#likely at Dain's command also

[reginrokkr]

𝐋𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈. Meaning behind Dáinsleif's visits to the Nameless City.

Today in this fine Sunday eve I choose emotional violence in thinking that Dain has now a reason to return to the Nameless City of the Chasm every now and then to place a lil Inteyvat in the same place that Halfdan drew his last breath.

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [CALLING THE MONDSTADT BOYS YOUR GOOD BOY] ¡! ❞

Mondstadt boys x Creator!Reader

Dainseif, Diluc, Kaeya & Venti

Albedo's part here > ♡

Dainseif - What does freedom really mean, when demanded of you by a god?

"Please, come to me" you simply said, your voice echoing not only in the room, but also in his mind. Dainsleif doesn't hesitate for a moment.

He stands and crosses the distance between you without a second thought. His every movement is graceful and elegant. He would move through the ocean if it meant he could hold your gaze just a moment longer.

Now that he is close, he kneels once more. He wants to be on your level, he wants to be near you. "I am here, Your Grace." He stays on his knees, silent, waiting for you. If you want him to move, he will; if you want him to speak, he will; if you want him to simply be here, just within your presence— he will.

"Dain?" It only takes your utterance, your voice, for his head to snap in your direction.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"You're my good boy aren't you?" The words are music to Dainsleif's ears. He loves nothing more than to hear you call him something so loving. "Yes," he whispers, the word a breath of reverence. "I am your good boy."

"And why are you my good boy?" His cheeks flush as he looks up to you, eyes glowing like a star. His lashes flutter against his cheeks as the thought of being your good boy floods him with happiness and contentment.

"Because I am yours and have always served you." His words are firm, with the certainty of one who has never strayed from his purpose.

"Mine?"

"Yes. I am yours."

"I exist to serve you, to serve your beauty, your kindness, and love." This is truth to Dainsleif. He cannot imagine himself being anything but yours. "And thats why youre my good boy, Dainsleif" "Yes, Your Grace." He smiles at you, joy and contentment overflowing inside of him.

"I am happy to be your good boy. I am proud and eager to serve you, to honor and adore you." His expression is loving, warm, and peaceful. Dainsleif stays on his knees, head cocked to the side. His blue eyes are shining with love and affection. "What would you like me to do for you?" He asks, eager to serve you with all his heart.

"I want you to stay with me forever..." "I would love to stay with you, Your Grace." Dainsleif would die a hundred mortal deaths if it meant living in your presence for even an hour. The very thought of being near you stirs something inside him; his heart leaps into the sky, his breath catches in his throat.

He is entirely devoted to you.

Diluc - Though it is still not enough, I will always face the darkness.

"Please, step a bit closer to me" such a simple request it is but your command startles him. He looks up at you, and his eyes go wide. He is utterly taken aback, but that is not an excuse. He is yours to command.Diluc complies, and steps closer to your side.

"Are you my good boy, Diluc?"

"Y-yes," he responds at once. He bows his head as he speaks but, if it were possible, he bows even further. His heart is thumping against his chest as if it wants to jump free. He is utterly devoted to you. Every inch of him yours. "I'm sorry i didnt quite heard you, could you repeat that?" You're teasing him, how could you not? Diluc is more than embarrassed, but it is not his will to refuse you. He is yours, after all.

"Y-yes," he says, and his voice breaks slightly from the embarrassment.

"Once more, please, for me?" the opportunity is to good to let it slide. "Yes!" he says once more, and the blush on his face spreads throughout his body. Embarrassed, thats what he is, embarrassed. Your smile alone makes his stomach jump like it's trying to escape. He cannot understand how you make him feel this way.

He is still shy about this ordeal, but he knows that he cannot look away. He is there to serve you, after all. "Good boy~

"Diluc smiles despite himself at your praise. He knows better than to be happy at this moment, but some part of him thrills at the feeling of your gaze on his skin. His heart has a mind of its own, however, and it seems like it knows no boundaries. "Thank you," he says, and bows his head yet again. His embarrassment remains, but it is balanced with the thrill of your praise.

Your good boy...

Kaeya - Life's greatest illusions are the ones we believe in ourselves

"Kaeya?" Kaeya glances up at you, but he doesn't move from his comfortable position— at least, not yet. In fact, he appears to have become more comfortable, resting his head against your thighs and taking small, deep breaths. He stares down at you and smiles, seemingly amused by the situation. "I'm not moving," he mutters. "I'm perfectly comfortable here."

"Oh? Is my good boy all comfy?" "...Mhm." Kaeya's smile is genuine. With one hand, he reaches up, brushing his thumb against your cheek. "...I love you, Your Grace." Please let me stay here. I don't ever want to leave.

Hes so enchanted by your presence alone, he seemed to not process every word you say. Kaeya takes them as they are..."Did you hear me? I said youre my good boy" You're just checking, thats what youre telling yourself. But und truth, you just want to see a reaction, hear how his voice changes with realization.

"Of course I'm your good boy." Kaeya closes his eyes now, nuzzling himself against your legs. "No one else could be, after all. They don't worship you like I do."

"Your devotion's a gift, you know." Kaeya's tone is one of playful teasing, though the compliment is very much sincere. "You know I wouldn't let anyone else here give me physical affection, but for you, I make an exception. Why? Well, for one thing, you're deserving of it." You notice that Kaeya's leg is twitching— he wants to move, but it's as if he physically can't manage it. This may just be the most comfortable Kaeya's ever been, even if he can't say it out loud.

"Isn't my boy nice, huh?" "What can I say? I'm at your service... always." Kaeya's grip tightens about your thighs slightly. "Your approval means the world to me... I'd do anything to keep in your good graces."

He pauses for a moment, his expression becoming almost solemn. "...You know what I most desire, Your Grace?" Kaeya keeps his eyes shut, as though he's ashamed to speak."I would very much like to be yours," he says quietly.

"I want you to choose me."

Venti - Videtis illam spirare libertatis auram

"Yes, your Grace."

Venti complies instantly, quickly moving to sit down on the seat beside you. As soon as his body settles down, he starts idly swinging his legs up and down as if he's a toddler waiting for his mother to take him to the playground.He doesn't say a word, instead contenting himself with simply smiling up at you.

"Good boy" such small words, but they hold a way bigger meaning behind them. As Venti hears your praise, he almost falls into a completely euphoric state. He is practically quivering with excitement, unable to control his emotions for even a second longer. He starts muttering to himself, unable to comprehend what he is feeling in the presence of your grace.

"Please— please, don't call me a good boy again... please, please, make me yours..." Venti flushes pinker than a rose. "I— I meant your worshipful servant!" His eyes are fixed on you adoringly and desperately.

"Your dog, even!" Venti is too lost in the moment to realize how awkward his words were, and he starts desperately scrambling to come up with something even more degrading to call himself.

"Your footstool, even! Your carpet, your chair! Even your floor...!" His words are garbled and desperate, his mind completely blank right now. "But Venti, you're my good boy, not my chair or my floor...my good boy"

Venti's eyes widen as he hears your words. His face is still bright red, but your praise is enough to make him lightheaded. "Am I— am I your good boy.." he mumbles quietly, but he sounds genuinely baffled. "Are you sure..?"

"Yes" Venti is practically panting with excitement now, having gotten the confirmation that he is yours. "Y— you really mean it.." Even when he speaks quietly, you can hear the excitement in his voice, the thrill in his heart.

"Then I really am your good boy, aren't I...?"

"Yes"

"Then I will do my best to be the very best good boy for you, your Grace," Venti whispers reverently.

Even in his excitement, Venti remains reverent towards you. To be your good boy... He can't think of anything he wants more.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 27

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Just letting you guys know I have now started posting this series over on A03 as well now. So if any of you do see it over there, it is me posting it and not some random taking my work. The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

My squad screams and yells around me as Liam faces off in the last challenge of this portion of the squad battle. I had technically beaten the guy currently in Liam’s leg lock. Which should have given us the win for this portion. But it had not. They had deemed the guy I had beaten would face off against Liam. Utter bullshit. We had technically already won. But here we we’re, watching as Liam made easy work of the guy. Rhiannon screaming at him to tap out. I was honestly surprised he hadn’t yet with the way his back was arched. . Liam easily had this. We would jump from seventh into third with this win. Though as Dain had pointed our very angrily to leadership, we had technically already earnt our win. I had never seen him so angry or passionate about something. He wanted that win. But without knowing what the next portion was, it would be hard to tell if Liam’s win would help us solidify that. The cadet from second wing cries out in pain, nearly everyone wincing for how ear splitting it is. Liam knew exactly how to make it hurt, pushing the cadet towards tapping out.

”Fuck me, that looks like it hurts.” Violet mutters from next to me.

”Yeah, he’s not walking for a while,” Ridoc agrees as Liam manoeuvres the cadet in the hold, their back arching in a way I’m sure their spine is about to snap.

As if sensing that’s about to happen the cadet slams their palm into the mat three times, our squad and the crowd roaring and cheering. I can barely hear my squad as Liam rushes over to us, embracing us, I even register Imogen’s pink hair in the fray before I’m squished into Liam.

”You’re winner!” Professor Emetterio shouts, his loud voice carrying throughout the gym as Liam steps back from the bone crushing hug we were all just in. “Liam Mairi from Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing!”

Liam raises his hands in victory, turning in a small circles as the crowd cheers again for him. We’ve now moved up to third place. I’m half surprised I don’t hear the gloating of Dain. But as I look around, I note he is missing. And I can tell Violet notes it to as her eyes also scan the crowd. He had been so vocal when my win had been dismissed.

Commandant Panchek steps onto the mat, and Liam moves to join the rest of our squad. I make a show of wiping of the sweat from my arm as he brushes against me, Liam just rolling his eyes.

”I know you were all expecting the last portion of the squad battle to happen tomorrow, but the cadre and I have a surprise.”

Every riders attention is now on him, all hooked on his words. Waiting to hear what he has in store for us.

”Instead of telling you what the final, unknown task will be and giving you tonight to plan for it, your final task will begin this hour!” He grins, throwing out his hands and turning just like Liam had.

”Tonight?” Ridoc whispers as he looks over at all of us in shock.

I literally feel the dread take over Violet. I was now able to sense the emotions of anyone in close proximity to me without any effort. It was a good and bad thing. Bad as if someone was feeling some strong emotions, it was hard to separate them from my own. Luckily with some focus I was able to separate them and move on.

“Dain isn’t here. Neither is Cianna.” Violet states.

“Oh shit,” Imogen whispers as she looks over the crowd. I look around the room, and note than anyone with a position in leadership was missing. Every single one from executive officers and squad leaders, all the way up to the wing leaders.

”No one from leadership is here.” I add.

Everyone around me nodding in agreement. They had taken away leadership to see what we would do. Would someone stand up and fill their void? Or would we all crumble into chaos and run around like headless chickens. I had no doubt their eyes would be on us the entire time during this challenge.

