart skipping a beat. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral as she asked, “What dragon babe?”

Tom glanced at her, surprised by her sudden interest. “The Targaryen princess,” he said, as though it were common knowledge. “Or should I say, Lady Lannister now. She’s Tywin’s wife, isn’t she? Gave him a son not long ago—silver hair, violet eyes, the whole dragon’s brood look.”

Gendry looked up from his work, frowning. “A Targaryen? Married to Tywin Lannister? That’s mad.”

“Mad, maybe,” Tom said with a shrug, “but true. They say the boy’s got both lion and dragon in him. The nobles are calling him the future of the realm.”

Arya’s grip tightened on Needle. Her chest felt tight, her mind racing as memories of the reader flooded her thoughts. The woman who had been like a second mother to her, who had taught her to wield a needle of a different kind, who had comforted her during her worst moments in Winterfell—and later, the woman she had tried to save at Harrenhal, only to watch Tywin take her to King’s Landing.

Hot Pie, oblivious to Arya’s inner turmoil, ladled some stew into a wooden bowl and handed it to Gendry. “Didn’t think dragons and lions could make a cub together,” he said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Gendry smirked. “Guess they can now.”

Tom continued, his tone conspiratorial. “They say she’s still as regal as ever, even with all that’s happened. And Tywin—well, he dotes on her, or so the rumors go. But the boy, now he’s the real talk of the realm. The lords and ladies are already whispering about alliances.”

Arya couldn’t stay silent any longer. “What else have you heard about her?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Tom raised an eyebrow at her intensity. “Not much beyond that. She’s at Highgarden now, with Tywin and the boy. They say she keeps to herself, but when she does speak, people listen. Why? You know her or something?”

Gendry glanced at Arya curiously, noting the way her jaw tightened and her eyes darted back to her blade. “The lady from Harrenhal.”

Arya hesitated, then nodded. “She lived in Winterfell,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with emotion she couldn’t quite suppress. “She’s… like family.”

Hot Pie’s spoon froze mid-air, stew dripping back into the pot. “Wait, you’re saying there is more to that Targaryen lady. Like, you know her know her?.”

Arya glared at him. “She’s not just a Targaryen. She’s a Stark, too. She raised Jon, taught me and Sansa things… She was there when my brothers were born. She’s family. I’ve told you that already.”

Hot Pie blinked, trying to process the information once more. “That’s why you were so worked up at Harrenhal, wasn’t it? When Tywin took her?”

Arya’s expression darkened. “Yes,” she said simply. “I tried to save her. I thought I could get her out before they took her to King’s Landing, but Tywin had too many guards, and she…” Her voice trailed off, the frustration of that memory still fresh in her mind.

Gendry frowned, his brows furrowing. “And now she’s married to Tywin Lannister,” he said softly. “That must be… hard to hear.”

Arya’s grip on Needle tightened until her knuckles turned white. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, though her voice trembled slightly. “She’s doing what she has to, just like all of us.”

Tom, sensing the tension, shifted uncomfortably. “Well, from what I’ve heard, she’s doing all right for herself. She’s protected, and her son—”

“She doesn’t need Tywin to protect her,” Arya snapped, cutting him off. “She’s stronger than any of them.”

Hot Pie cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, maybe she’ll get away, like you did. Maybe she’ll come back to us.”

Arya didn’t answer. She stared into the fire, her mind racing with possibilities. She thought of Y/N, of Damon, of the tangled web of alliances and betrayals that now surrounded them. Deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same—but she also knew that the woman she remembered was still in there somewhere, fighting her own battles in the heart of the enemy’s lair.

“I hope so,” Arya mutterted under her breath, her resolve hardening as she returned to sharpening Needle. She would find a way to make things right, no matter how long it took.

[vanillarosekiss]

To the beautiful person who left me this anon ask:

hi ria! I know you normally write femreader as girly or with a more feminine energy. But wdyt of John Price whose s/o is self conscious because she’s not as girly as the ladies who undoubtedly always surround him and maybe have made her he can do better than her ((totally not projecting lolz))

i’m so sorry i accidentally deleted your ask, but luckily I managed to copy it before! I really hope this finds you angel..♡

warnings: self depreciation, afab!reader x John Price, this one’s actually kinda sad guys sorry (happy ending though, i promise!!).

John Price had always been the kind of man who carried himself with a quiet confidence, commanding respect in every room he walked into. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried the weight of his responsibilities with ease — it was his unwavering calm, the type of presence that made you feel like the world could crumble, but he’d hold it together for you. He’d do anything for you.

You didn’t feel like you belonged in his orbit. You didn’t even feel like you belonged in the same room.

Not when he could have his pick of anyone. And not when the effortlessly gorgeous women you saw at his work functions or in photographs seemed to orbit him naturally.

They didn’t mean to make you feel small of course, but sometimes, they didn’t need to. Backhanded comments like, “Oh, she’s not quite what I expected for John,” or those lingering glances they shared when they thought you weren’t looking, planted seeds of doubt that grew roots in your chest. It hurt you more than you liked to admit.

You weren’t as polished, as composed, as these women. It wasn’t that you didn’t try… no, you just didn’t feel like you when you did. Dresses made you feel exposed. Heels left your feet aching. Even makeup was a practice you rarely indulged in because it didn’t feel worth the time or effort considering the little time you actually spent out.

And yet, John had still chosen you.

You were sitting on the couch with your knees pulled up, thumbing through your phone absentmindedly when John walked in. His heavy boots on the hardwood floor were a sound you’d grown to love, a comfort of such.

“Alright, love?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded quickly, plastering on a smile. “Yeah, fine.”

But John was too observant for his own good. He was extremely perceptive, his time in the force had made him a great reader of expressions. He tilted his head, scanning your face as he set his keys on the counter.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his tone laced with doubt.

You looked away, shrugging. “Just tired, s’all.”

“Not buying it.” He waited intently on your reply.

You hesitated. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Darlin’.” That single word was a command. You knew he was being serious.

You sighed, your voice wavering, threatening to crack despite your attempt to sound indifferent. “Do you ever… I dunno. Do you ever wish I were more like the women you’re surrounded by?”

His brow furrowed. “What women?”

“The ones at those events,” you muttered, gesturing vaguely. “They’re all so put together, and I’m-” You laughed bitterly. “Not.”

John leaned back slightly, his hand finding your thigh and gently resting there. He regarded you for a long moment, his eyes steady. “Who’s been telling you all this?”

“No one,” you said quickly. “I just… I feel like they’re right sometimes. You could do better than me.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. John’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly before he pulled you into his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Do you know why I chose you?” he asked quietly.

Your throat tightened painfully. “Because I was there?”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Because you’re real. Because you’re you. Because I don’t need anything like those women you were talking about, don’t want them, either.”

“But- ”

“No ‘buts’.” His tone was firm now, the kind that silenced any argument before it began. “I don’t care about anyone else. Those women you’re talkin’ about? All worthless, the lot of ‘em.”

