#he's quite clever and insightful!

[notebooks-and-laptops]

God I love Wrex. He's genuinely so insightful. Whenever I took him with me he's nearly ALWAYS the one who knew before it was obvious that we were heading into an ambush or that something wasn't quite right. When we met Vigil Wrex was the one who said as we headed down that he didn't think what was happening was Sarens doing. He says he knew Saren wasn't a good guy when he met him prior to the events of the game and he met him once for a few minutes. He speaks about only being good for fighting; but he was genuinely trying to do something about the genophage before he had to leave his planet AND he still DEEPLY cares about trying to fix it now even if he tells you it's a lost cause because krogans are too focused on other things. He claims his species is best at war and not things like science but he's just!! So clever and he clearly KNOWS on some level that a lot of what the Krogan experience is is based on their subjection/treatment in the galaxy. He enjoys jobs where his opponent is smart and good at what they do; and he is smart enough to be crafty and manipulate individuals such as when he got an employer to pay him to be a guard even AFTER he failed to kill the guy he was sent after. He is grumpy, but he cares about Shepard and he cares about stopping Saren. He's cynical and not sure that things can change for the better but he's also got this little nugget of hope in him that comes out so strongly at times. I love him. Best alien. Smart little guy. Best friend.

[meanbossart]

Hey, I was just thinking about Drow as a companion, you've talked a little about what you think he would be like. Have you thought about how he would act at the goblin vs. the tiefling party in act one?

Good question! Supporting the grove happens to be one of those unambiguously good choices that he is 100% behind. He finds Khaga (and the druids in general) to be insufferable, despises Minthara because she's a drow and a cultist, and most importantly cares about the tiefling children's safety. Because of this, he will likely be unhappy about the grove being raided... Yet, not enough to leave the party or strongly challenge a Tav on it. Massacring the grove would sate that blood-lust in himself, and he would draw pleasure from it, despite it going against his bare-bones morality. DU drow would be too conflicted about his own feelings about it to express himself strongly one way or another after the deed is done, kind of like Shadowheart reacts to the whole ordeal.

If you save the grove, you will find him sampling from Mol's secret wine stash. Mol tells you they cut a deal and you can either pay her the 100 gold you "owe" her for his antics, or tell her to sod off.

You can then find DU drow hidden away and drinking himself into a stupor. He's still coherent but occasionally slurring his words, clearly a really experienced drunk. He talks about Mol, how he thinks she's a riot and just thought he'd teach her a valuable lesson about business. If you ask him why he's isolated himself, he will jokingly say he's too humble to be showered in all this praise. You can succeed an insight check to find out that he's nervous about something.

If you ask what he thinks about what you've done, he's expresses indifference about the adults but, again, that he's glad the children are okay.

Tav: You're drinking like a man with a guilty conscience. Just to remind you - we're the good guys tonight. The drow: (Scoffs) The hellspawn aren't making it far. They are too... too bright-eyed. We've only put-off the inevitable. ...I only lament the fates of the children. The little sods didn't choose this life. Tav: They're clever enough. I'm sure they'll be alright. The drow: Cleverness can only get you so far. They're still little.

You can trigger his romance here, but you can't have sex with him yet. Through being flirtatious but not pushy he will promise you to pick this up another time, when he's not quite so indisposed. The scene would trigger during the next event-less long-rest.

In the goblin party, on the other hand, he will be found standing at his tent as normal. He's sober and there's no nervousness to be uncovered through any checks, in fact, he doesn't seem to be in too foul a mood - but he does treat you with a degree of coldness.

Tav: You seem a little pouty. Don't tell me you're sour about a few dozen dead tieflings. The drow: Not at all - the ceremony was quite lovely, I'm just finding the reception to be... Lackluster. Tav: Oh - the goblins aren't worth your company, your highness? The drow: They aren't even worth roasting for supper. To make no comment of the head-fanatic - you'd be spewing her out both ends for days, if you chose to indulge.

As long as you don't antagonize him for his diarrhea joke, you get to actually have sex with him that very night as well as trigger the romance.

As an addition - if he's in your party he will actually kill Minthara when she tries to turn against you in the middle of the night. You still have to fight all of the goblins after this, but she will have her throat slit by him during the cutscene. This means you can only recruit both of them if you knock her out at the goblin camp.

[satellite-evans]

The Artist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: sometimes, an artist is far more interesting than the art itself.

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: fluff, angst? Anthony not being able to mind his own business, briefly mention of parents passing away

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Lady Danbury’s soirées were the heart of the social season—part chessboard, part battlefield, where every glance and whisper held strategic importance. Benedict Bridgerton, however, approached such gatherings as an observer rather than a player. He found the art on the walls more captivating than the posturing of the ton.

Wandering through Lady Danbury’s grand halls, Benedict stopped before a painting of a turbulent sea, his thoughts briefly drifting to his own half-finished sketches. A voice interrupted him, sharp and vibrant.

“It’s ambitious, but overworked. The sea churns, but the emotion feels... manufactured.”

He turned to see her: a young woman standing a few steps away, her posture poised yet unguarded. She wore her beauty with an effortless confidence, her eyes a vivid storm of intellect and intrigue. She wasn’t like the other women at the ball, fluttering fans and batting lashes. She observed the world with precision, as though she’d already decided it was hers to command.

“An intriguing critique,” Benedict replied, his interest piqued. “Though perhaps the chaos was intentional. Sometimes life demands a lack of restraint.”

Her gaze flicked to him, assessing. “Chaos is compelling, but it must be tempered with truth. This, Mr. Bridgerton, is a performance.”

“You know my name,” he noted, smiling. “You have the advantage over me, Miss...?”

“Y/N,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “And I find that knowing one’s audience is the first rule of any conversation.”

He inclined his head. “A lesson I’ll remember. Tell me, Miss Y/N, are you always this direct?”

Her lips curved into a subtle smile, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned back to the painting. “Do you sketch? You look at this piece as though you’re searching for something beyond the surface.”

Benedict blinked, surprised by her insight. “I do, though I’ve yet to create anything worth showing. You?”

“I paint,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But my work isn’t for the ton’s galleries. Some things are too personal to display.”

“Now you’ve made me curious,” he said, stepping closer. “What would it take to see one of your pieces?”

She tilted her head, her gaze teasing. “Persistence. But I should warn you—I am not easily impressed.”

Benedict smiled, already intrigued by the challenge. “Good. I prefer earning my victories.”

Before she could respond, Lady Danbury’s voice carried through the hall. “Ah, Benedict, I see you’ve met Miss Y/N. And what do you think of her opinions? Sharp as a rapier, aren’t they?”

Benedict glanced at Y/N, his expression warm. “Quite sharp, indeed. But rapier wit is vastly preferable to dull pleasantries.”

Lady Danbury chuckled. “I agree. Well, don’t let me interrupt. Though, Y/N, your brother Charles is looking for you. Something about the carriage.”

At the mention of her brother, Y/N’s composure shifted slightly. “Thank you, Lady Danbury. I’ll find him shortly.”

As Lady Danbury swept away, Benedict offered Y/N a small bow. “Will you grant me the honor of a dance before you leave?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “If you’re persistent enough.”

Before Benedict could craft a suitably clever reply, a deep voice broke through the moment. “Y/N, it’s getting late.”

Both turned to see a tall man striding toward them, his posture commanding yet measured. He was dressed impeccably, the weight of responsibility apparent in his expression. His resemblance to Y/N—sharp features and the same striking eyes—was unmistakable.

Charles stopped beside them and inclined his head politely toward Benedict before addressing his sister. “The hour grows late, and I believe Lady Danbury is beginning to hint that the soirée is winding down.”

Y/N offered her brother a cool yet affectionate look. “You always did have an impeccable sense of timing, Charles.”

Benedict, recovering quickly, stepped forward with a polite bow. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Benedict Bridgerton.”

Charles’s gaze sharpened slightly at the name before he returned the bow with measured precision. “Charles Y/L/N, Earl of Whitestone.”

Benedict’s eyebrows lifted in recognition, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Whitestone? I believe my brother, Anthony, has spoken of you. He mentioned you were recently elevated to the title.”

Charles gave a brief nod, his tone guarded but civil. “Anthony and I have known each other for some years. He’s a good man, and an excellent Viscount.”

“As I’m certain you’re an excellent Earl,” Benedict replied smoothly, sensing the protective edge to Charles’s demeanor.

The corner of Charles’s mouth twitched upward, though he remained composed. “I do what I can, though the title comes with its share of burdens. And you, Mr. Bridgerton, seem to have a knack for engaging my sister in conversation.”

Benedict chuckled lightly, inclining his head toward Y/N. “Your sister is an extraordinary conversationalist, my lord. I find myself quite fortunate to have made her acquaintance tonight.”

Charles’s gaze flicked to Y/N, who appeared unruffled by the exchange but wore a faint smile of amusement. “Fortunate, indeed,” Charles said evenly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe it’s time to depart. Y/N?”

Y/N turned back to Benedict, her expression unreadable but her tone cordial. “Thank you for the discussion, Mr. Bridgerton. Perhaps we’ll meet again, should the occasion allow.”

Benedict bowed, his tone warm. “I certainly hope so, Miss Y/N.”

As Charles and Y/N walked toward their waiting carriage, Benedict watched them leave, his thoughts lingering on the sharp wit and quiet allure of Y/N.

Charles, walking slightly ahead of his sister, cast a glance back toward Benedict, then murmured to her, “He seems taken with you.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly as she replied, “Let him be. I’m hardly an easy conquest.”

Charles smirked faintly, his tone fond but serious. “Good. Just remember, Y/N, you’re worth far more than simple flattery and fleeting interest.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze forward but her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

The clatter of carriage wheels echoed faintly as Charles and Y/N made their way back to their townhouse. The dim glow of gas lamps illuminated the streets, casting fleeting shadows across Charles’s pensive expression.

“You like him,” Charles remarked, breaking the companionable silence. His voice was even, but his words were laced with a quiet observation.

Y/N glanced at her brother, her expression unreadable. “He’s intriguing. Sharp-witted. But liking someone, Charles, is a luxury I can ill afford.”

Charles leaned back in his seat, watching her carefully. “Luxury or not, you seemed more yourself tonight than I’ve seen in months. There’s no harm in entertaining the idea—provided you remain cautious.”

Y/N’s gaze softened at her brother’s concern. “I appreciate your vigilance, my dear Earl of Whitestone. But let’s not rush to paint him as either hero or villain. Men of his world are not often held to the same scrutiny as women of ours.”

“True,” Charles admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But Anthony Bridgerton isn’t one to speak highly of a man without reason. If his brother is half as principled, I’d consider him worth the risk.”

Y/N’s lips twitched at his words. “Risk, indeed. But enough about Mr. Bridgerton. We’ve our own affairs to manage, and I’m certain our tenants won’t care for my musings about art or charm.”

Charles nodded, though he noted the faint pink flush that crept up her neck as she turned toward the window.

As the Whitestone carriage disappeared into the darkness, Benedict stood at the edge of the Danbury estate, his gaze lingering on the path where Y/N had vanished. The warmth of the evening had cooled, but he hardly noticed the chill. His mind replayed their conversation—the sharp wit in her words, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of art, and the measured grace with which she had danced around his charm.

“Y/N,” he murmured softly, as if testing the sound of her name. It felt as striking as the woman herself, an enigma he couldn’t easily solve.

Lady Danbury’s sharp voice startled him from his reverie. “Well, Mr. Bridgerton, if you plan to stand out there all night, you might as well help me escort the remaining stragglers to their carriages.”

Benedict turned, an easy smile masking his contemplative mood. “I was merely enjoying the view, Lady Danbury. Your soiree is, as always, a triumph.”

Her keen eyes narrowed with amusement. “And yet your gaze was fixed on the road, not my ballroom. That young lady certainly left an impression.”

Benedict didn’t deny it. “She’s remarkable,” he admitted, more to himself than to Lady Danbury.

“Be careful with that one,” the older woman warned, though her tone was fond. “She has depth. And depth demands substance in return.”

Benedict inclined his head, her words sinking in. As much as he relished the challenge, he realized he wanted more than a fleeting encounter.

The ride home was a quiet one. Benedict sat in the carriage, the sounds of horses’ hooves a steady rhythm that gave his thoughts space to wander.

He’d encountered many women in his time—clever debutantes, bold widows, and those who wore charm like armor. But Y/N was different. There was a quiet power in her deflections, a vulnerability hidden behind her sharp observations.

His mind lingered on her smile, fleeting yet warm, and the way her brother, Charles, had watched over her like a hawk. Benedict respected that protectiveness—it spoke of loyalty, of family bonds he deeply valued.

When he finally reached the familiar halls of his family home, the house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the soft rustle of wind through the trees outside. He retired to his room, but sleep eluded him.

Instead, he sketched—rough outlines of Y/N’s features, her poised stance, the energy in her eyes as she critiqued the painting at Lady Danbury’s. Each stroke of charcoal carried with it an urgency, an attempt to capture the essence of someone who refused to be defined.

By the time dawn’s light began to filter through his window, Benedict set the sketch aside, his resolve clear.

“I’ll see her again,” he murmured, more determined than he’d been in years.

The following morning, the Bridgerton family gathered around the long dining table, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Despite the sumptuous spread of fruit, fresh-baked pastries, and piping hot tea, all eyes were on Benedict.

“Who was she?” Eloise asked bluntly, buttering her toast with unnecessary vigor. “Lady Whistledown was positively tantalized.”

Benedict sighed, taking a deliberate sip of tea. “Good morning to you too, Eloise.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Daphne chimed in with a knowing smile. “It’s not every day Lady Whistledown dedicates an entire paragraph to your exploits.”

Anthony leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. “Y/N Y/L/N, wasn’t it? I believe her brother, Charles, is the new Earl of Whitestone. Solid reputation, though he keeps to himself since inheriting the title.”