”As you may have noticed, your squad leaders and their executive officers have been…. shall we say, sequestered with your section leaders and wingleaders, and no, before someone asks your task is to not find them.”

Damn. The thought of having to rescue someone like Xaden and Garrick would have been funny. Though Dain I would be happy to leave somewhere locked up and ‘captured’. My thoughts must be echoed by a few other riders as a few chuckles and sighs are heard throughout the room.

”You are to break into your squads and accomplish a unique mission this evening without the leadership and instruction of your squad leaders.

”Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of having squad leaders?” Someone stupidly asks.

I almost feel the whole room roll their eyes at the question.

”The purpose of a squad leader is to form a tightly knit unit that can carry on with a mission after their demise. Consider your leaders…. demised.” Panchek shrugs with a gleeful smile.

With pleasure.

”You’re on your own riders. Your mission is simple. Find and acquire, by any means necessary, the one thing that would be most advantageous to our enemies regarding the war efforts. Leadership will serve as unbiased judges, and the winning squad will be awarded sixty points.”

”That’s enough to put us into first!” Rhiannon whispers excitedly, worming her way between Violet and I, linking her arms through ours. “We could win the glory of going to the front!”

”What are the boundaries?” Someone asks.

Surely they wouldn’t let us fly off somewhere and get what we wanted. No we would have to stay nearby. Panchek confirming my thoughts.

”Anything within the walls of Basgiath. And don’t you dare let me see you trying to haul a dragon back here. They’ll incinerate you out of sheer annoyance. You have,” Panchek pulling out his pocket watch, “three hours, at which time we’ll expect you to present your stolen treasures in the battle brief room.”

The room is completely silent. None of us had expected this to be our final task. And now with no leadership to guide and direct us, and only three hours to find something, everyone’s mind was in overdrive.

”What are you waiting for? Go!” Panchek motioning us with his hands to get going.

In seconds the room is in chaos, squads rushing to group up and discuss their plans. Everyone is a hot mess. In Dain’s absence Imogen steps forward, raising her hand.

”Second Squad! Follow me!” She yells, leading us across the gym floor over to the weight room.

We quickly all find seats around the room. I sit on the floor infront of Violet, Rhiannon and Liam who have taken a spot on one of the benches as Imogen asks who wants to be in command, which leads into a small argument as Ridoc tries to suggest himself. Eventually we settle on Imogen after some back and forth. Not even the third years wanting to step up.

"We have a little less than three hours. What are your ideas?” Imogen asks, looking over us all.

Yet again we start a back and forth. Weapons and somehow Panchek’s underwear coming up courtesy of Ridoc who promptly gets shut up by Rhiannon before he can defend his answer.

”Come on guys! Think! What’s the most useful thing to our enemy?” Imogen asks.

I don’t miss a beat before the answer comes from my mouth.

”Information.”

Everyone turning their heads to look at me. Some nodding in agreement. If battle brief has taught us anything, knowledge and information can change the outcome of a battle easily. Don’t have enough and you’ll get slaughtered before the battle’s even really started.

”Violet, what about stealing news missives from the archives? The ones that come in from the front?” Liam asks.

Good idea, except for the fact the archives are now sealed shut with no way in or out. Something Violet and I both knew from our time living here in the college. Both often taking classes in their. The it hits me. That day in General Sorrengail’s office I had seen Melgren literally scouring the bookshelf as if looking for something. He had been looking for information. General Sorrengail’s office was literally full of information. And I had even found something in my time there. The map on her wall. The map that had been so different from the one we saw in our battle brief classes. A map we we’re told was up to date. But despite the fact I had not seen the map that day, the next day when I had gone into that class, the map did not reflect what I had seen in that room. But I had no way to verify if the map in that office had been changed. Regardless, that office was a wealth of knowledge and information that would be vital in a battle against out enemies. I look up and meet the eye’s of Violet. I can see the cogs turning in her head. As if we can both read our minds we both nod at each other. Both of us knowing where we had to go.

”What are you two thinking?” Imogen asks as she notes the way we look at each other. The room falling silent.

”It’s probably nothing.” Violet says nervously. But she knows its not nothing.

”It’s not nothing.” I add before sighing and standing and turning to face Imogen. “It’s mad. Nearly undoable. We’d get thrown in the brig if we’re caught. But it means no other squad would be mad enough to attempt it.”

”We can wield right?” Violet asks as she stands and joins me.

Heaton nods. “By all means necessary.”

Violet nods and rocks back and forth. “All right. Ridoc can wield ice, Rhiannon can retrieve, Sawyer can manipulate metal, Imogen can mind-wipe recent memories-”

I can see the plan forming in Violet’s mind. Yet again using her mind as her strength. She was the only one left in our squad without a signet. But she knew all of ours, except mine. If we used all our signets correctly, we could hopefully get in and out without anyone knowing. Hell, I could probably do it on my own with half the stuff I could do. But some of the useful stuff that would make this a walk in the park was not fully controllable. My illusions still having a slight sheen to them. But at night would that really matter?

As Violet gets through everyone else in the room, they all turn to look at me. “Can you tell us yours?”

Imogen and Liam go rigid, something I note Violet notices as her eyes flicker to them. She knows they know what I can do.

I shake my head. “No, but it doesn’t mean I can’t use it to help us.”

She seems relieved that I will be willing to use it to help. But I note the nervousness radiating from Imogen and Liam. Xaden hadn’t fully deemed her trustworthy to ask about a signet like mine, but I couldn’t not help. My signet could throw this in our favour depending what we would encounter. I would just have to face the consequences of my actions later. Xaden could deal with it.

”So what are you two thinking then?” Imogen asks after a few moments of silence.

”You’re going to tell us we’ve lost our minds.” Violet starts.

”But if we pull this off, we’re guaranteed the win.” I add, grinning from ear to ear.

”We’re breaking into my mother’s office.”

“And we’re going to steal the map that’s on her wall.”

Somehow we managed to get past the guard without me needing to use my signet. But we weren’t out of the clear yet. We had to get the massive map off the wall and get it back across to the riders quadrant, which would be no easy feat. It would require a lot of luck and stealth.

”This map is different to ours.” Imogen notes as we stand infront of it, taking in all the details.

I was glad to see this map was still different to the one we had in battle brief. Meaning this would definitely give us the win over anything else the other cadets would find tonight. We had just secured our win.

”Do you want to tell us how you knew about this?” Rhiannon asks as she turns to look at me.

”Melgren brought me here the day I got my signet. While he was distracted by some books I managed to get a good look at this and noticed it was different to ours. It’s a gamble, but I’d wager anything to say this map is way more up to date than the one we get in battle brief.” I tell him, everyone around me nodding in agreement.

”Definitely more up to date. Garrick and Xaden would kill me for saying this, but I’m kind of grateful Melgren brought you here that day.” Imogen says with a smirk as she motions for Ridoc and Emery to start getting the map down.

”We would have found it anyway. Violet also had the idea to come here.” I state as I meet Violet’s eyes.

”Yes, but you already knew about this. Saved us pulling her office apart and having to deal with the consequences of that tomorrow. We owe this win to you.” She says with a smile.

”We haven’t won yet Sorrengail.” I tell her.

Imogen just laughs and shakes her head. “Oh but we have Riorson. There’s nothing more valuable in this college than this map unless we want to go kidnap Melgren for his foresight signet.”

I shudder at her comment causing Violet, Imogen and Rhiannon to laugh at my reaction. “Hard pass on that one thank you.”

After a few minutes we’ve managed to haul the map down and cut it out of its frame, and a few more to secure and roll it. As we finish the last tie, Liam whistles. All of our eyes going wide, and panic ebbing from everyone.

”Shit!” Ridoc races towards the door and cracks it open as we all ready to flee. “What’s going on?”

I barely hear Liam tell Ridoc the guard is banging on the door and it wont hold for much longer. He holds the door open as we all race into the hallway. With the size of the map, it takes two people to carry it out of the room. Imogen and Sawyer struggle to get through the door. As they clear the doorway the door at the end off the hallway kicks open, all of us freezing on the spot. I lock eyes with the guard as he goes to yell out at us, willing him to not see we’re here and the hallway is empty and safe. And as if he does, his words fall short. His head darting back and forth before slowly edging his way down the hallway. Scratching his head as he goes. I did it. There was no sheen to the projection. I had perfectly replicated the hallway in his mind. But in his mind, we were nowhere to be seen. To the guard, the hallway was completely empty. Imogen and Liam start smirking, knowing exactly what I’ve done. Rhiannon appears at the end of the hallway, the map disappearing from Imogen’s hands and into hers. She stares at us in shock as they all watch the guard at the other end of the hallway.

”Why the hell aren’t you moving?” She whisper shouts as Emery appears at the end of the hall with her, ready to push the guard back.

”I don’t think he can see us?” Ridoc asks hesitantly.

”He can’t, but I can’t guarantee for how long so move.” I whisper as sternly as I can.

They all look at me in shock, knowing I am the cause of this. And with slight nods of agreement we’re walking as fast as we can down the hallway. For good measure Emery launches the guard into a wall, Violet hurrying over and pouring something into his mouth to make sure he won’t wake for a few more hours. Giving us plenty of time to get back to the quadrant.

Fifteen minutes later we burst into the room, chests still heaving from the run we had to do to make it here in time. I can tell Dain is not impressed even from down here. Feeling another pair of eyes I look over to see Garrick and then Xaden looking at us with furrowed brows. Both also clearly not impressed with our arrival or how close we are cutting it. I ignore them and follow my squad over to our seats just as presentations begin. As the squads present their findings, I can feel us all become smug that we have found the best thing. Though a few squads come close. One squad going as far to kidnap a scribe. They look terrified. Before we know it, it’s our turn. Sawyer and Liam holding the top corners of the map so it is fully visible to the room as it unrolls. I take my place next to Imogen and Violet at the front of the group. Garrick, Xaden and Dain all watching us with intent. I swear I see Xaden’s eyes widen as he takes in the map. Everyone else in the room seems confused.

Imogen nudges Violet and I. “This was your guys idea. Present.”

As Violet and I step forward, Markham and Devera stand, both their eyes wide and mouths hanging open as they realise exactly what he have grabbed and presented.

Violet clears her throat and gesture to the map held between Sawyer and Liam. “We have brought the ultimate weapon for our enemies. An up to date map of all current outposts of Navarrian wings, to include troop strength of infantry battlements. As well as the locations of all current skirmishes in the last thirty days. Including last night.” She says proudly as whisper ripple through the room.

”And how do we know this map, is in fact current?” Kaori asks, clutching a journal another squad had acquired.

I can’t help the smirk that appears on my face as I place my arm around Violet’s shoulders and pull her into my side. Garrick and Xaden going slightly pale as I lock eyes with them before shifting my attention to Kaori. ”Because we stole it from General Sorrengail’s office.”

