#but that's my perspective as a writer

[mercymornsimpathizer]

a non-exhaustive list of butch literature

a (very ad-hoc) list of butch reading and writing, (mostly) by butch authors. books I've read myself in bold; take the rest with a grain of salt. additions, addendums, and commentary welcome :)

general/literary fiction:

mrs s by k patrick

stone butch blues by leslie feinberg

boulder by eva baltasar

running fiercely towards a thin high sounds by judith katz

tipping the velvet by sarah waters

a crystal diary by frankie hucklenbroich

godspeed by lynn breedlove

cha-ching! by ali liebegott

the ihop papers by ali liebegott

greasepaint by hannah levene

lucy and mickey by red jordan arobateau

the bull-jean stories by sharon bridgforth

development by bryher

notes of a crocodile by qui miaojin

america is not the heart by elaine castillo

the slow fix by ivan coyote

the swashbuckler by lee lynch

old dyke tales by lee lynch

sci-fi, fantasy, and horror:

gideon the ninth by tamsyn muir

the unspoken name by ak larkwood

vermilion by molly tanzer

metal from heaven by august clarke

scapegracers by ha clarke

the unbroken by cl clarke

fire logic by laurie marks

the seep by chana porter

these burning stars by bethany jacobs

feast while you can by mikaella clements and onjuli datta

non-fiction, memoir, and autobiography:

hijab butch blues by lamya h

gender failure by ivan coyote and rae spoon

fun home by allison bechdel

butch is a noun by h bear bergman

female masculinity by jack halberstam

burning butch by rb murtz

when we were outlaws by jeanne cordova

leaving isn't the hardest thing by lauren hough

odd girls and twilight lovers by lillian faderman

another mother tongue by judy grahn

boots of leather, slippers of gold by elizabeth lapovsky and madeline davis

the persistent desire ed joan nestle

persistence: all way butch and femme ed ivan coyote and zena sharman

dagger: on butch women ed lily burana

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. part two. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[mirrorofliterature]

Perciver Fic Recs:

Note: a lot of these will be WIPs, but I think that WIPs deserve love and these are all excellent fics. This is by no means a comprehensive list, moreso canon/canon adjacent perciver fics that have characterisation that I personally adore. They will be of varying lengths - I'll identify the length + rating. There are quite a few more that fit your tastes, but I haven't read all of them (personally, I write perciver more than I read it these days).

Slow Burn at Hogwarts

My all time favourite, which is exactly the slow burn Hogwarts perciver fic you described as wanting at 200k: still in progress as the author finishes off another work that's delightful as well: good all-fashioned lover boy, rated t by @aeoneskova.

This is another WIP, currently at 27k, still well worth a read: A Lot Can Happen in Seven Years by DinoDina, rated g, who also has other assorted perciver works.

Post-canon getting together

little messed up but i'm not anymore by happynotdignified, who also has some other delightful perciver works (with a side of sibling shenanigans), rated m, 34.9k

Short summary by author: After Percy walks out of the Burrow during Christmas, 1996, he is left feeling the worst he has ever felt. A chance encounter with Oliver turns his life around over the months and years that follow.

A no-voldemort AU series by AnotherAuthor and wherearemytwenties where perciver get together as adults - Percy is a Healer and Oliver is a Quidditch player. It's relatively light-hearted and quite delightful.

From Percy's perspective: Yes, I'm a Professional, rated m, 43.6k:

Authors' Summary: Percy Weasley has been checking off boxes his entire life. Prefect? Check. Head Boy? Check. Accomplished healer? Check. Head of Artefact Accidents before he turns 30? Check.

If only his love life was as easy.

From Oliver's perspective: How to Seduce Your Healer by Oliver Wood, rated m, 42.6k

Authors' Summary: The keeper smiled wider as the healer tried to hide a smile writing quickly on the parchment tucked underneath the clipboard. And what a smile it was. Percy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. It took up the man’s entire expression. Other than winning the Pennant (if he wasn’t sacked by the Club Manager), Oliver Wood would make it his life’s mission to make Percy Weasley smile.

