#granted there was more going on in that series related to that but the point still stands

[blue-lantern]

Far from the first person to say this but I would pay so much for a minimum 12 issue solo series focusing on Starfire as a liberator of enslaved peoples in space. I’m not the most creative person so what that would look like specifically eludes me. But. Explore her trauma and how it channels into righteous anger more in depth! Completely remove her from earth for a little bit so writers can’t bog her down with relationship drama! Have the story parallel human slavery and politics!

[mirandasidefics]

Autumn Leaves

(Late Submission for @erisweekofficial Prompt: Bonds/Bargains 👑)

Pairing(s): Eris x Archeron Sister! Reader  

Summary: Eris never anticipated to find his Mate in a former human. 

Word Count: 3.1K

Warning(s): Mention of traumatic childbirth, mentions of Beron (he’s a trigger all on his own these days). 

Author’s Note: BASED ON THIS REQUEST. I felt that this scenario fit perfectly with the prompt of Bonds/Bargains for Eris Week. I hope that this fits well with what you had wanted anon! I know the request specifically asked for Reader to be the youngest, but I felt that it would be a bit more inclusive to leave the birth order more ambiguous for those that maybe don’t relate to being the youngest sibling. My brain wasn’t functioning enough to allow me to write an understandable dance scene, so…sorry that it's not as descriptive as I would have preferred. I also didn’t go back to review any of the events that occurred in ACOWAR or ACOSF, so if it’s not exactly canon compliant just ignore that. Also, Lucien was at the Hewn City solstice ball for this because I said so. 

Special thanks to @hardcoremarvelfan for beta reading and coming up with the title for this. Also, there will very likely be a part 2.

dividers by @/tsunami-of-tears ACOTAR Masterlist

The first time Eris saw the Made female he was immediately intrigued. She was quiet and stoic, much like the two sisters she accompanied for the High Lord’s meeting. Her eyes, the same shade as her sisters, appeared cold as she took in the room. It was clear she was observing more than she let on, gaze trained forward yet keenly aware of every single one of the High Lords and their various entourages. It was apparent to Eris that she saw more than her sisters, perhaps even more than his brother’s mate who was rumored to have been gifted the powers of a Seer by the Cauldron. He could feel the power that radiated off this fourth sister and couldn’t help but wonder what gifts she may have been granted. 

The second time he saw her was at the end of the battle with Hybern on the edge of the Spring and Summer Court border. Her eyes appeared distant as if she was separated from her body and the gore that surrounded her. But his answer regarding her gift had been answered as a circle of ice forged spears surrounded her. At least a dozen bodies were skewered while she stood stock still in the center of the circle. He had been compelled to approach her, but his brother got to her first, asking if she was okay and if she had seen his mate. After a single nod and a pointed finger towards a series of tents Lucien gently guided her away from the carnage she wrought. 

The third time he saw her was at the solstice ball in the Hewn City over a year later. Dressed in a drab black gown clearly intended to prevent her from sticking out. However, it wouldn’t have mattered if she was dressed down or in the most lavish of gowns. Eris’ eyes were instantly drawn to her as soon as she processed along with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. His youngest brother was by her side as an escort. As she approached the dias with her family, her eyes found his own, and Eris felt the world tilt on its axis. It took all of his mental will power to remain upright at the realization of what she was to him. Mate. 

Eris couldn’t remove his eyes from the female as Rhysand made his speech. Nor could he remove them when the music started and various Fae in attendance began to dance. He followed every one of her steps as she was escorted towards the dance floor, a beautiful smile spread wide across plush pink lips. He was vaguely aware of Rhysand's approach, his introduction to the High Lady’s sister. The only one that was dressed to be admired by the eyes of others. Nesta, he believed it was. But Eris wasn’t interested in the female that stood before him. He held up a hand, instantly silencing the High Lord, and simply pointed to the sister on the dance floor. 

“What is her name?” He asked, the light russet gaze never faltering. Eris could feel the tension in Nesta’s shoulders as she followed his gesture. Rhysand, always one to never give away his thoughts, supplied her name. Eris repeated it, the name tasting like honeyed wine in his mouth. Nesta attempted to redirect the conversation and offered Eris a dance, but the Autumn Heir ignored her. 

“Any bargains that you wish to make will be offered by her,” Eris’ voice was smooth as his eyes finally met purple. “Shall I introduce myself or will you make the introduction for me?” Rhysand turned his head towards the direction where Lucien spun her around as the two waltzed. His youngest brother’s head whipped in their direction, before he halted his dance and brought her over for a formal introduction. As expected, the female politely accepted Eris’ invitation for a dance. 

That first dance was all it took for Eris to know he didn’t want to be separated from her moving forward. Her demeanor was so different from what he had observed when he was only able to watch her from afar. He danced with only her for the remainder of the celebration and found himself completely enraptured by her. While he could tell that she wasn’t as strong a dancer as her sister, whom he caught out of the corner of his eye, it didn’t deter his conviction of only wanting to be by her side. Conversation flowed freely and easily as they danced. She was sharp witted, with a penchant for dry sarcasm. Her wry smile and her laugh ignited something deep within. 

Eris always had a drive to protect those he cared for, such as his Mother and Lucien, but the desire to keep her safe was stronger than anything he had experienced before. He couldn’t leave her in the Night Court, even if most of her time was spent in a city far safer than the one in which they danced. However, she couldn’t exactly join him in the Autumn lest he run the risk of her becoming one of Beron’s targets to keep Eris in line. For the first time in decades, Eris didn’t know what to do. 

“Is everything alright my Lord?” Her voice was filled with nothing but genuine gentle concern. His eyes refocused from their far away haze, taking in her sharp features. Features that were so indicative of the High Fae. Looking at her one would never guess that she used to be human. 

“Eris,” He corrected. “Please.” 

“Is everything alright, Eris?” Her cheeks flushed with the slightest tinge of pink. His own heart stirred at her reaction to the use of his name. Their dance had come to a halt, and he hadn’t even realized the musicians were taking a break. 

“Yes,” He cleared his throat. “Just a bit lost in thought.” She nodded her head, taking a slight step back from his hold on her waist. Eris had to refrain from the desire to pull her back towards his chest. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” She took a look towards her sisters. All three were huddled against the edge of the dance floor. Nesta and Feyre’s sharp steel gazes attempted to pierce through the mask that Eris held in place. While the other, whose name he had sadly forgotten, had a glazed over look. Upon focusing, he noticed that the brown was nearly obscured by milky white. He heard the female in front of him gasp, her eyes trained on the Seer. Her head whipped back towards him, giving a slight nod.  

“I hope that we are able to count on your discretion about the Trove,” Her speech was rushed and she gathered the bottom of her skirts. “I’m certain that the High Lord will provide support to any claim you have to being the Heir.” With a quick second bow in parting she turned to rush over to her sisters. 

Before she got too far, Eris grasped her elbow and asked, “Would you come visit me? In Autumn?” She blinked at him. Almost as if she was surprised by his desire to see her again. 

“I must get to my sister,” She glanced back across the hall, at the High Lady trying to gain the attention of the Seer who was clearly lost in a vision. 

“I understand,” He released his grip and nodded solemnly. “I will write to you.” She blinked again. What he wouldn’t give to know what that beautiful mind was processing. She gave him a curt nod, before she quickly made her way across the hall. 

Eris couldn’t even last a week before sending his first letter. Again he asked if she would be interested in visiting his home court. She provided no answer or any acknowledgement of his question. Of course this didn’t deter Eris as they continued to exchange letters. With each one he would make his offer, enticing her with descriptions of celebrations and various traditions. He would tell her about his Hounds and his Mother. Yet she continued to not provide an answer to his offer. This same pattern went on for three months before Eris had enough of the tip-toeing around the subject. He was determined to get an answer, even if it was “No”. 

Eris arrived at what he assumed was Rhysand’s townhouse as the High Lord had instructed in his brief correspondence with the Autumn Heir.  He tapped the back of his knuckles on the large oak door. A few brief moments drifted by with no response. No movement could be heard from inside either. He peered his head towards the large bay window at the front, but the curtains were drawn shut. 

His heartbeat began to quicken with each passing moment as there continued to be no response. Eris was wholly unfamiliar with the city. He had no clue where to even begin looking for his mate. He was under the impression that he was at least expected by Rhysand. So why was no one here? 

Eris turned, prepared to winnow to the Hewn City in the hopes that Keir may have knowledge of where the High Lord could be, despite how unlikely that prospect was. Instead, he came face to face with an ethereal looking female. Skin and hair dark as shadows. A billowy white dress hugged her frame, yet appeared as if it was floating in a barrier of invisible water. It took him a minute to recognize her as one of Rhysand’s half wraith servants from Under the Mountain. 

“They are all at the High Lord and Lady’s home,” The female began to explain without preamble. “If you would follow me.” She turned, not bothering to ensure that the Autumn Lord followed. When the pair approached the near ostentatiously large home near the riverfront, screams could be heard from inside. If his heart hadn’t already been on the verge of an attack it surely was now. The half-wraith opened the front entrance, beckoning Eris to follow. 

No sooner as he stepped inside did his mate come surrying down the main staircase of the foyer. A pile of blood stained sheets spilling over her arms. Her eyes were rimmed in scarlet. Stepping onto the bottom landing she finally looked up, taking notice of the male. 

“Eris,” Her voice was no more than a whisper. Her lower lip wobbled, teeth sinking into it to prevent the tremble. Eris didn’t bother with formality, taking quick strides to meet her. As he reached her side, she dropped the pile of fabric and allowed her arms to encircle his waist. Her body shook with her sobs as her finger dug into his shoulders. 

“Feyre went into labor unexpectedly,” She cried into the elaborate brocade of his tunic. “The babe…his wings…” She couldn’t get her thoughts out in a coherent manner without the sobs overtaking her completely. “ They’re dying, Eris.” She wailed upon hearing her own words spoken aloud. He pulled her in tighter to his chest, his other hand gently rubbing in soothing circles along her shoulders. Eris had no words that could provide her with any sort of comfort, making him feel as if he was already failing her as her Mate. All the male could do was hold her and hope that she didn’t feel as alone in her grief if the High Lady of the Night Court somehow didn’t survive.  

Suddenly, Elain called out to her sister from the top of the staircase, “Come quick! Nesta she…” The warm brown eyes of the middle sister swam with unshed tears, a smile graced her features as well. Eris’ shoulders relaxed as the female's expression could only be an indication of good news. His mate quickly detached herself from his hold, racing back towards where the family convened. 

As soon as the two were out of sight, Eris looked around the foyer. He quickly found a small bench and sat down. He had never felt more awkward in his life. While he had developed a correspondence with this particular sister, he wasn’t exactly part of the family just yet. 

Eris sat in the hall, waiting for what felt like hours for his mate to return. Once she did, she escorted him into a large sitting room. 

“They’re going to live,” She smiled, sitting down in a chair across from him. She smoothed out her skirt, tucking in a corner that had somehow ended up with blood spatter staining the material. Eris merely hummed in acknowledgment. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that they had a moment alone like this. He had planned this elaborate greeting and proposal for her to come and visit, not giving her the room to ignore the request. However, that all went right out the proverbial window. His hands straightened the fabric of his shirt, then went to remove a non-existent strand of hair from his trousers, before finally resting on his lap. 

“You’re fidgeting,” She pointed out. Her smile grew as she suppressed a giggle. He was happy to see that her mood had lifted so quickly. It made the reason for his visit appear less strange, inappropriate even given the intensity of the events that occurred. She gently placed one of her hands over his. Her delicate fingers soothing and calming the rolling fire that he didn’t even notice had built up within himself. He allowed himself to grasp her hand in return, interlacing their digits. The sensation of fire against ice erupted throughout his being. Opposite yet still a perfect complement of powers. Eris couldn’t help but wonder what they would be able to achieve together. 

“Eris,” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts, his deep hues meeting her own cool gaze. “I’m happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” He swallowed, suddenly realizing that his actions were a bit sudden and perhaps not as well thought out as he intended. His arrival without notice to her would be unexpected. He only informed Rhysand that he needed to speak to Archeron female, but never explained why. 

“I,” He began, voice cracking. His pale features flushed and he was reminded of his younger days when his voice hovered between childhood and deeper timber of maturity. The female before him suppressed another giggle behind her unclasped hand. 