Chaos breaks out around the room. Riders rushing the stage to congratulate us and try get a look at the map. I look up and see Dain still seated staring at us in shock. Before shifting my gaze to Garrick who is beaming at us and shaking his head as if he can’t believe what we’ve done. Even Xaden can’t hide his smirk and satisfaction at what we’ve achieved. All of us knowing we’ve just won the Squad Battle. And no other squad in history could top what we’ve just pulled off.

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books @side-angel

[ktsumu]

three ticks and i’m home.

pairing: dainsleif x fem!reader, 4.2k words

summary: gods are never innocent; neither are godless men.

(or: a timeline of dainsleif's grief through the life of his broken watch, one that ticks backwards and the one you fixed, first.)

note: someone tell me to stop reading his lore and i will. beware for plot holes because genshin is nuts. crossposted to ao3 also!

content: major character death, destruction, angst, talk of children, you're a clocksmith, angst with like a sprinkle of fluff in one scene, a lot of worldbuilding regarding khaenri'ah + the cataclysm

Five years before.

Dainsleif is a serious guy.

He needs to be — it’s a must-have quality for a Commander. He smiles at children that look up to him, doesn’t leave bars with women who want to. His schedule is so tight that some say it wears a corset, or at least his friends do. He takes his job with the pride of a boy who grew up watching the soldiers march, a boy who now leads them.

Dainsleif runs a tight schedule.

That is, until his watch breaks, and disorder comes soon after.

He complains in the bunks for twenty minutes that night about the chaos his time regulates until one of his friends recommends an old friend, a clocksmith in the heart of the city. 

( “Get a digital one while you’re there. That thing’s ancient.”

“People are allowed to like old things, Halfdan.”

“Not things that break like that.” )

Dainsleif visits you the next day, setting the metal watch on your counter with his arms crossed. His brows tug together and his expression is more wary than it is expectant.

“Can you fix it?” he asks.

You look it over, rubbing your thumb over rust. “Who’s it from?”

“Can you fix it?”

You set the watch back down, looking back up at him with a little grin.

“For a price, Commander.”

Dainsleif swallows, rolling his shoulders back and digging out his wallet.

It takes you four hours to fix his ancient watch, and you even get the rust off of the band for him. You clasp it back around his wrist and tell him to get back to work when he tries to thank you, standing around for way too long. When he leaves, you set aside and refund his money.

15 years since the Cataclysm

“What do you mean you can’t fix it?”

“They call us horologists, sir. Not magicians.”

Dainsleif huffs, leaning on the counter and shaking his head. “My friend recommended you,” he says, pleads. “He said you can fix anything. Even this. Did you try?”

“I—”

“Try.”

The watchmaker tilts his head, an unsure look on his face. Dainslef’s shoulders fall. “Please,” he whispers. “Try.”

The man purses his lips, sighing, and extends a hand. His fingers wriggle.

“For a price.”

Dainsleif takes out his wallet and pays him double what he paid you — the watch takes four days to fix, and he doesn’t remove the rust. Dainsleif collects it with haste.

“Sorry, couldn’t change the time,” he tells his client. “That thing will always run backwards.”

Dainsleif nods. “Oh.”

Four.

Your favourite day is Sunday.

Dainsleif allows himself one day to relax, one day that he’s mandated, and what day other than a day reserved for a god you never had would be a better fit? On Sundays, you stay in bed, under your linen sheets and against his chest. Neither of you move until absolutely necessary; sometimes hours, sometimes less.

“Breakfast soon?” he asks. 

“I thought maybe a little while longer.”

“That’s fine.”

“Ugh, I love it when you agree with me,” you tease, giggling when he scoffs. He agrees with you most of the time; you’re reasonable people. 

Dainsleif sighs, humming when you curl further into his side. He's a serious guy, but that doesn’t count on Sundays. Not during your beautiful, godless mornings. He raises an eyebrow at the vase on your dresser, “Those are new.”

“Hm?”

“Inteyvats,” he comments, “the flowers.”

“Is it so wrong of me to show some nationalism, Dain?”

He grins, shaking his head as you laugh. You laugh and it shakes your shoulders. You laugh and it shakes his chest. 

“I just didn’t know you liked them,” he says, “that’s all.”

You settle, humming against the cotton of his shirt. “I love them.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Maybe someday, we’ll have someone to use their name.”

He thinks for a moment, “A daughter?”

You tilt your head back so you can see him, to the point where it aches to hold yourself up like that. “Would that be so bad?”

Dainsleif thinks for a moment — you and a daughter. “No,” he says, “not at all.”

“That’s down the road, anyway,” you laugh. “You know what isn’t?”

“What?”

“Our anniversary,” you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “How do you want to celebrate it?”

Dainsleif thinks about your one year anniversary, lying in bed with you on a Sunday, talking about a family and the flower you’ll start it with. He thinks about how content he would be if you did nothing at all but this; lie against his side and kiss his jaw, talk about the daughter he hopes will look just like you. He doesn’t think he could ask for anything more.

“This is okay.”

“Mm, alright,” you say, your smile against his collarbone. “I love you.”

Dainsleif tilts his head so you can stay where you are. “I love you," he echoes, "I love how you speak our language.”

“Oh? What’s so special about it?”

He smiles to himself.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Fifty years since

The watch breaks again on what would’ve been your seventy-fifth birthday.

The smith Dainsleif found this time looks over the stuttering clock hands, the numbers written in something unintelligible to him. He tosses it in his hand, a curious look on his face. “Old watch, no?”

“Very. Could you restore it?”

“By ‘restore’ you mean…”

“Fix it to tell time,” he clarifies. “And to still tick backwards.”

The clocksmith looks up with curious eyes, one of his eyebrows quirking up. “You want me to fix it ... to be broken?”

“If you can.” 

He hesitates. “I’ll do my best.”

Dainsleif lets him swivel around in his chair, flicking a light on over his desk as he hunches over. The shop he operates out of is personal, messy — never Dainsleif’s style, but he can admit it is quaint. Quilts and sewn tapestries line the walls, textbooks from the Akademiya line a bookcase filled with papers; a frame hangs on the wall.

A painting of a flower; inteyvat.

“Excuse me,” Dainsleif coughs, “I can’t help but notice your painting.”

“Hm? Oh, the flower.”

“Yes — you know where it’s from?”

The smith hums a laugh, nodding. “Khaenri’ah hasn’t been gone long enough to forget it.”

Dainsleif swallows. “I was just surprised to see it, is all.”

“Most are,” he replies, his eyes not leaving the watch he works on. He rummages through his drawer for tweezers. “It was a gift for my daughter.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes,” he replies, happily. “We named her after them.”

Dainsleif takes a deep breath.

Three.

When Dainsleif comes home from his shift, you’re sitting at the table with your chin resting in your hands.

“Good evening,” he greets, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his boots. He doesn’t seem to notice that you don’t reply in the twenty or so seconds it takes to writhe out of his uniform, or that you don’t bother to even look in his direction at all. The only time he realizes that something in the room has shifted is when you move away from his kiss. “Hello?”

You grit your teeth.

Dainsleif crosses his arms, slowly rounding the table to face you from across it. “What is it?”

You look up at him, finally. “Where’s my blueprint, Dain?”

He blinks. “I — your what?”

“Don’t act dumb,” you say with a pointed finger, your head shaking. Your body might as well be, too. “My analog blueprints, digital ones — they’re all gone and guess who is the only one I trusted enough to tell?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. “It wasn’t me,”

“Who else was it, then?” you shout, standing up to try and match his height. “Who? Tell me, Dainsleif, who else could it have been?”

He swallows, pulling one of your dining table chairs out. It squeals against the floor like it hates him just as much as you do. “Sit, please.”

“You know what I think, Dain?”

“Sit down, please.”

“I think you stole them for the factories you Guards don’t tell anyone about,” you whisper, “the metal soldiers you make.”

“They’re field tillers,”

“Field tillers don’t have missiles in their chest,” you spit. The air thickens as you shake your head.

He gestures to the seat you once sat in, but you don’t bite. Not that easily, not ever.

“Lie to me again and I’m gone for good.”

Dainsleif swallows again, folding his hands and looking down at them. You’re scorned and he’s holding the heat; there is no explanation he can offer that makes this look any bit okay to either of you. He’s dug his grave — now, he lies in it, shovel at his side.

“Tell me,” you plead, “tell me what you’re making an army for.”

Dainsleif shakes his head.

“Gods don’t like godless men,” he says, so low you hardly hear him. So simple, like he's being reasonable.

You shake your own. “Godless men don’t even like themselves.”

His eyes meet yours.

“I want my designs back,” you tell him, more desperate than you let on. “Every page, every scribble, everything. And I don’t want anything made with them.”

Dainsleif takes a deep breath, his eyes averting themselves back down to the table. He doesn’t need to see your face anymore — not when he knows you’ll hate him once he tells you.

“You can’t.”

“You—”

“I can’t,” he says. “It’s too late.”

150 years since

“Wow, this watch is beat.”

“It is — can you fix it?”

This one is in Fontaine, the clocksmith is — she’s eclectic, a little disorganized like you were, with a scary love for crushed velvet by the look of her shop. There’s metal dust everywhere and things that don’t belong to clocks or watches, but someone swore up and down she knows her stuff. Knows it well, too. 

She looks back up at Dainsleif with a wink. “Got Mora?”

He tosses a pouch on the counter. “Anything you need.”

He doesn’t bother watching what she takes from it, instead opting to turn and watch the bustling streets outside. He’s fond of Fontaine, it’s full of life and running water — every shop is full from wall to wall.

The girl he’s trusting to fix his watch is trying to speak to him, but he’s not listening; all he can see is the eye of a Ruin Guard that hangs in the window of a pawn shop across the street; marked down to half value, less if you trade-in for credit. Dainsleif thinks about the lives those parts were worth almost two centuries ago. 

No one in Khaenri’ah was ever worth just a couple hundred coins. 

Two.

Taverns in Khaenri’ah have so many songs that they fill walls with the lyrics.

They are loud and they are lively — you know something’s wrong when you catch one quiet and half-empty. The windows all made of stained glass, rustic to contrast the world around them; taverns in Khaenri’ah are like a world of their own. In them, people dance like such.

You dance that way, yourself. Not with him, but it’s nice to watch you spin again.

Dainsleif watches you clutch someone’s shoulder; he doesn’t know who he is but he’s wearing his uniform, someone he leads. He thinks he remembers you saying that you made an exception for him — you don’t date ‘snobs from the Royal Guard.’

(Dainsleif has hope that, maybe, you still remember your pact and, maybe, you try to keep it now.)

The wooden floors groan beneath stomping feet and gliding boots, the room a whirlwind of exhausted workers and the select few from the Guard that deem little places like this worthy of their presence. 

He catches your eye for a second, only one, but your smile fades quick enough for your dancing partner to whisk you around again. A blur of your dress, and then, you’re grinning again.

Halfdan sets a drink down on the bar in front of him, kicking out the stool beside Dainsleif and sitting down. He follows his commander’s eyes and they land on you; they typically do on Friday nights.

“It’s alright,” Halfdan says, with a heavy-handed pat on his back. “Everyone has the one that got away.”