You felt the unavoidable prick of tears in your eyes. “You really mean that?”

John turned slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You think I’d lie to you about something like that?” He kissed your lips gently, lingering there for a while.

“You’re enough for me, angel. More than enough.”

For the first time in what felt like months, you finally believed him.

I really hope this finds the right person. What a gorgeous request! Give me sweet John Price immediately. ˖⋆࿐໋

[nickscodthoughtsblog]

Tentacles (monster!König)

just a little thing about finding out König has tentacles because i honestly really love that. 💕 man with eldritch features my beloved 💕

He had forgotten to lock the door, and that was his biggest mistake. 

It was a pretty standard routine for him. Every week, at midnight, he’d sneak into a bathroom when it was quiet and let his guard down, lift his sniper hood, and get some water on his tentacles. It’s better to do this alone, than risk some recruit seeing his eldritch features and freaking out. Better for him, better for others. “Just gotta remind myself of that…” he muttered to himself, cupping some water into his hands and splashing it on his face. It brought him small comfort, but enough comfort.

Hearing the door open made him pause. He swore he locked it like always. He quickly pulled his hood back down to cover his tentacles, turning to see you, rubbing your eye a little. You stopped when you noticed him. “...hey. Didn’t think you’d still be up…”

“Could say the same to you, Maus. You look exhausted.” he replied with a tone of concern. 

You shrugged it off. “Long training day.” You explain, stepping up to the sink next to him without second thought. “Couldn’t sleep though. Figured there’s no harm in a little splash of water, right?”

He nodded, chuckling quietly. He enjoyed your little attempts at humor. Better than Fender’s, at least. Then again, that might not be your intention. Either way, you did smile a little. 

As he watched you splash your face, he remembered he wasn’t done himself. He could just leave and wait for you to be done before sneaking back in, but would that be weird to you? Maybe if he was quick about it, you would be too tired to notice he had tentacles. He took that risk, lifting his sniper hood up enough, cupping water in his hands again to massage into his tentacles. 

Unfortunately for him, you noticed pretty quickly. Even exhausted and trying to be tired, you were perceptive. It took him a second to notice the surprise in your eyes, staring at him. He almost panicked. He was going to have to make you forget. At least, he thought he would, until you spoke up. “You need a hand with those?”

It stunned him for a second. Maybe you were too tired to properly process what you were seeing… “Uh…ja. If you’d like… Just need to wet them…” It was initially awkward. You tried not to drench his shirt as you rubbed his tentacles down with water. He was too used to using his own hands for this, so the feeling of your unmarred fingers working on the appendages was…new. 

He grunted a little when your hand tightened around one of them. “Ah- Don’t squeeze.” he reprimanded you.

“Sorry, sorry.”

It took a little longer than normal, but he was okay with that. Once you were done, your hand lingered on one of his tentacles, and it wrapped around your palm softly in turn. It had an odd texture. A little slimy and wet, but you figure it was more slimy before you helped wash it. “Do you need to dry these?”

“Nein, nein. It’s good as it is.” 

“Alright…” you nod a little, watching the way the tip of the tentacle brushes your knuckles. “Can’t believe these are real…”

“Tell nobody and I’ll let you touch them more.” 

“Deal, sir.”

Maybe forgetting to lock the door wasn’t his biggest mistake after all…

[cosmicjoke]

How Ash's Sexual Abuse Impacts His Perception of Himself Part 2:

Example eight: Ash's rape by Colonel Foxx and the aftermath of it. I've seen people try to claim that Ash's defiance of Foxx, telling him "Well, do whatever you want to me. You're never gonna dominate me. Ever. My mind and my spirit are mine. I'll fight you assholes all the way! With Everything I got!" is somehow proof that Ash wasn't deeply affected or traumatized by what Foxx did to him, that what Foxx did to him didn't have a devastating affect on Ash's self-esteem or self-perception. I think that claim is patently absurd. It completely fails to account for the direct aftermath of the rape, in which we see Ash have a literal, mental breakdown, unable to stop shaking and sick with himself, and even Ash's terrified, horrified expressions leading up to the rape. It seems clear to me that Ash's defiance of Foxx was a desperate attempt to shield himself from the horror of what he knew was about to happen. It has always read to me as the tragic attempts of a boy who's been rendered helpless, grasping pitifully for some way to cope with his own powerlessness and the pain of what he's about to suffer. It's obvious from Ash's breakdown afterward that his claim to Foxx that he'll "never be dominated" was all bluster, because Ash's reaction afterward shows he very much feels as though he has been dominated. He starts to break down because he's just been shown he can be made just as powerless and helpless now as he was when he was a little boy. This is truly one of the most tragic and heartbreaking moments in the story, because we see any belief Ash might have started to gain that he could escape his role in life being brutally snuffed out. Foxx raping Ash, after Ash has essentially become an adult and begun for the first time to develop for himself a sense of control and independence in his life, basically serves as a cruel reminder to Ash that any sense of freedom he may have felt, any sense of being able to choose anything for himself, was all just an illusion, and he'll forever and always be nothing more than an object designed to satisfy the desires of others.

Example nine: Ash telling Jessica that Foxx raped him, and admitting, essentially, that the only reason he hasn't allowed all the times he's been raped to cripple him mentally is because he simply couldn't afford to. He says "If I needed a year to get over every time I was raped, I'd be dead from old age". He's saying it's happened to him so many times, that's he's had to learn to bury the pain of it in order to keep living. That doesn't in any way mean Ash isn't being deeply affected, though, or that those experiences of rape haven't traumatized and devastated him or continued to impact him psychologically. He's just lived a life so on the edge, that he's never had a moment to actually contend with the disabling affects of his abuse. We see this play out in real time, going from the scenes in example eight, of Ash starting to have a breakdown over what Foxx did to him, to his seemingly detached, unaffected demeanor with Jessica. It's not that he's unaffected by what Foxx did to him, it's that he's actively pushing the negative emotions the experience has conjured in him down in order to keep on. He isn't dealing with his trauma, he's just pretending it isn't there.

Example ten: Ash brushing off Eiji's attempts at encouragement and suggestion of him becoming a model by saying how the only kind of modeling he would be good at or able to do is posing for "kiddie porn mags". He apologizes to Eiji after, seeing he's upset him, saying there's "something the matter with me", but it's obvious that this is what Ash really thinks about himself. He thinks the only thing he would be qualified to work as is a child prostitute. The only thing he thinks he's good at is being a sex object and a killer.