“I’m here because you consistently ignore a very specific question,” His gaze was steady, exuding what he hoped would be seen as confidence and not the uncertainty he felt. “I’ve come to ask one final time. If you say no, I will not burden you with asking ever again.” 

“Eris,” She pulled her hand away, eyes now unable to meet his own. 

“I acknowledge that Autumn is not always considered the most beautiful, what with the decay that can accompany the season in the mortal lands, so if you don’t like it-”

“Why would I not like the place where my mate lives?” Her perfect brows furrowed as she looked at him. Eris was at a loss for words. 

“When…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. However, it appeared that he didn’t need to as her response was a perfect correlation to what was on his mind.  

“Since the Winter Solstice,” She said. “When you first asked me to come visit.” It was Eris’ turn to blink in stunned silence. She had given no indication of being aware of who he was to her. Then again, he also hadn’t explicitly made their bond known. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking that his actions were obvious. 

“It’s not that I’m afraid that I won’t like it there,” She went on. “I’m actually afraid that I would not want to leave. But I simply can’t abandon my sisters.” She lowered her head, averting her gaze from the embarrassment. However, Eris understood the desire to be with her siblings. The same desire to ensure the well-being and safety of his younger brothers was one of his reasons for not abandoning the Autumn court. For enduring the cruelty of his Father for nearly 5 centuries. 

“I would never ask that you do,” He assured. “In fact, I wouldn’t want you to call the Autumn Court home just yet anyway. Not while my father still breathes.”

“I’m not afraid-”

“I am,” Eris admitted quietly. “I can’t risk anything happening to you.” He meant it, and was surprised at how easily the truth slipped from him. But it was just the two of them at this moment. He didn’t have to hide behind that mask when with her. He tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind the perfectly pointed arch of her ear. He watched a shiver run through her as his flesh met hers. 

“There are some places where I can keep you safe,” He explained, all of his thoughts spewing forth as his mind raced to prove that he could keep her safe enough for short visits. “Places where my Father doesn’t have the loyalty of the subjects, but they are loyal to me. I have a cabin, just along the borders of Summer and Winter. Close enough for you to run across either should the need arise. I’d prefer Summer, there is a temple not far from the border where you could claim sanctuary until Rhysand or one of the brutes could get you.”

“Eris…” 

“Please,” He implored. “I do not wish to scare you away or force you to come. But I cannot stay separated from you much longer. My brother is the one with the endless amounts of patients when it truly matters.”  She laughed, the melodic and soft sound made him feel light. 

“How often can we meet?” She inquired. Her bright blue eyes lit with anticipation of when they could have their time. 

“I can secure a few days away every month,” He explained, almost more to himself than her as he considered the variety of excuses he would need to utilize. “Maybe up to a week at most. The time of month would need to vary as well. Any semblance of a pattern would tip my Father off. He’s just paranoid enough to assume that I’d be planning some type of conspiracy against him.” Of course, his Father’s fears were not without reason. Eris was indeed planning to usurp the High Lord. Someday. 

“Alright then,” She beamed. “I will come and visit. Every month so long as it is safe and as long as I am able to return to my sisters.” Eris felt the corners of his mouth lift up, and soon she mirrored the expression. His heart flipped, and he had to clear his throat to regain control of his senses. 

“Then I shall send word when everything is ready.” He stood, preparing to leave when she clasped his hand again. 

“Stay for a while Eris,” Her voice was soothing, making it feel like she wasn’t giving him a command. Even if she had, he would have gladly done anything she bid of him. He knew in that instant he would do anything for her. 

General Tag list: @loving-and-dreaming @samslulumelon

[gotham-daydreams]

How would it have gone differently if Reader didn't try to be an "overachiever" and instead just stayed quiet and didn't interact with anyone besides Alfred until they left? Their room they left being mostly blank, with only the music journals? Giving up on trying to get their attention.

I think what's so funny about this ask, to me, is that I already have a concept like this written down (along with 3 others since the current reader I'm writing for the "Not [ ]" series is one of them but with a few missing details), so this'll be fun!

I guess it generally goes how you'd expect? Which is different for the most part, but the reader's perspective on what's happening is also different.

Granted, I would like to point out that, at least for this particular concept and the idea I have for it of how this would go, does have more stuff going on pre-Batfam that do affect how they perceive what's happening, and that's what makes things interesting in my opinion. Because someone can be naturally shy or just overall more reserved either out of nature or because they feel a certain way, but still feel bad about being neglected and, despite their lack of effort, feel that pain just as much as someone who's tried. Which is valid! Besides, someone's definition of 'trying' can vary as well.

Everyone should have a chance to have a family, and form some kind of connection with people. Just because you aren't going above and beyond for one person, doesn't mean you're undeserving of certain things. Especially not a chance to have a family, or feel like you have one. That's what I think anyway.

Nevertheless, back to the reader!

From the original concept, I will be tweaking a few things to fit the ask, but the same general outcome remains! Though again, the reader's perspective on things is a tad different. But how about this- I'll show two versions of the reader.

One that's quiet and more reserved because they gave up much earlier, or just generally hopeless really early on because maybe they felt as if anything they'd do just wouldn't be enough, who'll be accurately named Quiet!Reader. With the other being more closely related to the concept I wrote for such an idea, that we'll refer to as Waiting!Reader.

Quiet!Reader would change up things quite a bit! I won't lie!

They might already have bad self-esteem that's quick to develop at the start of things, which is something to note as that doesn't get better with time. They grow more cold and distant from the family at a quicker pace both from personal and external reasons.

Put simply, they don't feel good enough, and even if they did- anything they could do to get the Batfam's attention would never be enough in their eyes. To which, they see very early on when they try to engage and do some things with the family, only to be turned down. What doesn't help is when Quiet!Reader sees Damian get adopted and almost immediately showered with love, (compared to them) and that really cements some ideas that were already developing in their head about the family.

When Damian comes into the picture, they feel replaced. Seeing him as someone to fill in the 'youngest Wayne' role instead of them, so that Bruce and the others actually have someone to acknowledge for such a title. Just someone else to further take away the little they had.

So, they further step out of the way, glaring at the Batfam with tired eyes before that eventually stops too. Envy clawing at their heart, hatred being sent through waves of pain all throughout their body. Hurt unmatched. Yet they still remain invisible. Quiet as ever. Unnoticed. Everything they ever felt dies down, and forms a cold numbness that they begin to associate with the family.

Maybe through that, they feel closer to the family in some twisted way. Now just as cold as them. Just as talkative, and just as engaging. Almost mirroring them, but they're honest about how they feel. Honest about what they think, and therefore better. At least when compared to the Batfam- and to them, even if it wasn't a high bar to reach anyway, at least it counts for something.

It was never Damian's fault, or really about Damian at all. It could've been anyone else and Quiet!Reader would've still reacted the same way, they know that. Though just seeing the Batfam show love and care to him and not them just makes them feel... worse.

Clearly they're capable of love, and can notice new additions to the family (to which they may have mostly believed that the Batfam's neglect was just something the family did for whatever reason, and thought that them being the youngest had something to do with it for a while) and that breaks the reader. It doesn't hurt, not as much as it would've, maybe, but whatever hurt is there dies down quickly as Quiet!Reader, well, quietly accepts their fate.

The Batfam clearly wants nothing to do with them, so why should they try to do all of these things for them? It's simple, they shouldn't. So they don't. Quiet!Reader gives up, and continues to live their life without them.

The Manor just becomes a place they sleep in, and nothing else. It isn't anything close to a home, and not even Alfred can help with that.

It's because of that little fact, however, that Quiet!Reader leaves much sooner than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series. Maybe once they get a friend they can trust, they essentially end up living with said friend, hence why their room remains so empty. The notebooks they even keep in the room they have in the Manor is from when they were way younger, instead of just being from a few months ago or so. We're talking years since Quiet!Reader has touched those things now.

Maybe they do 'officially' leave a month or so before they usually would as an overachiever in the "Not [ ]" series, having only bothered to return so often before because of Alfred. Though even then, they'd forget to return most nights- only being reminded to even try and go back once Alfred would personally call them, and ask them where they were.

However now, after a while of just the time between them basically living with their friend and sleeping at the manor, they stop returning altogether. Though this time around they instead personally go to Alfred to say they're goodbyes. Not explaining much, but just saying that while they might still try to come and visit him sometimes, they don't live in the Manor anymore. Alfred already knows this, and the embrace they share fully hammers in that fact.

Yet when Quiet!Reader turns away, and leaves the Manor for good- even through the front door at that. Alfred can't help but just... miss them already.

You see, while Quiet!Reader is indeed quieter and more reserved, especially towards the Batfam, with Alfred really being the only exception, they still made music.

Maybe they didn't have as many concerts or physical, grand, live performances compared to the reader in the "Not [ ]" series, they not only started earlier, but may have actually started out on a social platform such a youtube. They really started out small, but were able to find and start their passion much earlier!

Most of what they played was when they were in the Manor, but slowly they started to get involved with things music related outside of the Manor and in Gotham- and from there were able to build themselves up even more. Hell, I'd even say that Quiet!Reader is a little more well-known and popular than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series because of the amount of extra time they dedicated to their passion.

So basically, Alfred this time around has more recordings and such of Quiet!Reader actually doing something they love than with the one in the series. However! Funnily enough, they're gone for a shorter amount of time despite having left earlier than normal.

Alfred is just, extra fed up with this nonsense, and so pulls his tricks more early on, but also make them hit harder.

He doesn't clean Quiet!Reader's room to show how long they've been gone, adding onto the emptiness and almost abandoned feeling the room itself gives off because of how bare and empty it is. They're music haunts the halls, subtle, sure, but still noticeable- especially to those who are hyper aware all the time. Pictures of Quiet!Reader and Alfred begin to be hung up, and if he can manage- some with Quiet!Reader and their friends during important parts of their life.

No one is safe from the guilt and anguish Alfred seeks to cause to not only have the Batfam look for you, but most importantly, to finally notice you.

Let's just say, things work out a little too well.

---

As for Waiting!Reader? Oh man, I've been wanting to rant about them for a while!

Unlike the reader in the "Not [ ]" series and Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader had some semblance of a life before getting adopted into the Batfam. Though the idea and character themself isn't musically inclined/involved in music, or even all that interested in music for that matter- for the sake of this ask, lets say they are!

I won't dabble too much into the life Waiting!Reader had before the Batfam, as if I do end up writing them I'd also like to keep some details vague (for the sake of leaving it up to interpretation and everything), but just know that during the time they were still with their original family, they were essentially taught that they should 'wait their turn', and eventually their parents would spend time with them and care for them. Hence the little name I've given them.

So! When they get to the Manor and are officially adopted, only to be neglected and ignored during their first few attempts- because of their young age, they immediately think "oh! they're just like mom and dad!" So they 'wait' for 'their turn', believing that eventually, should they wait long enough, they'll be rewarded with bonding and such from the Batfam just as they were with their previous parents.

This mindset changes what they do as well, as Waiting!Reader even goes out of their way to not bother anyone, or "get in the way" of whatever they could be doing. Waiting!Reader treats the situation so much like their previous home life, that sometimes they might even forget that the Batfam are completely different people from their parents. The only real difference that they can think of is that they're not acknowledged at all and it seems like their 'turn' never comes. Though for a while that doesn't get them down. The Batfam is busy like they're parents were! Waiting!Reader is sure that when things die down then they'll have their time.

... Hopefully.

I can imagine that part of the reason why Waiting!Reader holds on to hope for so long is because, again, their own parents constantly reassured them that they would have their time eventually. That if they behaved, and stayed out of the way, then they would go somewhere fun with their parents and essentially be rewarded for their efforts. They were conditioned to wait, to be patient, and just comply until those around them decided to actually take care of them, and spend time with them.

Of course, as they grow up the reality of the situation does hit them eventually, but during that time they do try.

Waiting!Reader helps Alfred around the house, and so they mostly bond over doing chores, among other things. They are also more mindful, and try to keep the amount of noise they back down— so they actually don't play at the Manor all that often, and instead play literally anywhere else. If and when they do play outside, around the area of the Manor like in the gardens or something, they make sure no one is around before even thinking of playing.

Alfred does help them break a few of their habits that they got while living with their parents, but the one thing he can't seem to 'fix' is how absolutely quiet Waiting!Reader is when they walk around. Which, as on can imagine, doesn't exactly help in a situation where the whole family, except for the butler, is neglecting you.