Dainsleif shakes his head, you laugh against his knight’s chest. “It’s different.”

“How so?”

“It does not matter, now, does it?”

“Mm, and yet, you’re still watching her.”

Dainsleif sips on the drink that was brought to him, turning to face the bar instead. Halfdan purses his lips, drumming his fingers on the table.

“You know,” Halfdan says, “I worry about the … field tillers.”

Dainsleif nods. “They’ll work.”

“Godless doesn’t mean we need to create our own, Captain,”

“You don’t know the things that I do,” Dainsleif cuts, harsh but not mean. “All of this has been discussed before. Let us make the orders, Halfdan, let yourself follow them.”

Halfdan hesitates.

“Captain Dainsleif,”

“Halfdan.”

“I apologize for overstepping,” he says, “but I’m just afraid of what will happen to us.”

Dainsleif rolls his shoulders back, nodding subtly. He clinks the bottom of his glass against the table.

“I am too,” he replies, tilting his head back and his glass up.

When he sets his glass back down, swallowing with a wince, he turns around. You’re the only one still on the floor, and you’re looking right at him.

500 years since

Dainsleif has spent his life figuring out where to drink. He finds that Mondstadt is the best place to.

The taverns there are quiet enough, and he isn’t bothered by anyone — they’re less lively than the ones way back when. It's a blessing that he isn’t haunted by the laughter, and a curse that he forgets what it sounds like. The tap beer is good, too. Mondstadt only serves you in bottles or chilled glasses.

But Dainsleif knows that no good comes after two in the morning, and nothing good comes from watching the Knights of Favonius pour in. 

(It’s a little too familiar; he’s watching his bloodied soldiers laugh and topple to the bar.)

Dainsleif leaves enough Mora to cover his tab and tip, and bolts for the door.

He makes a beeline through the center, cutting the body of the bar in two as these faces he recognizes comment on his attire. He knows he looks like a fish out of water, he feels like a fish out of water. Five hundred years spent in this place and he still feels hated — he’s sure the next five centuries won’t change.

He knocks shoulders with someone near the door: “Woah there, pretty small hallway this must be, huh?”

He’s about to apologize, too, maybe count it as his crooked form of atonement, until he looks the guy he hit in the eye. Yes, eye — there's only one showing. The other hides beneath an eye patch.

He’s looking at him, but somehow, he’s now looking at you.

He’s lost in them, his eyes, and this new guy seems to notice — judging by the way he’s dressed, Dain guesses he’s a captain. He clears his throat.

“I know you’re heading out, but maybe another drink wouldn’t hurt?”

Dainsleif panics, because now he’s trapped. He doesn’t see you until he sleeps — not until he’s locked in bed somewhere, until it doesn’t matter what he says because no one else is there to listen but you and him. He can’t see you here, and he can’t see him.

“Sorry, but I’m afraid that I'm in a rush. I apologize for hitting you.”

(He doesn’t get very far.)

The man takes his wrist, making him turn around. 

“Please?” he asks, but it’s not really begging. More like a proposition, probably. “I’m not sure how to say that in Khaenri’ahn.”

Dainsleif lets out a breath.

One.

It is your old day, Sunday , when Dainsleif enters your shop again, the broken watch on his wrist thrumming against his pulse point with every jerk of its hands.

The bell rings above your door and he’s almost surprised the door isn’t locked — he remembers unlocking it for you after he had to go, way back when. Kissing you goodbye, apologizing for holding up your business. You aren’t far, either; you come out with a smile that fades quicker than he likes to admit.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” he says, all too formal. He winces, almost. “Uh, it's broken again.”

“Of course it did. It’s ancient.”

He just sighs a laugh, nodding, undoing it from his wrist, from beneath his sleeve. “Yes, it is. Do you think you can fix it again?”

You glance between him and the watch. Him, and the watch. “Let me see it.”

“Of course,”

“Okay.”

You examine it with delicate fingers, screwing off the back of the body with a small driver, squinting at its insides. Dainsleif watches you.

“Dain, this thing isn’t gonna last long.”

“I don’t mind. I can pay double.”

“Why do you like this watch so much?” you laugh, dropping it on the counter and crossing your arms. “I mean, they don’t pay you enough for a digital?”

Dainsleif shakes his head. “I like this one.” He coughs. “You fixed it, first.”

“Yeah, and I’m shocked it still works.”

“You craft well.”

The two of you don’t speak for a moment; you dwell on the watch, its body pulled apart on the table. Your fingers pull at your threading jeans, and Dainsleif must see you mutilating your pants because he leans on the counter, lowers himself to you.

He lets you look at him for a moment. “What is it?”

“Nothing,”

“What is it?” he asks again, like it isn’t the second time.

You take a deep breath, tilting your head up.

“I’m sorry about your designs. Every day.” He shakes his head, looking in behind you. Your desk is still full of paper. “I will reap what I sow, and that’s the only comfort I can give you.”

“I know.” “I’m sorry. Endlessly, I am.”

You huff. “I’ve had better things since. It’s not what bugs me, Dain.”

“What is it, then, my dear?”

Your tongue pushes against your cheek, regretful hands reaching out to grip his own. It’s like you know you’re doing yourself no favours, but you’ve always been a masochist.

“Are we going to be okay?” you ask. “Not us. This place.”

He can tell you’ve been sitting with this thought alone, he’s just not sure how long. Since you brought up the field tillers? Since his last expedition? When was he last here, he’s not entirely sure.

His thumb wipes over your knuckles. He doesn’t tell you whether you’re going to be okay.

“I will protect you,” he whispers, “even in my dying breath.”

The second time he meets the Traveller is when they ask him.

“What happened to Khaenri’ah?”

ZERO.

There is little you can see in smoke and ash. What Dainsleif can see, it is blurry and most likely dead.

(He doesn’t want to think about what happens to those who live — simply surviving is not enough, they’ll seek retribution in the living, too.)

He feels guilty for saying it, but he was glad when the castle fell — relinquished of his sworn duty, free to run to where your shop lives. It came down in a blow of fire, the castle did; more than just four mighty walls, built of minerals made to last. He’s afraid to think of what happens to simpler stones.

(He runs like you stand a chance.)

He’s running in the opposite direction of other people — hell, he’s directing them out of there. Whatever is behind them is a lost cause, for him it’s a little hope. The havoc being brought down on this place is proof that they’re not allowed to have hope, but he promises it’ll be his last bit. He’s assuming they can hear him when he prays for it.

The windows of your shop are blown out. He ignores the sound of crunching glass because you’re screaming his name.

(You stop when you see him, swallowing it. He drops to his knees and says you’re allowed to yell, even when he’s there.)

“Dain,”

“Just breathe, hold on,” he breathes, chest pumping as he starts to heave the rubble off of you, the thick pillars that bar you from moving. He lifts one, another falls down. He lifts that one, and another, and another.

“Dainsleif.”

He’s still heaving, grunting now. Sweat lines his forehead and he’s coughing up soot he smelt ages ago.

“Dain,”

He’s crying.

“Dainsleif,” you spit, grabbing his wrist. You shake your head. “You’re hurting me.”

“I have to get you out,”

“To where?” you whisper, voice shaking. “Where are we going to go?”

Dainsleif doesn’t cry intentionally. His eyes are so wet that he can’t see clearly and they’re cleaning off his cheeks, but if tears were invisible you would never be able to tell.

You shake your head. “I’m not going to die in the street.”

“Don’t be so blunt, dear, please.”

“There is no other way to p-put it,” you say with a shiver, swallowing the hurt that threatens to spill out between your teeth; you smile instead. You feel weak already, even weaker in front of a commander. “Don’t cry about it,"

“I can’t stop it,” he chokes out, shaking his head. He cradles your head in his lap, brushes back your hair until his fingers get caught in knots. “There is nothing I can do.”

The weight of your life, his world, is in his lap, and he thinks about tomorrow. One, or both of you, will be dead, and yet that weight will still be there.

“There’s no one but the gods that could stop this, Dain,”

“I—”

“I love you,” you gasp, “I forgive you. I love you.”

“No.”

“Say it back, you stubborn, stubborn man,” you grit. 

(Dainsleif keels over you, and he says it back. He repeats it until he feels your grip on him loosen, until your head lulls the other way. He repeats it until he feels sick and out of breath, because he knows he will never say it again. He repeats it until he's about to gag.)

He remains in your shop for the next few hours, unmoving, leaned up against the front desk that amazingly still stands. He’s holding your hand.

Dainsleif waits for something. Probably a sentence, to death or otherwise. He waits here for a chance for the roof to cave in, or to be struck down by someone that finds him. He hopes the gods get to him. He hopes this shop still stands if they pry him out of it. He hopes they call him Atlas and tell him to hold it up.

“This watch is never gonna work.”

Dainsleif blinks at the man across the counter, who looks at him with raised eyebrows — probably in shock that he even thought it was fixable — and a condescending frown. “You are sure?”

“Dude, this wasn’t supposed to work the last time you had it fixed. This looks like it’s centuries old.”

“It…”

Is. He doesn’t finish that.

“It’s an heirloom,” he says instead. “It's impossible, then?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m pretty good at what I do, but this is … miracle talk. This should have been up-cycled three hundred years ago.”

“I see.”

The two men stand in silence for a moment, and the clocksmith brings a hand down on the watch.

When he strikes it, he knocks the last bits of air out of its lungs; the watch ticks a final one, two, three times, and Dainsleif hears laughter to his left.

He turns, and there you are.

You’re sitting on a bench, alive, breathing. You’re holding a popsicle and leaning back like you don’t have a care in the world. 

Dainsleif thinks of all the things you can say to him. That you blame him, that you love him, that you hate what he did. That you wish he could save everyone, that you wish he could’ve maybe saved you. That you’re thankful you died and never had to live as a curse. That you think of him, too.

(You don’t do any of that.) 

Instead, you smile, close-lipped and gentle. And you wave.

The watch stops after the third tick. He loses you in a blink for one second, and you’re gone.

“Can you hit it again?”

“When I tell you that was its last life, I really mean it. I’d guess it had ten of them.”

He swallows, nodding, staring down at his broken watch. He’ll never see you again, hear it tick three times and go back to your bed on Sunday, hear it tick three times and listen to you say you love him in his native tongue. He’ll never go home, but he’s glad he saw you one more time.

He’ll never go home, but he’s glad he saw it one more time. 

“So? You gonna try and bargain, or…?”

Dainsleif is staring at the bench you were just in; his fingers itch for it. If he has to spend the next lifetime looking at that bench, he’s going to do it alone, and he’s going to learn how to do it without you.

You deserve to rest — he was the one cursed to live forever, not you. You did not die in vain.

He turns back to the clocksmith, who honestly looks pretty bored of him by now.

“Can I sell the parts?”

[callsign-rogueone]

mercy - m.s.