Example eleven: Ash talking with Blanca at the end, and saying he's "never scared (himself) or felt so ashamed of (himself) as right now." Ash thinks of Eiji's goodness and warmth, and compares himself negatively to that goodness and warmth. Being around Eiji, and the way being around him made Ash feel better about himself, ultimately only served to remind Ash of what he feels is his own, inherent rottenness. He sees himself in direct contrast to Eiji, a darkness which threatens to swallow Eiji's light up. He decides he can't be in Eiji's life because his own badness will eventually lead to Eiji's own destruction. Again, we see here exemplified the ways in which the abuse Ash has suffered, and the kind of life he's been forced to live as a result of that abuse, has severely impacted his ability to see his own goodness and light. He's fully convinced he's a bad person, and the only reason he ever might have felt less terrible or like he could be better was by virtue of being in proximity to someone as good and pure as Eiji. He isn't able to see himself as the source of his goodness. He isn't able to see that light as coming from within himself. He believes fully there's only ugliness and horror inside him.

Example twelve: I've also seen it suggested by some people that this scene, and Ash saying "I'm just glad I wasn't born a girl. They get it even worse, so then I'd be a real slut." is supposed to be indicative of him not actually seeing himself in that light, but again, I completely disagree. Ash acts nonchalant and unaffected by the abuse he's suffered because it's the only way for him to cope with it, as I established in example nine. He's doing the same thing in the above scene. He's coping. He's trying to brush off the fact he's been sexually molested and raped since the age of 7 and on as no big deal, by saying well, at least he's not a girl, because when girls are sexually abused, they get branded a "slut" and then it's even worse for them. That doesn't mean Ash doesn't think of himself as a slut, or a sex object (he clearly does, as I've spent these two, long posts establishing), it means Ash thinks he has it easier than a girl would in his position, because boys and men aren't looked at the same way as girls and women who get sexually assaulted and/or raped. It's similar to how Yashiro, in "Twittering Birds Never Fly" tries to downplay his own, sexual abuse when he makes his comment to Kagayama that it's "different" for women who are raped. It's this idea that boys and men should be able to handle being sexually abused better than women, because the societal expectation is that boys and men can't be raped and/or sexually assaulted in the same way as girls and women. They don't face the same sort of social expectations of virginal purity and, so, don't face the same sort of social stigma a girl or woman faces after being sexually assaulted/abused. Ash is saying the only reason he's not seen as a slut by society is because he's not a girl. That social stigma is exemplified by Shorter's own response here, saying if Ash was a girl, he'd never have become a prostitute to begin with. That he'd be a "a real class act who wouldn't even give somebody like me the time of day.". Shorter is basically saying he doesn't see Ash as a slut because he's a boy, and if he was a girl, he wouldn't act the way he does as a boy. All this proves is that Ash is aware of the different ways in which society treats men and women, especially in regards to their sexuality. He's saying he'd be treated as a "real slut" if he was a girl. But of course, Ash already is treated by his abusers as if he's a slut. Shorter himself treated Ash like he was some manipulative whore because of what happened with Ricardo and Frankie. So what Ash says here isn't true at all. Him being a boy doesn't change the way he gets treated and spoken to. And it's obvious, from the way Ash treats himself, that he thinks of himself the same way. That there's some part of him that believes he deserves to be treated that way, because, again, he sees himself as nothing more than a sex object.

That comes from years of horrific abuse. Of being told again and again that his feelings don't count, his thoughts don't count, what he wants doesn't matter. Ash may be able to stand outside himself at times and objectively recognize that the way he's been treated all his life is wrong, and that his abusers are the truly evil ones. But it's the way Ash talks about and treats himself that exposes the truth. He treats himself as though he's just as worthless as all his abusers have always told him he was. And that tells us, undoubtedly, that Ash, in the most tragic way possible, has always, actually believed them.

[astheforcewillsit]

Title: The Magnificent original ao3 link

Summary: Senate duty and guarding the planet was not the only thing that Fox did while serving as Commander of the Coruscant Guard. He got front row seat to the madness that was Palpatine's destruction and control of the entire galaxy. And in those three years he served, he learned and participated. In the bad and the ugly. Because he had to, because he was serving the Republic. Or so he thought. Now that the war has ended and Palpatine is dead, Bail Organa offers Fox the opportunity to put his knowledge to good use. (based off of the hc I wrote where Fox gets trained in politics by Palps)

--

Organa does not speak for a very, very long time when he enters Fox’s prison cell. Or it seems like a long time. Fox isn’t quite sure if his concept of time is all that accurate anymore. Because he's come to realize in the short week that the ex-Chancellor Palpatine has been dead, that his perception of time has been royally fucked with.

In fact, a lot of his life had been incredibly fucked with. 

That's why he's sitting here, in this fluorescently lit prison cell. A cell he's spent the past three years of his life throwing criminals into on Palpatine's orders. He wonders now if that was a lie too. Wonders how many 'terrorist" were political opponents who the Chancellor needed out of the way for whatever conniving disaster he was scheming next. Who were actually trying to save the Republic while Fox helped a lunatic destroy it. 

That's why he's here. 

His brothers can at least plead ignorance. Palpatine never got in their heads like he got into Fox's, and Fox himself kept them in the dark for the most part. Even if that meant giving his shinnies the coldest shoulder known to man. Even if that meant becoming a completely different person to his commanders. One day Fox, the next CC-1010.

He never let Palpatine wrap their view of morality like he did his own.

Because the thing is– eventually–Fox enjoyed the bad things Palpatine told him to do. He did because he thinks–thought he was doing it for the Republic. And Palpatine always awarded him for doing what was right for the Republic. 

(Fives was trying to kill them all, would expose something that went against their programming. They were meant to follow Orders. Why fight something that was supposed to help them?)

He’d poison a well of water meant for innocent children if the Chancellor asked him to, because Palpatine knew what was right. And because it would be for the Republic. 

Would shoot a Jedi without the chip. Did shoot a Jedi without the chip.

And yet, there was a small, tiny, quiet part of him that knew something was wrong. That knew there was a life outside of his programming. And that wanted that for his brothers no matter what. Even if he had to be the fall guy.  

"You knew. This whole time, you knew who he was and what he was doing."

Organa regards him curiously. Not unlike the way the kaminoans do when they inspect their creations. Though there's kindness hidden behind his dark eyes. Or is it pity? Either way, Fox doesn’t want it. That’s how he got in the situation in the first place. 

Corrupted with a smile. A kind word. A gentle touch. 

"I was being loyal.” If Fox were natborn, he would shut the fuck up right after demanding he get a lawyer. But he's not. And even with the fall of the ex-Chancellor, he and his brothers are further away from getting rights than they were before. His position as Palpatine’s right hand man certainly hasn’t helped their cause. 

So he talks, because either they execute him for being an accessory to terrorism, or they keep him in this cell until he rots away, or he’s killed by one of the many he’s thrown into prison when he himself is put in prison.

He has no brothers to advocate for him.

He made more backhanded deals with Separatist while his brothers were being blasted to pieces on the battlefield than he can count (and by now, they all know it). 

Paplpatine made sure of that when he convinced Fox they were all turning against him. The Coruscant guard is not widely liked by the population, and aren't afforded the same amount of empathy GAR is. The natborns won’t include him in their advocacy. 

No one is willing to save him. But at least for once, he has someone willing to listen to him. Someone who won’t twist his words. 

"And now?" 