The amount of times Waiting!Reader has caught Alfred off guard is more then you'd think for someone that works with the Dark Knight, and his various sidekicks and such, over the years. Which does say something, sure, but it's also funny!

Regardless, similar to Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader is able to start their musical career earlier than normal, and thuse becomes a little more popular than they would originally. However, they're more known for their live performances and giving back to the community. Seemingly just like Bruce as they attend charity event after charity event, and try to do good by the people.

Waiting!Reader also does genuinely try to become a vigilante as well, but they do so in a way where they only take care of the smaller/medium guys, and leave the bigger ones to the rest of the Batfam. This is because they want to remove possible distractions for their family, and while they would try to take on "bigger guys", they don't think they're skilled enough or experienced enough to even think about it. So they don't even try. (They also don't have the same theme as the Batfam- since they don't want to 'ruin' their reputation with what they're doing or something. Which does hell them further detach themself from the family later on.)

I'd say that with Waiting!Reader, the difference between them and the Batfam is more clear to them? Like, to them, the Batfam are just so good at what they do that they have no hope of reaching them. So instead of trying to reach for them, they just do their own thing and try to help in their own way.

Because Waiting!Reader takes care of smaller guys, they are kind of closer to Waiting!Reader as a vigilante.

The best way I can put it is that while the community trusts Batman and the members of the Batfam to save their city, they trust Waiting!Reader to save their homes.

So basically- Batfam is the bigger picture while Waiting!Reader focuses on the smaller picture.

Nevertheless! Also like Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader actually leaves earlier. Except when they leave, they leave.

Waiting!Reader straight up leaves Gotham City to attend the college that they want to go to, in an area that has more opportunity for them, that isn't close to where the Batfam lives or patrols.

So they not only leave earlier, but it also takes the Batfam longer to find them. Especially because Waiting!Reader does still do some things in Gotham, they just don't live there anymore.

I feel like out of all three readers, Waiting!Reader definitely feels like the kind of person that someone would assume is some kind of "Phantom of the Wayne Manor," y'know?

So Alfred definitely tries to make the Batfam feel bad like he does with Quiet!Reader. Except how anyone in the Batfam is reminded that Waiting!Reader even exists, and that they've been gone for a while now is through a letter that is accidentally sent to the Wayne Manor from one of Waiting!Reader's fans. From there, some research does start and the more the Batfam learns, the more they want to go and find the reader- you know the deal.

I hope this answered your question even if I really did ramble on this time- if you'd like me to clarify anything or go into more detail on a specific part, feel free to send in an ask!

[slickchickchocolatier]

"Turn Around..."

One shot fic. (Not relating to any of the established series.) This is a bit different from what I normally draft up, kind of like the Robin Hood one shot, which is also a non-yandere fic like this one. Pls enjoy.

Thank you for taking the time and reading my stories and drabbles. To show your support, please consider donating into my ko-fi account ♥️

Warnings: Unprotected smut, breakup, lovers reunited, makeup sex, rough sex, a little bit of angst, taken for granted, apologetic make lead, regretful male lead, and drama. "Dont know what you got till it's gone" type vibe. not proofread but figured i'd get this out to keep yall busy until i get the next chapter of TO out 😉

Summary: You and Heeseung had a break up, despite all that has happened, you find out that you weren't the only one hurting.

“Hey.” he stands calmly at the door. You avoid making eye contact, too nervous and shy on what to say. A bit of a ridiculous notion considering you knew the man very well, dated for quite some time in fact, yet the lack of his efforts drove you to the point where you had to kill off the relationship, for our own happiness. The only issue was, that you’re not sure if you’re any happier now than you were when dating him. Nodding, you respond back with a soft “hey…” 

Walking in, his initiative causes you to walk back. He lets himself in and gently shuts the door behind, never breaking his sight away from you. You kept shifting your sight from one area on the floor, to another. He continues to take his steps forward, and you keep taking them back. Soon, he has you pinned against the wall. Palming the wall, one hand off to each side, he traps you in his arms and leans in, wanting to get closer. You dip down and swoop under his arm to get away freely into the open space, walking over to the living room, much to his grimace dismay. 

Sitting on one end of the couch, you cross your legs and prop your hands up to rest your chin. Intent on avoiding eye contact, you look away and kept your face in the opposite direction. He walks over calmly and sits next to you. 

“Y/n….”

“Heeseung stop. Could you please just get your things and go? I’m not in the mood to talk.” you snap, rubbing your temples as you adjust your body to shift up and away, standing before the tall window, waiting for him to move along and to get out. But he doesn't. 

Looking up from where you were just sitting, he remains on the couch wide eyed and slightly appalled. Sure, he went along with the break up, even dabbled and went on some dates even though you both had just broken up merely two weeks ago. However, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t hurting either. He only went and saw other girls just to try and take his mind off of you, but how are you supposed to know? He left you no choice, you didn’t ever see your relationship coming to an end. You worked and tried to get through to him, but he never listened, so then you were left with no choice but to break things off, yet you couldn’t help but feel stabbed when his nonchalant attitude and response to your initiation was given, almost too easily, as if he was thinking about breaking up himself. 

Seeing you standing in that silk camisole dress, lazily covered with the matching satin short robe over it, had him feeling some type of way. How long has it been since he saw you like this? No makeup, hair laying freely and barely dressed. You looked so beautiful, stunning in fact, and yet your body language and attitude made you achievable for him to grab hold on. Did he really lose you for good?

“Y/N…” he tries once more, keeping a respectable distance away, so as to not add any fuel to the fire. “Can’t we just talk?”

That did it for you. NOW, he wants to talk? Now? After seeing a handful of girls, pretending like you no longer mattered after you presented him with the words “I’m not sure if this is working out…I wished you would just be more considerate, yet you just always put me off to the side. Maybe we should consider a brea–” 

Remember the tone he had in his voice, he cut you off and finished your sentence, almost as if he was eager and looking forward to the word…as if he was taking your initiation as an opportunity to end everything without having to do the dirty work himself. “Break? Yeah sure, I think that would be good for us.” he told you. Never once trying to figure out the meaning behind your initiative, nor did he ever try to fight for you. But now, it seems he had a change of heart, but you weren’t wanting to hear any of it. Not after having a string of girls by his side the last few nights. What were you? A rebound? Were you just a safety net since it didn’t work out with those girls? What is this? 

Turning away, you snapped in a harsh tone. “No!”

“What?” His voice was a little more firm, and he seemed a bit irritated by your attitude. 

“I said no. I don't want to talk.” 

“Why are you–” he pauses. “Y/n…you act like you’re the only one that is affected by all this. You’re not. I’m struggling too, you know.” 

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re hurting so much, how many girls did you seek out for comfort? Five? We’ve only broken up two weeks ago and you never once wanted to talk, until now.” 

Standing from his seat, he grew offended by your words and replaced his soft and gentle gaze with a more stern and harsh one. Walking over to you, he nearly traps you in as he breaches your personal space and begins to walk you back to the wall, again. 

“What? You think those girls meant something? Seriously?”

“Are you kidding me? Don’t pretend you’re hurting, you nearly jumped for joy when I brought up the idea of taking a break. You think I don’t know? Get over yourself Heeseung!” Turning sharply, you try to get away from him, but his movements are quick and he restricts your fleeing attempts by hugging you from behind. You struggle and try to break free, yet the moment he pushes forward with you grasped in his arms, shoving you up against the wall chest first and his chin resting on your shoulder, burying his face in your neck, you begin to falter, but mentally maintain your resistance. Taming you, he senses your physical strength decreasing front he struggles, and continues to push you in, resting you on the flat surface as he closes the distance between your backside and his chest. Stroking his thumb, he caresses your waist as he hugs tightly. With small brush strokes of his lip, he softly pecks on the soft area of your neckline. 

“Stop…” You whimper out, trying to ignore the beautiful sensation of how his lips felt gently kissing, and sucking on your skin. “Stop…please….get away…”

“You really want me to get away?” he mumbles, with a mouth full of your delicate skin in his mouth. “Then say it. Tell me in all sincerity that you want me to stop and I’ll leave.” 

With your arms pinned to your body by his embrace, you reach up and lean your palms against the wall, pressing your body against his. You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder, you didn’t want him to stop, nor did you want him to leave. But you had to be strong, for the sake of mending your broken heart. So, with a shaky breath, you whined out. 

“Get away…” you nearly whispered, your hair draping over your face and your robe coming undone, bearing the nakedness of your shoulders and cleavage. “Just…get away…”

A slight pause was present, before he leans in and resumes his efforts as he takes in a mouthful of your soft skin, just below your ear, this time he was less gentle and more rough in his manners. 

“I said no….” you whimpered. His arms tightened around your arms and waist, and he slightly lifts you before shoving you further up against the wall, pressing your cheek to rest against the surface before whispering in your ear…

“I don't believe you.” 

Shooting his hand around, he lifts the hem of your camisole up and fingers his way through panties. He called you out on your bluff and you didn’t seem to mind, because now you get to show how much you missed him, that you didn’t want to leave. You get to show him that you were hurting, and that he left you without any options or hope to continue forward, that you were just at the lowest part of your life. He knew it too. He wasn’t being his best self with you, in fact he was selfish and led you with so many false promises, it’s no wonder you proposed a break up. It didn’t hit him until you started to usher out those words, but before you could finish, he beat you to the punch, all because he saved himself from the heartbreak of hearing you say it, so he had to say it first. Figuring he would save himself by hurting you, then to be hurt directly, he found that it was all for nothing. Right after walking away and leaving you to go on your own, a sharp pain hits him inside, and he immediately regrets it. He regretted going with the flow, and letting you go so easily. Fact is, he turned around, wanting to run back after you, but seeing your backside facing him, walking in the opposite direction without so much as a glance back over to him, compelled him to look the other way and to move forward, after all, it seemed you had no trouble doing just that. 

Taking your hand, he intertwined his fingers with your own, his kisses became more passionate and his embrace became tighter as his hands roamed. God he missed you. He missed how your body felt against his, and how your skin tasted. He missed how you sounded when he kissed that one little spot on your neck, and how your body shakes when he touches you. He missed you too much. 

“Tell me you don’t want me to leave this time….tell me we belong…tell me…so I can do what I’ve really been wanting to do for the last two weeks…with the one woman I’ve been wanting. Tell me baby…”

Softly sobbing, you whimpered and gasped out, immediately trying to catch your breath as you cried out your words. 

“I never wanted it to end in the first place…” 

Peeling his head back, he stood slightly shocked at your words. Before he could ask questions, you finally let it all out. It was long overdue, and the most painful sense of release you ever felt. 

“Why couldn’t you just have turned around?....I stood…watching you walk away. I mentally begged for you to turn around and come back…but you just kept moving on…you left me crying….and I just had no choice but to finally do the same….you didn’t come back. What was I supposed to do? Stand and wait in that spot forever? And those girls?....I just knew…you didn’t care….” 

Your words hit deep and cut a wound that may never heal. He had no idea that you waited. He did turn back but he was too late…probably by mere seconds. The image he recalls of you walking away, was imagined with you displaying a calm and tranquil look on your face. Now, he understands that you made your way back home in tears that night, and longed for him to come back to you. 

He gulps. In a single brief moment, your entire relationship flashes before his eyes, and he realizes that not only did he not give you his best during, but he didn’t give it to you after. Yeah, he tried to get his mind off you by going on dates, but how were you supposed to know that? He started to think how his behavior must have looked to you…how hurtful it must have been to hear about his rendezvous while you were sitting here longing for him to come back. But what killed him in all of this was that, had he just been less attentive towards his friends and set his priorities straight, none of this would have happened. How many times did he come home and skip eating the dinner you prepared, all because he decided to eat with the guys after work. Or whenever you asked to spend time with him, and he promised you he would have another day, one where he didn’t have plans, yet that day never came. How many times did he wake up, shower, and quickly breezed through the kitchen and sees that you prepared breakfast for him, yet instead of sitting and eating with you, thanking you for taking the time to feed him, he picks bits and pieces off his plate and heads out while jutting out the words “see ya!” and quickly leaves so he could be the first in line at the coffee shop…that coffee shop…the coffee shop you loved yet he never took you with. He knew your favorite order yet never brought you back anything. He was always so focused in grabbing his drink and heading to work, where he could spend nearly the entire day chilling out with the guys doing what they love, spending a great deal of overtime, before finally calling it a night. How many times did he have the opportunity to come back home, especially after seeing all his friends dipping out to go back to their loved ones that were waiting for them…and yet he stayed back, opting to hit up buddies who were single and could spare the time, instead of coming back home to you. How many times did he come back home so late at night, finding you already asleep. How many times did he crawl into bed with you, and instead of hugging you and kissing you, he turns the opposite direction and falls asleep, leaving you to not only feel lonesome during the day when you’re awake, but at night when you’re asleep too. Just how many times…did he take you for granted? 