Benedict nodded, setting down his cup. “The very same. I had the pleasure of speaking with her—she’s sharp, insightful, and refreshingly candid.”

“And beautiful?” Colin teased, his grin wide.

“Extremely,” Benedict replied without hesitation, earning a round of laughter.

Anthony’s amusement faded slightly as he regarded his brother with a calculating look. “Charles is an old acquaintance of mine. We crossed paths during the early years of our titles. A good man, but fiercely protective of his family. Tread carefully, Benedict.”

“Always,” Benedict said, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of determination.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass of Whitestone’s modest garden, a sketchpad balanced on her lap. The cool breeze carried with it the faint scent of lavender from the nearby hedgerows, mingling with the crisp aroma of her graphite pencils. The gardens were her sanctuary—a reprieve from society’s endless noise and expectations. Today, her focus was on a half-finished drawing of a willow tree bending gracefully over the garden pond. Yet, as much as she tried to focus, her thoughts drifted back to Benedict Bridgerton.

She had replayed their exchanges from Lady Danbury’s soiree countless times in her mind. His words had been genuine, his curiosity sincere. Yet it was his gaze that lingered in her memory—the way his eyes softened when he listened to her critiques of the art, as though he truly saw her and not just another face in the crowd. Y/N frowned slightly, annoyed at her own vulnerability. He’s intriguing, certainly, but so are countless men who wander into my path. Why should this one matter more?

Her pencil faltered as the sharp rap of a knock echoed from the front of the house. She stilled, curiosity piqued. Guests were rare at Whitestone, and Charles had already mentioned he expected no visitors today. She heard the muffled creak of the door opening and the low rumble of her brother’s voice, but the words were indistinct. Setting her sketchpad aside, Y/N rose and dusted her hands off on her skirts, wandering closer to the house with light steps.

Inside the parlor, Charles extended a firm handshake to Anthony Bridgerton. The Earl of Whitestone and the Viscount Bridgerton cut striking figures in the modest room, both exuding a commanding presence, though Anthony’s was tempered by a composed air of diplomacy.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” Charles greeted, stepping back to motion him inside. “This is an unexpected visit.”

“I thought it past time we caught up,” Anthony replied with a faint smile, his eyes sweeping the room briefly before settling back on Charles. “Though I must confess, my errand isn’t entirely social.”

Charles raised an eyebrow as he led Anthony toward the parlor’s armchairs. “I assume this has something to do with your family’s estates bordering mine?”

“In part.” Anthony seated himself with practiced ease, but there was a guardedness to his tone that Charles didn’t miss. “The other part involves my brother, Benedict.”

Charles stilled briefly, his expression giving nothing away. “Ah, your brother,” he said smoothly, taking his own seat. “I must admit, he did make an impression at Lady Danbury’s soiree.”

Anthony’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “So I’ve heard. I trust my brother behaved himself?”

Charles smirked faintly, folding his hands over his knee. “Mr. Bridgerton was... eager to engage my sister in conversation. Though I’m not sure she was as willing to reciprocate.”

Anthony chuckled, but his tone shifted, his words laced with sincerity. “Benedict speaks highly of your sister. It’s rare for him to show such genuine interest, Charles. He’s not one to court frivolities.”

Charles leaned back, his gaze sharpening. “You understand, Anthony, that Y/N has had her fair share of shallow suitors. She’s cautious, and rightly so. My priority is ensuring her happiness and protecting her from anyone who sees her as a fleeting amusement.”

“Benedict doesn’t play such games,” Anthony replied, meeting Charles’s gaze head-on. “In truth, I’ve never seen him take such an interest in anyone. Your sister seems to have stirred something in him—though, knowing Y/N from your stories, I suspect she hasn’t made it easy for him.”

Charles allowed himself a faint chuckle. “No, she certainly hasn’t. Y/N is not one to be charmed easily. But it’s clear your brother is determined, which could either work in his favor or cause him considerable frustration.”

Anthony inclined his head, his expression softening. “Benedict values substance, as I’m sure Y/N does. They may both surprise you.”

Charles studied him in silence for a moment before offering a measured nod. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll judge him by his actions, not his words.”

Y/N lingered just beyond the doorway, her heart racing at the snippets of conversation she managed to overhear. Charles’s voice, steady and firm, carried faintly through the air. He’s defending me, she realized, a pang of gratitude swelling in her chest. Her brother’s protectiveness had always been her shield against the pressures of society. Yet, there was another voice—smooth and commanding.

The Viscount Bridgerton.

She had never met Anthony before, but his reputation preceded him. To hear him speak so highly of his brother was... surprising. Benedict’s charm had seemed effortless, but perhaps it ran deeper than she had assumed.

Careful not to draw attention, Y/N eased closer to the edge of the doorway, curiosity getting the better of her.

Anthony’s final remark, “They may both surprise you,” was met with a soft clearing of a throat. Both men turned to see Y/N stepping into the room, her expression poised but her gaze quietly assessing.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” she said with a faint smile, addressing Anthony. “You must be Viscount Bridgerton. I apologize for not greeting you sooner.”

Anthony rose immediately, his movements fluid and respectful. “Miss Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm. “The pleasure is mine. I was just remarking to your brother on your keen sense of discernment. It seems Benedict wasn’t exaggerating.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. “He spoke of me?”

Anthony’s smile mirrored hers, though he chose his words carefully. “Indeed. Rarely have I seen my brother so animated in recounting a conversation.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Charles, whose stern expression had softened, before settling back on Anthony. “That’s high praise coming from you, my lord,” she said lightly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Perhaps I should be flattered—or cautious.”

Anthony chuckled, gesturing toward the chair opposite. “Flattery or caution—either is warranted. But if I may, Miss Y/N, Benedict is many things, but insincere is not one of them.”

Y/N seated herself gracefully, her expression thoughtful. “Then it would seem your brother and I have much in common,” she replied smoothly, though her mind raced. What exactly has Benedict told him?

As Anthony and Y/N exchanged polite conversation, Charles observed his sister closely. Her tone was cordial, her posture poised, but he knew her well enough to detect the subtle sharpness in her gaze—a warning to anyone attempting to pry too deeply. She wasn’t rattled by Anthony’s words, but she was undoubtedly calculating her next move.

Anthony, for his part, seemed at ease. His diplomacy was well-honed, his remarks layered with subtle reassurances. Yet Charles couldn’t help but feel the quiet tension in the room. Anthony was here not simply to visit a friend, but to ensure Benedict’s intentions were made clear—or perhaps to defend them.

“I find it intriguing,” Y/N said, interrupting Charles’s thoughts, “that you’ve taken the trouble to visit us, my lord, when your brother has already made his interest known. Surely, you trust his judgment?”

Anthony’s brow arched slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do, Miss Y/N, though it would be remiss of me not to learn more about the woman who has managed to hold my brother’s attention.”

“And have you drawn your conclusions already?” she asked, tilting her head.

Anthony leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but not intrusive. “Not entirely. But I do know this: my brother is a man of passions—art, creation, and the search for something meaningful. He finds those qualities rare. I suspect he believes he’s found them in you.”

Y/N’s composure didn’t falter, though her chest tightened slightly at his words. Her response was deliberate, each word measured. “An interesting theory, my lord. I wonder what he might say if he were here to speak for himself.”

As the conversation unfolded at Whitestone, Benedict Bridgerton was oblivious to his brother’s bold intervention. He sat alone in the Bridgerton family’s drawing room, a half-finished sketch resting on the desk before him. It was an abstract piece—a hazy rendition of the way the light had played across Y/N’s face as she’d described the painting at Lady Danbury’s soiree.

Frustrated, he set the pencil down and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t seen her since the garden farewell days ago, and the memory of her enigmatic smile lingered like a half-finished melody. Every word she had spoken felt deliberate, each glance calculated. Yet, for all her guardedness, he had glimpsed something more—an intensity that matched his own.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the sketch with a mix of irritation and admiration. What is it about her that has me so utterly undone?

The door creaked open, and Colin poked his head inside, his ever-mischievous grin firmly in place. “Still brooding over Lady Y/N?”

Benedict scowled, though there was no real malice behind it. “I’m not brooding.”

Colin stepped inside, uninvited, and plucked the sketch off the desk. “Is that so? Because this,” he said, waving the paper, “tells a rather different story. Don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over one of Anthony’s sermons.”

Benedict frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Colin flopped onto the settee, clearly enjoying himself. “Anthony’s gone to Whitestone, hasn’t he? To visit Y/N and her brother. He practically ordered Newton to saddle the horse this morning.”

Benedict shot to his feet, his voice incredulous. “Anthony went to Whitestone?”

Colin’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. Didn’t he tell you? I’d wager he’s there now, making some long-winded speech about Bridgerton honor and the seriousness of your intentions.”

Benedict’s fists clenched, though it was more out of frustration than anger. “Of course he would meddle,” he muttered, pacing the room. “I don’t need him playing matchmaker.”

“Perhaps not,” Colin replied, his tone light. “But I suspect you’ll thank him in the end. Anthony may be insufferable, but he has a way of clearing obstacles—even those you’re too stubborn to see.”

Benedict ignored him, walking around in the room furiously waiting for his brother to come home. He did not need Anthony meddling with his business when even he didn't have the chance to visit you or buy you flowers. He prayed that his brother didn't scare or intimidate Y/N in any shape or form.

Back at Whitestone, Y/N’s mind churned as Anthony’s words settled. The sincerity behind them was disarming, but it also raised questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She glanced at Charles, who was watching the exchange with his usual stoicism. Her brother was protective, and she valued his judgment, but she also resented feeling like a piece on a chessboard. Why should my life’s direction hinge on the machinations of two Bridgertons?

Y/N straightened, her voice breaking the charged silence. “You speak highly of your brother, my lord. But I can’t help but wonder if his interest is shared equally by the rest of your family. Surely a marriage, that you keep mentioning I might add, between a Bridgerton and an earl’s sister comes with certain expectations.”

Anthony’s expression didn’t falter, though his gaze turned contemplative. “You’re right, Miss Y/N. Family expectations can be... formidable. But we Bridgertons tend to weigh them against the matters of the heart. My brother is pursuing you not for duty, but for something far greater. That is why I came—to assure you that his pursuit is no fleeting fancy.”

Her breath caught for the briefest moment before she composed herself. “And yet you speak for him instead of letting him speak for himself. Tell me, viscount Bridgerton, is it a tradition of your family that the elder brother visit first before the man himself came here to court me or are you just more excited than Benedict?"

Anthony’s smile turned faintly amused. “Perhaps. But as the head of the family, it is not a tradition, but my duty to do so."

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the Bridgerton drawing room, where Violet sipped her tea, listening to Eloise debate some pamphlet on societal reform. Colin, seated nearby, was making a show of writing letters while sneakily trying to eavesdrop.

Suddenly, the front door opened with a sharp creak, followed by the heavy sound of deliberate footfalls. The atmosphere in the house shifted.

“Anthony,” Violet remarked, looking up from her teacup as her eldest son entered. His expression was stony, his movements clipped.

“Anthony, you look—”

Anthony!" Benedict’s voice roared through the house, heavy with fury.

"Benedict," Anthony greeted cautiously, straightening. "What’s the meaning of this outburst?"

"The meaning?" Benedict spat, his voice echoing through the room. "You went to the Whitestone estate without even telling me. You had no right!"

Violet, startled by the commotion, stood. "What’s going on here?"

"Ask your eldest son," Benedict said bitterly. "Apparently, he’s taken it upon himself to play matchmaker or, worse, guardian of my personal affairs."

Anthony’s jaw tightened, though he remained outwardly calm. "Benedict, I was only acting in your best—"

"No!" Benedict interrupted, his voice rising. "You were acting in your best interest, Anthony. Or, at the very least, what you think is best. You didn’t consult me, didn’t even think to ask what I wanted!"

By now, the household was gathering in the hallway, drawn by the shouting. Eloise whispered to Colin, "This is far better than the last novel I read."

Anthony’s patience began to fray as he stood taller, his tone hardening. "I went because I thought you might care for her, Benedict! And if you do, it’s only natural to ensure the family is suitable."

"How dare you presume to know what I care for!" Benedict snapped. "And what of her? Did you think she’d appreciate you barging in, uninvited, to assess her worth like livestock? I don’t even know if I care for her, but now I may never have the chance to decide for myself because of you!"

Anthony’s face fell briefly into guilt before he rallied. "I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I was trying to protect you—"

"Protect me from what, Anthony? From a young woman with a talent for art and a brother navigating his new title? Or perhaps from the whispers you always seem so terrified of?"

"You don’t understand," Anthony said sharply. "These things matter. Reputation matters. If you pursue her—"

"Stop!" Benedict’s voice was loud enough to make the rest of the family wince. "You don’t get to make this about reputation or family honor. You didn’t even think to come to me first, and for that alone, you’ve overstepped!"

Violet interjected, her voice firm. "Both of you, enough. This shouting is unbecoming."

"Unbecoming?" Benedict scoffed, his anger undiminished. "What’s truly unbecoming is my brother meddling in affairs that are none of his business!"

Anthony took a deep breath, his voice dropping but still heated. "I went because I thought it was for the best, Benedict. If I was wrong, then I apologize. But don’t act as if I’ve committed some great crime for trying to protect my family."

Benedict shook his head, his jaw tightening. "If you wanted to protect me, Anthony, you should have come to me first. You should have trusted me to handle my own life."

Without waiting for a response, Benedict turned and stormed out of the room, the sound of the door slamming behind him reverberating through the house.

Benedict rode hard, the crisp autumn air stinging his face as he left Mayfair behind. The rhythmic pounding of his horse's hooves against the packed dirt offered little solace, the anger from his fight with Anthony still churning in his chest. The thought of his brother making decisions about his life—his relationships—without so much as a conversation left him fuming.