Underneath the Mistletoe by Hufflepuffin11, who has a ton of perciver fics, including some really long ones: this one is rated t, 19k and is perciver getting together after the war feat. pining oliver and chirstmas fluff.

Here's my fic on post-war getting together: rated t, 26k: falling from dusk into dawn:

Oliver Wood has a million existential crises and pines for Percy Weasley. It all works out, somehow.

Some shorter, sweet Hogwarts Perciver pieces (under 20k)

burn across the sky by MoonytheMarauder1 (excellent fics all round): 4.1k, rated t.

Short summary by author: When Oliver Wood stops talking about Quidditch to stare at Percy Weasley, Ron, Fred, and George know something is up.

Stupid Deep by shadow_prince, a friends to lovers perciver + what if percy was sorted into Slytherin (but nothing keeps him and oliver apart); rated t, 6.5k.

Hold On by gonergone, rated g, 5.1k: Author's summary: The love triangle between Percy, Oliver, and Quidditch.

messin' up my mind by SkyRose, rated t, 5k.

Author's summary: Oliver's attention keeps drifting to a certain ginger Head Boy. It's the twins' fault, of course.

.

You can always explore the perciver #slow burn tag (61 works), although this will be uncurated and subject to perciver being tagged in an otherwise unrelated fic (my beloathed), as well as: perciver #mutual pining works (44), perciver #friends to lovers (94) or perciver #getting together works (73)- note that there will be some overlap. Hufflepuffin11 also has a WIP slowburn getting together perciver fic x2 - one during Hogwarts, one after.

Enjoy!

can perciver get the wolfstar treatment please

i need lengthy fics about them at hogwarts that are so slowburn you feel the burn more people need to talk about them AGH

[astrosouldivinity]

𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬:

𝐄𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 💗

𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

🌟𝙿𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛, 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚝𝚑, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

✶ Mirror:🪞

• People who come into your life as a mirror reflect back all your pain, darkness, and trauma that you repress, avoid, or deny within yourself. In other words, everyone is a mirror reflecting just another aspect of yourself, providing an opportunity for growth and deeper self-exploration.

✶ Lesson: ⚛

• People who come into your life as a lesson are the ones who will teach you something new, and perhaps something valuable as well. You may already lack or need what is being taught to you, such as boundaries, compassion, patience, accountability, love, or self-love, among many other things. These individuals are here to guide you toward your higher self.

✶ Door:🚪✨🌌

• Lastly, people who come into your life as a door are welcoming you into the unknown. You intrinsically know that you are taking a risk by stepping through that door, but you understand that as soon as you enter, you will be a different person on the other side.

~𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚃𝚒𝚙 𝙹𝚊𝚛 🫙🙏🏿

𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝: @𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢

[ferryfoam]

Would you guys burn me at the stake if I say that I think Chrysalis is actually a really important insight into Julian's character and his view on his own life and the people around him at the time it takes place. It's an episode that doesn't hold up today cause of the very ableist writing and kind of shitty moral but I think it's necessary that it's there and also occurs at the time it does in the show

I'll have a more insightful analysis on it one day cause I really want to talk about it (I want to make better researched ds9 analyses with actual clips from the show and whatnot instead of just vaguely referencing events from memory that could be completely wrong but unfortunately I do not have the time to be doing all of that. I would really like to in the future though)

[sorrelpaws]

no offense but i genuinely fear that their potential dynamic will go severely underutilized

[canonkiller]

do you consider your self made?

[tomurakii]

My last post about bloodweave was pretty negative (though necessarily so imo) so I wanted to talk about the little things about the bloodweave dynamic that I DO like and want to see more of in fic (under the cut).

- the orb means Astarion can't start their relationship transactionally. Gale can't give Astarion blood, and also can't have sex with him (and presumably would refuse casual sex anyway). How would the relationship develop without Astarion being able to rely on the give-and-take, forced instead to just trust Gale will watch his back? Astarion isn't a plans guy, I imagine having to come up with something on the spot (considering none of the other companions are reeaaaally an option either) would lead to a lot more emotional vulnerability as he tries to take a route he has much less experience with. Not to mention that the flirty and standoffish front isn't exactly going to endear him to Gale, who approves of the capable, loyal, and righteous. How long can Astarion pretend to be invested in Gale's wellbeing before it becomes true?