He didn’t have any words. He felt hurt…he felt a great deal of pain, and it was nothing that you did, you were great…you were perfect in fact. The one that hurt him was himself.

Remaining silent, he leans back into your neck. Shoving his lips against your ear, feeling the shrug of your shoulders as the oversensitive sensation of feeling his lips pressed against you was immense and triggered potent arousal. Whispering, he merely tells you “I’m sorry…” 

His soft whisper made you cry even more. Feeling you shake as you sobbed harder, he holds on tightly and kisses you on that soft spot again…and again….and again. Until your sobs turned into moans. Sucking on your neck, he reaches up and grabs onto your throat, gently but firmly holding on as he pulls your hips back. His free arm hugs your waist and tugs onto you, while his grab around your neck keeps your face and chest close to the wall. Pressing his groin against your derriere, he takes in a large whiff of your scent, that subtly sweet perfume that he liked so much…he missed it. The one thing he grew complacent in taking in daily, yet the moment he thought he lost it forever, he realized it was the most beloved scent produced in this world. The feel of your touch, your skin, hair, and your soft lips, was something he didn’t realize how much he loved. It had been longer than two weeks since he last felt you, growing too comfortable and spending more time away from you throughout the course of your relationship, it had been a while since you both were last intimate. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you or cared, he just didn't have his priorities straight. He just always thought that no matter what, you were always going to be around for whenever he needed or wanted you. But when was that? When did he express how much he needed or wanted you? When did he last make you feel appreciated and desired? More importantly, when was the last time he made himself available to you? Knowing that you wanted and needed him, yet he never was there for you. 

“God…I’m such a fucking idiot…” he hums out with a mouthful of your skin sucked in to his mouth. Lifting you once more, he flings you over and softly lands you on the couch, laying atop your backside as you rest on your stomach and chest. “He–Heeseung…”

“Why was I so fucking blind…” his words gasped out in a near whisper, it was gentle and calm, yet the manner of his physical touch was the exact opposite. Nearly ripping off your dress, the straps snap loose as he roughly pulls it down, and tears your panties off. Hanging by the bits of thread and pieces of fabric, it loosely hangs on your thigh while he smooths his hands over the softness of your smooth skin, grabbing onto your cheeks firmly as he squeezes your derriere. 

“Why did I not see what was in front of me?” Leaning forward, he places his lips on your back shoulder, and sucks on various regions. Firmly holding onto your waist, he fishes out his stiff member and rides it in between your cheeks, squeezing it to nestle in between as he strokes it up and down. “How could I not see that I had the best thing that’s ever happened to me?” Taking a hold on the back of your neck, he slowly feeds himself inside your cavity, pressing in. You weren’t entirely ready, and the lack of prepping made it hard for you to take him in, not to mention it had been so long. Yet his eager desire to have you made him impatient, he needed you now…he wanted you…he wanted to please himself but also, to please his queen. 

“Why did I not show you just how much you mean to me….why didn’t i do it sooner?” Thrusting in hard, his groin smacks against the soft plumpness of your cheeks, you screamed out as he rams himself in, reaching the depths of your gut as he pushes through all of your stagnant walls. Fully in, he pauses before continuing. He had to take a moment to enjoy the feeling of burying his cock deep inside you….after missing out for so long. 

“Why wasn’t I better for you?” Sliding out, his tip breaches its exit, providing you with some relief as you catch your breath, only for him to shove it back in with fierce momentum. “He–Heeseung!” Gripping onto the sofa cushion, you brace through the pressure of pain and pleasure as he roughs up your womanhood. He was being so demanding with the way he was thrusting, yet his words were so beautifully spoken with genuine sincerity and sympathy. He truly was sorry, and now, he wanted to show it, even if it meant he had to mix his love with fucking you into pieces. 

“Why didn’t I tell you how I’ve felt all this time?” Thrusting, he jolts forward and bucks his hips, causing your body to rumble and shoot forward, only to be retracted back as he pulls you in, all to repeat his performance in jutting his cock back into you deeply, shiting your body forward. 

“Why wasn’t I home often?” Thrusting and pumping his cock fiercely, you felt the sting of his thickness tearing you open. It had been too long, your body nearly forgot what it felt like to have someone, much less him, pelting you with their girth. Even though you were devotedly waiting for him, and yearned for him, he left you empty and unfulfilled so many nights, and you spent each evening alone and drifting off into a dream where you weren’t sleeping lonesomely on an empty bed. Now, he was here, and for the first time in so long, he was not only making love, but he was fucking you like his life depended on it. He didn’t want to take it easy, or slow, he wanted to go in deep and hard. He wanted his performance to match the ferocity of his love and yearning for you. 

“Why did I let you sleep alone all those nights? I should have been there to kiss you to sleep.” Deepening his thrust, the curved edge of his lengthy member hits your sweet spot. Soon, there was no pain, only the pressure of pleasure and ecstasy. 

“I should have touched you more.” increasing speed, he forces the moisture of your secreted fluids to squelch in and out. Your body gushes out, you could feel yourself releasing the warm liquid your body was producing, seeping out, and glazing his cock as he continues to fuck you. 

“I should have loved you harder.” Grabbing onto both sides of your waist, he pumps his cock in and out, faster and faster as he holds you steady. 

“I should have been better. I should have been so much better.” Slapping into you, his groin and thighs stains your skin red as he continues to slam himself in, going deeper and deeper. 

“I should have….fuck….baby you feel so good…I should have…I should have….” 

“Heeseung!! Ugh!” He continues with his pace as you reach behind and smack your hands over his, digging your fingers onto his wrists as you feel the snap in your gut release the high of your orgasm. 

“Fuck baby….you’re making me cum…..” 

Your body shakes uncontrollably and you scream out his name, which transitions into tiresome whimpers as you catch your breath. All the while he slows down, going in deep and slow, passionately slow. Admiring the view of his length smoothing in and out of your womanhood, he savors the feeling of releasing every bit of love, anger, sadness, and regret into you. Still thrusting, his thumbs stroke your skin and he bids you to answer. 

“Tell me you missed me…”

“....I missed you…” 

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you…”

“Tell me you need me.”

“I need you.”

“Now tell me you love me….”

“....I love you….”

Leaning in, he rests his weight on top of you as he tenderly kisses your cheek. His cock remains buried in, and goes in deeper as he propels forward and lays atop your body. “Then turn around…and don’t let me go. I’ll do the same.” 

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️ 

☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

[gabessquishytum]

Human au: Hob is… confused. He and Dream have planned at least five dates by now, and every time Dream cancels at the last minute. Normally he’d assume that it was just Dream trying to get out of seeing him, but 1) Dream is the one who keeps asking him out and rescheduling again and again, 2) each time he cancels he seems so genuinely upset and apologetic, and 3) when they see each other in person, Dream is shit at hiding the stars in his eyes when he looks at Hob. So he is honestly baffled as to what is going on.

Finally, Death (who can’t handle seeing her little brother all teary eyed and distraught anymore), sends Hob a series of screenshots of conversations between herself and Dream. Turns out, Dream has been turning himself inside out trying to plan the ABSOLUTELY PERFECT DATE for Hob. If anything is even remotely wrong, he cancels. It’s never even anything catastrophic or major- he’s apparently canceled because the weather was a little colder than would have been ideal for their trip to the park, because there was construction happening next door to the restaurant he was going to take him, because he couldn’t find any peonies (Hob’s favorite) at any of the local flower shops (no shit, they were out of season), etc etc. 

Dream has been practically making himself sick because he’s so convinced that he NEEDS to give Hob the absolutely perfect date in order to “””win him over””” (as if Hob hasn’t already been in love with him for ages, the precious dumbass), plus Hob just deserved the very best. 

Hob finds it all very sweet, if not a little sad and ridiculous, so the next time they reschedule, he insists on being the one to plan the date. Dream tries to argue, but Hob silences him with their first kiss (Dream turns adorably pink). He explains that all he wants is to spend more time with him, and he wants Dream to be able to relax and enjoy their time together too. 

Granted, getting Dream to relax is a tall order, but they do finally go on that date, and Hob gives him enough kisses and cuddles to adequately distract him from any lingering anxieties 💕

-🦇

This is so incredibly cute. Dream being a perfectionist - very relatable, by the way - feels very much like him. He just wants it to be the most memorable, wonderful, extraordinary date that Hob has ever had. Dream is quite sure that he alone won't be enough to capture Hob’s attention, to make him stay - he simply isn't interesting or kind or beautiful enough. So he'll simply have to make up for his own shortcomings by taking Hob on the best date ever!

The truth is of course that Hob is arse over tit in love and would do absolutely anything for Dream. He'd be happy with a snuggle on the sofa with an old movie and some popcorn! Actually, a duvet date with Dream sounds pretty ideal, they'll definitely have to do that at some point.

For their first date (FINALLY) Hob drags Dream to a lil bookstore/cafe which has beanbag chairs perfect for cuddling in. He promises to buy Dream as many books as he wants, as long as he at least tries to stop overthinking for an hour or two. And it's not easy for Dream to do that, but the promise of books is enough to make him try.

They also kiss a lot behind the shelving. It's not a perfect date (it rains on the way home) but it's pretty damn near close, actually. And they have a lot of time to practice more dates in the future. Dream finds it surprisingly easy to see that Hob loves him, anyway. No matter what.

[dawnbreakerluna]

The mischaracterization of Sylus aside from him being compared to b00ktok characters who are abusers is really frustrating to see & albeit almost immature. The fact that the introduction to his character is focused on and 'romanticized' above the overall of who he really is. It is perfectly okay to not like him because not everyone is going to like every single love interest in this game, but condemning people for being drawn to him is definitely not okay.

I'm no longer surprised yet am disappointed at what fandom has become for its severe stress of characters only being able to identify in a black or white scale of morality/appeal. Granted, I've learned a lot from my own mistakes of how to interact with fandoms over the past few years. However I don't ever recall fandom policing ever being this bad at ALL.

People severely dogging on Sylus for choking out/kidnapping the MC is, to me, the equivalent of the flock of BG3 players saying they killed Astarion because he had a knife to their throat when they first met him. Please make this make sense, LMAO. Especially considering that the new Star Wars Acolyte series involves a similar moment between the two lead characters, whose relationship development appeals to a significant amount of the audience and as far as I have seen, doesn't wander from the chemistry later on.

Anyway, my point is: trust, there are people who are sensibly consuming the content they're into. People understand the depths of the media they're consuming. As a Sylus fan myself, I understand that choking/kidnapping/handling with force is very much not an ideal encounter for a first meeting in real life.

However, because this is a fictional character in a fictional space, I'm considering and taking my appeal to it as a means of exploring what it is I like. Think of it as exploring kinks. I'm dipping my toe into the water safely where there's no life-threatening obstacles, so I can gauge how deep I am willing to go and not go.

(I will briefly mention my months-long infatuation with Johnny from the Texas Chainsaw game. There's a myriad of Johnny lovers who have explored more extreme umbrellas of dark content with him, because they are comfortable doing so. While I had made my own content, I simply left the topics I didn't like alone because at the end of the day, most people consuming the content related to this character/franchise are aware of their limits. The same can be said with any character, Sylus be damned.)

((Also, many have made Sylus out to be worse than he really is. I promise you he is the most tame of very extreme characters you're thinking about!))

[lurkinggirlie]

Azriel's mother

A theory about Azriel's mother. aka I'm reaching (not sure if there are similar posts, but do let me know if there are ! I'd love to read them)

Disclaimer: this isn't a ship related post, but both Gwyn and Elain would be mentioned for different reasons. This isn't a Freud wet fantasy post so let's not go there. (Spoilers for the whole series and HOFAS bonus)

For someone we’ve never met, I have a lot of thoughts about Azriel’s mother as a character. We don’t know much about her but here are my best guesses from what we’ve glimpsed.

We first learn of Azriel’s mother straight after we meet him, we know his mom was probably assaulted by an Illyrian lord who was married to an evil female and had two older children.  (not sure if it was mentioned but she was probably really young and worked for Azriel's father)

What we know from ACOMAF:

Rhys’ mom knew Az’s mother which is why she took him in.