The horse slowed as they approached Hyde Park. Benedict hadn’t meant to end up here, but the vastness of the greenery and the relative quiet of the park seemed preferable to the confinement of Bridgerton House. He dismounted near a cluster of trees, tying his horse to a low branch.

Wandering through the park, Benedict eventually spotted a familiar figure seated beneath a sprawling oak tree. Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass, a sketchbook balanced on her knee, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hand moved deftly across the page. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice his approach.

For a moment, Benedict simply observed her. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on her face. There was a peacefulness about her that pulled at something deep within him, a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning.

He cleared his throat softly.

Y/N jumped, her pencil jerking across the page. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide before recognition dawned. “Mr. Bridgerton!” she exclaimed, a hand flying to her chest. “You startled me.”

“I apologize,” Benedict said quickly, stepping closer. “Startling you was not my intention. I... Well, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, let alone you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, though there was a trace of humor in her gaze. “Hyde Park isn’t precisely secluded, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Touché,” Benedict conceded with a small smile. “Still, I seem to have a habit of interrupting you.” He gestured to the sketchbook in her lap. “May I?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edges of the paper. Then, with a resigned sigh, she handed it over. “It’s not finished,” she said quickly.

Benedict took the sketchbook, his eyes scanning the page. It was a study of a fountain in the park, the water captured mid-flow, the surrounding trees sketched with delicate precision. “This is remarkable,” he said sincerely. “The way you’ve captured the movement of the water—it feels alive.”

Y/N flushed at the compliment, though she tried to mask it with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing special. Just practice.”

“Your modesty does you no justice,” Benedict said, handing the sketchbook back to her. “This is more than practice. It’s art.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, but she said nothing, her eyes dropping to the sketch.

They sat in silence for a moment before Benedict spoke again. “I owe you an apology, Miss Y/N.”

“For startling me?” she teased, though her tone was light.

“For that and...for my brother’s intrusion at your home earlier today,” he said, his voice more serious now.

Y/N looked up sharply, her expression unreadable. “You knew?”

“I only found out after the fact,” Benedict admitted, frustration seeping into his tone. “Believe me, if I had known what Anthony was planning, I would have stopped him.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t unsettling to have the Viscount Bridgerton show up unannounced, but your brother was respectful.”

“That doesn’t excuse him,” Benedict said firmly. “He had no right to involve himself. Whatever this is,” he gestured between them, “it’s our business, not his.”

A flicker of something passed through Y/N’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or even approval—but it was gone before Benedict could decipher it.

“Your brother’s actions are understandable, though,” she said finally. “Family often feels entitled to protect us, even when we don’t need their protection.”

“‘Entitled’ is the word,” Benedict muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

Y/N tilted her head, a trace of amusement creeping into her expression. “You sound angry.”

“I am angry,” Benedict admitted, though his voice softened as he continued. “Not just because Anthony went behind my back, but because I... I don’t want anyone to think I need someone else to make my decisions for me. Least of all you.”

Her brows lifted at his candor, and a small smile played on her lips. “I think I can decide what to think of you, Mr. Bridgerton, regardless of your brother’s interference.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. There was an openness in Y/N’s gaze that felt like an invitation, though to what, Benedict wasn’t entirely sure.

“May I sit?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N gestured to the patch of grass beside her. “Be my guest.”

Benedict settled himself beside her, leaning back against the tree trunk. The tension that had coiled in his chest all day seemed to ease in her presence.

“Do you often come here to draw?” he asked after a moment.

“Whenever I can,” Y/N said, glancing at the fountain in the distance. “It’s one of the few places in London that feels...free.”

“I can see the appeal,” Benedict said. “There’s a tranquility here. A sense of space.”

“And yet you seem restless,” Y/N observed, her eyes studying him intently.

Benedict chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “I suppose I am. My family has a way of...complicating things.”

“Families tend to do that,” Y/N said lightly.

He turned to look at her, a question forming on his lips, but he hesitated. “Do you...” he began, then stopped.

“Do I what?” she prompted.

“Do you find it hard?” he asked finally. “Being the person others look to? Shouldering the weight of their expectations?”

Y/N’s gaze grew distant, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her sketchbook. “I think we all bear expectations, whether we like it or not. The trick is deciding which ones matter and which ones don’t.”

Benedict nodded, her words striking a chord. “And have you decided?”

Her lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “I’m still working on it.”

They fell into a companionable silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the faint splash of the fountain. For the first time that day, Benedict felt a sense of calm.

Perhaps, he thought, this wasn’t such a terrible day after all.

( part 2 anyone?)

[thebroccolination]

THAMEPO'S RELATIONSHIP (AS OF EPISODE 4)

Back when the teaser (made as an appeal to sponsors) aired in part two of GMMTV's 2024 showcase, and especially after the trailer (cut from the actual series) aired, I thought ThamePo looked like it would become one of the strongest series GMMTV has ever made.

So far, even though we're only four episodes in, it's well surpassing my expectations. Apparently, it's a passion project that the director had in the making for five years, waiting for the right casting to come along, so based on that alone, it's a series made with love. And I have a soft spot for passion projects. <3

Still, the top criterion I judge all series by is the quality of the writing, and since ThamePo's director is also a seasoned screenwriter who developed the script, this is one of the strongest aspects of the series so far.

Over the past four episodes, we've seen our protagonist's flaws (people-pleasing, projecting, temper) and strengths (resourcefulness, observational skill, cleverness), what he wanted (to return to the creative working world) and how it's changing (to reunite MARS). We've met the public version of Thame, the shallow version of Thame that Po misread, and the private version of Thame trying to make amends with his friends. We've met three of those friends (Jun, Dylan, and Pepper) and have hints about the fourth (Nano), and each friend we've met has given us more insight into the kind of person Thame is and what he's done to try and protect his group as the leader.

Since the main conflict of the story appears to be Thame being forced to choose between his band or his new boyfriend—

—Thame's relationship with Po has to move at quite a quick clip so he's emotionally invested enough in their relationship that it's a difficult choice. He's already extremely attached to his friends, so I'd argue one of the biggest challenges in the writing was having him fall in love with Po convincingly fast without it feeling forced by the hand of the screenwriter.

And daaamn has that been well-accomplished, in my opinion.

First, Po gets his Y/N moment.

It's established in the first episode that Thame saw Po at a fanmeeting once and remembered him because Po did something kind for someone when he didn't have to. Presumably because Thame's in a fairly cutthroat industry where people are constantly vying for his attention, maneuvering him like a chess piece, or flat-out ignoring him, that small act of kindness was probably one of the bright points of his day, week, or even month. Especially as things started falling apart with the other members.

In that same episode, we see Po projecting the heartbreak from his previous relationship onto Thame.

And in return, Thame—who spends most of the next episode docilely doing whatever he's told to do by the company—allows some of what he's hidden to show out of frustration presumably brought on by being so thoroughly misunderstood and chastised by a stranger he used to think well of and now suspects of being a sasaeng.

Because both characters are in such vulnerable places emotionally, it translates well to the narrative when they start to depend on one another.

On Po's end, his recent breakup has left him feeling foolish and exposed, taken advantage of by a man who refused to acknowledge Po's sacrifices or show any true appreciation for all the work Po did to see him succeed.

Meanwhile, Thame is alone in every way that matters.

His parents are neglectful,

his friends abandoned him,

and his boss is manipulating him.

At the start, Po is quite literally the only ally he has.

It's because Po kept at him to be honest, to be sincere, that Thame woke up and decided to fight for himself.

And because Thame is doing something for himself for a change, that's what wins back his closest friend Jun.

What I love about this whole narrative is that it's already established from Po's previous relationship that he's the kind of person to give himself entirely to a cause for someone else's benefit. He helped Earn to his own detriment, he picked up a small child so she could see, and he's risking his job to help Thame find happiness and peace.

So it's entirely in-character for him to, say, go through a whole room filled with boxes of rejected song lyrics trying to find one piece of paper that he had to tape back together. Only for it not to matter, because Thame mended fences with Dylan on his own.

I'd argue this is what makes Po think, Maybe I'm too emotionally involved in this. Especially after Jun has point-blank told him that Thame would never be interested in him that way.

We see the moment Po doubts his enthusiastic support of this whole project.

And it's clear that this could have been where it ended for Po.

Until Thame, observant and kind and the polar opposite of Earn, says exactly the right thing to him.

Because that was the major breaking point for Po in his relationship with Earn. He was made to feel disposable. Extraneous. Unnecessary. But Thame recognizes the work he's done, the effort he's put in. He may be reuniting the group for his own satisfaction, but he's not so selfish that he can let Po's contributions go unobserved and unappreciated.

Then, y'know. Thame talks to Po until he falls asleep—

—and serenades him in the morning.

And the thing is! Knowing all we know about Thame—that his parents don't seem to care about him, that he's been isolated from his friends, that he's been made helpless in his own career for so long after being manipulated into signing contracts that restrict his freedom—it makes sense for him to be the one pursuing Po this hard. Just as much as it makes sense for recently heartbroken Po to be interested and yet hesitant.

Setting all of this up in four episodes while covering the entire backstory of MARS and their gradual reunion is a feat of excellent writing. We have a reason to care about Thame and Po's relationship, because it's been clearly shown to us that they bring out the best in each other and that they're willing, even at this early stage, to take risks for each other. We've also got reason to care about MARS, because they seem to be more family to Thame than his own, and they're his current priority.

I'm genuinely thrilled to see such solid writing come from a GMMTV series because as I've said before, they seem more and more recently to chuck first drafts on an assembly line and just assume the fandom will watch anything regardless of the quality as long as certain khuujin are cast as the leads (which, y'know, isn't untrue).

While I enjoy some GMMTV QL series as mindless fluff to watch with friends, there are very few I'd say are written well. Apart from ThamePo, only five other series I've seen have what I'd consider well-executed scripts: Pluto (2024), Be My Favorite (2023), Dark Blue Kiss (2019), SOTUS S (2017), and SOTUS (2016). Sadly, I think Not Me (2022) was on track to be one of the best with its first half, but the production was infamously neglected with episodes cut by GMMTV at the last minute and the script deprived of major edits that left the second half almost shallow by comparison. (Of course, Not Me had a host of censorship issues as well, so we may never know how much that interfered with the quality. It's still an incredible series for its ambition and for Nuchy's directing, and I'll be mad every day of my reincarnation cycle that it didn't get the writing support it deserved.)

Otherwise, nearly every GMMTV series I've seen has at least one major basic storytelling flaw (no character arc, a sloppy resolution, unconvincing setup, weak characterization, excess filler, etc.), and they seem to be first drafts with very little depth. With that in mind, I hope to see ThamePo do well enough that it sends a message to GMMTV that they should focus more on the writing of their series. I think based on what we've seen in the first four episodes and in the trailer, the script quality is reliable, and ThamePo's relationship may be one of the best-written we've seen yet. <3

[rosettyller]

some analysis of this scene from 2x02, because i am going absolutely insane over it:

first up: it's 2 500 BCE. They've known each other for around 1500 years at this point, but they haven't been meeting up very often; it's implied at this point, that they've only met at the Garden, and the Flood, and now here (as well as in Heaven, but there's varying interpretations about how much they each remember of Heaven).

(worth noting that these meetings are all bible-related meetings)

So, they don't know each other very well at all. This is why Aziraphale approaches Crowley so cautiously (apart from the fact that he thinks Crowley's going around murdering goats and soon kids). He doesn't know what happened to Crowley when he Fell, how he changed when he fell in with Lucifer, how God's rejection has warped Crowley's perspective or changed his morals (their meeting at the Flood seemed quite short, not enough time to get a definite picture.)

Aziraphale is still seeing Crowley as demonic, although there's already that thread of doubt - can you really see him trying to talk Hastur or Ligur out of this the way he does Crowley?

Aziraphale clings to the memory of Angel Crowley - Crowley gets quite defensive.

Here, Crowley reinforces that he's changed - personally I don't believe that he did fight in the War, but his views of God's Plan definitely got more extreme than "thats terrible god should get a suggestion box".

But, I also believe that here, Crowley is reinforcing that he is no longer an angel, and therefore no longer has to play by angel rules. He can do what he wants. He's a demon, it's in his job description.

And of course, that he is a demon, and he is Evil, and of course he would kill goats.

(more under the cut, because I just can't stop talking)

This shot is very yellow. Crowley's hair being the season 1 orange rather than red, the yellow walls, all accentuate the colour of Crowley's eyes, highlighting the physical reminder of Crowley's demonic nature.

I couldn't be bothered to gif it, but here, Crowley leans forward into Aziraphale's face. There are two reasons for this:

Get his yellow Demon Eyes right in Aziraphale face, just to hammer home his point.

It's an aggressive action, moving into someone's personal space like that. Saying, I could hurt you, I'm violent and aggressive and dangerous, I killed those goats, the kids are next.

The way the light hits Crowley's eyes in the above shot and the below shot also make them a very bright yellow. (Edit: I think someone pointed out that Crowley is making his eyes glow, but the overall yellowness of the scene serves to highlight this)

Clever wording on Crowley's part, because as we will find out, he faked the destruction of the goats to keep them safe, while making himself sound very evil.

You'll notice the repetition of "blameless"; this makes him seem even more evil, hurting the innocent, but also gives deeper insight into one of Crowley's biggest issues: hurting the innocent. What have they done to deserve this? Nothing.

This ties in quite nicely with what we have seen before of Crowley and free will; he gives people the option to sin. It's their actions that decide whether they end up in Heaven or Hell; they get what they deserve for their actions. He just makes it easier to choose Hell. (see: phone lines being down making people crankier and encouraging them to be horrible to each other, but it still being their choice, setting the holy water bucket above the door, so it's Ligur's choice to come in after Crowley that gets him killed.)