"And now?" Fox snorts, shifting against the wall. He is eerily calm for a dead man. He'd learned that from the Chancellor too. Remain calm until the blade is lodged into your neck.

"He kept me alive.” Fox admits. This might as well be a confession. He will present himself as a soldier when he leaves this cell. Organa will be the last one left to hear what Fox has kept unsaid for years, “and I am grateful for that. It was not easy…to do what I did. If it weren’t for the Chancellor, I would be dead.” 

And not just physically. He needed coaxing through the atrocities he committed. Without that, he would have crumbled far before the death of Palpatine. 

"You lied to everyone. Under Oath.” Bail speaks as if he’s already marched Fox to the courtroom and has begun reading his charges. Fox keeps his face calm. He wonders if he gave too much. Not that it matters. 

“Not even the Jedi could tell that you were lying. Not even your brothers. Impressive.” 

“I was good at my job.” 

“And what was your job? Commander, past being the head of the Coruscant Guard.” The question is leading. Bail knows more than he’s letting off. He’s just letting Fox fill it in–walking himself into a trap. Why though–Fox doesn’t know. 

“I gave him advice.” Reluctantly, he speaks.

“What kind of advice?” Bail edges on, just as Fox thought he would. Fox considers his next words carefully, but then remembers there’s nothing waiting for him on the other side. Nothing to fight or live for.  Yet his body still reacts as if there is.  As if there’s a way to weasel his way out of this situation. He realizes Palpaetine’s teachings are so deeply ingrained in him, he doesn’t know when to give up. “Political.” Fox states, voice shaking.

“Elaborate.” 

Exhaling deeply, he verbally recalls the gradual evolution of his position as a simple guardsman who stood at attention behind the Chancellor’s desk, to an aid  providing advice and suggestions on ways Palpatine could scheme his way through the galaxy. How to maneuver both droids and clones alike on the battlefield, just enough to make it look like a separate master was orchestrating both sides. Just enough to make sure the losses his brothers sustained were much less than the separatist. How to write and draft a bill good enough to become a law within a month.  

There was an advantage to being perceived as little more than a meatless droid. The secrets he had brought to Palpatine after Senate duty had crumbled nations within hours. Had turned the tide in his favor more often than not. He had become a master politician within the last three years, and never had to speak a word in public to do so.

All under the encouraging gaze of a fucking Sith Lord.

When he finishes his confession,  he is once again reminded that he is just as guilty as Palpatine. This poisoned galaxy is his too. He helped make it. 

If Organa believes the same, he doesn’t show it. He simply nods, face stoic. Non-judgemental. 

Suddenly, Organa does something unexpected. He reaches over, unclips the binds on Fox’s wrists. The cuffs fall to the floor. 

“Sir?” 

Organa seems to crumble as he takes a seat beside Fox. The impassive mask of a politician has slipped off, and Bail Organa looks like a very tired, mortal man. “To no one’s surprise, Palpatine left no guide book on how to run a galaxy he tore apart. But yet, there is hope. We now stand at an opportunity for us to rebuild, for both the Republic and the Separatist. For this entire galaxy.  But I confess, I am not familiar with this game the ex-Chancellor played. I cannot form trust amongst the Separatist as you all did. Fox’s jaw hangs open. This is not where he thought this conversation would go. 

“I figure you are one of the few who I can trust that can help us with this.” “...Sir, I..there are others.” Fox blurts, then adds, “And I’m a criminal.” 

“You, like all of your brothers, were created to be loyal to the Republic. We created you to be loyal to the Republic, no matter what that meant. And you did your job well,” Bail swallows thickly. His brows knit tightly together, “We were wrong, Commander. And on behalf of the Republic, I offer you my sincerest apologies. This will be the first of many you receive.” 

There’s a million and one thoughts that swarm through Fox’s head at that moment. But more importantly, he realizes that not a singular politician can apologize to a clone on behalf of the Republic. Only the Chancellor can do that. 

“On behalf of the…Sir, are you…” “Yes, I am serving as the Chancellor until further notice, and fully intend to turn this mess into something salvageable. To do that, we need people who were close to Palpatine and who we can trust. As you can imagine, there are very few who check off both boxes. The majority of his closest allies are in prison or have fled.” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, “and with the number of human rights lawsuits we were being served with, having a clone in the senate would help with optics.” 

Fox blinks. A clone? In the Senate? 

“The natborns hate the Coruscant Guard–” Bail raises a hand to silence him , “You are not as widely hated as the ex-Chancellor made you believe, Commander. The population is rallying behind all clones, especially now that the treatment of you and your brothers–siblings–comrades? Is being exposed. Yours included.”  “But how…I…” “The Guard knows things we don't. You sent the “shinies”, as they call themselves away, but they still watched. Turns out they’ve been circulating the treatment of the clones all throughout the holonet. And they have a lot to say, which is great for you and not so great for the Republic. Additionally, Commander, there are people waiting for you outside of this cell. They’ve been here for the entire week.” 

The new Chancellor stands to his full height. The impassive mask falls about him again. 

“You might have learned alot from the former Chancellor, but he also isolated and used you. You are more of his victim than his accomplice, Commander, and I hope the Maker lets you see that someday. You have learned a lot, but you have much more to unlearn.” 

Organa begins to turn, a billow of fabric and air. 

He looks like a Chancellor. To be fair,  he always has. And if Fox had it his way, Organa would be one of the few who he’d suggest. Though he wonders about the others. He can’t help but think there’s another Senator who would have fit into the position of a Chancellor just as neatly.

“Why you, and not Senator Amidala? Everyone thought…” His voice draws off. Something flashes in Organa’s eyes. Something like betrayal. 

Fox stiffens. 

Mechanically, Organa explains, "There were signs regarding Skywalker prior to Order 66. Information that if presented sooner, could have spared the galaxy a great deal of trouble. She was aware of this information and withheld it. Thus, she has been temporarily removed from her post."

Fox feels his throat tighten.  For some reason, that doesn't seem fair. But then again, it does. Most Senators sit on top of their own dusty skeletons. Can't be one if you let yours out of the closet. If it tries to destroy the galaxy. 

“Oh, and these are for you.” Changing the subject, Organa reaches into the elaborate pockets of his robes, and tosses a keycard at Fox. He recognizes the moment he catches it. This is for a luxury apartment in the highest level of Coruscant. 

Still, he asks, “What are these, Sir?” 

“Keys to your apartment, and call me Bail. If you accept my offer, we’ll be working closely with one another. If not, at least you’ll get a nice view of the city. It’s yours regardless.” 

“I accept.” Fox doesn’t hesitate. Conditioned or not, he did wrong. He knows he did wrong. He won’t be gaslit into accepting he didn’t. And he’s not going to throw away the one chance he has to make things right, especially on as large of a scape as this. 

“Commander, think ab–” “I have, sir–Bail. And call me Fox, since we’ll be working with each other.”

Bail hesitates. He fixes Fox with another gaze, curious but less scrutinous. Eventually, he smiles. A real, genuine smile.