- they both have bad ascension endings, but different natural outcomes. Gale is considered the more morally upstanding one, but in their solo states (without the player's influence) Gale will go through with ascension and Astarion won't. Would they goad each other on? Gale disapproves of Astarion's ascension, using arguments that could apply to himself about the personal sacrifice and loss of the soul. Would Astarion flip them around, become defensive? Their dynamic could mean the power hungry character ending up discouraging the pursuit of godhood, or the two of them hurtling over the edge together. Or, maybe, Astarion encouraging Gale to ascend and having to trust him to return.

- they're the party members with the most life experience, and they're also both pretty well-educated (even if Astarion's law qualifications may well have expired by the events of the game). He spent his time under Cazador sewing (like Gale in his Baldur's Gate epilogue) and learning languages (of which Gale knows four). They have enduring common interests beyond their circumstances. Gale can help Astarion rediscover the latent nerd potential he lost when he died, and lord knows he would love to pick his brain for a first hand account of the mid-to-late 12th century.

- Astarion recently regained hope for his future when the tadpole freed him, Gale recently lost all of it. While act 1 is a continuous series of positive discoveries for Astarion (tadpole frees him from cazador -> ceremorphosis is held off by the dream visitor -> tadpole can be controlled), Gale's life gets worse with time as his treatment stops working. It's a dynamic that could give Gale hope, force Astarion to practise empathy, or put them completely at odds.

- Astarion's all-encompassing desire to reclaim his life could be inspiring to Gale. Moreover, I imagine seeing just how passive Gale is about his death would infuriate him. To have so little regard for his real, mortal, free life? It's a great source of angst, and also a great starting point for Gale to start wanting to live again. Because after learning about Astarion's past he would agree, he'd recognise how much value a mortal life was supposed to have. He'd think himself ungrateful or impolite for entertaining the idea of throwing it away when Astarion would give anything to have what he had. This would lead to guilt, and potentially self-loathing, unless someone was there to help pick up the pieces.

- If Astarion meets Oblodra before Gale's act 2 romance scene, (or for a fanfic plot, just before Gale is confident enough to confess) they most likely won't have sex until the graveyard scene in late act 3 (or the post-ascension equivalent). It means that rather than the fuckfest we so often see from bloodweave fics, the relationship is almost entirely a slow-burning, emotionally intimate affair. I'd really love to see that play out, the progression from semi-horny yearning on both parts as the orb keeps them apart, to two love confessions that are followed by the both of them experiencing non-sexual intimacy for the first time in years. I doubt Mystra was one to hug her chosen, after all, or hold their hands.

I just love a bg3 ship that forces the characters to take different actions than they do in canon. It makes me feel like I'm developing a broader understanding of the characters, you know?

[uncleardyn]

(alan wake-gravity falls crossover) man i love that character. you know, the deeply paranoid author who made a pact with a dark entity that ultimately ended with him stranded in another dimension separated from his loved ones for years at a time? takes place in the pacific northwest? has twin imagery associated with him and a reoccurring specific piece of symbology related to the unfortunate situation they're in? doesn't ever explain the reasoning behind his actions and instead just kinda goes "bro trust me"? yeah he also wears an outer layer of clothing with elbow pads on it, that one.

[the-unrestrained-poet]

When I look through the windowsill of my eyelids  I see a heaven from the hell that is my brain. I wonder what you see dear reader- When you wake each morning, What do you see?

-Teagan R. Nault

[mangotelevision]

Jo9 simple backstories and power overviews

There's not a lot we know about the jury so all of this is very headcannon-y for warning. Some of this might clash with cannon so I'm leaning for this to be more so a part of my rewrite.

Zane Ro’meave (unofficial title: Zane the Undying)

Deemed leader of the Jury of Nine by Lorde Garte, his father, and instead of choosing a ninth guard for his squad he declared himself as worthy enough for the position. Still remains the ninth member of the Jury of Nine to this day and refuses to choose another as he believes one could not wield the power like he does, also refuses to take an official Jury title, feels as though it is beneath him and people should fear his name and his name alone.