Note also the use of "long":

Aziraphale says to "tell me you want to do this". "Long" has rather stronger connotations than "want", but also rawer, more fundamental. Crowley is reminding Aziraphale that he is a demon, and that he has the traits of a demon, this is what he is now. He longs for violence, for destruction.

Aziraphale looks quite sad here. If you watch the video I linked, his previous conviction that Crowley doesn't want to do it is very strong. He fully believes in Crowley, that all he needs to do is reframe not killing the kids as within the rules of Hell, the way Crowley so often comes to do for Aziraphale ("Then you can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of the divine plan too. I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren't you?" "If you put it that way, Heaven couldn't actually mind me thwarting you.").

Aziraphale believed Crowley was still good, that the angel he remembered was still in there. But Crowley rejects it - and it hurts. Crowley has become what a demon should be.

Crowley looks quite sorrowful here, too: he already cares for Aziraphale (he fell in love at the Garden), and it hurts to decieve him, to disappoint him, to hurt him.

I would argue that here, Crowley is scared.

He's in shadow, which dims the yellows; his undemonic nature is about to be revealed.

And that is not safe, because Hell does not send rude notes. And here, Crowley is not doing just any temptation, but trying to help Satan win a bet (supposedly). And out of every demon in Hell, Satan is the one you want to piss off the least.

But here, Crowley is scared because Aziraphale could reveal him - because Aziraphale is on God's side, and because it is revealed that Crowley is not nearly as demonic as he makes himself out to be. He's vulnerable. Aziraphale could scorn him, hurt him. But instead:

Aziraphale is incredibly smug. "I knew I was right", he says. "I knew you were still good".

And here is another issue: Aziraphale conflates God/Heaven/angels with good, and demons/Hell with bad.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He doesn't want Aziraphale to see his angelic core past the demonic exterior. He's on his own side.

This, for Aziraphale, confirms that "the angel you knew is not me", is not correct.

And I think, out of the three minisodes, it's this one that does the most for fleshing out Aziraphale and Crowley's frames of mind this series, and why they choose what they choose in ep6.

Aziraphale has been proven right about Crowley's angelic nature, and that he wants to do good, but can't, for fear of Hell's retribution.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He recognises that being an angel again will not allow him the freedom to do good. (as Aziraphale had to try and talk a demon into helping him save the kids from God.)

[syndrossi]

And now for a continuation of what I'm calling the Rescue AU aka "what if Ser Thoren successfully extracted the boys from the Gates of the Moon?" Part 1 and premise can be found here. It ended pretty abruptly, and so we pick up pretty abruptly! This one has a more proper "end" to it, though it's not finished.

x~x~x

“May we go to the market on River Row?” Rhaegar asked. He seemed to pick up on Daemon’s surprise at the request, adding, “Laenor mentioned it before. He said they have all manner of wares from within the realm, and even from across the Narrow Sea.”

“We may,” Daemon said, warmed by the pleased smile he received in response. “Do you seek anything in particular?”

He had presented them with gifts for three of their name days thus far, but that still left five. And some of his other planned gifts would not be ready for months. Any insight into what his children enjoyed was sorely welcome. They spent so little time at play, too serious about their studies.

“Princess Rhaenyra said that your name day is in less than three moons,” Rhaegar said, smile turning stern. “So you must not look if we choose something for you.”

Daemon had not celebrated his name day in nearly a decade, other than alone with Caraxes and one of the few barrels of good wine that made it on occasion to the Stepstones by way of Driftmark. His last true celebration had been a pleasant supper with Viserys, Aemma, and Rhaenyra, followed by a drunken night of debauchery in Flea Bottom that had earned his brother’s disapproval in the morning upon hearing of it.

It had been only two moons after Viserys had quietly taken him aside and “suggested” that he take Lord Beesbury as an advisor in his yet-new position of master of coin. Daemon had known the true source of the suggestion: Otto Hightower. Daemon had been only three moons in the office and still learning its scope; bringing in the former master of coin to all but do his job for him had been clearly intended to undermine him by implying he could not manage on his own.

That was the one office Daemon had resigned from before his brother could directly dismiss him, as he made a habit of. That had been before he’d realized just how short his leash would be for any office while Otto Hightower whispered in his ear simultaneously of Daemon’s immaturity and ambition.

A hand squeezed his, jolting him from his thoughts. “Father?” It was Rhaegar’s voice, gentle with concern, rather than stilted as it could sometimes be when addressing him.

Daemon smoothed wisps of light hair from his son’s forehead, then rested his hands on either cheek, heart a jumbled mess between the sentiment and the barest trace of wariness that lurked in his eyes whenever Daemon behaved in a way he did not expect. He kissed his brow, vowing that one day Rhaegar would come to expect only love at the hands of family, rather than the cold indifference—or worse—he had suffered under the Royce household.

“You can give me no greater gift than your company that day,” he said, transferring a hand to Jon’s cheek as well.

Jon gave a solemn nod. “But if I wrap Rhaegar to leave outside your door, who will wrap me?”

Daemon nearly choked on his laugh, the humor entirely unexpected. His eldest was quite sneaky in that regard, though both had a similarly clever wit. He feared for whoever might earn their wrath once they reached adolescence.

“Would you like a small purse apiece for the market, then?” he asked. “So that you are spared solving such a riddle?”

“There is no need,” Rhaegar said, revealing a bulging purse beneath his jacket. “Uncle Viserys gave us an allowance for it.”

“That was very generous of him,” Daemon said, smiling to mask a sudden flood of resentment at the reminder that nothing that he had to offer them was his own. It was all through Viserys and the royal treasury. He had no holding of his own to build an income, nor would he.

Curious stares followed them through the streets, news of the strange circumstances of his sons’ birth having traveled beyond the court. Laenor had informed him with great enthusiasm that a troupe of mummers were at work on a new play with a working title of “The Hidden Princes and the Witch of Runestone.”

If his sons were uneasy with the attention, they did not show it, more fascinated by the sights and sounds of the city. I should have taken them out sooner, Daemon thought fondly. There was a minstrel at one corner, playing the lute outside of a tavern to lure travelers in, and Rhaegar’s head tilted a moment, listening, before his eyes brightened. He hurried over, Daemon and Jon a few steps behind, and joined the minstrel in his song, his higher pitch shifting into an effortless harmony.

The minstrel looked startled by the sudden accompaniment, and even perhaps dismayed to find himself outperformed by a small child, but his eyes took in Daemon as he approached, and the princely attire his sons were wearing—as well as the growing crowd, drawn by the unusual spectacle as well as the sweetness of the song—and the man seemed to then accept the situation as one of good fortune.

Daemon smiled as he watched Rhaegar, enjoying his son’s obvious joy at an excuse to sing. The song was familiar to him, one of a wandering hedge knight in search of a maiden he had spied bathing in the moonlight and fallen in love with, but rendered nearly haunting with the addition of Rhaegar’s voice, which made it into a duet of man and maiden.

At the final verse, the minstrel made as though to bow, only for Rhaegar to continue on alone for another four, and the tale went from one of happy reunion to bittersweet loss as the maiden revealed the true reason she had evaded the hedge knight’s pursuit: the waters had told her that when she found love at last, they would have but a year before death claimed them.

There were very few dry eyes in the crowd at the song’s conclusion, and there was a light ache in his own throat, but the ending seemed to upset Jon in particular, so Daemon wrapped him up in his arms. “It is only a song.”

“If he had not gone after her, they both would have lived,” Jon said into his abdomen.

“Perhaps so,” Daemon murmured, stroking fingers through his hair as he pondered why the song had touched him so. Elys and Corwyn had died two years after the twins’ birth, and his sons had thought them their parents most of their lives. Rhea’s death was still fresh for them as well, he supposed. “But the life of a hedge knight is not without peril. Perhaps he would have found death another way.”

Jon frowned, not liking that response, and Daemon sighed, releasing him. “Come, let us collect your brother from his admirers.”

The minstrel was splitting his attention between collecting the shower of coin that had fallen at the song’s conclusion and interrogating his son on where he had heard the additional verses.

“From a harpist who wandered through the Gates of the Moon,” Rhaegar said, beginning to look uncomfortable.

Daemon quickly moved into the man’s view, fixing him with a look that halted further questioning.

“My prince,” the minstrel said, bowing with a flourish. “What an honor to have the privilege of sharing a song with your son.”

“Indeed,” Daemon said, beckoning Rhaegar back to his side. “I suggest you content yourself with your good fortune.”

“I am sorry,” Rhaegar said once they were away from the gathered crowd, flicking anxious glances in Daemon’s direction. “I did not mean to—”

“Nonsense,” Daemon said firmly. “You may sing whenever you like. You upstaged that minstrel and he knew it.”

Rhaegar moved to walk at Jon’s side, whispering something quiet to him—another apology, perhaps? Jon shrugged, the motion stiff, but he summoned a small smile in response. Fortunately, the distraction of River Row seemed to take their minds off the matter. The street stank of fish, and was awash in colorful stalls loudly peddling their goods.

They were not even at the market square yet, and he had to corral them back within reach several times with stern warnings of pickpockets and unsavory characters who grew in number as Aegon’s Hill grew more distant.

The chaos was nigh unmanageable by the time they reached the market. They still drew glances, Daemon’s hair and attire—and Dark Sister at his side—making his identity plain. But the people in the market were here for one of two purposes: to sell or be sold to. They kept their gawking to sideways glances for the most part, aside from one very bold hand that curiously reached for his hair before being swatted aside.

The strong scent of cooked meat and vegetables from the side of the market that served tempting dishes that could be held in one’s hand to eat while walking covered up the worst of the encroaching smell of raw fish and nearby sewage. There were sweeter fares as well, including a stall that spun sugar into elaborate shapes to cool and be sold.

The peddlers’ calls grew particularly loud whenever they were noticed, to the point where Jon was beginning to look overwhelmed. Daemon was not without his own tension. Every voice that carried an accent from the Free Cities, and especially the occasional spoken Valyrian, transported him back to the crush and throng of the Stepstones.

They eventually reached a portion of the market that was less frantic, where he was no longer touching four different bodies at once, and Daemon slowly relaxed. The boys went from stall to stall with Daemon looking on a few steps back, moving with them. Occasionally they would lean in for hushed discussion, dark hair against light, then turn to him in unison with appraising eyes before resuming their conversation.

Daemon had no idea what they would decide upon for gifts, but he was greatly looking forward to finding out what they had deemed worthy. They had found something at the present stall, which seemed to be an assortment of leather goods ranging from cow’s hide to more exotic sources.

Jon looked back toward him. “Turn around,” he ordered. “She has to finish making it and then wrapping it.”

Daemon gamely turned away. “Tell me when it is safe to look.”

He contented himself with scanning the rest of the current extension of the market, occasionally meeting the quickly averted gaze of an onlooker startled to be caught. That was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to when walking about openly, though years ago in Flea Bottom, the denizens had come to view his frequent presence among them as something to be expected. When he truly wished to walk about without fuss, he went cloaked and hooded.

A startled cry rang out back toward the portion of the market they had just left, and Daemon glanced that way to see that one of the food stalls had caught flame. He could make out the shouts for water, and a few nearby peddlers flapped with cloth at the fire, seeking to smother it. It seemed to only inflame it somehow, the fire almost dancing from one stall to another, which then caught.

Daemon recognized in the louder murmurs of the crowd the sound of unease yielding to panic, his own alarm growing with it. Panic was unpredictable, and the crowd would seek whatever outlet they thought offered safety, willing to trample whoever got in their way.

He turned back to the stall, ready to sweep his children up and leave before the chaos reached them, only to find the stall empty and his sons nowhere in view. His mind blanked with incomprehension for a moment, breath catching in his throat, and he closed the distance to the stall in an instant, looking around wildly. His sons were nowhere to be seen, but there was a woman’s body in rapidly pooling blood slumped at the other side of the stall.

No. Daemon’s hand closed around Dark Sister’s hilt, an icy fear flooding his veins. He took a deep breath to call for them, only to freeze at the sudden prick of something sharp and metal against his back.

“Quiet,” a voice said behind him, soft and unaccented. “Do you wish to see your sons?”

“Where are they?” Daemon asked, holding perfectly still. He might be quick enough to move before the man behind him sunk his blade in, but he did not know if there were more. There must be, to have taken his sons away. “What do you want?”

“If you do as I say, I shall take you to them. Fight, and you will never see them again.” The man waited, as though to see if he intended to put up a struggle. “Remove your hand from your blade.”

Daemon stared forward, paralyzed by indecision. He could mean to kill me anyway. This may be intended to buy time so that they may take the boys further out of reach.

But what could he—or they—even want? If it was ransom they sought, then the more captives, the better. If it was revenge, they would have killed his sons, and Daemon after.

“That dragon blood of yours is worth a great deal,” the voice said with a hint of impatience. “But only balanced against the trouble you might cause. Remove your hand.”

Ransom, then. Daemon clutched that hope to his chest and released his grip on Dark Sister. His hand was grabbed and twisted behind his back, firmly but not painfully so, and he was guided between stalls, out of view. Then, something smooth and rounded was pressed into his hand.

“Drink this.”

The shouts in the market square had grown louder, and the wind was beginning to blow smoke in their direction. Daemon had spotted the occasional gold cloak earlier, but there were none to be seen now, the men likely moving to seek control of the fire or the crowd. There were far more pressing things for the people milling about the market to pay attention to than a prince tucked just out of view, a blade to his back.

“What is it?” Daemon asked, though he could guess. If it was not poison, then it was something intended to dull the senses and render him easy to move without struggle.

“Drink,” the man repeated. “Or I spill that royal blood onto the cobblestone, which would be a shameful waste.”

Daemon brought the bottle into view, its milky glass obscuring its contents save for a faintly darker line where the liquid within sloshed. A tiny cork served as a stopper.

I cannot see them again if I am sliced open in River Row.