“Very good, Fox. In that case, there will be a chauffeur to pick you up at 10:00 a.m tomorrow outside of your apartment. Try to be there.” “W–Where am I going?” “Therapy, Fox. You need it, especially if you’re going to be my advisor,” Bail finally turns, leaving the rayshield down, “And you are free to leave when you want. You are no longer being detained. And besides, your brothers are here to greet you.” 

Fox’s heart beats against his chest. He slumps back onto the bench as Bail leaves him alone. 

It looks like he still has something left to fight for after all.

[aroaceleovaldez]

Can you explain more about Jason and the masc wolf gender

[post referenced]

Of course! It's mostly just based around how i think Jason perceives himself and what influences that perception for him.

I 100% believe Jason would identify as a wolf therian if he found out about that. I've mentioned before i think for him it'd be very much a kind of "being raised by wolves/imprinting on wolves greatly affects Jason's perception of himself being a wolf" (versus like for Leo i think him being dragonkin is more of a spiritual thing). Regardless, his perception of himself and identity has a strong center in "wolf."

I like to think Jason doesn't vibe with the ways he's particularly expected to present masculinity, and especially not hypermasculinity. He's not about that and the pressure to present that way really fucks with him. I don't headcanon him as nonbinary exactly and I do think he'd still present as masc, but in his own way and finding what masculinity means to him in a way he's comfortable with (you can tear Jason wearing skirts and still being masc from my cold dead hands).

so: I think Jason would still ID as male in general or at least masculine (he's definitely not uncomfortable with being seen as male or anything, just being expected to perform masculinity in specific ways), but also his perception of both himself and by extension his gender identity are influenced so heavily by being a wolf that being able to say that while also being male, he is a wolf and also his gender is wolf feels more encompassing of himself to him.

Also i just think if Jason found out that you can just have your gender be wolf he'd be like "YOU CAN DO THAT?!?! THAT'S AN OPTION?"

and then he'd find out about masc wolfgender and first be like "ME!!!!" immediately followed by "HOLY FUCK THAT FLAG IS COOL"

also uh he/they/it pronouns jason <3

[traintrainingmontage]

YAAAAAAY the finale!! Great analysis, as always! I think that something that gets me about this too is that Gordon vents about his problems to James and Henry, who, even if they think he can be a blowhard, are willing to listen. Edward doesn't (and doesn't seem like the type to) vent to other engines though... but it seems like he does to The Author, at least.

Gordon probably thought things were more or less resolved between him and Edward in the 1940s, but then... the Railway Series comes out. And Edward has the vibe of the mistreated underdog while Gordon is portrayed as a jerk. And I feel like that really has to sting, because that likely feels like an escalation all on its own. Now people are going to know him as this awful jerk, when he wasn't trying to be! And furthermore... is this how Edward thinks of him? Is that why he's always playing his points game? For the first time in a long time, Gordon has some knowledge of how Edward actually might feel about things, and while he knew things were rocky between the two of them, I'm sure he didn't think they were this bad.

The fact that their dirty laundry is so public, and NOT in his favor a lot of the time, must really rub Gordon the wrong way. He cares a lot about appearances, about being a good Express engine, about doing a good job. That his oldest colleague is sharing stories like this, and that this is how people know him... that too is a betrayal of sorts, I feel. Gordon probably didn't want to be vulnerable with The Author, a stranger, about his thoughts and feelings, which makes sense; he likely boasted about himself in the hopes that Awdry would see his best sides because that's what he's most confident in. And this is the result--all of his worst moments, and significantly fewer of his best--splashed across the pages for passengers to read like tabloids. Meanwhile, Edward, who is apparently more comfortable opening up about decades-old wounds to a total stranger than Gordon himself, gets vindication.

It feeds back into that loop of old wounds never quite healing, and I do think that the Gordon & Edward relationship could probably have been smoothed out a little easier if not for the very open fact that Edward has been telling all and sundry their business and how he feels about it, and apparently, things are not ok between them at all, and Gordon... does not quite know what to do about that. How can he begin to reconcile with Edward when he now has the perception that Edward a) does not like him, and b) has almost NEVER liked him? I feel like that's part of why he's so vicious in Edward's Exploit; Gordon's of a mind to just give up on the whole thing and accept that Edward will never like him and maybe he shouldn't try anymore. It comes from a place of hurt, a place that Gordon does not enjoy being (and it's worth noting that Gordon would still rather Edward be preserved than scrapped. He doesn't actually hate Edward or wish him ill; he just doesn't want to interact with Edward anymore if this treatment is what he gets). And in the end, when Edward wins... of course he shuts up. The Author says his silence is respectful, but once again, perhaps that's from Edward's perspective. Perhaps Edward is pleased that he finally wrung something positive out of Gordon for once. However, Gordon himself has nothing more to say. Edward has won his game, and Gordon, despite his best efforts, has lost, and that loss means so, so much more than is immediately obvious.

Gordon and Edward, Part 3

As Lady is my witness, I will never take more than 500 words to ever answer a simple ask again 🫡 Enjoy this last hurrah of hyperlexia!

Part 1: Gordon, what's your damage? 😭 / The Doylist Reason / Rent. Free. 

Post 2: Edward's Defences / Gordon's Growth

Post 3 (this post): Collision / Uh… Cleanup Crew?

Collision

Folks take Main Line Engines Edward and Gordon as a glimpse into just normal day-in-the-life stuff for them. It's not. It's the culmination of 40+ years of their shit. (From a Doylist perspective, it's also the last time Awdry would ever visit this dynamic – it's the last time any Awdry would, in a proper RWS book – and he seems to have known it.) 

So, cue scene: "Wrong Road." Here we are, late evening, chilling on a couple of sidings somewhere outside Tidmouth station. The text puts this setting in a sort of void. I’d assume our heroes are taking on coal or water or something, as after this they report to the station for their trains. But that’s not for a bit yet. Right now we’re chilling. Eddie and Gordo. Great old friends. 

All right, that might have been sarcastic if we were setting this scene in the ‘20s, but this is now 1964 or -65 (depending on just how rapidly you think The Author and his publishers beam these stories out there). Don’t be so cynical, dear reader. Time has passed. 

This is Gordon matured. In his prime. He’s an Evolved Being these days (still capitalizes random things in his head, though). He has come to recognize that, grand and mighty though he is, relationships are important. He's been reminded of this just recently, in fact, what with his old driver retiring. (How's he doing with the transition, you ask? Wonderfully. No one copes with change better than Gordon the Big Engine. No one!) And so he’s going to make an effort here to find something to chat about with Edward. Even if Edward is kind of a queer old fellow, one of his tougher relationships. They don’t often see eye-to-eye on things, you see. But Evolved Being Gordon values his relationships, so, goddammit, he puts himself out there. Truly, he has a certain respect for Edward for never being drawn into Gordon’s lead on things. Like, it’s irritating – very – but Gordon can acknowledge that this is because, in his own way, Edward is something sort of like a leader, and indeed on occasion Gordon has had cause to admit to himself, after the fact, that Edward may have been right. Once. Or even twice. Anyway, their differences make things tricky and a bit distant, but Gordon still values the relationship. Enough to make an effort.