Mira Sorrengail x reader Back in your days at Basgiath, you and your friends made up Mercy, a game of spontaneous “assassination attempts”, to prove your strength and skill in single combat. Mira starts a new game, years after the last one ended, and it has unforeseen consequences. 🎧: “I will show no mercy for you, you have no mercy for me, the only thing that I ask: love me mercilessly” - Hatef—k, The Bravery words: 4.5k 🏷: Iron Flame spoilers. NSFW, afab reader but no pronouns used, violent homoeroticism, sparring and a teeny bit of blood, childhood friends to college rivals to lovers, mysterious unresolved tension between you, reader is coded as being on the curvy side bc I am, one very brief mention of past abuse from your father, you could be Dain’s sister but I didn’t say that part out loud for inclusivity’s sake, use of the nicknames bunny (derogatory, but also affectionate), sweetheart, and baby. softdom!Mira, mild predator/prey vibes, fingering, overstimulation, biting (once), aftercare, love confession, soft ending, I proofed this with a migraine so pls ignore any grammar/syntax errors lmao

A cold hand closes around your throat. You know it can only belong to one person.

“Hi, bunny,” Mira purrs, confirming your theory. “Did you miss me?”

Your pulse jumps under her fingers as she moves forward, pressing her body up against your back. You don’t know if you’re more relieved or scared -- she’s alive, but she hasn’t changed a bit, still hellbent on making you play her little game of cat and mouse. 

“When did you decide the game was back on?” you ask, finally able to form complete sentences.

“Just now,” she answers, tightening her grip on your neck ever so slightly. “Why? Have you lost your bite? Did those two years in the middle of nowhere make you even softer?”

You burn at the insinuation, bringing a hand up to dig your nails into her wrist -- she hisses in pain, releasing you, and you take the opportunity to slip out from her reach, unsheathing one of the two blades you have left after last night’s events.

You stalk in circles around each other, waiting for someone to strike first. 

“Try not to kill each other before I can say hello,” a familiar voice sighs, and your head snaps up. 

Brennan is standing twenty feet away from you, alive.

“Truce,” you and Mira declare in unison, suspending your fight. 

You rush forward to embrace her brother, hugging him tightly.

He smiles, resting a hand on your back. “It’s good to see you again, kid.”

“Someone knows how to greet people like a normal person,” you say with a glare over your shoulder at Mira, your voice wavering with emotion. You can’t believe Brennan is standing here in front of you, that he’s still alive.

“And someone didn’t punch me straight in the face when they saw me,” he adds dryly.

Your jaw drops. “What the hell, Mir?”

“I don’t regret it,” she says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Brennan’s gaze lands on the reddened bandage around your arm. “Do you want me to…?”

“Oh, no,” you say, looking down at it fondly. “This was a parting gift from the Colonel. I’d like it to scar.”

Both siblings know who you’re referring to, know that the man who sired you and your brother isn’t Dad to you, just his title — he’s never acted like anything other than your commanding officer. 

Brennan doesn’t ask if you’re sure, doesn’t push the issue further. He knows your relationship with your father has always been strained, that the Colonel would’ve had more than just some choice words for you when he found out you were going to desert. 

He remembers the last time he saw you, a week before you and Mira were to enter the rider’s quadrant — he was in his third year at Basgiath, “home” for an evening. He’d been the one to answer the door when you’d shown up, not knowing where else to go.

You didn’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps, but you weren’t given a choice; your family are dragon riders, through and through, even if the line of work cost your mother her life. 

The mention of her earned you a bloody nose that Brennan had been able to fix near-instantly. You’d spent the night on the Sorrengails’ couch, the two of you silently agreeing to never speak of it again.

Mira burns with anger, but she stays quiet. “I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“It’s okay,” you say with a sad smile. “At least he’s finally out of my life for good. Are the kids here, too?”

Brennan nods. “Vi and Dain are around here somewhere. But things have gotten… weird between them.”

“That’s an understatement,” someone says quite coldly.

You turn, tensing when you see Xaden Riorson standing ten yards in front of you. 

“I didn’t expect any members of your family to be joining us, Captain,” he drawls, inspecting you. “Why the change of heart?”

Brennan is about to speak, to vouch for you, but Mira beats him to it. “You of all people should know that it isn’t fair to judge someone for the actions of their parents.”

You put up a hand to stop her, speaking for yourself. “I came here because it was the right thing to do. The name on my uniform means nothing to me, but if you cannot see past it, I will take my leave and fight on my own.”

He must realize that you’re serious. He softens ever so slightly, but does not apologize. “Very well. Welcome to the revolution.”

Mira leaves you alone — and therefore, on edge — for two days, a silent statement that it’s your turn to sneak up on her, that she’s waiting to see if you’ll bite.

Nothing has changed about her, including her workout routine — she’s holed up in the gym before breakfast, when half the fortress is still asleep.

She has her back to the door, settled into a high plank on one of the small stretching mats. A perfect opportunity; she’s already on the floor, unarmed. Easy.

You take a moment to admire the toned muscle of her back and the green rider’s relic spanning her shoulders before you press your boot into her spine.

She yelps, her concentration broken — her sweaty palms slip against the foam, sending her straight to the floor with a soft thud. You lean down to pin an arm behind her back. “Consider yourself dead, Sorrengail.”

Too perfect. Too easy. It’s your turn to squeak as she yanks you down to the floor with her, your back hitting the hard wood with a wet slap. It feels like your skin is on fire. You gasp for air, but you don’t have time to recover before she’s looming over you, that devilish grin on her face that you’ve missed so much.

Your friend rolls her eyes, stopping Garrick from leaping in to pry you and Mira apart. “It’s a game we made up as cadets. The two of them took it farther than anybody else, as you can imagine.”

You manage to gain your bearings, twisting a leg up and over her shoulder, behind her neck and using the other as leverage to squeeze tighter, locking her in place.

She digs into your hips, clawing at you with blunt nails, but you hardly feel it through the thick thermal fabric of your leggings.

“I should make you a little white flag to wave,” you say with a sweet smile, convinced you’ve won.

She hisses at you, some snide remark already prepared, but someone else speaks first.

“I don’t want to know,” Professor Devera says, looking down at the two of you still tangled up on the floor, “but we have work to do.”

You release Mira, letting her pull back and breathe. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she pants in agreement, and you seal the deal with a firm handshake, rising to your feet.

“Does it bother you at all that she could kill you in your sleep?” Garrick asks as you exit the gym and ascend the stairs.

“That’s against the rules,” you say matter-of-factly. 

“Since somebody can’t bear to admit defeat,” she adds, glaring at you.

The two Lieutenants can tell that there’s a story here, and there is. The rule was made during your second game of mercy. After a week of back and forth with no winner and no surrender, she’d taken desperate — or cunning, measures, however you view it — and befriended your bunkmate, Sascha, as a guise to get into your room, where she’d struck unexpectedly. 

You’d nearly had a heart attack when you’d woken up to see her looming over you. Needless to say, Sascha did not take Mira on another date, and at your insistence, the two of you added a new rule to the game.

“Your target has to be awake, and not doing anything directly related to base safety or following orders,” you explain. “The barracks are fair game, but not the flight field.”

“Truce can be called at any time, but it expires in an hour, or whenever you’re off duty for the day,” Mira adds, and you both make a mental note of the time. 

“Anyone can start a game by striking first. Surrenders can last from two days to two years, apparently,” you say dryly.

Mira finishes the set of rules with a narrow glance at you. “And you can’t seriously hurt them. You can act in self-defense, but try not to draw blood.” 

“That was one time,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “And you shouldn’t have snuck up on me while I had a knife in my hand! It’s a miracle I didn’t kill you.” There’s a note of hurt in your voice as you remember how close of a call it had been.

As soon as you saw the blood dripping down the pale skin of her neck, you had dropped everything to take her to the healers, terrified that you’d hit a vein — you hadn’t, but you still didn’t resume the game for two weeks afterward, until the cut had fully healed. 

Mira smiles. “I’m touched, bun, but I don’t think you could kill me if you tried.”

You only bare your teeth at her in response.

Mira is waiting for you outside the bathroom door, leaning up against the wall looking bored — she must have been here for a while.

She pushes off the wall lazily, smirking at you. “So, bunny, do you want to give up yet? Call it all off?”

You suppress a shiver. “That wouldn’t be any fun,” you say calmly, hatching a plan; you can lose her easily enough, and get back to your room and be safe until breakfast, when you’ll be properly dressed and armed. 

You dry your hands on your towel, dropping it at your feet and putting one leg behind you, bent at the knee as if you’re going to have a proper fight -- then run like hell in the other direction.

You hear her chase after you, the pounding of her footsteps matching up with your racing heart as you make turn after turn.

There are two problems with your plan. 

The first; this place is a damn maze. All these doors look the same, and you’re moving too fast to look at the numbers posted on them. And like any good maze, there are plenty of dead ends. You skid to a stop as you realize there’s no way out of this hallway — or just one way; past Mira.

You quickly find the second problem; you’re running in wet sandals. You trip over an edge of the thick rug that lines the stone floor, headed straight for the ground, but Mira grabs you by the wrist, breaking your fall.

You steady yourself, yanking your arm away.

She lets you go easily, content to stand a few feet back and taunt you. “Just a defenseless little bunny, walking down the hallway in these cute little pajamas, all this skin exposed… I know you don’t have any daggers hidden under that excuse of a shirt,” she says, looking at you with the shine of something predatory in her eyes. “I can see everything.”

You move to cover yourself, crossing your arms — the fortress is cold, and you hadn’t bothered to wrap your chest just to walk back from the showers… you squirm under her gaze, embarrassed. “I am clearly at a disadvantage in these clothes,” you huff, “not fair.”

“That’s on you. You knew this could happen when you got dressed,” she dismisses. “But you’ve also been at a disadvantage this whole time playing against me. We both know I’m a better fighter than you. Maybe I’ve just been faking to let you believe that you’re all big and strong.”

That’s the last straw. You kick off your shoes and lunge at her, not caring that you’re still in your pajamas, cornered and unarmed — you’re going to end this round now, prove to Mira once and for all that you can go toe to toe with her and come out on top, disadvantaged or not.

She grins. “I was wondering when you’d start really trying.”

You knock her to the ground, though she lands more gracefully than you had the other day -- your back is still tender.

“You really need to switch it up, Bun. This whole wrestling-on-the-floor thing is getting old,” she taunts, grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back.

“Shut - the fuck - up,” you pant. “You think this game isn’t getting old? You’re the one who’s stuck in the past.”

You struggle, and she loosens her grip enough for you to hook one arm over her head, squeezing your elbow around her neck in an attempt to get her to give up.

You hear her wheeze, running out of air, and you’re about to triumphantly proclaim your victory when you feel a sharp pinch in your bicep. 

She fucking bit you.

You gasp, releasing her and standing upright to cradle your elbow in one hand and inspect the damage. There’s a perfect imprint of her teeth in the muscle, two tiny punctures from her canines. “What the fuck, Mir? That really hurt.”