Ransom could be paid. Daemon knew that Viserys would not hesitate on his behalf or his sons’, whatever objections Otto might raise.

He brought the cork to his teeth, and pulled it loose, then tipped the liquid back. He held it in his mouth for a few seconds, debating whether he could feign swallowing, but a hand closed over his lips and pinched his nostrils shut until he swallowed, at which point it moved to grip his right arm again. The man made no move to lead him anywhere, seeming content to wait for the potion to take its effect.

“You have not hurt them?” Daemon asked, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“They are not harmed,” the man said with a hint of amusement. “Though I cannot say the same for some of the others. I did warn them about Jon.”

A dizziness rolled over Daemon, followed by a heaviness that came in waves that settled deeper each time. At last he was prodded forward, and it took all his concentration to put one foot ahead of the other. Then another. Then—

[whencyclopedia]

Nih'a'ca Tales

Nih'a'ca tales are Arapaho legends concerning the trickster figure Nih'a'ca, who, according to Arapaho lore, is the first haxu'xan (two-spirit), a third gender, often highly regarded by many Native American nations, including the Arapaho. The Nih'a'ca tales are similar to the Wihio tales of the Cheyenne and the Iktomi tales of the Sioux.

North American Panther

Rodney Cammauf /National Park Service (Public Domain)

Circumstances and situations differ between the Nih'a'ca tales and those concerning trickster figures of other Native peoples of North America, but the central character of the trickster plays the same role – sometimes as sage and mediator, sometimes as schemer and villain – in them all. In the case of Nih'a'ca – always referred to by the male pronoun in English translations of Arapaho tales – he is frequently depicted in legend as someone who tries to better himself, usually at the expense of others or by trying to take shortcuts, and suffers for it.

At the same time, Nih'a'ca can be wise, offering advice, or clever, as in the story Nih'a'ca Pursued by the Rolling Skull, in which he must find a way to escape death. His identity as a haxu'xan is often, though not always, central to the story's plot – as in Nih'a'ca and the Panther-Young-Man where he, identifying as a woman, marries a panther – and, in stories where his gender is highlighted, serves to teach an important cultural, moral, lesson.

The Nih'a'ca tales are still told in Arapaho and Cheyenne communities, as well as others – including LGBTQ organizations – not only for their entertainment value but for the lessons they offer on personal responsibility and the proper respect and treatment to be shown to others. Like the trickster figures of other nations, Nih'a'ca is often depicted as, or associated with, the spider – spinning webs to catch others which often wind up entangling himself.

The Two-Spirit & Nih'a'ca

Two-Spirit is a modern designation, coined as recently as 1990, for the third gender recognized by many Native American nations for centuries before their contact with European immigrants. Because the term is so new, the two-spirit is often, incorrectly, assumed to be a recent 'discovery' made by anthropologists when, actually, European accounts going back to 1775 reference a third gender among North American Native peoples and the oral histories, myths, and legends – like the Nih'a'ca tales – also attest to the long-standing recognition of two-spirits in a given community.

As the term implies, a two-spirit is someone who recognizes both a male and female spirit dwelling within and often, though not always, dresses in the clothes and performs the duties of their opposite biological sex. Because they are understood as both male and female, two-spirits are recognized as possessing especially keen insight and often serve as mediators – in the present as they did in the past – in resolving personal or communal disputes. They were, and are (or can be), also regarded as holy people – "medicine men" and "medicine women" – serving as mediators between the people and the spirit world. Scholar Larry J. Zimmerman comments:

The relationship between a holy person and the spirit world is almost that of a personal religion. The first meeting with the spirits becomes the personal myth, and the power of this myth is important for establishing the holy person's credentials with the tribe, on behalf of which his or her skills are used to locate game, find lost objects, and, above all, treat the sick. The holy person can enter a trance at will and journey to the sacred world.

(132-133)

While Nih'a'ca is sometimes depicted as a holy person, he is more often quite the opposite, possessing characteristics such as selfishness, cruelty, and a blatant disregard for cultural norms. Through the Nih'a'ca tales, which frequently conclude with the central character suffering for his misdeeds, higher values including selflessness, kindness, and respect for tradition and the feelings of others are highlighted.

Nih'a'ca, then, usually serves as an exemplar of bad behavior and is given the identity of a two-spirit – in fact, the first two-spirit in the world – because the recognition of the sacred aspect of the two-spirit further emphasizes just how misguided Nih'a'ca's choices and actions can be. The tales themselves are a kind of 'trickster' turning expectations upside down and, in so doing, offer an audience the opportunity for reflection on their own behavior and the possibility of transformation.

Continue reading...

[utilitycaster]

Been burning through the third campaign of NADDPOD recently off of your recommendation and it's been incredible. Though it has made me think of what exactly makes its callbacks and references to the previous campaign work so well compared to C3. As you pointed out in your post about the podcast, they share more than a few similarities. I'd guess that the lighter tone overall helps quite a bit, though the Irondeep Saga and Hardwon's return to the adventuring life is genuinely very effective!

To me, most if not all of C3's returning characters and callbacks were self-aggrandizing and distracting. The initial return to Whitestone for Laudna especially.

I have not finished NADDPOD's C3 yet so maybe I'll be proven wrong, but I was just wondering if you had any insight on why it just, works better than its counterpart? Also, big fan of the blog! Your meta post have kept me sane during the various errands that Bells Hells half heartedly accomplish.

So I do want to note my issue with Whitestone and Laudna's resurrection isn't so much seeing Percy and Vex and Pike and Keyleth; it's much more that having that available so early cut off some notable opportunities in Marquet. Going to Jiana would have probably made the Delilah issue much more of a factor (since I doubt anyone she'd have known would have been a L20 cleric familiar with Delilah), would have done interesting things for Ashton's story, and would have kept the party on the continent and in the city, possibly spending more time with Eshteross and maybe even giving them an additional chance to encounter Otohan in person. In retrospect this could have fixed like five different things. I actually found that the previous character callbacks were one of the strongest elements and increasingly I also feel the original NPCs of C3, Otohan and Ozo aside, while few and far between, would have been great if Bells Hells like, cared about them and spent time with them.

I think the more important part is that Murph is not trying to wrap up an overarching plot across multiple campaigns; he's simply telling, well, the campaign after the campaign. He was pretty clear about that in the initial discussions for NADDPod C3 - it's heavily influenced by the decisions in the initial Bahumia campaign but like, the plot isn't to end the astral plane god-battles that set off; it's to save Bahumia from Mothership (and those two factions evolve to have other implications, but the core conflict is introduced early and remains as is). Now, I also think that having a smaller party that is generally absolutely fearless when it comes to decision-making is an important part and they deserve credit (just as, while I think Matt's errors were most significant for C3's issues, the cast's waffling and fear of picking the wrong choice is a factor - even a "wrong" choice would have been better in most cases), but a lot of it is that it's a pretty standard D&D style plot executed well. (This would be another really long post but I really do think D&D can handle a range of plots and genres, but it's still a limited range of plots and genres, and if you try to subvert it, as people increasingly try to do, it will not reward you for cleverness but rather backfire. I don't think C3 tries to subvert D&D nor do I think D&D is the problem here; also just to stave off dumb comments, Pathfinder has the same exact limitations and Daggerheart likely will have very similar ones - this is about a combat-skills-forward fantasy game with level progression in general of which D&D is the most prominent but by no means only example. However since I just answered about Neverafter, while that's not the question, I think Murph has a particularly good understanding of what D&D can do.)

I think it's a few things but I think one reason Murph has such a track record is first, he identifies pretty strongly as a comedy writer, though he's also obviously a performer; secondly, he is as far as I can tell cautious and surly and he came to TTRPGs as an adult; and thirdly, two major influences he has that others tend not to cite are gaming and wrestling, and I really think this is important.

I think as a writer, he tends to have a good sense of narrative and where things have to go. That doesn't mean there aren't unexpected turns, but I think he does a good job of planning for contingencies and having a confident hand in turning the story back. And again, I think having a 3-person party makes it easier to get back on the rails (or to build a new track very quickly) but I think he, to quote a truly stupid but not entirely wrong self-help quote, begins with the end in mind.

The cautiousness and surliness are in my opinion the secret to NADDPod. Look. Niceness is, well, nice, though Brennan has a great bit that I watched recently and have since forgotten the source of about how kindness and niceness are two separate concepts. I think Murph is really willing to tell his players "No" and I think it is always to his benefit. I think making your players explain what they want to do, or being willing to turn your player's riffing into something that might not be their intention (Sol and Albie and the whole reveal that the Academy made everyone feel like a hero while essentially churning out manufactured duos stands out to me) is important. I don't want to say every home game should have this because it shouldn't - if you are playing at home casually and just want to make your friends feel like the coolest people ever, you don't have to do this! But if you are an actual play show you should be telling a story, and to tell a good story you do have to kill a few darlings and make a few edits, and Murph is willing to do that and Matt is sometimes too generous for his own good to the detriment of story (and, imo, I think it's ultimately less rewarding for the players in the long run much of the time too!)

And thirdly, games and wrestling. Now I am obviously no expert in games, but from a complete beginner's perspective, something that keeps striking me is how many people become affronted when the side quests (or, more accurately, ignoring the side quests) impact the main quest in significant ways, even though it's simply good writing to have side quests that enhance your understanding of the main quest and make you stronger or better able to approach it because of your experiences. This is in fact one of the biggest reasons why C3 is so weak, and one of the reasons why I think NADDPod is consistently strong. And then as for wrestling: I am even less of an expert here, but wrestling requires clear storytelling and especially clear motivations, (hard to be subtle in that medium) and story told primarily through combat that better have a great conclusion. It's also, notably, a remarkably unpretentious thing to be into, even though it's popular with a lot of nerds (Danielle Radford is the guest from last week; Ify's a wrestling fan as well). As a result, I think Murph isn't afraid to be blunt and unsubtle in service of actually making something good and entertaining and cohesive, instead of trying to say something deep and failing. Because nothing crashes to the ground and burns than trying to say something deep and failing. I mean I love pretentiousness, but I know when to drop it, and I think NADDPod on the whole does too.

[shatcey]

Azel's route

Before I start, I want to make a small warning. This route was dedicated to religious issues and believers. It's not surprising, considering that the main character claims to be a God. Some of the thoughts contained in this route may seem offensive to true believers. For me, religion is a kind of philosophy that always has its pros and cons. So I consider the very harsh words in this route as part of a story (which has nothing to do with real life) or a demonstration of the flaw of this philosophy.

I thought I'd add some more jokes from this route, but to be honest, they're not that good (I guess I'm tired), so I decided to end with this route… at least for now.

Since I don't want to spoiler too much, I'll just say a few words unrelated to the main plot. If they are related, then without any specifics.

The first and most important… I feel so sorry for Ennis. I'm really sorry, Ennis. I was so wrong about you. This guy has two bosses who give him opposing orders, and he has no idea how not to offend either of them.

Great, now he has three bosses! I'm so sorry, Ennis. And yes, I will continue to write his name with the two "N" because I LIKE IT BETTER.

His position is very nervous, and he considered a king, but in the end he's just nobody. The only thing he was allowed to do is… to create a new generation of descendants of the gods… Azel gave him his harem. Yes, Azel originally had a harem, but he gave it to his brother. Maybe Ennis' life isn't as bad as I think it is, but… it's very nervous for sure…

The developers have created many side characters for this route. We see Izzet in the sequels. But apart from him… two maid girls, a guy who organizes tourism, the couple who created the most jokes at the beginning of the route, Basil and Kamal. I don't remember any other route where so many side characters were added. And all of them are very remarkable, and all of them at some point played a huge part in story.

This route contains very vague, but still recognizable references to the Disney cartoon "Beauty and the Beast". And I find it very cute.

Throughout the entire route, I noticed very familiar lines or thoughts that were in the events or in the teaser. And this is not a repeat of the story, but just a confirmation that this is a fairly common occurrence. And none of this seems out of place, they are like threads connecting all the story. And these recognizable moments make us fully immerse ourselves in this world.

Belle in some moments very soft and easy to manipulate, but at others pretty strong-willed and stubborn. She is very observant and has a very strong opinion about what true love is. And her point of view is not naive, it is very correct. I didn't really like Belle at the events, but I really liked her on this route. What's the difference? She's not as stupidly naive as I thought, that's for sure.

Azel is simply adorable. At first, he reminded me of Silvio. Money-money-money… but at some point, I start to see Ally in him. Maybe I just see Ally everywhere… But it seems they do have a lot in common. Azel combines the best qualities of both of these guys, and I really like how it turned out in the end.

I really like this story. The concept of story, the logic in it, the slow disclosure of facts from the past… the chemisty between the main couple (which began after the aphrodisiac incident and was like a constant electricity). The interaction of the main pair. How extremely good the other characters are. The jokes of Clavis, the clever comments of Luke, the insight and cunning of Silvio and… the shadow or Gilly-bee, which actually remind of something completely different from what they quite decisively impose. And again… they all play a role in this story, they all shine. Love it.

I'm still in shock how they managed to fit so much into a regular-sized route. It's really good. I think this is the best main route I've read so far. I get the same feeling from the sequels… it seems that the next one is better than the previous ones. But I still haven't read Clavis' sequel, maybe in the end I'll like it more than Sariel's.

The only problem I see is whether they can continue to maintain this level? They have really set very high standards with this route.

I guess we'll see.

And a very nice spoiler.

...

...

...

...

...

Azel is not greedy!

I'll probably write about it when the route is released in English… if I remember (make a note not to forget!!!)… but that's not what it looks like.

Now live with this information.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[satsugacafe]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐜̧𝐚𝐝𝐞

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: hellooo love ur blog <3 can I request hcs for soul society!aizen with a reader who isnt charmed easily and is a bit skeptical of his façade?

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: I was originally going to turn this into a fic (even though you asked for headcanons), but I was running out of creativity juices to keep it flowing :( It just sounded like it would be a great fic.