And! Tonight, he has a commonality for them to bond over. Something that’s been bugging the hell out of him and that surely must be worrying Edward, too. 

"It's not fair," grumbled Gordon. "What isn't fair?" asked Edward.  "Letting Branch Line diesels pull Main Line trains." 

Coz diesels, amirite? 

I cannot emphasize enough that Gordon makes this conversational gambit in good faith. He knows that Edward has had insecurities about being replaced before. Edward’s been dealing with The Fat Controller letting this diesel lurk around on his Branch Line for some while. And now Gordon and the others are facing the same threat! Gordon can genuinely carp to Edward about this and fully expect sympathy! Then after that Gordon can offer sympathy, too! They have a common interest, huzzah!

Gordon is sure that tonight he is getting a good grade in Friendship. 

Then - 

"Never mind, Gordon. I'm sure BoCo will let you pull his trucks sometimes. That would make it quite fair."

Needle scratch. 

From Gordon’s perspective: WTF just happened here? Edward’s… Edward’s teasing him, isn’t he? 

Now, look. Part of Gordon’s maturation is that he has accepted that he is part of the great karmic circle of life. Some days you’re the champ, and some days you take the L and just have to graciously accept that everyone else is gonna enjoy their victory laps. He’s used to this. He can handle it with good grace, indeed. 

However: 

1) Is that… is that what’s going on? IS Edward zinging him? Gordon’s pretty sure. He’s familiar with the experience ("never trust domeless engines! teehee"). But Edward does like to take his shots with an angelically serious face, which Gordon always finds confusing and a bit annoying. No one else bothers to disguise it when they’re laughing at him, and Gordon has learned to take it well (well, take it without melting down). But he does wish Edward would be more direct about it. Because… is that what’s going on here??

2) And, if it is… WHY? What the hell just happened? You tease someone after they fucked up and you’ve won this round. Did something just happen in the time it took Gordon to blink? What was the round? How did Gordon fuck up? They were having a perfectly amiable conversation like one bloody second ago! Garrrrgh. 

(This is the whole problem with Edward, Gordon harrumps to himself. What is ‘this’, you ask? Well, if Gordon could explain it, it wouldn’t be such a problem now would it!)

Well, where he went wrong is utterly baffling to Gordon. But it’s clear as day to Edward, and pretty obvious to everyone he tells (and he seems to manage to relate this story to at least some parties within an extraordinarily short window of time…) The others may only tease when they’re in a position of strength. Edward’s playful teasing is not necessarily a sign that he’s comfortable; it’s a defense mechanism. When Edward is comfortable and relaxed with other engines, he tends to be practical-minded (job swap time!) and/or very much 100% in earnest (“I was pleased to hear your happy whistle yesterday”). Teasing is something he resorts to in order to find or restore equilibrium. So he’s not trying to signal that he’s “won” anything, but he is trying to win the exchange and turn the tables on Gordon in a moment when Gordon’s superior, dismissive attitude towards an engine rubs Edward the wrong way. Gordon thinks Edward will relate to him; they’re both steam engines who go way back, after all. Instead Edward instinctively relates to whatever engine Gordon is talking down. He probably would even if he hadn’t already made friends with BoCo - and he has. (This is another thing Gordon can’t fathom. Edward’s intuition lets him find and form friendships way faster than Gordon can comprehend warming up to anyone. To Gordon this feels like disloyalty.)

So Edward’s already lowkey annoyed - ‘Oh, Gordon’s being Gordon again’ - even as Gordon unconsciously stomps on the old, old wound that Edward still carries from the far past when Gordon would talk down him. Gordon doesn’t do that to him these days, but he’s still out here doing it to other engines and Edward dislikes it. A lot. 

But, because it is Gordon and Edward just isn’t comfortable enough to communicate with him in any sort of straightforward way, Edward once again pretends not to be bothered - even as he deliberately turns the tables on Gordon, playfully suggesting something he knows Gordon will hate as a fair solution to the problem. 

Winding Gordon up is so much easier and safer than, like, actually communicating with him. 

And so Edward does. He knows that when he pulls this sort of passive-aggressive move that it leaves Gordon pleasingly unsettled. 

What Edward may not understand is that Gordon really is genuinely out of his depth. It’s not clear to Gordon whether Edward is joking or not - and, unfortunately, wherever this notion appeared from, The Fat Controller does tend to call things Edward’s way so the fact that Edward has a bright idea really could imply that it’s going to become reality in a bafflingly brief amount of time. 

At any rate, Gordon deals with what seems to him this sucker punch out of nowhere by resorting to his old well-worn defense mechanism - his superiority complex. To soothe his confusion and his own hurt feelings (why is Edward laughing at him? how did Gordon just lose a game that he didn’t even know he was playing? what in Gresley’s name is Edward all the sudden trying to PUNISH him for?) Gordon grabs and flaunts his superior importance and breeding as a trump card: 

Gordon spluttered furiously. "I won't pull BoCo's dirty trucks. I won't run on Branch Lines."

(Gordon needs the comfort of this sort of boast, maybe needs to say it to convince himself.)

"Why not? It would be a nice change." "The Fat Controller would never approve," said Gordon loftily. "Branch Lines are vulgar." He puffed away in a dignified manner. Edward chuckled and followed him to the station… 

Of course, the fact that Gordon instantly needs to resort to boasting and putting Edward down (ho-hum; anyone here have a branch line?) only confirms to Edward that he’s always been right not to put much trust in this new amiability between them. To Edward’s eye, he barely had to tap on it before it shattered. From Gordon’s point of view, Edward just did a lot more than tap on it - stomped on it rather. Still, it’s incredibly fair to my eye for Edward to conclude that he was right not to think Gordon’s latter-day changes run very deep, and to keep up his ‘laugh and pretend not to care’ tactic even as the scene closes.

It’s completely fair. Still, Gordon, I’m sure, never gave this baffling exchange a second thought after he left the platform that evening with his train (for the first time). As far as Gordon is concerned, Edward scored one off on him SOMEHOW, Gordon harrumphed and did a little tit for tat which is his goddamn right, and perhaps they both could have been a little more mature about it but at any rate that’s over. 

It was dark by the time the trains reached the Junction, and you can guess what happened – Edward went through on the Main, while Gordon was switched to the Branch… It took The Fat Controller several hours to sort out the tangle and pacify the passengers. In the end Gordon was left, with his fire drawn, cold and cross on one of Edward's sidings[...]  "No, Bill, this lot's useless for scrap. We'll take it to the harbour and dump it in the sea." Gordon was alarmed. "I am Gordon. Stop! Stop!"  The twins paid no attention. Gordon shut his eyes and prepared for the worst[...] 