“Oops.” She rises to her knees and licks up the small beads of blood forming on your skin, making you squirm.

Gross. Well, actually… 

You don’t have much time to think about it before she’s pinning you to the wall. You struggle, but she has you trapped firmly against the cold stone.

“All you have to do is admit that I’m stronger than you. Say the word, and I’ll let you go.”

“No,” you spit, “you cheated and you fucking know it. You were the one who made the no-blood rule.”

“Poor baby. Want me to kiss it better?” she asks, looking down at you with that signature smug expression. You want to slap it right off her face, but she’s currently holding both of your wrists in one hand.

Your stomach flips at the realization of just how strong Mira is, how easily she can pin you down, how she could do anything to you right now if she wanted. 

Okay, now is not the time to be horny. You have a point to prove.

You start to struggle, but she only bears down harder, presses in closer.

“If you wanted this, you could have just asked,” she says quietly, her nose brushing against the side of your neck. 

Your resolve is crumbling. The way she’s talking down to you in that condescending tone and the way her muscles flex as she presses you into the wall have you more turned on than you should be.

You want only one thing more than for her to hold you down and fuck you absolutely stupid, and that one thing is to win, to have Mira Sorrengail beg you for mercy.

You only see one way to get out of this — to cheat, like she did.

You blink up at her, doe-eyed. “Mir, please,” you whimper, pretending to struggle, but all you’re really doing is grinding against the muscled thigh she has wedged between yours.

She takes the bait, loosening her grip and leaning down to nudge her nose against yours, connecting your lips, remarkably gentle.

It feels too good to carry out your plan. You melt right into her, your whole body relaxing, and she drops your wrists to rest her hands on your waist, dipping under the hem of your shirt as she steadies you.

She kisses soft and sweet — a stark contrast to the ache in your arm from where she’d sunk her teeth into your skin.

She pulls away after a moment, smiling at the dazed look on your face. “You wanna be a good little bunny and let me have my way with you? Let me play with that pretty body?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe. It’s not an act; you really do want her hands on you, you have for years. You’ve never felt this needy in your life, never craved anyone’s touch this badly.

You should be more careful what you wish for.

You gasp into her mouth as she tugs aside your pajama shorts and brushes her fingertips against the embarrassingly damp fabric of your underwear, right over your clit.

“Not here,” you manage, clinging to your one last shred of rationality — at any moment, someone could walk out of their room and see you here, in the middle of the hallway, half-dressed, with Mira’s hands all over you.

She appears to agree. She pulls you down the hall by your wrist, wasting no time unlocking her door and leading you through it, pushing you right onto her bed. 

Your back hits the mattress and she’s leaning over you in seconds, though the predatory look in her eyes is gone, replaced with something softer.

Your heart pounds. You have no idea what she’s going to do. 

“Such a cute little thing,” she coos, her hands moving to knead at the plush of your hips. “Spread your legs for me.”

You comply instantly, starting to take off your shorts, but she stops you.

“Nuh-uh, bun. Keep them on.”

You whine softly, but she doesn’t budge. Her hand slides over your thigh, settling over the soft fabric. “So warm and wet… did you like me on top of you? Like me holding you down?”

“Yes,” you answer readily, panting even though she’s hardly touched you. “N’ liked… liked kissing you.”

It’s a thinly-veiled plea for her to do it again, but it works.

You whine into her mouth as she starts to circle her fingers over your clit through the two layers of clothing, smearing your wetness into them. Her other hand slides up to your chest, squeezing gently through the thin cotton of your shirt. 

You should have known that this would be good -- it’s Mira. She knows exactly what she’s doing; she’s had plenty of bedmates over the years, and she isn’t shy about it at all.

You burn with jealousy at the thought of anyone else being in your position, laid underneath her, her hands all over them and her lips on their neck.

Well, that’s new, you think. And not at all concerning.

Your inner monologue is interrupted as she pulls back, guiding you to look at her with a gentle hand on your chin, assuaging your worries. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s just you and me here right now.”

You push away the thoughts, closing your eyes and focusing on the three soft sensations -- her lips on your neck, her hands on your chest and between your legs, teasing you… 

She hooks her fingers into the thin straps of your tank top, slipping them over your shoulders one at a time and tugging the neckline down until your breasts spill out over it. 

She swears softly. “You’ve always had such a pretty body, bun. Shame you keep it covered up all the time.”

You burn at the praise, feeling exposed, but the embarrassment quickly fades as she kisses her way down your neck and across your collarbones, down… 

You can’t hold back the gasp as she laves her tongue over your nipple, her free hand thumbing at the other.

“Oh, you liked that,” she muses, smug, but quickly returns her mouth to the other, sucking gently.

You did. You really liked that. No partner has ever paid this much attention to your chest before, only some casual groping before they moved things downstairs. Nobody’s paid this much attention to you, period, taken this much time preparing you for the main event. 

You can feel the pressure building between your hips, your muscles tightening. You might actually cum just from the way she’s still circling her fingers over your clit through your underwear, and her mouth…

“Want me to keep going?” She asks, and you can hear the grin in her voice as she continues. “You know what to say. Just one little word.”

You don’t care if this is all an elaborate scheme to get you to admit defeat -- you’d do anything if it meant she’d keep touching you. You’re already addicted to her after one dose; you need her like you need air.

“Mercy,” you beg, “I’ll admit it, you’re— you’re stronger, you’re the better fighter, just please don’t stop, need it so bad,”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she coos, smoothing a hand over your hip. 

You let out a soft whimper as she sucks hard on the side of your throat, undoubtedly going to leave a mark.

There’s that rough edge you were expecting.

She pulls down your shorts and underwear in one quick movement, spreading your thighs apart easily. “Gods, bun, you’re soaked.”

Enough for her to slip two fingers right in. She finds that special spot near instantly, laughing when you squeak in shock. 

“Oh, right there? Does that feel good?” She asks, even though it’s clear as day that you fucking love it.

You give her a soft sound of affirmation, biting your cheek to hold back the slew of whimpers.

“You’re probably used to keeping quiet, hm? Laying in your bunk with a hand over your mouth, wishing someone was there to make you feel good? Do you think of me when you touch yourself, sweetheart?”

“Yes, ah, I do,” you admit, too far gone to care. It’s true; you’ve spent many a night pretending your hand belonged to her, imagining a moment just like this. 

She continues to batter her fingertips against that little soft spot, not letting up for a second. “And does it feel this good when it’s just you alone?”

“No,” you cry, “this is, ah, this is better, oh, fuck, Mira,”

Your fingers flex helplessly, reaching for something, anything to ground you, and she takes pity on you, giving you her hand to hold while you sob into her pillow.

“Shh, bun, it’s okay. Just let yourself feel good. Know you needed this so bad, needed someone to fuck all the thoughts out of that pretty head.”

She strokes her thumb over your clit in time with the movement of her fingers, and that’s all you need; that and her soft voice cooing all those condescending things to you.

You clear your head enough to speak properly, or try to. “Mira, please, gods, fuck, gonna, ah, gonna cum,” 

“Go ahead, bun. Cum for me.”

You’ve always been good at following orders.

On her command, every muscle in your body tightens then releases. You grip her hand for dear life as warmth flows through your body, eyes rolling back and cute little whimpers pouring from your lips.

“Fuck, bun, you get so tight when you cum,” she swears, but she doesn’t stop or slow down at all, continuing to press and rub and kiss, overwhelming your senses.

“Too much,” you whimper, squirming away from her touch, but she doesn’t stop. 

She shushes you softly. “Just relax for me, sweetheart. It’ll feel better in a minute.”

You sob, dropping your head back onto the pillow in defeat -- you aren’t in a headspace to fight it, and you aren’t sure if you even want to; it hurts, but it’s still so fucking good.

She slows for a moment. “You know what to say if it’s truly too much, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you manage, “I know.”

“Good bunny.”

You whine softly at the praise, gasping as the sharp sensitivity turns back into pure pleasure. 

She knows those panicked little whimpers mean you’re close. “It’s okay, bun. Let go for me.”

You unclench your free hand from the sheets, yanking her down by the collar to kiss you as you fall apart beneath her, your soft cries muffled by her lips.

She slows to a stop, letting you ride it out, giving you a few more soft kisses. You whine softly as she withdraws her fingers, feeling empty without them. 

She rests her hand on your shaking thigh, petting the soft skin gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re done,” she soothes. “You did so, so good for me.”

She easily moves you to sit up in her lap, wrapping her arms around you and letting you rest your head on her shoulder.

She hasn't been this tender with you in years. You savor the moment, hiding your face in the curve of her neck as you try to catch your breath.

“Can you look at me?” She asks after a minute.

You lift your head up enough to see her beautiful brown eyes gazing at you with a softness you’ve never seen in them before.

“There’s my pretty baby. Was I too rough with you?” She asks, genuine concern in her voice.

You shake your head. “No,” you promise, nuzzling your face into her neck. “Felt really good.”

You feel great. Your whole body feels fuzzy, your muscles relaxed and your brain completely liquified, all thoughts of the week’s events wiped away save for this moment; Mira holding you so gently, stroking your back — a minute of soft quiet.

You take your chance.

“Do you remember the night we came back from Squad Battle, our second year?” You ask, closing your eyes.

“Of course I remember, bun, that was fucking terrifying. Why…” 

You continue. “I couldn’t even make it upstairs to my room, I was that exhausted. I was planning to sleep in the courtyard, until you found me.”

She looks confused. She knows this story; why are you telling it again? And why now?

“You didn’t leave my side for a full day. You helped me shower, found me clean clothes, let me sleep in your bed until you were convinced I wouldn’t die… You put aside the game, and the fact that we’d spent the last two days on opposite sides of a war, because you were that worried about me. I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since that night, and I have spent every waking moment since graduation regretting how we left things. I missed you so godsdamned much, Mir. I don’t want to be apart from you ever again.”

You can feel her sigh of relief, her whole body relaxing against yours.

“I love you too,” she says quietly, still stroking your back. “I was so relieved when I saw you again, bun. I wanted to tell you how much I missed you, how sorry I am for ending things that way, but I was too scared. It was easier to just go back to the way things were before,” she admits. “You know I’m no good at that stuff. You’ve always been the one who was good with words, not me.”

You smile, leaning forward to brush your nose against hers. “Then let me tell you every morning and night for the rest of our days how much I love you, Mira Sorrengail.”