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: When you don’t fall for Aizen’s two-faced performance during his time in the Gotei 13

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

˚₊‧꒰ა From the moment you joined the Gotei 13, you found yourself on the outskirts of every conversation involving Aizen. His reputation preceded him—calm, composed, effortlessly kind, with a voice that could soothe even the most restless souls. But something about him didn’t sit right with you. It wasn’t that he was rude or ever out of place. Quite the opposite. He was too perfect.

˚₊‧꒰ა You’d seen captains and lieutenants before. They were powerful, commanding presences, many of them hardened by battle and responsibility. Yet Aizen…smiled too easily. It wasn’t that his kindness seemed forced; it was that it never wavered. No one was that consistently unshakeable. People had cracks, moments of frustration, and lapses in their carefully crafted facades. But him? Not once. And that was enough to make you wary.

˚₊‧꒰ა He noticed you watching him. Of course he did. Aizen was a man who missed nothing. But he never confronted it directly. He didn’t need to. He was too skilled at playing the game of subtlety. Instead, he’d catch your eye in meetings, offer a faint smile when your gazes met across the training grounds, and always, always address you with a tone that felt meticulously chosen.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You seem thoughtful,” he said one day, catching you in a quiet corridor after a meeting had ended. His voice was light and conversational, but there was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that made you feel like you were being measured. “Do you often get lost in your thoughts like that?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You weren’t in the habit of being easily charmed by flowery words or gentle tones. You shrugged, not bothering to hide your suspicion. “Only when things don’t add up.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His smile never faltered, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “And what, may I ask, isn’t adding up for you?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You knew better than to voice your thoughts outright. Aizen wasn’t the type of man you could accuse without solid evidence. He was too clever, too calculated. So instead, you shrugged again. “That would be telling.”

˚₊‧꒰ა It wasn’t the response he was expecting, and for a brief moment, the mask slipped. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his expression sharpening before he smoothed it over again. “Curious,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re not like the others.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His words hung in the air, and you knew he wasn’t talking about your combat skills or your rank within the Gotei 13. He was talking about your mind. About how you weren’t so easily swayed by his charm, how you saw the cracks in his otherwise perfect veneer.

˚₊‧꒰ა After that, he started to take a subtle interest in you. Nothing overt, nothing that would raise suspicion among your peers. But you noticed the way he seemed to gravitate toward you during group discussions, how his gaze would linger on you just a fraction longer than anyone else’s.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do you not trust me?” he asked one day, his tone light and amused as if the question were a joke. But you could see the weight behind his words. He was testing you.

˚₊‧꒰ა You didn’t smile. “I don’t distrust you. But I also don’t trust anyone blindly.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He laughed. “A wise approach. Trust, after all, is a dangerous thing to give freely.”

˚₊‧꒰ა There were moments when you could feel him trying to draw you in, to make you let your guard down. He’d offer small compliments, casual remarks about your skill or your insight. But you never gave him the reaction he was looking for.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You must think me terribly boring,” he said once, with that same faint smile. “Always so serious, always so composed.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “No,” you replied, meeting his gaze head-on. “I think you’re too composed.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He chuckled at that, but there was no humour in it. “And what would you have me do? Shout? Lose my temper? Would that make me more trustworthy in your eyes?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “It would make you more human,” you said simply.

˚₊‧꒰ა That response seemed to catch him off guard. His smile faltered for the briefest moment before he recovered. “Ah, but aren’t we all striving to rise above our baser instincts? Isn’t that what it means to be a Shinigami?”

˚₊‧꒰ა You didn’t miss the irony in his words. He spoke of control, of discipline, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

˚₊‧꒰ა Over time, your interactions became a dance of sorts. A careful balancing act where neither of you showed your full hand. He’d make a remark, and you’d deflect. He’d offer a compliment; you’d question the intent behind it. It was a game, and you both knew it.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You know,” he said one day, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the Seireitei, “I admire your caution. It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t take things at face value.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Is that so?” you replied, not bothering to hide the scepticism in your voice.

˚₊‧꒰ა He smiled again, that same enigmatic smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Indeed. It’s…refreshing.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite your reservations, you couldn’t deny that Aizen was fascinating. There was something undeniably enigmatic about him, something that drew people in despite themselves. But you refused to be one of those people. You refused to let yourself be lulled into a false sense of security.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do you ever wonder why people are so quick to trust?” he asked one day, his tone almost philosophical. “Why do they cling to the idea of certainty, even when it’s an illusion?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “Because it’s easier,” you replied. “It’s easier to believe in someone than to question everything they say.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “And you? You prefer the harder path?”

˚₊‧꒰ა “I prefer the truth,” you said firmly.

˚₊‧꒰ა His gaze lingered on you for a long moment, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. He was calculating, always calculating, but you never gave him the satisfaction of knowing what you were thinking.

˚₊‧꒰ა There were moments when you wondered if he found your scepticism amusing, or if it frustrated him. Perhaps it was both. After all, he was used to people falling in line, to people believing in his carefully crafted persona. But you? You saw through the cracks.

˚₊‧꒰ა “It must be exhausting,” he mused one day, “to always be so guarded.”

˚₊‧꒰ა “It must be exhausting,” you countered, “to always wear a mask.”

˚₊‧꒰ა That made him pause, and for the briefest moment, you saw something shift in his expression. But then the mask was back in place, and he offered you another one of his enigmatic smiles. “Touché.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite everything, you couldn’t deny that there was a strange sort of mutual respect between you. He recognised your intelligence, your unwillingness to be swayed. And you recognised the danger lurking beneath his polished exterior.

˚₊‧꒰ა In another life, you might have trusted him. You might have even admired him. But in this life, you knew better. Aizen Sousuke was a man of many layers, and you had no intention of peeling them back only to find yourself ensnared in his web.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’ll never trust me, will you?” he asked one day, his tone almost wistful.

˚₊‧꒰ა “No,” you said without hesitation. “But I’ll respect you for what you are.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His smile that day was different. Softer, more genuine. But you knew better than to believe it was real. Because with Aizen, nothing ever was.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @edensrose

©satsugacafé: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[dekariosclan]

Dear Dekariosclan, (I drafted this before Midwinter lol)

Thank you for blessing Galemancers constantly with your witty and poignant insights! I'm here to join the pilgrimage with some kinky thoughts, and would like to place this Ask in your hands🤲 Of course, only if you feel comfortable answering it.

——— 18+ / mature ask below ———

Related but seperate scenario 1:

Perhaps a relatively shy Tav who wasn't too good at addressing their desires, and Gale noticed his practiced tongue etc. were received with love but a hint of unspoken something. One day, maybe it was some special occasion like an anniversary and Gale has prepared a new set of grand gestures to wow his love, when Tav finally worked up the courage to be like, "Actually...all I wanted is to...try sticking things in your butt...

...

...Youknowwhatnevermind--"

Related but separate scenario 2:

Now, what if this time it's a Tav that has some hard-core kinks, receiving or giving. They know Gale is not into pain and degrading stuff (from the Goblin Camp interaction) way before they started a relationship, so they keep it to themselves well even when they are lovers, never mentioning it once.

But Gale notices that Tav did daydream, or read, or even write/draw about it (and may or may not involve daydreaming Gale in these scenes).

What do you think he'll do??

Thanks for reading this long-ass Ask, have a nice day! I would like to draw something for you in return as well XD

This ask is from the wonderful @inglorionamy-ammy! (I had to resubmit it as an anon because tumblr messed up the formatting of the original submission for some reason).

So, Ammy has given me a cheeky Gale question! Hopefully my answer takes the cake…

For scenario 1, How would Gale respond to Tav’s shy/embarrassed ask?

Here’s the thing: Gale wants nothing more than to shower his beloved Tav in love and affection. He strives to give them the pleasure that they desire, he wants to give them ‘sensations beyond reckoning,’ he wants to ‘wow’ them.

I firmly believe that he reaches his own heights of pleasure from pleasing his partner to the best of his ability. Not only because ‘generosity is a noble virtue’ as he so memorably put it, but because much like his skill as a wizard, he takes pride in his skill as a lover.

And in addition to all that—he likes to be adventurous with his beloved! He likes to explore new cultures, new experiences, new knowledge. Therefore, new sensations—especially potentially stimulating/pleasurable ones—Gale would consider with a very open mind. (As he himself says: it’s one of his finest qualities.)

Now, how would he react to Tav’s flustered admission?

I think, after the first few seconds of Gale blinking and processing and realizing exactly what was being asked (which he would understand quite quickly; he would already have knowledge on this subject from books he’d read) he would be intrigued.

I think beads would be a real possibility for Gale to agree to; the potential for heightened pleasure while making love to Tav would be a win/win in his mind. And of course, he would sweetly and lovingly help Tav through their initial shyness in order to discuss it with them further.

I am sorry/not sorry for this, but I can see him taking this opportunity to say something that is both completely ridiculous and, at the same time, 100% straightforward. Something with a dash of his clever Gale wordplay added in. Something like: “My love, please elaborate on what sort of derring-do you desire for my derrière?”

Which, of course, would work wonders to help Tav open up fully about their desires.

Scenario 2: How would Gale respond to a Tav who had more hardcore tastes/desires?

Now this scenario is really tough, because I do think Gale has some firm boundaries on what he will and will not do for sex and erotic play.

As you mentioned, he is a firm ‘no’ on receiving pain as seen in the Goblin Camp. He’s also a firm ‘no’ on adding other partners (the terribly uncomfortable drow scene solidified that, imho).

But I also believe he would refuse to do anything harmful or degrading to Tav—even if they desired it.

He would not judge them negatively for their tastes at all!—he would apologetically reassure them of that—but I can’t see him agreeing to do anything by his own hand that would leave bruises or gashes on Tav’s skin. He also wouldn’t wish to do anything degrading to them, be it physical or verbal.

At most, I could see him agreeing to LIGHT playful spanking, and perhaps some firm scolding in Githyanki tongue (or any gruff-sounding language). I can’t see him agreeing to choking Tav—even lightly—at all.

However! As I mentioned in the first scenario, Gale really does want to give Tav the pleasure they desire. And so I think he would try to figure out a way to put his amazing illusion skills to work to conjure or create a scenario for Tav that they would enjoy, perhaps with a non-sentient image of himself. That way Gale could still adhere to his own firm boundaries of not allowing even the slightest lasting harm to come to Tav (regardless of what Tav would choose to have happen in the illusion) while still giving Tav what they wanted.

And, as a bonus—during their next lovemaking session I’m sure Tav would repay him very, very generously for his ingenuity.

Thanks for the ask Ammy! And you’ve already drawn me this amazingly sweet piece! I couldn’t ask for anything more, it’s perfect! 💜

[freesia-writes]

Ch 27: Reactivity

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.1k

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Song: “Young and Beautiful” by Lana Del Rey

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“Well that’s interesting,” Phee remarked, leaning back in her chair. Hunter had been unable to hide his “fuss face”, as she called it, and had been goaded into sharing what was bothering him. After recounting the tale of Lyra’s return, as well as her side of the story, he stared at his plate of food to avoid meeting the multiple pairs of eyes fixed on him. Omega was still on Plata, but the rest were gathered for family dinner as usual at Tech and Phee’s house. 

“That does appear to be quite a number of unfortunate misunderstandings,” Tech agreed. “Anyway, remember that blossom you received in the cave?” 

“Smooth transition,” Phee said with a smile. 

“Apologies for any insensitivity,” he muttered, trying and failing to stifle the urge to roll his eyes. “However, Hunter is no stranger to things not going as anticipated.”

“Low blow,” Crosshair chipped in. 

“Alright, well, I am sorry for your pain, Hunter. As for the blossom, Phee and I worked on deciphering its runes for quite a while, and then, to be honest, it was somewhat forgotten as we tackled a new endeavor together.”

“Is that what you’re calling it nowadays?” Echo asked with a suggestive eyebrow.

“If you are referring to intercourse,” Tech answered, unfazed, “the answer is no. We call it intercourse.” 

“He really knows how to set the mood,” Phee murmured, winking at Echo as he choked on an ill-timed sip of water. 

“Anyway,” Tech continued, exasperated at the repeated derailing of his train of thought. “We consulted one of the Xyloan elders, who responded to the somewhat supernatural news of its origin with virtually no surprise, and she read the message on the petals with ease.”

“And?”

“It is still somewhat cryptic, but it describes a pool here on the island that feeds into a waterfall, and if the blossom is placed into the waters and its owner bathes in the cascade below, he shall receive insight into his deepest fears or conundrums.”

“Sounds like some weird Dathomir tale,” Wrecker muttered.

“Perhaps, but the unique circumstances in which Hunter received the flower, reminiscent of our adventure on Skara Nal, suggests that there may be more to it than a simple children’s fantasy,” Tech said.

“Well? Gonna check it out?” Wrecker asked, looking at Hunter as he glowered in the corner. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he evaded.

“Well. I shall determine its precise location and provide specific coordinates, should you find the proper impetus to pursue it,” Tech nodded, lifting his finger in the air as another thought arrived. “Ah, also, I thought you should know… I did find a narrowly-published article regarding the death of Lyra and Breslin, which we now know to be feigned.. It seems they were successful in removing themselves from the Empire’s list of known traitors, therefore any bounty that may have been on their heads would have been canceled.”

“Clever,” said Hunter.

“It was effective. However, I did dig further into the records regarding Lyra’s imprisonment, and there do seem to be some inconsistencies as to the precise nature of her crimes… I found it fascinating that–”

“I don’t really want to hear it, Tech.”

It wasn’t open for discussion, and the bespectacled clone studied his angsty brother for a moment, then nodded and turned to Echo to change the subject to the training academy’s expansion. Wrecker waited for their conversation to pick up, then leaned over to Hunter and spoke in a low voice.