Azriel stayed in his father’s keep for 11 years, and was allowed to see his mother for an hour once a week. 

I’m not sure if there are any other mentions of her, but these are the instances I found.

*************************

Then later on in ACOFAS we get a little hint that she’s still alive: 

“When do you head out for Rosehall?”

“The morning after Solstice,” he supplied, turning toward the glittering sprawl of Velaris. He winced—slightly. “I still need to do some shopping before I go.”

I offered my brother a crooked smile. “Buy her something from me, will you? And put it on my account this time.”

I knew Az wouldn’t, but he nodded all the same.”

It's not mentioned who “her” is neither where Rosehall is, but we could guess it’s someone he needs to buy a gift for. “Put it on my account this time” shows us that this isn’t the first time Rhys had asked Azriel to buy her something from him, but why is it that she isn’t invited over? Or why isn’t Rhys offering to visit her? I’ll talk about this later.

We get another mention of his mother in ACOFAS when he stops everyone from eating until Elain is seated.

*********************

ACOSF just confirms the suspicious about her being alive through Cassian’s POV

“His mother had needed a place like this. But Rhys had established it long after she’d left this world. He wondered if Azriel’s mother had ever considered coming here, or if he’d ever pushed her to” 

So, we know that Azriel's mother is still suffering from all the things she’s been through if she needs a safe haven like the library. 

Which brings me back to the point of “why isn’t she around the IC at all” 

Finally HOFAS’s bonus chapter (the Azriel/Bryce and Nesta chapter) 

Bryce jerked her chin toward Azriel. "You've got the broody look of someone with an awful mother, too. Care to share?"

Nesta snorted. "Az never talks about his mother, and neither will our friends, so I’m guessing she's even worse."

The Illyrian snarled softly, "My mother is anything but awful."

Nesta tensed, like she was surprised she'd gotten such a response from him. "I was joking. Az, I didn't even know-"

"I don't want to discuss this," Azriel cut her off coldly.

Azriel's mother is a sensitive topic confirmed. No one talks about his mom, he doesn't talk about his mom. Granted, Bryce is a stranger so of course he isn’t about to overshare but still makes me wonder. Especially since Nesta said that neither Azriel or their friends bring her up.

Now here are all my thoughts in regards to the things we have mentioned.

Reason 1 of why Azriel is keeping his mother away:

Perhaps Azriel is keeping his mother away from the IC, or more specifically his work environment because he doesn’t want her to see him this way, as in his job and the things he has to do, especially since in his bonus he mentions this:

He avoided the urge to cross his arms, not wanting to look intimidating. He blocked out the memory that flashed of his mother cringing before his father, the male standing with crossed arms in such a way that made his displeasure known before he opened his hateful mouth.

He was in the library in this scene, talking to Clotho when he was giving the necklace to her.

I'm not saying that Azriel is like his father, but a big part of his job or overall persona is to look and be intimidating. And that could make his mother feel uneasy around him. Maybe Rosehall (wherever that is or whatever it is) is the safe space he has to see his mother; where he doesn't need to be the intimidating Spy/torturer/Shadowsinger.

And maybe the reason he gravitated towards the library, or found himself there not because of some magic singing abilities but because he subconsciously, or consciously thinks that his mother would fit there. Maybe she does end up going there in the next book.

We have seen how Gwyn have suffered, and how Azriel seemed so proud to see her regain her confidence/strength. but then we saw how the rite had triggered her again to go back to the library. So Perhaps Azriel's mother mental state is even more fragile which gets me to my second point:

Reason 2 of why Azriel is keeping his mother away:

Maybe his mother is not sane.

Hear me out, what if what had happened to his mother broke her in a way where being around people just triggers her. And Azriel just doesn't want anyone to see her this way because it breaks his heart.

Reason 3 of why Azriel is keeping his mother away:

I think there could be a possibility that his mother is a Seer but wasn't able to manage her powers properly maybe that on top of everything has driven her mad (or if we aren't going down that she isn't sane theory maybe he just doesn't want anyone using her. Maybe she blurts out her visions and we know that Seers are probably precious so of course someone would want to use that power and he simply doesn't want to put his mom through that). Remember in ACOWAR how he figured out that Elain was a seer? that he was the only one who listened and how he had looked at her and then disappeared. What if he had gone to where his mom is, to talk to her about this, to confirm. Maybe she helps Elain manage her visions

That is all, has anyone thought of Azriel's mother before? What are everyone's thoughts on this?

[leaves-lilies-and-esther]

Anne with an E didn't invent feminism in the Anne of Green Gables series

I just saw a post on tumblr about how AWAE has feminism (as opposed to the original series, which apparently doesn't???) and my reply went past the word count, so here it is:

Firstly, I think that Anne is an incredibly well-done feminist character in her own right, and that's what offers her enduring popularity. She literally smacks a slate over the head of a boy who comments on her looks, publishes stories, is the first girl from Avonlea to go to Redmond, succeeds wildly at Queen's, is principal of a school, refuses to marry at all unless it's for love, etc. Moreover, she does all of this while being interested in fashion and typical 'girly' things, as well as remaining a flawed character who still feels completely real. She doesn't reject femininity, but she does as she pleases.

It's not like the books push sexism under the rug, either. The mathematics professor at Redmond "detested coeds, and had bitterly opposed their admission to Redmond". The older women of Avonlea don't particularly approve, either- Anne gets plenty of discouragement that Gilbert and Charlie Sloane never receive, and some even admit that they don't find it particularly proper for a girl to receive so much higher education. Specifically, she's told that she's only going to get married. Later in the books people inform her that she will never be married because she's "too particular" (Mrs. Harmon or Jane's mom), and that she should just settle as soon as she can. This is only in Anne of The Island alone, btw. In either the first or second book I think she even voices support for women being ministers, which isn't even a position to be taken for granted today.

There are loads of things I love about AWAE- Ka'kwet's storyline was amazing and added so smoothly, the casting is superb, etc. But they didn't introduce feminism to the series. In effect, I've also heard the argument that AWAE is less feminist. They take out so many of Anne's accomplishments at Redmond, as principal, actually getting published, etc. They remove her conviction on marrying for love. They end her story when she kisses Gilbert as if that's the end of all things lovable and Anne-related (although I know that's more the fault of Netflix than the directors). We never see the town's canonical reaction to going to Redmond, staying a single pringle for as long as she did, etc. In fact, quite the opposite, because the show kind of rushed Anne and Gilbert together, and as a result missed huge chunks of their friendship and romance. Again, not the fault of the directors, but I can only react to what we actually got... which is the removal of everything feminist about the original series. Yes, they added other points, but still...

Idk, I adore both but it still irks me when people say "if Anne was alive today/written more recently she'd be a huge feminist!!!". Yes, but she already was... in her own time. Anne-girl was a rebel from the start!

All hail Queen Anne 👑

[vidavalor]

A handful of GO/food-related thoughts (66% of which came to me in insomniac semi-sapience at 3am):

1) Would the Ineffable Husbands eat burritos, and what might 'burrito' refer to in their coded language?

2) The rice in sushi is functionally analogous to the bread in a sandwich and now I am flailing about potential implications in relation to your Bread meta

3) You remember the bit in the book about one of the Other Four Bikers disliking anchovies and/or olives on pizza? There's an actual French dish a bit like that! It's called 'pissaladière' (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pissaladi%C3%A8re), it's from the south of France (Nice/Provence sort of area) and it's actually rather yummy! (I made it for supper tonight ^_^) Granted, anchovies can be a bit of an acquired taste

Hi @jotun-philosopher The most sapient thoughts sometimes come in the insomniac semi-sapience at 3am, I find. What cool questions! Some fun with food, sexual euphemisms, and etymology for you. 💕

Burritos: What's extra Good Omens-y about this question, imo, is that "burrito" comes from the Spanish "burro", which means "donkey", so, a burrito is actually a "little donkey" and, by that measure alone, I will say odds are solid that the Ineffable Husbands have eaten burritos lol. That and they've been around forever and have probably eaten most things and burritos are so, so good... You might reasonably ask 'why the fuck is this delicious food named after donkeys?' and the answer is that it's thought to be because a burrito can and does hold so many different kinds of ingredients that it's kind of a "workhorse" of food. It handles so much at once by bringing in so many different nutrients and tastes that it's akin to the "workhorse" of animals, which is a donkey. The show also already aligns Aziraphale with donkeys and actually did so again pretty recently with Shax referring to Aziraphale as an ass and then that the elevator is in the doorway to the pub The Dirty Donkey (which I think we can all agree Crowley named? 😉).

[@procrastiel I saw your tags in my other, more depressing post about Aziraphale & The Dirty Donkey-- I was going for the above, not the more horrifying option. I'm sure you'll be relieved. 🤣]

As for food symbolism in burritos, there's just so many different ingredients, idk... I think they'd make innuendo out of what's ordered to be in the burrito on any given day. I can't imagine one of them not making a hot sauce reference, since sauce and its variety of meanings is a very Ineffable Husbands word and they've used it before in different ways ("gravlax in dill sauce"; "you dip it in soy sauce").

Sushi and Bread: You're right about the rice in sushi being functionally analogous to bread in that it's the starch but I think it's actually the nori or leaves used to wrap the sushi that is technically "the bread" of sushi. (So, on top of there being fish in the sushi, the "bread" is actually seaweed in 1.01... mmm🐟. 😉) But your point that sushi can be seen as a sandwich of sorts? Yes, totally. A sandwich being food between two or more slices of bread (or a stand in for bread that serves the purpose of containing the filling). A person then euphemistically tied to bread is then a person who is a participant in partnered sex. Mrs. Sandwich is "Mrs. Sandwich" because she "makes sandwiches" for other people-- she allocates slices of bread to one another.

The bread itself that has been mentioned so far is also interesting from an euphemistic standpoint. Besides the brioche looked at in Crepes, there's sourdough (mentioned in Lockdown as the only bread that Aziraphale has baked and, um, "has baked" in the last few days) and there's also the first mention of bread in the series... which is from God 😂 when she codes Crowley as black bread in 1.01. The joke there likely being that both sourdough and black bread are examples of the kinds of bread that are made through a process of fermentation-- the same way that alcohol is made-- reiterating alcohol and bread as euphemistic for sex.

Pissaladiere: Thank you for reminding me of it-- it's been ages since I had it and it's very spring. Might need to make one soon. Glad yours was delicious! Just a warning, though: I think Crowley would make you disappear if you ever tried to serve Aziraphale a pissaladiere, though. A French fish-topped tart? There's nary a more Ineffable Husbands dish in existence lol. Pissaladiere rooted from the Latin piscis, meaning "fish" and it reminds me of some wordplay in the show in Aziraphale's entry in 'The Demon's Guide...' that Furfur had in 1941.

The obvious joke with the entries in the guide is that they're supposed to be about angels from the demonic perspective and have to use language that is negative to describe these angels but... this just means it's an excuse for Crowley and Aziraphale to get their 'wily'/'smitten', etc. on and use words that have different, contradictory definitions. Everything in Aziraphale's entry-- that we all agree was written by Crowley (and in what we are shown of the Baraqiel one, that feels very 'written by Aziraphale')-- is actually complimentary or referencing their relationship in the fuller meanings of the words used under the negative connotation on the surface.

One of the descriptive details listed for Aziraphale is "suspishous ears", with an intentional misspelling of "suspicious" to look demonic, right? One of the parts of the wordplay there is that the misspelling is done so as to now include the word "pish"-- a bit of a Crowley & Aziraphale wily/smitten-type of word on a few different levels.

To say something is "pish" is to say that it's something you disagree with and/or that it is disgusting and it took on that meaning largely from being Scottish slang for urine (as it's a near-homophone for "piss"... see also, the British phrase "to take the piss (out of [x])" being to roast someone or something.) This is the negative connotation on the surface but where this is relevant to Crowley and Aziraphale is in the etymology of "pish"...

The word actually formed in the English language as onomatopoeia (words that are formed out of sounds like, among some of Crowley's other mentioned favorites in the show, "frou frou" and "whoop.") Out of what sounds, you ask? The "psshshsh" noises ornithologists and others make to attract small birds.

It's also thought to originate about equally with the bird-attracting sounds from "la peche"... which you'll be unsurprised to learn is the French word for fish.

In Mohegan-Pequot, spoken by the indigenous people of my neck of the woods in New England, and in a couple of other languages, use of "pish" is actually rooted from the English peas.