After an absolutely terrible night and, somehow, a more terrible morning with what Gordon (not autistic at all btw!) sincerely regards as a genuine attempt on his life…  

Edward scolded the twins severely, but told Gordon it served him right. Gordon was furious. 

… Gordon encounters Edward again the next day only to be told that his whole harrowing experience, complete with the disrespect and the death threats from Edward’s own weird little industrial twin terrorists, ‘served him right.’ 

Gordon: 

WHAT?????? 

Gordon thinks that, at most, he got a little shirty the night before but that Edward literally started it. 

Edward, however, is taking a cool account of every sin Gordon has ever committed, up to and including Gordon being a drama queen about this whole ‘dump him in the sea’ business (I’m sure Edward could fathom taking the china clay twins seriously if he tried - if this were Duck coming to him with this complaint I’m sure Edward could make that leap of imagination - but this is Gordon. Edward doesn’t regard the twins as all that challenging and he’s not about to make an effort right now to understand the troubles of Gordon, who just last night had turned back the clock some thirty years in order to directly insult his branch line out of nowhere.) 

Basically: All the sudden, their old truce is in tatters. Both think that it’s the other’s fault – Edward reckons Gordon’s just proved it never meant much, while Gordon thinks Edward just spat on all his efforts for no reason at all that he can see. 

I am sympathetic to Gordon’s bafflement up to this point - I understand why Edward is blowing hot and cold like this, and I think he has a right to, but this hostile confusion and mutual pain was always going to be the inevitable result, sooner or later. 

But Gordon loses my sympathy real fast when he reacts to this development by… partying like it’s Vicarstown 1922:

(Note of course that while Henry and James gave Gordon an opening, their remarks were far more neutral – Gordon takes the opportunity to tank the entire vibe:) 

"Did you see him straining?" asked Henry.  "Positively painful," remarked James. "Just pathetic," grunted Gordon. "He should give up and be Preserved before it's too late."  "Shut up!" burst out Duck. 

Okay, yep. I am vividly reminded why kind little Edward, once-upon-a-time a very straightforward and transparent character, had to go and develop this entire fucky points-scoring communication style to begin with. 

But my proposal here is that this blow-up represents an aberration from their postwar relationship. They seemed to have moved on. They had at least 15 years of relative peace. The above scene represents something of a surprise twist (appropriate for a finale): Nah, they never did patch things up! They’re as fucked up as ever! 

Now, the previous paragraph was a place where I think that I am actually reading in concert with what Awdry’s writing. I do think he intended that as a bit of a twist. I think “Edward’s Exploit” is in a way meant to be a callback to those days, a deliberate “Edward’s Day Out/Edward and Gordon Part 2: Electric Boogaloo.” 

This whole book is, I think, meant to be a new as well as a final word on Edward’s character development. Hence, he shows us an Edward who throughout the book displays a new level of assuredness. We see his dynamic with Bill and Ben, introduced here for the first time. We’re shown that, far from fading away, he’s fast becoming besties with one of those newfangled diesels. And - well, you couldn’t really crown Edward’s character development without revisiting the Gordon dynamic, now could you? “Wrong Road” shows us the playful, teasing, never-fear-these-days-I-can-handle-Gordon-with-a-smile Edward we already met for the first time in “Cows,” but then for this go-’round Awdry takes it one step further: Edward no longer has to couch his disapproval of Gordon’s attitude indirectly, but can assert himself in a direct conflict. Edward’s never canonically scolded anyone before, but now we see he’s able to manage both titchy little saddletanks and Gordon Himself. The next time someone says Edward is a static character, I swear to Lady I am going to chuck this book at their head. That was a very deliberate character arc. And I love it! Lookit my sweet boy crack some skulls! Awesome! 

… it is, however, very depressing to me that we had to explode the apparent Edward+Gordon truce in order to achieve this. 

Mind you, Awdry thinks he resolved that conflict by the end of “Exploit.” I cannot emphasize this enough. Yes, Gordon reverted to his old tricks when Edward leveled up and told him off – but by the end of the story Edward’s wildly popular exploit has shut him up, so yay! It’s all good! 👍 👍

…

Oh, wait? You don’t think it’s so good? You feel like maybe you could use a bit more, before you felt like these two were on new and solider-than-ever ground? Like maybe this relationship needs a bit more than Gordon merely shutting up? Like you’d wish it to be deeper than Gordon apparently resigning himself to the fact that Edward is Always Fuckin’ Right, and Edward Always Fuckin’ Wins? Like maybe we haven’t really addressed the underlying problem here at all, maybe jealousy and pique and hierarchy was always their obstacle from Day 1? And so they can never compete their way out of this mess?

Yeah, weird. I feel like that too, somehow. 

However, this is what canon gives us. We can add some more to it, sure. But I do think it’s worth just… sitting with this for a while. Processing things. These are two characters who are flawed but who have such great qualities, as well, and there are these obvious points of connection and potential understanding, and you just feel like this could be a much richer relationship, instead of merely a decades-long tug-of-war. I mean, we go on to see it with Gordon and BoCo. (All right, obviously I’ll never admit BoCo is ‘just a diesel Edward.’ But for purposes of this particular essay, I’ll just say that… he’s not not a diesel Edward, y’know? They’re certainly goddamn similar enough that it’s incredible how close Gordon becomes with one of them and how, despite so much time and opportunity, he will forever be held at arms’-length with the other.) That relationship seems like one of genuine mutual support. Indeed the other remarkable thing that goes down in "Wrong Road" is that for once Gordon not only connects to someone without relying on the "benevolent patron" role, but indeed that he is the one who needs help – but he actually responds to it well and, instead of condescending to BoCo, he shows respect. And it seems so obvious that Gordon and Edward’s could have been like that too, but instead they’ve spent so long bothering each other despite a fair amount of good intention on each side. 

That’s how it goes sometimes, I guess. 

But hey, you know what. Maybe their relationship improved later, off-screen. Like maybe it had some space to breathe once The Author stopped poking around and fuckin’ writing about it. 

I’ve heard of wilder things. 

Uh, Cleanup Crew? 

"All three engines are now great friends." 

I think this famous conclusion is true – at least, it was true in 1945, at the height of their optimism and unity. However the tension in the Gordon-Edward leg of this triangle, seen from the beginning of canon, only ever gets worse. 

Honestly, the notorious TTRE stuff doesn’t strike me as all that bad. I read TTRE and I’m actually like, yeah sure, I can see how these two would move on to become friends. Honestly I can see it at the end of TTRE a lot more easily for Gordon and Edward than for Gordon and Henry - I feel like Gordon’s actually been a lot worse to Henry. Most of the red flags in this relationship – the aggressive ostracizing of Troublesome Engines and Edward’s backbiting and Taking Control of the Narrative – come later! And look, Gordon and Henry have their rough patches too. Henry the Green Engine is a terrible low point, Gordon was a flaming dumpster fire in his whistle story. But it’s also clear that Gordon and Henry do a lot of relationship repair, off-screen. We see continually how joined at the hip they are, we see them genuinely enjoying each other’s company, and it makes sense because we know they have interests and personality traits in common. 