Zane was never a guard, never took the oath and never trained as one, took the Jury Leader position per his fathers request after he finished his studies and became the High Priest of O'khasis. He has no knowledge or skill in weapons of any sort, physically he is weak, he uses others to accomplish the things he wants, his conviction and manipulation is his greatest advantage.

Has had the gift of foresight since he was a child, a magic that allows him to read people's thoughts and see fractions of moments of the future. He believes his powers come from the heavens and the stars, that he has a divine right to rule because of his power. He receives something akin to prophecies of the future, vague visions of what will come to pass, these visions have never been wrong- and he cannot change anything no matter how hard he tries. So he desires to seek out a magic that can, something that will provide him with the strength to alter fate.

(He can’t read Aphmau's mind and she has changed a future Zane saw, it was small and minute but it changed, she did something that resulted in his vision being wrong. Zane is never wrong. This is why he is so enamored with her, why he wants her dead- because she’s stronger than him, because she can change fate. It is a power he wants so desperately and if he can’t have it then no one can.)

Janus the Silver Death

Most everything about him is unknown, he is an enigma wrapped in a mystery. He hides behind his helm, and the only person to ever see under the mask and live to tell of it is Zane. Janus is thought to be an elf in some form, no one knows if he’s a full elf or half and he never answers when asked. He is the oldest member of the Jury, no one remembers how long he’s been there, and rumor has it that he’s been protecting the Lords of O'khasis for centuries. It is unclear if he was a guard or not before his Jury position.

Janus wields twin broadswords, one frost and one fire. Expert fighter, no one has ever seen him lose a fight. Although more often than not he relies on his Jury abilities. He is a necromancer of sorts, he possesses the ability to bring back those that his enemies have slain- the more people his opponent has killed, the harder they’ll fall.

It is unknown if he has powers that exist beyond those gifted to him through the Jury.

Katelyn the Fire Fist

Katelyn was sent to the Guard Academy after an “incident” per Lord Garte’s orders. No one is quite sure where she came from or what this incident was but it's largely thought to have been of a violent nature, something bloodied and bruised, although her early life is largely a mystery and she changes the story each time she’s asked. She was exceptional at the academy, a prodigy in combat, but after many disciplinary actions and detentions, Katelyn was expelled due to “excessive violence” and declared unfit to be a Guard. Was placed in the Jury Reserves, where she stayed until a member of the Jury had a more than suspicious death and she rose the ranks per Lord Garte’s orders. She stands as the youngest appointed Juror in recorded Ru’an.

Specializes in hand to hand combat and wields weighted adamantine gauntlets brazened with wyvern claws. Katelyn has magic that exists outside of her Jury powers, she’s a half-witch with a blood magic known as dragon's fire, which gives her the ability to use the fire of a wyvern while being virtually fireproof herself. She is not a traditional witch and cannot be taught any other spells or enchantments, all spells cast from her hands will always fail.

Her Jury power is that of absolute agility, possessing limitless agility, with her balance, bodily coordination, speed, reflexes and strength transcending virtually all other beings. With this power, time moves far slower to Katelyn and she has the endurance to keep it up for prolonged periods of time- no one has ever outpaced her in a fight.

Has a quick temper and doesn't work well with others, easily angered and her fire often burns too hot for her own good, oftentimes more than a little too eager to start a fight.

Lillian the Phantom Sword

Raised in Nahakara Village alongside her cousin Ivy, Lillian became a guard through traditional means. She went to the guard academy when she became of age and excelled in her studies, graduated top of her class and made high Jury List. Served as a guard in her home of Nahakara Village, where she remained second in command until Ivy finished her own guard training.

Lillian became cursed by unknown means while exploring the enchanted forest with Ivy, resulting in her reflection gaining a consciousness and a life of her own. Hears her reflection talking to her, telling her to kill and destroy, overall not good things. She ignored it for as long as she could before eventually stepping down as head guard to seek out someone who could help. She finds Zane, who's idea of helping is bringing the reflection to the physical world and combining the real Lillian with the reflection. The two can switch fronts at will, but the reflection is always in charge, she is always in control in the back of Lillian's mind talking and telling her what to do. Lillian is but a vessel for her reflection.