To have "suspicious ears"-- with "suspicious" spelled correctly-- is to be cautious about who you trust. "Suspishus ears", built to include "pish", then references fish, peas, and nightingales at once and would then be calling Aziraphale a good partner who listens.

A communication breakdown, though-- not listening-- also being a theme in S2 and its "I don't think your exactlys are my exactlys"/"aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear"/"no nightingales" misery...

[dailycass-cain]

Birds of Prey #12 brings the Cass action to the forefront!

It also gets me something I always wanted to see: Sophie Campbell drawing Cass. But it comes-- with a TWIST!!

We're nearing the end point of this arc, and we get the craziest issue yet of the world hoping. This time the Birds getting "toonnified".

And that is "the twist"

Since I first saw her work on IDW TMNT. I always wanted to see Sophie Campbell draw Cass. Well wish granted this issue. But it's an utterly adorable Cass.

Though, what shall we call this Cass version? Toon Cass? Cass Toon? No wait that one is taken. 🤪

Anyhoot, this toon world feels honestly the most fleshed out of them all. Like it felt there was this underlying unease with each world the Birds visited.

Here this is the first one that feels like a world onto itself. I wonder where this will go with the "final world" teased at the end.

Even though, last issue Cass was put on the back burner, this issue she gets A LOT of focus. So much so I believe this issue she has more dialogue than the prior ELEVEN issues!

Even with all this Cass, all the Birds get a moment this issue. Barda and Vixen get absolute banger moments this issue and their toon designs are just perfection. Likewise so does Sin, and even Babs. Everyone gets something this issue.

And it all starts with Cela walking out, and Cass following. Now I now there was A LOT of shippers jumping onto the two this issue.

So let's dissect the real bonding, and maybe-- it can go to be more?

Writer Kelly Thompson has touched on many dimensions to Cass in the series thus far. Here she digs into the core of Cass: compassion.

A few issues ago, we learned Cela's origins, and last issue put it on the back burner, but this issue we get the forefront as she knows the Birds reunited that time is almost up with her newfound companions and the hope of being free from this prison.

I think Cass can really relate to Cela. That she's stuck in this world, and really is trying to be good despite the world wanting otherwise. Not to mention losing A LOT of sisters?

It sounds FAMILAIR doesn't it?

think Cass relates a lot to Cela and is trying to break that ice with her being there for her. She can see how her body is screaming for someone to vent with.

And well... we get the scene between the two.

Now as to WHY people are jumping on this ship bandwagon so much? Well, when was the last time Cass had an honest to god love interest in the main DCU?

You could say Stephanie Brown (Batgirls 2021-2023). Or... Harper Row (2016).

But if we're going to her honest-to-goodness CONFIRMED she's interested in?

It was Sal from Batgirl Vol. 2 (2009).

It's been THAT long since Cassandra Cain had a CONFIRMED love interest.

I think fan interest in wanting Cass to get SOME loving is WHY we're at this point. The girl deserves it. Though personally I see ANOTHER option (if not Harper), who just happens to show up this issue too.

So I get WHY many shipping vibes are there for Cass/Cela.

But the rest of the issue is Cass coming up with a plan to FINALLY be free while also dealing with Maia problem too.

And here we get our SECOND bit of Cass in the issue.

This and a few other reaction images are so getting memed by us Cass fans. I know it.

But yeah it's a nice "character progression" from someone who told a "bad story" in #1 to now coming up with a good plan in #12.

And the plan even involves a homage to what Sophie Campbell is most famous for. 😁😁😁

You thought I wouldn't notice the streams crossed did ya? BUT I DID!

Birds of Prey #12 is an emotional ride but with a toony twist. It has such a glorious cute edge this issue. And this world with the Birds REALLY clicked. I've gone back to reading this issue more over than the prior bits of this arc.

I feel there's nothing more to say than I'm REALLY curious where this all goes next issue and how this will tie into the Spirit World?

I guess we'll see. Other than, I'm curious what your thoughts are on Cass/Cela?

And are you surprised it's been THAT LONG Cass had a love interest?

*this is me now waiting for comments*

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Seven

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV, very brief and very vague smut

a/n: there is no two ways about this, this chapter is tough. please take care in reading - as always, i'm not going for shock, just truth. thank you for reading

...................................................

I'd like to touch you

But I've forgotten how

And said I didn't need you

But look at me now

The Breeze/My Baby Cries as performed by Bill Callahan

..................................................

Small, sacred things must be rationed. Must be carefully given, and carefully taken. But that is not what this is, not any more. They have both become a little greedy with this, maybe Dove more so than him, something he didn’t think could be possible. Like she’s trying to make sure that he will still be there, that he will still be open and waiting for her when she reaches for him, and he always is. 

He knows what her asking looks like by now. It starts with touch, a hand slipping around his waist, resting on his shoulder, curling around his wrist. Any sort of small presence. I am here, and I want something . And he wants it too. 

“Hi.”

“Hello.” 

“Did you sleep alright?” He knows that she did, no fret or flurry, just her small puffs of breath fanning over his chest. But he still asks, and she nods. Her touch is curious, collecting, the way she draws a line from his brow down the slope of his nose, random mappings, just because she can, just because he will let her. And then, like always, her brow will furrow, briefly, smoothing back out like she has reassured herself that yes, she can, so she does. 

Always small, always short-lived, there and gone, kissing like they’re getting away with something. By the time they sit down to breakfast, she will already have asked for a few more from him, and he will have asked for several as well. Pulse points, checking in, still there, still wanting this, both of them. 

No, it has not gone much further than this, and he does not care. But he thinks it frustrates her. Sometime last week, sitting on the couch in their usual curl, they had tried, and it had not gone well. More like he had tried, and it had not gone well. Tried to take too much, more than she was ready to give, though she tried to all the same.

 A bit stiff when she settled in his lap, uncertain hands balled into fists against his chest, and he kept his own palms respectable, reassuring, and wide against her spine, trying to soothe some of that tightness away. And it was not a small or short thing, her lips parting for him, small sounds in the back of her throat for him, hips twitching and trying for him. Where or when it became too much, he isn’t sure. What he does know is that suddenly, those little rasps of pleasure turned into a sharp, panicked whine, and she pulled away from him so quickly that her teeth nicked his bottom lip. A quick pulse of pain, the clearest warning. Too much, you will ruin this with your greed if you are not careful. 

And of course, Dove had apologized, a rapid succession of sorry, her head in her hands from where she had curled into the side of the couch, away from him. Angry at herself, and she had no reason to be. 

He is learning. Do not corner her, she will seek out the space that she needs if he does. Do not curl hand around the nape of her neck, she will try not to let it show, but something will slip in around the edges of her expression, something pained and stifled. 

She is learning too. How much he likes her hands brushing back through his hair, not that he would ever admit it. Nor would he confess to the strange kick in his chest whenever she presses her lips to his temple, always when he isn’t expecting it, her silent sidle up alongside him, a lean that he slumps into. But she knows, somehow, and she gives these things to him often enough that he fears he will start getting used to it, start taking it for granted. 

So, for now, he does not ask for any more than this, leaning over the console for one more before she has to go into the diner for work, a sigh when she pulls away. 

“Are you coming in for lunch?” He huffs. There hasn’t been a day in ten months that he hasn’t come in for lunch while she is working. Only recently has she started asking that question, her own way of making sure.

“You have to stop giving me fries.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I’m gonna end up having a heart attack.”

“No one’s making you eat the fries, Joel.”

“Then what are they on my plate for?” 

“Fine, no more fries.”

“Well, maybe just a couple.” Exasperated, a roll of her eyes, her smile screwing to the side. 

“I’ll see you at lunch.” 

She does see him at lunch, three fries pointedly placed on the edge of his plate. He sucks the salt from his fingers. 

…

Everything has rolled over green by now. Spring, the shortest mercy of all. Soon, summer. Wildfire season, and the thick haze it promises. Soon, a year since she came to stay with him. It makes him nervous, checking for any sign of flutter or flight. But there is none. She preens under his palms, settling into his side on the couch after dinner, a usual, used to it, routine. 

He would be happy with this, and only this. Every evening on the couch with her would be a gift. But it is so very human to consider the possibility of more. To imagine what undoing the buttons of her shirt would feel like, would look like. And it’s certainly not normal, the way they move around each other before bed. How they had established this rhythm, he is unsure. Every night, he will face one wall, and she will face the other, and by the time they turn around, there is nothing to see. Nothing more, at least. He scolds himself for that thought. As bad as the rest for wanting like that. Is he? Isn’t he? 

But he is not the only one wanting. He must remember that.

Tonight, she tiptoes out onto the edge of her want. Clearing her throat before he pulls back the covers on the bed, though her eyes will not quite meet his when he looks at her. 

“What is it, Dove?” It’s like she knows the motions, the movement, what want looks like, but she cannot quite place all the angles of herself inside of it. She takes two shuffled steps around the foot of the bed, toward him, then stops, like she must give her full consideration to what comes next. 

But she is not the only one wanting. He must remember that.

He can show her what comes next. He can close that gap. And now, he does. And now, she lets him. 

Just as he has learned what sets her to flight, he knows now what will steady. A hand on her waist, his thumb pressed against the bare slip of skin between where her t-shirt has gotten rucked and the band of her sweatpants. His other hand skirting around between her shoulder blades, stuttering wings. He kisses her once and pulls away just enough to watch for any pinch of fret in her expression. There is none. 

The next one is hers, stepping closer into his chest, her hand threaded through his hair moving him as she wills. A soft, small noise skitters up the back of her throat, maybe surprise when he wordlessly asks her to open to him. Tongues and teeth, and the strange animal movement of it all. He licks into her, and her hand curls closer at the nape of his neck. 

His turn to be surprised, she pulls away, a huff of a laugh when he just tries to follow. Her hand against his chest, and half of a swollen smile on her face that says patience, let me. 

This is going to destroy him, isn’t it? And it already has, hasn’t it? Ruined him for anything, or anyone, else. Only made worse when she carefully tucks her arms back through the sleeves of her t-shirt and shrugs it off over her head. Bare, new, for him. Her arms settle in a loose cross over her stomach, hands curling around her waist. Devastating shadows in the small pools of her collar bone, the fall between her breasts, washed warm in weak lamp light. And he only realizes that he hasn’t moved, only small breaths somewhere high in his throat, when her face falls, a quick crumple of fear, of rejection, her shoulders already starting to curl.

“Please come here, Dove.” Monstrous, how big and loud his want turns when she steps back into his arms. He must portion it, parcel it, slow moves. He finds every notch and nick of her spine with his palm, settling low, where his fingers can run a careful circuit just beneath the waist of her pants. Selfish, certainly, seeing what is okay, what will be allowed. He puts his mouth over her sternum, presence more than anything else, her spine dipping and bowing as her arms curl over his shoulders. A sigh of his name, like prayer, like all he could possibly need in this world. Feed him and shelter him in the sound of that sigh. 

“You too.” For a moment, he’s unsure what she means, but her fingers slip down and flirt with the hem of his shirt, and it’s enough for him to do the rest. And he’s never been too prideful, too vain about these things. But it has been so long since something like this. Older, worn around the edges, and some small, simpering part of him works an excuse, or maybe an apology up between his ribs for her. Sorry, not younger, or stronger. Not better at this, any of this. But it’s unneeded, unasked for, like she knows exactly where it rests beneath his skin, her palms spanning his ribs, coming to rest as a merciful cage over his heart. She likes to feel it, he thinks, the way it trips over itself when she touches him. Stupid heart, stuttering heart, so owned and overwhelmed heart. And then it’s his, and hers, so close that he can feel the places where her ribs are hollow, where they let out the sound, the shy admission of her own, for him. 

“Is this okay?”

“Mmhmm.” It’s a tight sound, high in her throat, her eyes a little rounded, a little wide. And he thinks that maybe, too much is starting to creep in, maybe, time to stop.  But it’s Dove who leans in for the next kiss, Dove who hums when she parts his lips, as animal as he is. And it’s Dove who crawls back onto the bed, elbows bent and sinking into the sheets. He has to remind himself that yes, he can look, as much as he wants to. Yes, that jumpy smile in the corner of her mouth is for him. And yes, it’s him that she wants to come closer. What a gift. What a pretty, painful gift.

He is careful. All his want, suddenly singular. To make something good for her, to make it right. To lay pleasure in her lap without the tenuous binds she seems to keep it wrapped in. 