In contrast, even though Gordon and Edward’s relationship seems more recoverable in theory, in practice nearly every interaction between them ranges from uncomfortable to actively hostile. There is never any repair, there’s only ever Edward managing to keep Gordon in check, and when you are constantly playing defense you might be able to make some sort of old working relationship creak and clatter on but you are never really getting close to each other either. If Henry needed an apology from Gordon, and I expect he did, then Henry spoke up and he got one. Edward is tougher than Henry, more independent. Which is good for him but one result from never moaning or complaining to Gordon about Gordon’s past offenses is that Gordon, oblivious and proud, is never going to take responsibility or make amends for them. Usually in real life I’d just be like 'good riddance!’ but this is fiction, lol, and despite this one major flaw Gordon truly is so valuable as a friend. But there’s no evidence to me that he ever really became one for Edward. Edward doesn’t hate him, I think sheer necessity and his capacity to understand others makes him genuinely fond of Gordon. But he doesn’t trust him, and because he doesn’t trust him he provokes Gordon to forever give him fresh reason to not trust him, and because of this no matter how well they can work together or chit chat this never becomes a mutually supportive relationship and, like… that’s sad. That’s real sad. By the end of TTRE I’m like ‘aww, this friendship could be cute.’ By the end of MLE I’m like ‘Family counseling, stat. Or just communicate solely through intermediaries for the rest of your life, that could work too.’ 

But Jobey. I don’t accept this. I imagine them as genuine friends and/or I straight-up ship them and LA LA LAAA I can’t heeeear youuuu. 

You’re perfectly welcome to do so, lol. I'd like to take a sad song and make it better, too. 

The one fortunate thing is that, after Main Line Engines, there is plenty of blank space where anyone can continue or add to the 2+4 story. I think one can plausibly fill in a happy ending. Gordon still has some character development after MLE. Edward doesn't, but I think he ought, and I can see a couple areas where he could. To make a happy ending for this dynamic convincing three things still do have to click into place. In no particular order: 

The narrative actually has to validate the good parts of Gordon's ethos (not the selfish parts - but the subversive/rebellious/engine autonomy parts) as a necessary complement to Edward's ethos.

Edward has to be willing to let himself be vulnerable in front of Gordon. 

Gordon needs to need Edward's help and then actually express gratitude afterwards. 

Shouldn't be too tough, honestly! The first has to be done by we the transformative-work fans; canon never did and never could. The third is especially easy because we do finally see Gordon doing this in Main Line Engines and again in his second book, High Speed Engine – it's just that both times it's with BoCo, lmao. Gordon's there. Gordon's ready. He just needs a plot point opportunity. To be honest the second is going to be the toughest nut to crack. Again, Edward is not shown to develop after MLE. For this dynamic, he's gonna have to. Just a smidge more. Unlike TVS, I don't think "Gordon is humbled" is going to be enough of a wandwave to make this right. I'm not interested in blame, I'm interested in them finding a groove that works for them. A relationship that doesn't need to make either of them smaller for it to work.

And it should be possible, to somehow get those boxes checked. Some factors are already very much in their favor: 

The Author is no longer sticking a mic in their smokeboxes and publishing the shit they say about each other every few years. 

We saw them have normal, comfortable interactions in 1952. We already know a level of mutual trust is possible.

Presumably more and more engines are coming to Sodor, making this older bond rarer and more important to them. 

They're good friends with each other's friends. 

Gordon's growth clearly takes some cues from Edward's example. Their outlooks are converging, not diverging.

(If we need to wait this long for something to facilitate this) Gordon getting knocked off the express in 2011 radically changed his lifestyle. 

So, I don't feel too despairing about this relationship. Hell, I kind of like to imagine that by the time the century turns they're able to laugh together and even mutually pitch caricatures of their old relationship missteps to the new writers lol. 

And their proposed smoothing-out and reconnection would have big thematic resonance. The early conflicts in canon often had to do with the Edward ethos and the Gordon ethos. Part of the reason those conflicts taper off is because both the characters mature, of course. But part of the reason is just that the external circumstances change. The world whole environment of the NWR changes, and when it does these two ethos are incorporated into a whole. They begin to merge and complement each other. Indeed, arguably a lot of the success of the railway's culture is because everyone figures out a way embrace both. Innit? I think so. And if you buy that interpretation (Awdry didn't, lol, but what does he know?) then this long and winding 2+4 road actually ends up as a very nice story. Best story never written, perhaps.

But, for all the promising signs for the post-MLE era, I would still love to see more fan content within the original RWS canon timeline that represents the high degree of textual tension between them (and uniquely between them) from the 1920s to the 1960s. It's messy as hell, I hate the discomfort and would-you-two-dumbasses-just-COMMUNICATE of it sooo much, at the same time it's extremely compelling. Very good food. Even if things have improved, I hope they're still sometimes Problematic and Passive-Aggressive. I hope newbies are occasionally stuck with them in the sheds when they trip over a sensitive old topic and these two oldies don't even look at each other but the temperature still drops like a falling snowcap and the most oblivious of the newbies is like "Uhh, guys? ? ? Real weird vibe in here!" 

And Henry and BoCo just look fuckin' exhausted, lmaoo. 

[bardicious]

I am really enjoying the Dean's experience in hell episodes. Love it when Dean is honest with himself, and the kindness Sam shows towards him. Can't imagine the complicated relationship of being tortured for 30 years and then being the torturer for 10 more (which honestly was def a part of his own torture), but also liking it. And not because he sadistic, but because it wasn't him that was on the chopping block. That mix of relief and horror.

And I'd wager it colors his behaviors from this season onward.

[breadandblankets]

one of the fun things to do when writing Duke pov is that he lies to himself, and sometimes that makes him a huge fucking hypocrite. Duke will tell it like it is to every single person around him and then tell himself the sky is green. He is honest and truthful except in his own head lmao

Dude will 100% tell a teammate to take a rest take a break their over working themselves and then just take up their slack like he wasn't already holding the earth, the moon, and also maybe pluto on his shoulders

[rivilu]

see i'm not even opposed to the concept of canon/trickster Ellu surviving but the thing is in order for it to happen there would need to be a second vulnerable conversation regarding his side of things. where he couldn't lie his way out of it either. So basically he's fucked

[satans-codpiece]

Listen I think there's some merit in phrasing it "sentient beings will seek familiarity and can only act on what they know, not what they don't know."

but any meta that boils down to "Ramattra is doing this mainly because he's an R-7000, it is his actual programming" is getting a no thank you from me.

[feedingicetothedog]

any suggestion or theory that armand has manipulated louis' memory in any way about anything is so so so boring to me tbh. i thing it's far more interesting if louis has told himself a different story that has superseded 'reality' (however we choose to define that) and only through reciting it does he begin to see the cracks in the narrative he's created

[strangeandun-muse-ual]

.