“You’re really torn up about all of this, eh?”

“I’m fine, Wrecker,” Hunter insisted, face hardening slightly.

“Alright,” his brother conceded, sitting back a little. “I mean, I get it. It’s a lot of back n forth.”

“Yeah, and I’m tired of it,” Hunter admitted. Wrecker lowered his gaze to the table at the vehemence in his voice. 

“Well, you seem happy enough with Luci?” he offered inquisitively. “So maybe it’s just a lesson learned…”

“Yup.”

Wrecker reclined in his seat, considering Hunter with a thoughtful expression, then resumed eating his dinner. Crosshair, having watched the exchange from across the table, rolled his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, noting the curve of Hunter’s shoulders and the tension in his eyebrows. He exhaled softly through his nose, face revealing nothing, then nodded at whatever Tech had been saying.

* * * 

Luci squealed in delight as Hunter hung on for dear life, his arms wrapped around her waist as they shot through the waves on the ocean. She had borrowed a jet-speeder and invited him to straddle it behind her, cranking the handlebar and sending them careening out into the open sea. The wind was loud in his ears, nearly drowning out the sound of the engine, and he pressed his head against hers to hold her wild curls from smacking his face repeatedly. 

A large wave approached, curling out of the water below with an imposing swell, and Luci lined the jet-speeder up, rocketing them along its rolling barrel and out the other side as it crashed behind them. She whipped them around, perpendicular to the next wave, and hit the throttle again, shooting up and through it before slowing, soaked and exhilarated, on the other side. 

“You’re insane,” Hunter yelled in her ear, earning a full-bodied laugh as she angled the speeder to roll with the waves in a slightly calmer approach. 

“You love it,” she called back, releasing the handlebars with one hand to give the top of his thigh a squeeze. “You want to steer?” 

“Alright,” he agreed, surprising himself. But he knew a thing or two about piloting, and he had a feeling she would appreciate his skills. She carefully rose to her feet, straddling his side for a moment as he scooted forward, then nimbly swung her leg over the seat behind him and fit every inch of her body along his own, tucking her arms around his middle. She was an intoxicating mixture of warm and strong, and the sensation of their wet skin touching gave him a bubbly feeling in his core. “Hold on,” he said, and her little “ooh” in response to his authoritative tone made his chest swell just a tiny bit. He needed this. 

They tore across the ocean again, lost in the sheer delight of speed and thrill, and he navigated expertly through the waves until they were both completely tuckered out. Slowly cruising in toward the docks, they secured the jet-speeder and walked, arms around one another, up to the stairs leading into town, laughing freely as their wobbly sea-legs caused a few stumbles along the way. They emerged onto the stone sidewalk at the bottom of The Cobbles, the business district that consisted of one long street that rose in a steady incline across the side of the island, and paused, regarding one another with exhilarated fondness. 

“I’m starving,” Luci admitted, her thin wrap fluttering around her swimsuit. “Is it pasta time?”

“Apparently it’s always pasta time,” Hunter said wryly, flinching as she took a sudden, giggling swat at him. 

“Damn right!” she cheered, looping her arm through his. “Let’s go change – I have extra clothes at my house.”

“My extra clothes?” he asked, tilting his head quizzically.

“No, just generic extra clothes. You never know when you might need them,” she answered without the hint of a joke in her voice. 

“Do naked people show up at your apartment on a regular basis?”

“They don’t usually show up naked,” she grinned, giving him a coy wink as they wove their way through town. 

“Hmm.” He had nothing to say to that. She’d been completely transparent about who she was and what she enjoyed, and her unapologetic way of embodying herself without shame or regret was a refreshing change from most anyone else he had met throughout his life. It was clear that she wanted him and would go as far as he’d let her, but she also never pressed, and he was grateful for that. He didn’t know what was holding him back – their kisses were as incendiary as they were satisfying – but he wasn’t in any hurry to dive in, even despite his recent decision to try to “go with the flow”. 

She did indeed have some clothes in her apartment that fit him well, and as he rolled up the sleeves on the light blue linen shirt, she peeked around the doorway from her bedroom, catching his eye. He held his hands out to the sides, showing her the result, and she gave him a thumbs up before stepping out into the hallway and mimicking his position to show off her own ensemble. She wasn’t wearing much – he couldn’t tell if it was underwear or lingerie or a dress or what – but his mouth was immediately dry and he found himself taking a quick deep breath due to the sudden lack of oxygen he seemed to be experiencing. 

“Just for you,” she winked, vanishing again to finish getting ready. She came back out a while later, her hair falling in gentle waves down to the neckline of a dark blue satin dress that nearly reached her toes. He discovered that it had slits up either side when she approached with a dark look in her eyes, leaning into him and lifting up a leg to rest against his hip. He instinctively placed a hand on her thigh where the silky fabric had fallen from it, and as she ran a hand up his chest before pulling his head down for a deep kiss, he felt every nerve in his body light up. She stepped back, brushing the front of her dress and pulling her breasts up into perfectly-cupped cleavage, then turned to get her shoes. 

Hunter couldn’t believe the life he was living.

They tucked into their table at the restaurant, greeted warmly by the server that had come to recognize them both in their semi-regular visits, and Hunter relished the adorable look of surprise on Luci’s face when his order of drinks arrived – not the usual bottle of sparkling wine, but some fancy cocktails made of much stronger stuff. 

“Oh, you’re looking for some trouble tonight, are you?” she gasped after taking a large swallow that left her nearly coughing from the liquor blazing down her throat. 

“Never,” Hunter grinned, unfazed by his own sip. 

They ate and chatted, laughed and flirted. Dinner led to dessert. Luci dipped a dainty finger into the whipped cream between them, then slowly licked it off as she lifted her emerald eyes to his. Hunter felt a sudden need to cross his legs. She told stories of her adventures, asked him questions about his favorite foods, and the night drifted by in contented enjoyment. Beneath a velvet sky peppered with twinkling stars, he walked her home, weaving through the last vestiges of the nighttime market in the Town Square. His arm hung loosely around her shoulders, possessive yet relaxed, and she toyed with his waist as they watched the vendors putting away their goods while the few remaining customers finished their transactions. 

Luci stiffened suddenly with a small gasp, and Hunter followed her gaze to a stall across the square, feeling a sinking in the pit of his own stomach as well. Lyra was tucking something into her canvas bag, nodding in thanks to the owner and handing him some credits. She waved goodbye, dipping her head with yet more gratitude, then continued on her way. 

“She’s back?” Luci said, more dumbstruck than Hunter would have expected. 

“Guess so,” he muttered, steeling himself against the feelings that began to fester.

“Huh,” she said thoughtfully, a million more thoughts beneath that single word as she seemed to recover quickly from her disproportionate shock and vehemence.

They made out in an alleyway that night, then again on the doorstep of Luci’s apartment building. She teased and challenged, offered herself freely, appreciated every bit of him. It was a heady rush, and he felt intoxicated by the simple bliss of it all. The way she tugged on his shirt, the look in her eyes as she gazed at him, the little bite of her lip when he could hear her heart racing… It all invited him to let go. To be present. To leave the past behind. 

He extricated himself from her arms, his hair rumpled in every direction from her desperate hands roving through it, and stepped back with a shuddering sigh. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“Quite the opposite,” she purred, straightening herself as well. “You sure you don’t want to come up?”

“Yeah…” he said regretfully, confused at his own answer. 

“Okay,” she said softly, fingertips brushing along his cheek. “Hey…” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. “Let’s take a little trip. Want to?”

“What do you have in mind?” he murmured, leaning back in to press his lips to her neck. She was absolutely irresistible at times, and his entire body was alight with warm desire. 

“Hunter,” she whispered, sending a chill straight to his core with the breathy way she said his name. “You’re such a tease.”

“I thought that’s your job.” He smiled against her collarbone, pulling away with one last kiss. “Alright. Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s just go to Plata for a few days. There’s a big music festival. Good food. Pop-up nightclubs. Lots of people. It’ll be a blast.”

“That sounds awful,” he admitted, and yet somehow it didn’t sound awful at all, but represented an escape of sorts from the relentless tumult within. She giggled, nuzzling her face into his neck now as he shivered involuntarily. 

“It’ll be absolutely terrible,” she said, stroking the side of his face before resting her hand on his chest. 

“Deal.”

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[useless19]

no but megatron falling for Knockout and dating him without even realizing it until someone, ahem optimus, points it out to him.

It starts with megatron attempting to keep knockout in line by keeping a close eye on him. After all given what he saw in starscreams memories it's clear he overlooked the medic and that is not a mistake he intends to make twice. So he spends immense amounts of time with the medic, he drops in randomly to "check on his progress" brings him with him whenever he goes somewhere hell he even invites him to eat with him just to make sure the pressure never let's up. It goes on for weeks and megatron finds himself content with knockouts company. It's strangely revitalizing to have someone with a little fire in them to talk to. Maybe he likes knockouts playful, irreverent demeanor, maybe he likes the jokes and the gossip and the affectionate teasing. Maybe he likes the genuine questions and critique when he shares some of his writing with him. Maybe he was going about this wrong, after all scaring him clearly doesn't work mostly because there is no authority in the galaxy knockout won't sass, maybe a sweeter approach is needed.

So he sets about making the medic feel appreciated, he asks his opinion on decisions and events, includes him on important matters, hell he even confides in him during their meals together. It's not like he has to actually listen to him, he just has to make him feel heard. Though he'll admit some of knockouts suggestions are quite clever and his insights on others are surprisingly accurate. Maybe there's some value in his words, he'll hand it to the medic his understanding of people is rather impressive. He eventually starts following him when he heads out to the surface, flying above as he races across the street. He even starts taking him to specific locations he thinks the medic will appreciate.

it's no surprise when during one of these outings they end up having to fight together, it is a surprise to see knockouts skill on the battlefield. It's a snap decision when he invites him to spar one he doesn't regret after a very enjoyable match so obviously it becomes a regular thing between them. He quite enjoys his medics unpredictable style and it's a treat seeing glimors of the predator hiding beneath that pretty frame. It's a mistake when one of those matches leads to a rather passionate kiss. A mistake he repeats. And repeats and repeats until he skips the match entirely and starts inviting knockout to his berth. It's only fair that he gift him fresh paint and waxes since it is his fault the medics going through his supply so quickly thanks to their almost daily sessions. It's the same reason he helps him fix his paint afterwards.

Those sessions help him understand the care his medic puts into himself less as an indulgence and more as it truly is, a show of resilience, his way of finding strength and control. When knockout swaps his signature gold and silver for gunmetal gray its because of the new found appreciation that megatron notices and fully grasps the meaning behind it. Such a small change but one that would mean everything to his medic, one that atleast between them made it clear where his loyalties lied. It was a nice confirmation that knockout was someone megatron could trust, he was a confidante an alli, a friend. Which was why he returned the gesture of comraderie with one of his own by slipping him some dark energon, he deserved the comfort of power after all and megatron would not risk losing his knockout easily. He was his friend after all.

SO HOW THE FRAG WAS HE SUPPOSED TO KNOW EVERYONE ELSE THOUGHT THEY WERE AN ITEM!?

Fuck this got out of hand. I am very sorry but at the same time you have brought this on yourself.

Excellent.

I love a relationship where one or more participants don't know they're in one XD

In the background Starscream is frothing at the mouth at Megatron paying attention to anyone else and the Autobots try to avoid combat whenever the pair of them show up because it just gets awkward.

Because, at spark, Megatron is a romantic. Everything he does is big grand gestures. Feelings of triumph, betrayal, vindictive glee — everything is at 1000%. He would burn down cities and thinks everyone else would do the same (and the lack of other grand gestures is due to their lack of commitment, not personal tastes).

Which is why a lot of little obvious relationship moments can fly over his helm. If he's courting someone there's going to be fireworks, damnit. How can you expect a mech to know your intentions if you don't shout them to the world? What do you mean you can form a relationship from a handful of soft intimate moments, if that were the case then he'd practically be conjunxed with —

Scrap.

Because Megatron is good at utilising his command staff effectively (at least through their assessed abilities, less so the interpersonal stuff). Because Knock Out is very good at walking the fine line of outspoken but not fully insubordinate (at least he does when it's Megatron in charge). Megatron has dangerous ideas and Knock Out runs parallel to them. It's only natural that if they find something that works, be it plotting together, fighting together, or stress relief, then they'll keep doing it.

I really like the idea of Knock Out changing his paint to match somewhat, for such a vain bot he wasn't one of the few to get a fresh paintjob in season 3. And he'd make it look good, whatever it ended up being.

(And if the Megatron applies extra attention to Knock Out because of seeing him conspiring with Starscream in Starscream's memories part is interesting to anyone, you'll definitely like this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57470866)

[narwhalandchill]

how are we feeling about this project amber update

assuming this is in relation to childe bc who the fuck else JWDJWJKDJKW anon im so sorry if not. also so so sorry for how out of hand this got. i am simply unwell about him.