[wingedshadowfan]

i've spoken about this before but let me dissect one of the most controversial fourth wing paragraphs:

Tairn puts us into position, hovering about twenty feet aboveground as Liam flies for the gryphons above us, wielding spears of ice into the injured wyvern’s throat. Blood streams as the wyvern falls from the sky with an ear-piercing cry.

liam's signet is farsight, so how was he wielding ice?

possible theories:

marked ones have two signets and that's just liam's second one (i don't like this theory, it makes them too op and they already have the advantage of being immune to melgren's battle outcome foreseeing powers when there's at least three of them together; i also don't like the possibility of xaden's second signet being mind reading, if marked ones really have two)

it was just a mistake and it was meant to be another third year who was wielding the ice spears and not liam since ice wielding is rather common (i don't like the idea that there was such an obvious mistake left in the book since liam's signet being farsight has been mentioned multiple times, all in that same stretch of chapters - before breaking into lilith sorrengail's office for war games, when he tells king tauri at the reunification party, when they arrive at athebyne and he sees the venin)

saying 'liam' is a figure of speech and it was actually his dragon deigh who was wielding the ice spears since her name means 'ice' in scottish gaelic (i like this one but we don't know for sure if grown dragons can do things like that, we know they have their own magic - like tairn keeping violet seated, or some but not all dragons sensing the wards faltering meaning some might have powers related to weaving/unweaving wards, like mira/nadine do - but its extent is still unclear to us)

my theory:

liam was wielding ice himself - his only signet is farsight, and his ice wielding is some crazy form of lesser magic that he developed himself and kept secret!

supporting evidence/explanation:

Since Dain told me about the patch denoting his top secret signet, I’ve been paying close attention to the patches other cadets have sewn into their uniforms. Most wear them like badges of honor, but I recognize them for what they really are—intelligence that I might one day need to defeat them.

-violet's comment on the importance of knowing someone's signet or abilities (because we know from liam and garrick's patches that they can also denote wielding weapons or riders' hand to hand combat strengths, not just their signets)

I notice not for the first time that other than his Fourth Wing and wingleader emblems, he doesn’t wear the patches others are so fond of displaying.

-xaden not wearing his signet/combat skill patches, then saying this later on in the book:

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about the time-stopping,” Xaden asks as we head back into the tunnel, but it feels an awful lot like a command. “It’s not just for your safety. Rare abilities, when kept secret, are the most valuable form of currency we possess.”

if ice wielding isn't as rare then why did liam not do the exact opposite and keep his farsight a secret instead (lying his signet is actually ice wielding)? probably because farsight is not as useful in direct combat and he's easily underestimated when he says his signet is just farsight, which is exactly xaden's point

“And your gift?” King Tauri asks Liam. “Farsight, Your Majesty,” Liam responds. Melgren’s eyes narrow on Liam’s exposed rebellion relic, then rise to his sash. “Mairi, as in Colonel Mairi’s son?”

liam is incredibly good at hand to hand combat, and with his lesser magic being ice wielding, he made shish kebab out of that wyvern, so i'd say keeping that ability secret (and only showing it in front of other marked ones and violet in a life vs death battle) was a good call.

the biggest plot holes here are that we don't know much about lesser magic yet:

we know mage lights, speed, voice amplification, etc are lesser magic multiple people have learnt to wield (so far we've seen only marked ones do it but it's probably because riders are taught to do it in later years): so what are the extents of lesser magic? is ice wielding even possible as lesser magic? if wards for example can be both lesser magic (xaden warding violet's door) all riders are taught in their third year, and a signet at the same time (mira's), then so can ice wielding

if so, wouldn't that mean many people can just learn to do it (ice wielding as lesser magic)? so did liam teach himself? or did someone else teach him and only him? when? how? because we're left with the impression that ice wielding isn't a rare signet but we've never heard of anyone having it as lesser magic - it's probably quite hard, and maybe liam isn't as good at it as those who have it as their signet

[simping-overload]

【𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐓𝐄𝐒】

FALLING LEAFS. 𑁍 I'm back! Sorry for being inactive yall also requests are open! This is a multi chapter project, each character will have a chapter of their own! They will be linked !! I also posted this one my ao3

FLOWER POT. 𑁍 amir(oc?), other characters but the main cast is not mentioned

GROWING VINES. 𑁍 SAGAU(Self Aware Genshin AU), God! reader, gn reader, they/them used

FALTERING SOIL. 𑁍 cult behaviors

ヾthis is a multi fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem alligened(she/her, she/they) please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

| DAIN |

You adored your acolytes, seeing them scurry around like worker bees; making sure everything was perfect and cleaned even if you hadn't asked, it was quite adorable. Even more so when they get flustered from even the smallest praises.

So you figured after long months of their hard work and great development of all the nations, you'd take it upon yourself to host the largest feast that Tyvet will ever see. It took months to prepare, and even though you tried to keep it secret, someone told and the news spread across the nations like wildfire. Even worse it was the main headline for the Steambird Newspaper for not just weeks but months leading up to the celebration.

You look down at the scurrying servants placing the food onto the tables in the ballroom and court yard. You were glad that both areas were stupidly large enough to hold an excess amount of people. It should be able to hold up around a wholes nations worth of a people with how large it is. You're greatful of the architects of this palace.

Every citizen of nations, far in wide is coming to this party. The Tartista calmed the blizzards and even the Riden Shogun to the storm over the seas.

The preparations were almost done, just a few more tables to set and chairs to place. Soon the restless crowd outside the palae will be allowed to eat and drink to their hearts desire.

The sound of heels clacking broken you out of your thoughts. You turn your head to the source, it was Amir, your head male servants hosting stunning amber eyes and slicked back brown hair, he was quite the handsome servant one of your favorites to be around.

He bows his head, "Your Grace, the preparations are complete, shall we open the doors?"

You nod your head, grinning to say you are proud of your staff is an understatment. "Yes. You did an amazing job Amir. Also the suit looks good on you; I'm glad I chose the right one." Your eyes, graze over his body the suit amplified every curve of his body just like you intended, you love showing off how beautiful your servants are.

Amir blushes a deep read, his eyes avoiding yours, "T-Thank you, your Grace." He stammered out. You chuckle, turning away from him looking down at the other servants, who wait your command. "Open the doors! And please watch where you walk I don't need you getting trampled."

Soon after the large doors are pushed open and poors in the largest crowed of people you've ever seen. It wasn't long before the room was filled, and there still was a line of people out the door and in the court yard.

You wait as everyone gets settled before making your decent down the stairs and to the podium, with Amir trailing behind you. Entering the ballroom everyone notices you immediately, your extremely lavish clothing making you stick out like a sore thumb, one could save it was even more lavish than the nobles from Fontaine.

Everyone makes way for you, automatically getting on their knees in a bow. It used to be embarrassing when they did this but after all these long months you are far more used to it. They don't even rise when your reach the podium, waiting for your signal too. You sigh looking down at the speech in front of you. Public speaking was never your specialty.

You clear your throat, "Please Rise. I gather you all here today in thanks of all of your hard work and deviation. Also as a thank you for welcoming back into Tyvet with open arms. Granted the change was.. difficult to adjust too, I am grateful towards you all for making it far easier to digest. This party is in honor of you all, a thanks from me to you. So take this time to relax from your daily lives, so drink and eat until your heart contents!" You finish off with a smile, your acolytes stare in awe for a few seconds before somone jumps in excitement, "Whoo! Let's enjoy this party to the fullest everyone!"

Everyone follows in suit cheering and scattering off their own little groups. You let out a sigh a relief that the majority of the party eyes are finally off of you. Eyes looking over the crowds, you...

[silkjade]

Jade you get me on the picnic sex. it’s everything.

now think about knight Dainsleif accompanying you, the sweet princess, on a picnic. he’s your guard, solid as he stands in watching while you sit upon your plush blanket, pulling out little snacks the maids in the kitchen had made for you. your bare feet being tickled by the grass when you lay out to bask in the sunshine, your guard ever unmoving like a solid rock of protection for you.

until you call for him. it’s magical, the way Dainsleif instantly looks to you, the one he has devoted mind body and sword to. your dress rucked up to your thighs, skin glowing under the rays, enticing and tempting. you smile and command, softly, for your knight to join you, for perhaps a scone? a sip of lemonade? he will do whatever you ask, you both know this.

Dainsleif makes love to you among wildflowers and birds singing. your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders while he swallows your cries from his slow and deep thrusts, calling you his dear princess as he leaves you breathless and hungering for more under the sun, but even more so under the stars in his gaze

what the f u ckk T^T no but like the irony of picnics being sweet and innocent when really what ur doing is anything but ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ and oh my godddd the way u have to initiate it first and being a bit of a bad influence on dain turning him from a goody goody royal guard into someone who indulges in such scandalous behavior 🤭🤭 its no longer a want, i need him i need him i need him inside me right now ++ slow and deep omg byeeeeeee belly full of not only picnic food but also his cum 🤰🏻🤰🏻🤰🏻

[sorrengailherondale]

Iron Flame: Sloane is Deaf

First of all, we know that Liam is fluent in sign language and because of this, we can theorize that Sloane is deaf. However, this idea can be further expanded on.

For starters, command likely wouldn't want Liam's siter to be in the squad of the woman who was there when he died, and was sent to die with him, this would just be colossally bad idea- however, if violet is the only person who can communicate fluently with Sloane in the rider quadrant, then command woud be pressed not to put them in the same squad without basically announcing that they dont care if sloane lives or dies. I also think it would be difficult for Vi to look out for sloane if she were in another group.

The other big plot moment here is a throwaway line at the begging of FW when it is noted that Dain has a knowledge of languages, and if he does, he may have a rudimentary understanding of sign language and this would cue him in on communications between violet, jesinia (Who will probably start to play a bigger role) and Sloane, giving him power, even if he is for one reason or another unable to use his signet on violet (Weather bc Imogen erases memories, or Violet starkly defends herself against him)

This would also allow violet to relate to sloane on a more personal level- both forced into the RQ, both with an intense disadvantage from other riders

[hxans]

A hero of the bloody horn, I love that so much for Uno. I hope fans who were big mad about his death are satisfied.

It is morning, and my thoughts may be disjointed, but ahh, I really loved the finale and I wanna watch it all again because I'm sure I missed stuff because I was too busy flailing.

Obviously, as a Mat fangirl, I loved him in this episode. We got to see him be clever! He had his moment, the desperation to blow the horn, and then we find out he is a hero of the horn, I love that for him! "Dovie'andi se tovya sagain" HE SAID THE THING ahhhhhhh omg it was beautiful.

And then he fucked up, but it was fated and also not his fault and it delivers great angsty moments for us and a meet-cute for Rand and Elayne so we can't be mad.

Also, I don't know if it's their intent, but I do hope they're sort of setting us up to have Padain Fain be Mat's biggest antagonist aside from the Forsaken, like Dain/whitecloaks will be Perrin's. It would make their eventual confrontation at TLB make more sense if, like, they've been cat and mousing each other across the continent for a while there. Especially with that dagger connection.

Also, is Mat going to lose the dagger again? Or will it be entrusted to Aes Sedai and Fain nicks it again, idk. I do absolutely love baby's first ashandarei, but I hope we'll still get the upgraded one from Rhuidean (and everything else he gets there).

Poor Egwene getting her braid cut! That was an unexpected bit of violence, but I also love that she still had to be threatened into doing what Renna commanded. And how she went from being marginally okay with wreaking violence on whitecloaks to horrified at civilians caught in the crossfire and literally spitting the dummy. And I know the books emphasize like, be the bigger person Ewgene and let Renna (& Seta) face the justice of being discovered by their fellows, but yeah that scene was incredibly satisfying anyway.