She wields a simple guards sword without her shield, believing it to be too bulky in combat. Lillian is an expert level swordsman, the above average guard will not win, fighting with her is often thought to resemble a dance with her graceful movements. Her Jury power is that of illusions, she can conjure things out of shadow and mist, make people see things that aren't there. Her powers are significantly stronger and her illusions far more believable when her reflection is casting them.

The reflection is forever grateful to Zane for freeing her and giving her the control and strength over a physical body, she'll obey his every order, she is indebted to him. The reflection of Lillian is his most loyal guard.

Ivy the Venom Scythe

Raised by her cousin Lillian's parents in Naharaka Village, Ivy never cared to be a guard, she was content with her own devices, researching and experimenting with her poisons and potions. Ivy was always in and out of trouble, always some misfortunate adventure she roped Lillian into, who more often than not got them out of said trouble. She joined the guard academy after much convincing from her cousin, her havoc showed no mercy to the school and although she graduated on the Jury List it was not without a few official warnings on her record.

Joined the ranks as a guard of Naharaka with her cousin, was difficult to work with and a shitty guard, always skipping patrol to continue with her experiments. Lillian was more often than not the one who got in trouble for Ivy’s disservice to the guard code, she was the one who encouraged her to be something she’s not after all. Was formally reprimanded and assigned her second strike to her guard record after being caught lacing her sword with poison. After Lillian was cursed and fled from her duties, Ivy left also and joined the Jury Reserves in O'khasis where she was assigned to a Jurors Team and allowed to experiment with her poisons and venoms as she saw fit. Was later appointed to the Jury through traditional means after a member stepped down.

She wields a large poison laced scythe, leaning very far into her self-assigned grim reaper motif. Her Jury powers are similar to a curse, she has the ability to take the life force of anything she touches, her body acts as a poison and she can spread that poison to others. This has an effect on anything living, ranging from plants to animals she can turn anything to dust and bones. She possesses immunity to all poisons, venoms and toxins and has a vast and incomprehensible knowledge on anything relating to such topics.

Ivy’s a wild card, someone Zane can’t easily control. They don't exactly see eye to eye but Ivy is here for a good time not a long time so she’ll do whatever he asks of her as long as it’s not boring.

Jeffory the Golden Heart

Became a member of the Jury through traditional means. Went to the guard academy to learn to protect others, excellent guard, the Golden Boy of the academy in the years he attended, perfect record and perfect marks, graduated early and managed to land a spot on the Jury list. Went back to guard his home in Skysted before transferring to O’khasis per Garte’s request, became head guard and general of the O’khasis military after a few years of service.

He's a brave soldier, loyal and kind hearted. His devotion to those he loves and the people he has to protect knows no bounds. Jeffory is the people's soldier, everyone adores him, the Golden Boy of O’khasis. After one of the Jury of Nine stood down to retire, Jeffory was given the mantle.

Fights with a very untrational choice of weapon, and his mastery of the glaive is something short of a marvel. He’s a flashy fighter, eager to show his skills and yet he is kind all the while. His Jury powers are simple and often overlooked, he possesses the ability of imprisonment, allowing him to create a barrier that can capture and imprison humans, creatures, anything, with little hope or no chance to escape. (functions similarly to the golden lasso from the original series) Although he uses this as more of a pocket realm, like a mythical handbag to store things in. He has no magic or other powers outside of his Juror title.

Knows that the Jury is corrupt and he worries he’s starting to become just like the others, he fears the day he’ll be just as bloodthirsty, just as power hungry. He’s concerned that the Jeffory that he has become has lost his heart of gold, and it scares him.

Ivan the Hallowed

Warlock hailing from a small mountain village, Ivan got into a lot of trouble with his magic as a kid, always felt as though he had to prove something, as if the world owed him a great debt. The Village sent him away to train as a guard in an attempt to keep him out of trouble and his head out of his magic books, believing they knew what was best for him. Ivan wasn’t a particularly great guard, unpopular and unskilled in the protecting front, but he seemed to make up for it with his fighting. After his training he was assigned to the Village of Pikoro, where he continued with his magic studies- the village was often known for its distast and distrust of magic, he was exiled shortly after his arrival.