But! Well. there certainly are thoughts

(obviously 4.6 datamine of arle SQ and her voicelines; This Will Not Spoil Anything Abt The Main SQ Plot, i only discuss the relevant parts. also some p Heavy negativity towards fanon ooc at the start youve been warned dont @ me)

(i mean i didnt even read anything of the SQ but The scene w childe so idek the main plot of the quest rly either lmao. tho go at ur own risk if u wanna check the dialogue out; its the 2nd quest log but it does hint at the greater story)

TLDR: how i feel abt his appearance in a vaccuum? quite solid despite the briefness, actually. accounting for the way fanon is 100% likely going to be reading into this and turning it into the Lets Infantilize Ajax Even More 2024 championship? conflicted.

in other words; a certified labyrinth warriors moment - theyve expanded on childes character in a very interesting and quite a compelling way and while i Do like the potential in what im seeing from hoyos end theyve also done it so that its going to be misinterpreted to hell and back by fanon so i kinda have an immediate jaded love-hate moment going on JJWJDKJDKJWJDWKJ

its literally just labyrinth warriors flashbacks - that event has some of my ALL TIME favorite insights into who ajax is and how he views the world and himself but when the event came out all everyone cared abt was to warp it into baby boy stuck in scawwy paper boy dungeon dehumanizes himself by calling himself a weapon and doesnt love himself he is such a sad trauma meowkitten 🥺🥺so yeah

bc like lets look at this properly for a bit; okay he went back to fontaine to look for skirk still somewhat injured and waa waa my 286 month infant baby cannot Make decisions like that!!!!!11! which is to say. i am tired of him getting this shit every time.

is it smart of him to get on the move immediately with just the bare minimum of rest? no. do i like that hes straining himself before proper recovery? not particularly no. do i feel the particular need to psychoanalyze this grown man and feared warrior whos 100% survived Way Worse in Way More Extreme Situations for it? hell fucking no.

while not at all the course of action a medical professional would approve of. from childes POV its perfectly logical hes priorizing going back for skirk when its literally the FIRST TIME shes showed up in like. a Decade. when hes been looking for her all this time are you kidding me 😭😭😭 but fanon must keep fanoning for their widdle baby girl so what does a hater like me know

anyway. seething and venting over im gonna try to avoid bringing up how much i hate this kinda infantilization of ajax now im sorry for bringing it up so much on ur innocent ask anon KJWDJKWKJDJDKWJKD. neutral discussion moment. i Promise

so it seems that theyre going for the pulcinella-is-shady-about-ajax (and prolly his family) angle for good and like. personally for me as long as the only real source of that claim was scara (a cynical edgelord who doesnt believe in non-exploitative human relationships, mind you) i was rather skeptical towards just instantly drawing that conclusion, but well. with the scene in arles AQ it appears to be sth theyre building towards

i actually really fucking loved that scene bc while theres outsider perspectives (scara obvi; and even arles line for him has that vibe. and ppl still take that shit face value 💀💀) and a lot of fandom assuming childes like. completely clueless and naive and ignorant towards the potential risks involved with trusting pulcinella. this is actually a very clever demonstration of quite the opposite? and showcasing how despite his aversion towards schemes and lies hes still intelligent and knows the kind of people hes dealing with when it comes to his fellow harbingers

like. childe has a negative opinion of arle based on what pulcinella has told him about her because at face value many of her deeds are in heavy conflict with his values of loyalty and family. and because he does not have the further context behind her actions and what the HotH under her is really like. Obviously hed hold a very hostile and wary view towards arlecchino

(ESPECIALLY when with all this biased intel hes still going to run into kids from the house!!! and then hes going wtf? these are good kids. what the hell is that knave doing with them??? blink twice if you need help i will start a civil war for yall like thats how he is with kids!!!!)

so YES. pulcinella has given him if not false then at least misleading intel based on the political tension between himself and arlecchino and the wider HotH. and childes taken that at face value! sure! he is close with pulcinella of course he would!

BUT. THEN. he returns to fontaine and seeks arlecchinos help looking for skirk. and observes her behavior and modus operandi for himself as well as the kids. does he go "nah she must be just hiding the crazy evil shit i would never distrust pulcinella" and leave it at that when reality doesnt completely match his expectations?

NO. because when offered the opportunity through the traveler asking about the HotH childe immediately capitalizes on the opportunity to prod for answers and see if pulcinella is lying to him!!!!

and hes so fucking smart with the way he does it too???? i LOVE his intelligence. the entire thing is so simple yet elegant; it Completely relies on his reputation as the kinda gullible harbinger whod Never scheme or hide Anything to indirectly affirm or deny his suspicions. he doesnt Need to Pretend to care about the possibility of arle betraying the kids bc he genuinely does!! and when she pushes back against the accusation he doesnt Need to fake admitting to her that well, actually, its all just rumors so he could be completely wrong. and so on. like he navigates the entire thing so effortlessly. and whats the end result?

childe has Confirmation of pulcinellas possible ulterior motives in action AND that arlecchino is a much more reliable ally than he initially assumed. all the while appearing as just The Straightforward 11th. like obviously id need to hear it voiced first to be sure but in text it v much gives the impression hes almost kinda just. playing up the threats towards arle and being "dumb" on Purpose?? to get the answers he wanted out of arle without appearing like hes fishing for anything particular. and i just hhhhhhhhhhh

i love when he does this so muchhhh!!!!!! 😭😭 he doesnt need to become some machiavellian schemer to be able to strategize !!!!!! he avoids scheming bc he Dislikes it not bc hes incapable of it like this has Always been the case Since Liyue AQ and i love whenever they show that side of himm . my Beloved

so anyway. while i do still think the like "pulcinella is bad and has his family hostage" is still kind of a generic plotline and i hope the writing regarding the whole thing wont ultimately turn out to be sth That simplified and black and white. its p clear theyre doing Something with pulcinellas motivations and as they are. im Really glad theyre letting it show that childes not just some completely passive party being manipulated in this all. he Is thinking abt this stuff and his position among the harbingers. ig we shall see where it goes - not the greatest fan of the concept still, but canon text supports it becoming a thing way more than when it was just scaras word we had for it. hope theyll surprise me positively w how they go about it!

then briefly for the rest uhh

also loved arle and childe just shittalking the rest of the harbingers it was amazing. i wasnt expecting this kinda dynamic between them at all but its great lmao. also i wanna see childe hang out w the HotH kids

as for project stuzha; so we dont really get anything solid on it other than being summoned back to snezhnaya for it is apparently a Big Deal. but still very interested. let my man have his endgame significance Trust

childes appearance was obviously v brief ultimately but that was clear from his leaked linecount to begin with - i am pretty satisfied with what they seem to have done w him. like its not The Best but also i wasnt expecting his lore to get some massive expansion in another harbingers SQ . the worst i feared was that it was just going to be a flashback of arle returning his vision which did Not happen so massive W. i am super hyped to hear this scene voice acted proper and happy to see him again, i really hope he gets to appear at least once more in an interlude or dains quest or something before going on hiatus again but idk if thats too much to ask LKKWJDJWDJWD

also: i am never changing my namecard after this patch drops. oh my godddddddd its So Fucking Beautiful 😭😭😭😭

But. Yeah. lots of good stuff. unfortunately lots of it will get misinterpreted and fanon will get obnoxious about it. but i still love getting to see him again and i am speedrunning that namecard day fucking one mutuals and/or followers in EU please add me (UID 711090267) ill need coop buddies for the world bosses

thank youuuuuuu for the ask i hope this monstrosity of a monologue doesnt scare u off 💀💀💀

[beyondflashpoint]

Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton! As promised!

I stuck pretty close to her original design, with a few minor tweaks.

Amongst the Fenton family, she’s probably the most concerned with her physical appearance. She works out pretty regularly, and has even been taking MMA classes. Because she wants to stay fit, and be able to defend herself, obviously. Certainly not because the guy who instructs the classes is a hottie with severe daddy issues and she can totally fix him. Not at all.

Jazz strikes me as a more “natural” make up kind of gal, so instead of giving her red lipstick like her canon counterpart, I went for a glossy natural shade. She probably still put a lot of effort into getting her look perfect.

She’s a freshman at Miskatonic University, just a few miles from Amity Park, where she’s studying psychology in hopes of becoming a therapist. She spends most of her weekends at home, when she’s not pulling shifts at the local coffee shop. She also offers tutoring to students at Casper High.

Jazz is under the impression that she’s always right, which wouldn’t be quite as annoying if it weren’t almost always the case. Insightful, clever, quick witted, and Jazz is impossible to lie to, and that hasn’t done anything good for her ego. She can be a bit arrogant at times, and come across as an insufferable know-it-all, but she at least has the good grace not to rub it in when she told you so. Most of the time anyways. The one enigma she can’t puzzle out, however, is her little brother.

Until recently, Danny was a sweet, thoughtful, gentle young man, but recently he’s become temperamental, dismissive, distant. Jazz is very worried that her dear baby brother might be mixed up in something bad for him.

[chiefdirector]

Playing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26

The cell was everything (Y/N) had expected.

The small six by eight foot cell was kept in meticulous condition. The bed was made without a crease in the cheap prison linen, a singular spare uniform folded precisely at the foot of the bed, and a small stack of books tucked onto the far corner of the tiny desk.

It was exactly what (Y/N) had expected from a woman like Rosalind Dyer. She craved control. She was trying to take control of (Y/N)’s life, almost as if she was a puppet master pulling every single string.

Rosalind Dyer needed control, and (Y/N) was not one to be controlled.

Rosalind did well to mostly cover the fleeting shock on her face when (Y/N) entered the cell before making a quick and smooth recovery. “Hello Detective Bradford, what a nice surprise.”

“Let’s skip the formality Dyer.” (Y/N) said, keeping her tone cool.

“If you insist.” Rosalind gestured for (Y/N) to sit down next to her on the bed, smiling as the detective refused. “What brings you to my neck of the woods then? I don’t suppose it’s a social call?”

“Even if I wanted to, you’re not the type to have friends… or to be able to keep them anyways.”

“Snarky. I like that; but it won’t get you very far. So I’ll ask again, Detective. Why are you here? Because I’m quite sure that pretty husband of yours wouldn’t approve.”

“What he doesn’t know…” (Y/N) let her words drift off as she walked into the room, peering around, trying to find any form of imperfection. A crack in Rosalind’s armour. “I’ve come to ask you something.

Rosalind nodded. “Ask away. Although you may not like the answer.”

It was (Y/N)’s turn to smile as she could see Rosalind starting her infamous mind games. “Why me?”

“I’m not sure I’m following. Care to elaborate some?”

“Why me,” Bradford repeated. “Out of anyone in the department, in the LAPD as a whole, and you pick me. I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t put yourself down so much. You should think much more highly of yourself. Why wouldn’t I pick you? You’re clever, cunning even. And you would be good to ruin.”

(Y/N) chuckled at this although she didn’t find humour in the given answer at all. The two of them both knew that they had to keep a cool and calm facade, and her small laugh caused Rosalind’s to falter.

“What’s so funny, detective?”

“Nothing,” (Y/N) continued to chuckle, although her laughs had begun to soften as her words grew more taunting. “I just thought that you would have something to gain. I mean you’re the great Rosalind Dyer. You had the nation fearful for their lives, and yet the most you can do is fail to spook me. Even worse, your motivation is because I’m ‘special.’ thought you would be cleverer than that.”

“And who said I don’t?” Dyer snapped, rising from the bed, leaving behind creases from where she had sat. “I could just be having you on, playing the long game.”

“What is the long game for you?”

“Freedom.”

(Y/N) snorted this time. “Unlikely. If there was something you wanted from me, you would’ve made a play by now. I may not know you, but I know your type Rosalind.”

Rosalind’s eyes darted away at (Y/N)’s words before they focused back on the Detective. “If you know my type,” Rosalind said, moving forward, causing (Y/N) to take a step back, “then you would know I don’t lose. Now I suppose it’s time you take your leave, don’t you?”

(Y/N) nodded, as she turned towards the cell door. “Have a good day, and thank you for our chat, it’s been very…insightful.”

———-

Fishing the small phone out of her pocket, (Y/N) quickly dialled Grey’s number as she walked through the parking lot towards the nearest bus stop. She listened as the phone rang and went to voicemail.

“Grey,” she said after the tone went, “it’s Bradford. Call me. I’ve got a lead.”

Pressing the end call button, (Y/N) continued to walk until she heard a whistle from behind her. Spinning on her heel, she was greeted by Nyla, leaning on her car.

“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) said, approaching the woman.

“I would ask you the same thing, but I already know. Get in.” Harper snapped, moving round to the driver's side of the car. (Y/N) followed, slipping into the vehicle.

“Here, take my phone. Call Tim. He’s going out of his mind.” Harper pulled out of the car park. “He had half the department at your house earlier. Thankfully, I was one step ahead and covered for your ass. The last time I do so though.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me; call your husband before I rat on you.”

(Y/N) just hummed as she dialled the familiar number and lifted the phone to her ear.

——

“Okay, I love you. Bye, bye.” Tim hung up the phone, sliding it back into his trouser pocket as he walked towards Grey’s office. Knocking, he entered as the Watch Commander beckoned him in.

“Harper was right, I presume.” Grey said, looking up from his computer.

“Yeah, she was. Just got off the phone with (Y/N). They’ll be back by midday.” Tim let his words drift off, the silent worry hung heavily in the air.

Grey looked at Tim with knowing eyes, holding back any form of sympathy. Officer Bradford had never appreciated it before, and he wouldn’t start now. But Grey could only imagine how he was feeling. The Watch Commander knew all too well what it felt like to be shut out of Morgan’s inner workings, the detective was far too independent and it would be her downfall.

“What’s bothering you? Is it the trip this morning?”

“Yes-no. Maybe” Tim stuttered, taking a seat in front of the desk as Grey gestured for him to do. “It’s just that we promised no more secrets and I wake up and she’s gone. And it’s like nothing changed. She doesn’t trust me.”

“Yes she does. You know she does.” Grey reassured, spinning slightly in his chair. “(Y/N) is still on high alert. And you know her best, Tim. Put yourself in her shoes. If someone like Dyer was on the warpath for you, and Morgan was in the line of fire…”

“I would make sure she wasn’t involved. Keep her away.”

Grey shrugged as his point set in. “Look, I’m not saying that she was right. But she had Harper there. She wasn’t alone. Besides, if she had told you, or me for that matter, what would’ve happened?”

“I would’ve stopped her. Or at least gone with her.”

“Exactly. Don’t be too hard on her. That’s my job. She broke so many protocols, she’ll be doing paperwork for today into retirement.”

Tim chuckled at the thought. Thanking the Sargent, he stood and made his way out of the office and towards his boot who was waiting expectedly for him.

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