But there is someone else in bed with them. A ghost in bed with them. And pleasure will never be so simple so long as it lives and breathes with them. 

So he is something more than careful. His muscles shake with the effort of holding himself over her, aware of every place that his body touches hers, the cradle of her hips, the soft splay of her knees letting him know that yes, okay, yes, come closer. She’s still in sweatpants that used to be his, faded gray that he thumbs at over the rise and dip of her hip bone, just beneath the elastic.

She lets him. Lifting her hips for him, bare for him, her cheek tucked down near the close hike of her shoulder. Watching his hands more than anything else, a small pull between her brows, her eyes flitting at the way his palms settle at the hinge of her thighs, keeping track of each finger. 

He lays his palm over her stomach, an ask in and of itself that she hums a small sound to, something he thinks is yes, enough for him to let his hand slip lower. Her hand curls closer around his nape, seeking a kiss, comfort, as he parts her with his fingers, pleasure for pleasure’s sake. And at first, it is good, her eyes dropping shut and a keening sound settling between her parted lips. Her hips tilt up into the cup of his palm, and he gives her a little more, watching the dips and bends of shadows dance against muscle moving with stuttered breath. 

What changes? Suddenly, not pleasure. Not there at all. One moment, she is sighing his name, and the next, she is silent. Maybe a good thing, but then he sees the way her eyes are trained somewhere up and back, almost all white. And what could be confused for simpering sate, her hand curled in the sheets, is something else entirely. He can see how tight her grip is in the painful pull of skin over her knuckles. And her other hand that had been settled in his hair has taken up a similar position at her side. She is bracing, he realizes. She is muscling herself through something, trying to get through something. And she is doing it for him.  

“Dove?” He says it twice, a light shake to her hip where he has moved his hand, enough to get her blinking again. A strange look passes across her face, her brows pulling down and a huff of an exhale. Like frustration, though where it is usually directed at herself, it now falls squarely on him.

“Why did you stop?” There is no good way to answer that question. He could almost laugh with the absurdity of it, settling back on his knees, surprised when she follows after him, propping herself onto her elbows and squinting at him in the dim lamp light. 

“Do you want this?”

“Yes.” Without hesitation, rehearsed, like it was ready and waiting in her throat. 

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” He hates the way her face falls, eyes drawing heavy down her cheeks. Rejection, though he didn’t mean for it to be. But she moves into near-immediate action, lifting up onto her knees, hand to his chest and hand in his hair and soft, murmuring words it’s alright, please, I want to , please that just make his stomach slurry up sick. He collects both of her wrists in his hands, settling them down in her lap. It’s a familiar posture, pattern, her expression crumpling for a second time as she recognizes that his no is final, that this will not continue, no matter her coaxing, no matter her assuring. He has already seen what fear looks like in her body, and he could not stand to see it again beneath his own hands. 

When she doesn’t say anything more, her chin tucked down so he could not catch her eyes if he tried, a sigh slips between his ribs. A weak attempt at sorry, he swipes her t-shirt off the floor and offers it to her. Anger always feels so good when there is hurt, cauterizing the wound from the inside out. It does not surprise him when she scoffs, her fingernails grazing his skin in a sharp snarl of pain as she takes her shirt from his hands. She refuses to look at him as she stumbles off the bed, jerky and flustered in getting dressed. No response to his quiet call Dove, please, she has already shut his bedroom door behind her, the soft pad of her feet on the stairs.

He knows that he was right to stop, to not let whatever that was go any further. Like pantomime, like performance. Not her pleasure, not really, but what she thought it should look like. Putting on a show for his benefit. Not agent, not active, but acting. None of it real, or maybe all of it too real, enough so that she had to get away from it the only way she knew how. A leaving, without leaving at all.

Sleep does not come. Behind his eyes, her knuckles so white, and the frightening tilt of her eyes so very far away.

…

She will not speak to him. And of course, the sheep are on her side too, closing ranks when he joins them in the fields in the morning. She won’t so much as look at him, all her attention on Punch and Judy, quiet words that he can hardly hear, and smiles that are certainly not for him. The lambs have gotten more confident in their growth, in their age, and they treat him with as much reticence as the rest of the flock, leaving a wide berth between themselves and him when they pass by to get to the water trough. 

Joel is lost, words testing and trying up his throat, though nothing feels right. All through breakfast, and in the car, silence. She rests her elbow on the passenger side door, head in her hand, whole body tilted away from him and toward the window. And she doesn’t say anything when he drops her off at the diner, but neither does he, some half-formed thought hanging fizzled and futile with the slam of her car door. 

He does not go to the diner for lunch for the first time in months. Unwanted, he figures, it would only make it worse if he did. He goes to the drugstore instead. They have found a careful configuration of medicine that makes her throat feel better. A well-timed stagger of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, and the kind of cough drops that have menthol in them, though she gags at the taste. He picks up more of everything.

“So Dove is leaving soon?” Rod’s question shocks him, quick stoppage of his pulse, kicking back with a wince under the fluorescent store lights. 

“I’m sorry?”

“I heard her and Sal talking at the diner the other day. He was gonna give her a good deal on his son’s old car. I just figured, you know, she must be making plans for herself.” The rest of Rod’s words are a muted wash beneath the white noise whine in Joel’s ears. Words that make him dizzy. Words of leaving.

And that was the goal, wasn’t it? She was always going to leave. And last night, well, easing the task of leaving with how wrong he turned and twisted everything between them.

Stepping out into the sharp spring air, his head spins, stupidly clutching two pill bottles and a packet of cough drops, the kind with menthol, to his chest. Though things clarify, crystallize quickly. Oh, this is why he shouldn’t have. All that shouldn’t for a reason. The consequence of ignoring shouldn’t is finally here. 

But it’s never too late to shutter up and shut down the beating fact of his heart. Good for her. Car from Sal and plans for herself and nearly a year’s worth of money saved, good for her. And she doesn’t need him, good for her. Doesn’t want him either. Last night, that wasn’t her want. That was some sick transaction, or at least an attempt at it. Her time with him coming to an end, and how considerate of her, to try to give him what he wanted. No, no better than any other man in that way. Good for her for getting out, her second act, escape artist extraordinaire. Fucking good for her.

It is childish, jokingly juvenile, but it still feels good to throw away the two pill bottles and the packet of cough drops, the kind with menthol, and slam his car door much the same way she did earlier that morning. He sits there, reminding himself of inhale and exhale. Until eventually, he thanks something silent for the small mercy that there is no one else walking down the main drag of town when he gets back out of the car to rummage through the trash for the two pill bottles and packet of cough drops, the kind with menthol. He knows she has run out of all of them, and she needs them, really, and he already bought them, so there. Huff, slam, sigh, there. Good for her.

Relief, that he too has something to be angry about when she gets into the car after her shift at the diner. He keeps his eyes on the line of his knuckles on the steering wheel.

“You didn’t come in for lunch.” 

“No, I didn’t.” He pushes down the sick swirl in his gut, the smallest, simplest part of him satisfied in how much the ensuing silence hurts. But he can’t help himself, he has never been one to play fair, words furling up his throat, quick poison when they get back to the house.

“Reckon you don’t need me to drive you to the diner anymore. Real handy of you to get a car sorted for yourself.” He knows that if he looks at her, all this anger will smother itself out in shame, though he still hears the sharp inhale she takes, shifting in the passenger seat. 

“Who told you about that?” 

“It’s a small town.” 

“I thought you would be happy about it.”

“Sure, I’m happy about it. I suppose you’ll be leaving soon then?” Just enough bluster, enough mean, to turn an arched brow her way, though his face falls instantly when he finally looks at her.

“I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you.” Clipped, quiet words, barely stitched together between sniffs that will certainly slip into tears. Her eyes are already starting to swim. He did that. He caused that. Too late for sorry because she’s already shrugging out of the car and shuffling through the tall wisps of grass toward the flock. He watches her through the slivered reflection of the rear-view mirror. A shame, because it is a beautiful day. Painfully blue and bright, a rash of wildflowers ruffling a fiery mane over the fields, burst capillaries against green dermis. And a woman standing amongst sheep, her palm extending out and resting against a woolen rump. Even in the small slant, he can see the shake of her shoulders. 

…

They do not eat dinner, do not sit on the couch, and they certainly do not go to bed together. It is dark out, and he is already upstairs when he hears the front door open and quietly close. She spent the whole evening outside with the animals. His ears prick to the sound of her footsteps trailing down the hall toward the guest room, willing a change of direction that he knows will not come. Another door opens and closes, he sighs.

He has no clue how real this car is. If it is already, or if it will soon be hers. How soon is soon? How soon is leaving? He works all of it up in his mind. How fragile this all really is, and how quickly he managed to ruin it.

........................................

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[justaboot]

Okay but the thing about DT is that they’re related, but it’s still a found family. No one fills a traditional role, there is no nuclear family, and thats what makes it all so much more powerful, is that everyone had to chose and fight to have that role. 

“Donald is the triplets’ dad,” no, he’s not. That’s the point. He’s their uncle, and was always gonna be their uncle, even when everything was all sunshine and roses they were all going to be growing up in the mansion together. But he’s not their dad, he’s their clumsy, lame-ass, too-loud, long suffering uncle, and that doesn’t make that role any less influential and important, because he had a choice, and gave up everything to raise them safely.

Della should have been a given, but they didn’t get that chance, so what would have been a no-brainer became an uphill war to get home to the only traditional family spot, one they left open for her. She wanted it and fought for it in a way that bio-parents traditionally don’t have to. And the kids fought for her, too. She wasn’t taken for granted, and they fought to have a relationship with her memory before they even knew she was still alive. Once she came back, they had to start fresh, and you have to want it to make it work, and they did.

And I know I’ve got kind of a brand with my writing, but Scrooge isn’t, and was never, the twins’ father. He’s, again, their uncle. We didn’t seem much of Donald, (he was caught up in his own grunge thing,) but he had his rich uncle back and forth thing with Scrooge, and Della made him up as some god-king that she had to unlearn later, but they had a relationship offscreen pre-series. We’ll never know in canon what happened to their household, but he was an influence outside of their nuclear family, and he chose to take them in when they couldn’t be with their mother and father anymore. He went out of his way to raise them, and was he the best parent? No, of course not. But he brought them in. They were just his kids, and he let that be a complete sentence.

I could talk endlessly about Webby’s found role in the family. Bentina’s not Webby’s mom, she’s her Granny. (I’m not looking at the finale, I don’t know her.) She took her in. Webby’s not the triplets’ sister, they took her in. Donald grouped her in immediately. Della never knew any different, and how different is 4 from 3 anyway? You literally watch Scrooge decide to be her uncle onscreen.  (fine I’m looking at the finale-Choice is endlessly more significant than sharing DNA. “He’s her dad,” girl he already chose her, you’re undermining everything, he didn’t chose to have a daughter, he loved a little girl enough to make her his niece, it’s enough.)

LP was at their first Christmas together. They loved him enough to call him family. They loved Lena enough to call her family. Dude, even Goldie, she’s not Louie’s mother figure, shes a mentor. She’s some cranky old bitch from Canada who accidentally let slip she has a heart, and who she is was enough for them to keep dragging her back until it stuck.

No one was taken for granted. They literally made their own family. It’s enough. Send tweet.