Was offered the position of Jury member by Zane, even without making the Jury List post graduation. The High Priest was enamored with his ability to cast complicated spells, he had seen nothing quite like it, he wanted to study it, cultivate it as his own. Ivan’s magic is strong, impressively so. One of the brightest spell casters Ru’an has seen in centuries, although his magic is volatile and unstable: this instability seems to be his driving force, his bragging point as his spells don’t have to adhere to the normal laws of magic.

He seemed to have gained no excess powers after obtaining the title of Juror. He’s the most recent addition, so he feels like he has something to prove that makes him dangerous. Doesn’t take orders well and tends to do his own thing. Zane only keeps Ivan around out of his usefulness, once it has expired it’s not unlikely Ivan will as well.

Ein the Beast Slayer

Abandoned and taken in by a tribe of werewolves, Ein was raised and trained by the creatures of the moon as one of their own. Until a violent incident with a rival pack resulted in his adoptive family banishing him, afraid of his strength. They feared that which was stronger than them, the things they couldn't control. He joined the guard academy, he held the vengeful desire to become stronger. Graduating with decorated honors and a position fairly high on the Jury list, he took a position in a Village close to his old home. Early into his guard career, Ein slaughtered the werewolves from his pack, the ones that took him in as their own, raised him, betrayed him. He made them understand true strength, gave them a real reason to fear him. He now wears the skull and fur of the alpha werewolf.

Ein went on to kill nearly hundreds of werewolves, bringing their population to such a decline it caught the attention of The High Priest, Zane Ro’meave. Zane heard of his deeds and sought him out, mysteriously, a member of the Jury resigned and Ein took their place.

His Jury powers are a curse, it’s a blood beastman curse that allows him the ability to shapeshift into any animal that he’s consumed the blood of. It is unknown if this trick will work for humans. His weapon of choice is a battle ax, although he often prefers to do Zane's dirty work as one of the beasts in his collection. Ein loves the chase, he lives for the kill.

Teony the Bright Blade

Became a member of the Jury through traditional means, raised in the village of BrightPort Teony joined the Guard Academy and excelled in her studies. Often referred to as the brightest mind of her generation. Graduated with high honors, Jury List and signed to the Jury Reserves, where she swore her allegiance to the O'khasis Guard. Served as second in command of the O’khasis Military, until becoming a member of the Jury of Nine alongside Jeffory the Golden Heart, the two were given their titles during the same ceremony.

Teony has immense skill over any and all weapons, she has a mastery of the craft of fighting.

Her Jury power is a summons- she can conjure weapons, knights, animals, most anything she needs out of light. These beings hold no physical form in the hands of others, weapons will disappear if she is not the wielder and the animals will vanish if they are cut through.

No one outside of the Jury has ever bested her in a battle of skill, she is the expert amongst experts, specialist in all weapons and can summon any of her choosing to wield. She is noble and strong, like Jeffory she is a true guard, her loyalty knows no bounds. And similarly, she often fears she is doing the wrong thing, helping the wrong people. Her oath to the Guard code outweighs her oath to Lord Garte, her nobility will always come first, her duty is to save people and protect, where there is darkness she shall be the light. Just like Jeffory, her heart of gold will be her downfall.

[pjowasmy1stfandom]

This is something I should probably save for when I'm not supposed to be asleep. Ce' la vie or whatever

I've been wondering about what exactly Morro did to deserve getting banished to the Cursed Realm bc why not. Anyway, I have a headcanon as to how he got there exactly (taken from an amazing fic I'll probably talk about later) but I wanted to know if there was a canon reason so I went to the wiki

I guess this turned into an essay of sorts so I added a cut bc it got long what the heck

Summary isn't proving helpful. What 'previous actions'? Cause if you're talking about his being willing to defy fate, I think that could honestly be taken as either arrogance or desperation