[heikeee]

no but i need to scream into the void or i'll go mad. listen. kikyo wasn't a bitch. i don't think the way she was written did her any justice; it just makes her easy to hate. and don't get me wrong, this isn't about her relationship with inuyasha or kagome at all, i just want to talk about her as a character because she is one of the most complex of them and she needs to be looked at with more empathy.

i've said it before and i'll say it again: her whole thing is that she is tragedy personified. think about it. everything, and i mean every single thing that could have gone wrong in her life, HAS gone wrong. she had a difficult upbringing, having to raise her little sister and having to shoulder the burden of being the sole purifier of the shikon jewel (which constantly put her and her village under threat). she was never dealt an easy hand to begin with. then, she finds solace in love, tries her best to think of a way of unraveling herself from her duties to live a free life, while still caring for others selflessly: she took in onigumo, and he betrayed her. by pretending to be inuyasha, he had her think that her lover had betrayed her as well, and succumbed to wounds inflicted by him (or so she thought), while sealing him to the goshinboku.

the last wish she spoke of was to take the shikon jewel to the beyond with herself. later, kagome finds a way to actually destroy the jewel, which was what kikyo had intended to do but couldn't. in her heart, her last wish was to see inuyasha again. the jewel corrupts this wish and grants it in the most fucked up way possible.

her remains are robbed from her grave and she is brought back to life with NO agency on the matter, by someone who wanted only to exploit her powers. now, untethered from from her past duties, she is finally free to experience emotion. and that includes bad emotions. so anger, resentment, jealousy, contempt, loneliness, selfishness (and that's part of being human). every unfulfilled wish, the unfairness of it all. she spends the rest of the series navigating this undead existence, the duality of not belonging anywhere, constantly torn between doing what is right and what needs to be done to reach her goal, having no choice but to consume souls of recently departed girls to have the energy to fight her only fight (destroying naraku), all the while helping villagers and kids, and even the inugang, despite not wanting to align with their agenda at first. she contemplates sacrificing kohaku, yes, but ultimately her redemption is that she chose to save him instead of purifying the jewel in the end. she showed that she trusted the inugang to finish what she couldn't, and chose to spare another life, if possible (she says so herself in ch441)

it is very difficult to relate to someone that doesn't give access to her vulnerable side very often. her and sango are the two characters who had it the hardest and were forced to make the most difficult decisions out of everyone. but we love sango, even when she chose to sacrifice rin, even when she contemplated killing kohaku then herself, because we know where sango's heart lies and how torn she is about all of it. kikyo, on the other hand, is stoic and hardened by her life (and also post-life), but ultimately her biggest trait was kindness. we don't get to see her cry and be like woe is me about it, something that could've made us more empathetic towards her like we are with sango.

my point is kikyo deserves to be looked at through kinder eyes. she is a complex character, and she requires a bit more analysis and compassion to actually see who she really is. my tragic girl

[atalienart]

As a woman, honestly I am way more invested in MMC's because their stories are usually more varied and interesting; female-lead stories are almost always one of two things when you boil it down - romance or revolution (sometimes both if it's a dystopia/romantasy). Either the point of the story is to give the reader something to ship, or it's a very obvious message about one or several of the injustices of the world. And nothing is wrong with either of that, don't get me wrong, but I personally don't read because I want steam or to be preached at/reminded of real life problems. I just want a good goddamn story. And I can name WAY more books and book series I've read that actually gave me that where the main lead was male rather than female.

One of the few exceptions to this general rule is when the lead is a child, like Alice in Wonderland, Coraline, or The Wee Free Men, because in those cases the MC is too young for either romance or social justice; their goals are usually much simpler and, to me, more relatable (wanting adventure, wanting to go home, wanting to find a lost family member, etc). Unfortunately most books with young leads are also written for young readers, which, again, nothing wrong with that, but it would be nice to have YA or even adult books with child leads where the plot is allowed to be a bit more mature and dark.

Granted, most of what I've said is based on my experiences with middle grade and YA books, so take it with a grain of salt. But to me it says something (about my personal tastes at least) that out of my top ten favorite book series ever, six were written by female authors with male MC's, three by male authors with male MC's, and one by a male author with a female MC (but the name of the series is that of the MMC).

That's true, usually the MMC's stories are more personal, the FMC often fights for the greater good. I honestly can't stand the "fight the government" plot and whenever I hear "for fans of The Hunger Games" I run in the opposite direction. As for the romance, I love it, but it's usually written in a way I don't find appealing.

And yeah, I mean, real life problems can be shown in unobtrusive way but it's easier to just show a problem and say "look, this is really bad". What authors forget about is problems come from something, they have a source and have layers and nuances. Also behind the "wanting adventure, wanting to go home, wanting to find a lost family member" needs to be hiding something else too, otherwise the story would be really shallow in my opinion idk. But I agree that often characters don't have personal goals. What do they actually want? Throwing off the government always seems like an afterthought, just because it supposed to be the right thing to do. And romances are also pretty weird, the aim is just to get laid and have a baby. Also as much as I like romance plots, I also love when the characters have some other interactions.

You like YA but I wish to read more books about grown-up people. And dark themes are great but I need some hope at the end too. I'm really tired of choosing between YA and grimdark. I'd like something without the grimy roughness of male fantasy filled with worldbuilding and dry history but also something without black and white morality and always right MC who fights for everyone that's common in female fantasy.

Also, I'm super interested in you favourite books!

[asha-mage]

WoT Musing: Bits and Bobs from a book nerd

A few unsorted/random thoughts from a book mega nerd about various things in the show-

It's interesting to me that they changed Logain's innate talent from being able to see ta'veren to being able to see when a man can channel or not. This is practically probably because Mat was also in that scene, but I've also noticed that they've dialed back on the use of the term 'ta'veren' as a whole this season. Probably to avoid over cluttering all the concepts their having to introduce.

Elayne's desire to work with her hands/fascination with craftsmanship showing itself in her 'sparker trick' being a weave to make alcohol is very funny and on brand.

The show is continuing to walk out the small shifts in it's dynamics born of re-ordering things in a smart way. Everyone being slightly older was felt sharply in season 1: Mat's mischief and gambling is a whole lot less cute and a whole lot more worrying since he's no longer a teen, Perrin is married (like always intended to be) and settled as the most 'responsible' of the boys, etc. In season 2 Egwene arrived first instead of Elayne, and is the more experienced/knowing Novice, to Elayne's naive newcomer. As a result we get to see the slightly spoiled sweet girl she was before the Tower started to bust down her pride and teach her more about the world. She's a little more unsure, and a little more eager to make friends- both of which work in favor of showing off her strengths as a character, endearing her to both Egwene and the audience.

The choice to give Perrin the ability to see visions of the past with his wolf brother powers is interesting. I get that they need a visual way to express Perrin's wolf senses, and this is probably the most direct, since their's not a non-weird way to visually depict smell, but I hope we at least get a TAR related explanation from Elyas.

I find the use of the Crimson Thorn as a symbol of the Red Ajah and the cruel mercy that they grant to be fascinating. More over, I find Nynaeve's being pulled between the Red and Yellow Ajahs (something I suspect we are going to get more of) to be smartly done: Nynaeve has never been afraid of doing what needs to be done, but that doesn't make it easy, and Liandrin is right: to an extent that their always been a little bit of Red in her, a belief that the world would be better if everyone just followed her rules. And yet it is her compassion that defines her, that fuels her rage most of the time. Compassion for those hurt and sick and dying turns to rage against what caused it: a cruel world or a war or a sickness. Compassion for those she cares most for fuels her rage at those that would threaten, hurt, or control them. She left the Two Rivers to protect the EF5 and that remains her goal all the way to the series's end, her character arc is largely about accepting what that will mean, and learning not to be afraid to claim the power to do that.

I've said this in various other forms but it bares repeating: Lanfear really is winning right out the gate. She's got the hot new hardware LTT as her naive sugar baby, their is no one in sight to threaten her control over him with things like 'morals' and 'duty', and he's slowly succumbing to her influence. More then worth the price of having to run a small business in a slum I'm sure.

That said I want a 50k word fic that is just Lanfear's Adventures in Small Business Ownership. We know those drinks where over priced, but where they watered down? Did she have to pay a mortgage? Deal with uppity suppliers? Was their a Darkfriend Company Discount as Selene's Totally Normal And Not At All Evil Bed and Breakfast?

I have two nitpicks that are so minor they barely warrant discussion, and one is not even the show's fault. The first is that everyone keeps saying things like 'your powers' rather then 'strength in the power'. Jordan goes to so much trouble to make the point that people and objects don't have the power, they use it and strong in the power, and then Sanderson changed it to 'my powers' and 'how powerful he is' and *gargles*. This is like the peaches all over again.

The second is that as much as they nail the arches scene/ceremony, I wish they had gone the final mile and said 'Be steadfast'. It wasn't necessary exactly, but it's exclusion made me whisper under my breath, like a rhyme I just HAD to finish.

(This is completely normal and sane person behavior, stop looking at me like that internet stranger).

I don't have to much to say about Mat's story line beyond being VERY interested in where they are going tying him and Min together. I still needs to get off the ground for me to have more Thoughts.

Adeleas being Cringefail re: Lan is so funny to me in ways I can't quite explain.

I reiterate the point that since Rand's can't be Warder trained, giving him an old veteran blade master who is suffering from PTSD/Dementia was a VERY smart move that fits the feel of the books.

RIP Joshua's soft boy curls. You where a casualty of this war.

[turian]

garrus's position as what is essentially a police officer puts him in the line of fire of various tired copaganda tropes. worthy of note is the "cowboy cop" trope, which can be summarized as a renegade police officer who breaks the rules in favor of vengeance, justice, or righteousness. the "cowboy cop" is usually framed as being in the right; this trope largely belongs to antiheroes. "cowboy cop" is considered by tvtropes to apply to both garrus vakarian and renegade shepard. garrus, though noted as being more "polite and soft-spoken" than those the trope generally applies to, is a character who defies authority and values his own sense of justice above the law. he voices his preference for killing criminals rather than letting them slip away. his personal quest in me2 is heavily related to this - he seeks to hunt down and kill a man who he perceives (whether or not he is correct is not relevant; all that's relevant is that garrus believes wholeheartedly in this conviction and this method of justice) was responsible for horrific human rights abuses. as a paragon or renegade shepard, you can either aid garrus in this or stay his hand and insist that you seek another more measured form of justice.

garrus has, by this point in the narrative, essentially become a vigilante. he is a dog with a bone when it comes to his view of justice, and he is not capable of letting an investigation go because beureaucracy - or hierarchy - dictates he must. this is why he quits c-sec, so that he can chase justice along shepard's side. after shepard and him are separated, garrus, rather than resuming a c-sec career, decides to go clean up crime on omega. he is granted the nickname archangel. these exploits nearly get him killed - it is only shepard's intervention (which occurs just in the nick of time) which save him from near-certain death. even with shepard's help, he does not leave omega unscathed - he has, by the end of his recruitment mission, taken a rocket to the face, and for the rest of the game series, carries those scars.

garrus's story would not be terribly out of place in gotham, though its politics differ from batman's. the "cowboy cop" trope doesn't technically apply to bruce wayne. bruce wayne's vigilantism, gothic or not, is shown to be directly in community with police. batman serves the empire in which he lurks. batman may take issue with some corruption in that system, but he naively believes in good cops. batman is elevated by one thing only - his refusal to kill. that said, he is happy to hand victims of his justice to institutions that will kill.

garrus vakarian has oft been called the batman of his universe, but should instead be likened to jason todd, aka red hood. red hood is fuelled by anger at a system that failed him, and seeks to work outside of that system. however, even in working outside of that system, jason carries the system's view of justice with him when he dispenses his own violent form of vigilante justice. red hood fights the same people that batman fights - the only difference, really, is that jason fights with bullets rather than batarangs.

garrus's motivations are alleged to be a desire to stand against and work independently of corruption. and to be clear, taking a stance against corrupt police is good. violence against corruption is good. violence against police is good. however, based on garrus's aims and actions, it seems clear that garrus is not against policing, nor is he necessarily against corruption in all its forms. garrus is instead against being controlled. garrus would like to step outside of the system, but unwittingly brings the system with him when he makes that move. quoting from tvtropes:

Paragon Shepard's influence can inspire [garrus] to rejoin C-Sec with a new appreciation for playing by the rules, in addition to reapplying for Spectre candidacy (which happens either route you take). Renegade Shepard's influence, conversely, will encourage his tendencies to the extent that he envies Shepard's lack of problems with red tape.

garrus's frustration may be with c-sec and corruption within c-sec in part, but garrus is distinguished from corrupt officers only through his disdain for anything he perceives as leashing him. it's made clear by his respect for renegade shepard and the ability of a pro-police paragon shepard to sway him back c-sec's way that garrus is more than fine with the police. his disdain for them is in no way radical. it should also be noted that garrus leaves c-sec to serve the alliance military, who are enforcing laws in their own right. garrus simply moves to doing the same things he's always done in proverbial international waters.

characters like garrus and bruce wayne (and, for that matter, jason todd) act with authority based on their own convictions. because they operate within stories and are intended as sympathetic characters, their convictions go largely unquestioned by the narrative. batman is right because he's batman. red hood is right because he's red hood, except when batman is right instead. shepard is right because they're shepard. garrus is right because he's garrus, except when shepard is right instead. the question mass effect really poses in garrus's arm of the story is as follows: should garrus dispense violence for the system within the system, or should he dispense violence for the system while pretending he exists outside of it?