Again with the arrogance vs desperation. He's been told by Wu for years or however long he's trained that he's the Green Ninja. He essentially was taught to associate his self-worth and competency with being the Green Ninja. And then that got taken away from him

Audacity??? Really?? Did the person who wrote the wiki watch the same episode as me?? He hadn't even hit his growth spurt yet, he still had the tiny legs! Okay, yes, waking a Grundle. Not smart. He's what, a preteen/teenager? That's kinda what they're known for

Okay, now we're getting somewhere! Aaaand nevermind. The link just took me to the summary of the episode where they do the whole entire exposition dump. From Wu's perspective. Hmmm. I wonder how the way the story was written would change if we heard it from Morro instead?? Anyway, they say he's committed atrocities, but the only atrocities I've actually seen any real proof for are the things he did during Possession, not before he ended up in the Cursed Realm. I'm not saying he didn't commit them, I'm just saying if they want me to believe he actually deserved to get cursed, they needed to give me a better idea of what he did wrong. So far, I'm just seeing a kid with an identity crisis

Oof. Awful way to go out. I mean, it could have been worse, but still. The fact that the Master of Wind died underground... Yeah, that's all sorts of levels of irony this post isn't about. Anyway, still haven't gotten any clear idea of what his 'actions' were and why they were so horrible

And honestly, I'm not even gonna touch what the wiki's saying about his personality rn. Let me just summarize it as 'literally everything is negatively spun, even the good things'. Which, yes, I get bc he is a literal antagonist, but at the same time...

Okay, moving on! Trivia!

I mostly knew this already but. Wow. That's a teenager. I'm somewhere around that age and yeah, being that age is hard. Having an extra identity/existential crisis on top of all that and having no way to actually healthily deal with that... Yep, I can see why he went evil

Okay, that's it? Just 'some bad act'??? Wait, as he perished?!? But he was in an explosion... We don't see any other skeletons around him, right? I think that'd be mentioned/shown at least ONCE. So I don't think he killed anyone...

Anyway, cool cool cool. I learned... Pretty much nothing I didn't already know. Nice. I wanna fist fight the wiki now

If anyone's curious, my headcanon is based off Land of the Living on Ao3 by CaptainBrookeworm. Basically, Morro accidentally managed to curse himself just by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time (and I highly recommend reading the fic if you haven't already, it's one of my absolute favorites)

[afterthelambs]

i told my friend how interesting it is that Akechi appeared immediately after they defeated Yaldabaoth, while the other phantom thieves' wishes took until after the new year to manifest and my friend said "that probably means joker was thinking of akechi the entire time they were fighting yaldabaoth, wishing he was there with them" and im NOT OKAY ANYMORE

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

the thing is, for MCR death was always an external force. like, Helena, It's Not A Fashion Statement, even Famous Last Words, etc it's all like, death is this future, potential thing they're fighting back against. (side note: this is very much not true in tone for Gerard's solo album, which is... kind of heavy considering the timeframe it was produced/released and toured for in) but with FOB death has always been this thing right there, in the midst of them. it's a present haunting. I think the difference really comes down to: MCR is fighting death. FOB is breaking up with it.

[worldbuildingwanderlust]

Though the horizon

Never truly fades away

It will always change

[angel-archivist]

It's so interesting and so exceedingly frustrating how agab is being utilized now within the queer community as a way to isolate and sort nonbinary and genderqueer folks into binary boxes that determine their moral purity levels, and their authority to do and write and exist.

The way nonbinary writers are being put under accusation of fetishizing gay men while their AGAB is continually brought up in a way that feels like queer-space-approved misgendering.

The way feminist circles that are supposedly trans-inclusive will use the word AFAB in a way that implicitly but intentionally isolates nonbinary people who aren't AFAB from joining. It's for women*.

The way the language is already flawed and leaves out intersex folks from the conversations while focusing on a binary of sex that isn't truthful.

The constant obsessing over whether someone is AFAB or AMAB and whether or not that gives them the privilege to join, do, write, or be present in certain spaces really really concerns me. How are we supposed to dismantle a binary system of gender if we can't even move past forcibly assigning and focusing on people's genders assigned at birth?