It does make me wonder for future storylines, having two of the three sul'dam that were used getting killed off, will we still get Bethamin, or will that be cut, idk. Maybe they will cut Edesina, Joline and Teslyn to just one of them.

Also, uhhh, Nynaeve in sul'damn get up and being full of wrath awoke things in me that has me feeling less straight than I thought I was. Um. (r.i.p. tumblr user mogehdien I can only imagine how much you're not coping with that plus the epilogue)

I didn't even catch about Lanfear blasting Moiraine through a doorway until others noted it, but that was a beautiful touch.

I very much liked how the beginning of the season talked about how separated they're weakened, together they form a shield wall, and how true that showed in the final confrontation.

Rand vs. Turak had me cackling. Boy was like, we ain't got no time for that and shot him.

Are we for sure that Suroth is dead? I saw bodies hitting the water but there's always the possibility someone could retrieve her and she was not as dead as we thought...

Also, Moghedien, oh she looks so fun. I love her already.

I wonder if her warning Lanfear off Rand will inspire a certain disguise? Hiding not only from him but them while trying to keep an eye on things.

[fantasyinallforms]

For the April alphabet... Inebriated yearning?? Maybe from Thorin's perspective?? (Sorry I just rly want some pining thorin)

Here you are, lovely Anon! It did get a little angsty, but it turned out well!

This is for the @fellowshipofthefics April Alphabet event!

enjoy some Inebrriated Yearning from Thorin's POV

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

1.8K words {T}

Title: Mead Makes for Loose Lips

Celebrations after reclaiming Erebor lasted weeks. The day after the battle, Dains's men started to clear the mountain to make room for people to settle. They uncovered an entire room in the kitchens filled with untouched barrels of mead. They immediately cracked one open, and the party began. They had much to celebrate. The war had been won, the elves had gotten their diamond trinkets, and the humans had enough money to start rebuilding their livelihoods. Now the dwarves of Erebor could focus on what the future held for themselves. But not before drinking themselves into a stupor first. Even the King of Erebor was not exempt from the festivities, though his mind was not on their victory but on a future he might have ruined his chance at ever having. 

The bottom of a bottle probably wasn't the smartest place to be when your entire soul yearned for the mere presence of a single person. Thorin emptied his second mug of mead and looked into the crowd. As always, his eyes drifted effortlessly to Bilbo. He was sitting on top of a table with a mug far too big for him, loudly telling a story to a captivated audience. They were enamored by him, and why wouldn't they be? Everyone heard from his own lips how integral Bilbo had been to their quest, how he saved Thorin’s life on numerous occasions. Thorin got up to fill his cup and found Dain doing the same. 

“Eyyy, there ya are, cousin! Why do you look so damn glum! Even when we were kids, you couldn't help a good brooding session. The war is over! Drink your fill and have some fun. There’s plenty of company here to be had!” Dain broke into a raucous laugh and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Thorin rolled his eyes and let out a huffing laugh. No company would be warming his bed this night or any other night. The thought of a tumble in the sheets with a dwarf might have once been an entertaining idea but no longer. He could not imagine wanting anyone other than Bilbo under him in the small hours. That pleasantly plump body and adorably round face and perfect slightly upturned nose. Being as down the bottle as he was, his mind could not concentrate on the thoughts in his head, walking, and drinking simultaneously. He tripped and sloshed half his mead down the front of his tunic. 

“Careful there, laddie. This mead’s been sitting for 60 years; she’s a strong brew.” Dain’s boisterous laughter turned the heads of the tables nearest to them, which included Bilbo’s.  

“Perfect timing! Our brave Kings of legend! Fearsome leader of the great dwarven clans himself! And the king of the Iron Hills who came to Erebor’s rescue!” Bilbo had lept up on the table and dipped into a low bow. Thorin didn't like seeing Bilbo bow to him or anyone. Bilbo shouldn't bow to people. People should bow to him. He should be decked out in only the finest the world had to offer and treated like royalty. The hobbit before him had no idea how much power he wielded. Bilbo remained blissfully unaware that he could have a king on his knees for him with only a single command. There was nothing Thorin would deny him. To his dismay, there was also nothing Bilbo seemed to want from him.

Bilbo righted himself from the bow and stagged back. Thorin heard another dwarf, one of Dain’s men, shout. 

“Best get down before you fall down, laddie!” another dwarf at the table shouted. “My laps a safe place land!” Bilbo seemed none the wiser to the catcall, so the dwarf put his weight on the table, tipping it so the hobbit would stumble to the side. Bilbo lost his balance, dropped his cup, and landed directly in the dwarf's arms. The grabby dwarf's hands went straight to Bilbo’s hips to keep him in place. Thorin was fuming. He slammed his mug down on the table in front of the dwarf, causing him to jump, then plucked Bilbo from his lap. For good measure, he knocked the rest of his mead over and into the dwarf's lap. Thorin walked them to another table before reluctantly setting him down.

“You save the day again.” Bilbo giggled. “Better watch out, or I’ll become dependent on you.” Bilbo was a mess. This state was far beyond anything he had seen him in before. He could barely form full sentences. Thorin pulled the cup he had managed to get his hands on from Bilbo’s clutch and set it out of reach. 

“I wouldn't mind you becoming dependent on me.” Thorin mumbled, “But right now, you should find somewhere safe to lie down.” Bilbo looked like he was going to protest but slumped forward instead, so his head rested on Thorin’s chest. Thorin was too intoxicated to resist leaning into the gesture. He brought his hand up and glided his fingers through the curls on the side of Bilbo’s head. Perhaps he would feel guilty in the morning, considering he was enacting this bold gesture in the middle of a room full of dwarrow. There was a part of him that wanted others to see. He wanted the room to know that this hobbit was off-limits. Bilbo was to be touched by the king's hand only. 

“Can you walk on your own?” Thorin rumbled. Bilbo didn't lift his head; he just shook it from side to side. “Are you ok with me carrying you?” Thorin had moved his hands to rest on Bilbo’s upper arms.      

“I don't wanna be an inconvenience or a burden. You can leave me here.” half the words Bilbo said were sloppy, but he heard ‘inconvenience and burden’ clear as day. Did Bilbo really think that's how Thorin saw him even after all this time? 

“Hey, look at me. It’s unsafe to just nap on a table in the great hall. I think I’ve drunk my fill anyhow.” Thorin lifted Bilbo off the table, and he didn't protest. Bilbo's legs wrapped around his middle, and his hands went around his neck. Thorin was incredibly careful where he put his hands. The press of Bilbo’s body against his was doing things to his mind that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system. Bilbo would never have to worry about being safe with him. He would rather fall on his own blade than enact his will on someone unwilling or impaired. His body, however, was threatening to give away the evidence of his rampant desire. Thorin tried to slow his breathing, and it almost worked before Bilbo all but moaned in his ear. 

“Why do you always smell so good?” Thorin tensed. Thankfully he was holding Bilbo above his waistline at this moment. Best, he gets out of the hall and get Bilbo to bed. He was near the doors when Dwalin stopped him. 

“Headed out for some fun? It’s about damn time.” Thorin turned to give him an incredulous look. “I’m your bodyguard and best friend; don’t look so surprised,” Dwalin chuckled. Thorin let out a huff. 

“No, he drank too much. I’m just putting him safely in bed.”

“If safety is the issue your room is the only one in Erebor that has active guards posted to it. Where do you intend to sleep tonight?” Dwalin knit his brow 

“On the floor, if I have to,” Thorin replied. He switched to speaking in khuzdul so that Bilbo would not hear what he said next. Not that Bilbo seemed particularly coherent for the conversation thus far.  “Oh, and one other thing. You saw the dwarf that pulled Bilbo into his lap?” Dwalin shook his head in confirmation. “I want him working third shift patrols for the next three months” Dwalin nodded in agreement. 

“Consider it done.” Thorin carefully walked them back to his room. It was the only full room yet recovered. Most of the company had set up in one of the open abandoned halls, and Dain’s men would spend the night in their tents. Or perhaps more likely, they would sleep where they lay after a night of near non-sop drinking. Thorin sat Bilbo on the edge of his bed and removed his hands from under his legs. Bilbo, however, did not remove his hands from Thorin’s neck. 

“This is your bed; you should lay on it too. It’s plenty big enough for the both of us.” Bilbo tugged at the sleeves of his tunic, pulling him forward. The invitation was tempting; he struggled against it as if it were being offered a pile of dragon gold.

“Please don't ask that of me,” Thorin choked. He was surprised at the melancholy look Bilbo was now giving him.    

“Dose the idea repulse you?” Bilbo pulled his knees back retreating in on himself. 

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite.” 

“Then why?” 

“Because you’re worse than gold to me, Bilbo! I’m afraid if you give me a taste of what it could be like to be near you, then I will beg for a whole meal, and I know you can not give me that. I couldn't condemn you to a life of rock and stone. I could not ask you to abandon the life you love to rule a broken kingdom at my side. I could not beg for your affection after nearly killing you in madness only days ago. You deserve rolling hills and a gentle lover. I can give you neither of those things.” He brought his hand up to Bilbo’s cheek on reflex, never letting himself actually touch the warm, smooth skin beneath his hands.  “I would not have you resent me for keeping you from true happiness even if I spent the rest of my days yearning for you.” Thorin felt raw. The alcohol in his system had lowered his guard, making him especially forthcoming but in this moment he felt sober. To his surprise, Bilbo leaned into his hand, forcing contact. Thorin nearly whimpered. 

“You don't get to choose for me what I decide my happiness looks like. Right now, happiness looks like laying down with the only person who’s ever made me feel truly safe.” Bilbo was half coherent. He pulled on Thorin’s tunic again, and he could not resist a second time. They slipped under the covers. Thorin’s arms wrapped around Bilbo as if it was the most natural thing to do, like a reaction he didn't know he had developed. Bilbo nestled himself under Thorin’s chin. “See, you’re plenty gentle.” 

Thorin lay there long after Bilbo’s small snores filled the room. He had never prayed to a Valar other than his maker before. Now he closed his eyes and prayed to Yavannah, Vala of all things green and growing, to allow one of her children to be happy living among her husband's creations.   

Let me know if you want to see any others!!

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Wild speculation here. I’m overthinking how fairy names (true names) work. Like is it given to you by your fairy parents? And in that case wouldn’t parents have the ability to make you do anything by conjuring your true name?? Is there an etiquette that makes it taboo to do that to your child? Does the child choose their own full name?

Im thinking about this cuz I wouldn’t put it past Cardan’s mom to use it as a wagering chip. Access to the King of Elfheim’s one true name is gotta be a big deal.

It’s _probably_ just a tiny loophole that wasn’t given much thought but damn if it doesn’t keep me up.

i love how you think, nonnie! and it's a question i've definitely had, too.

i happen to have already answered a similar question a while ago on a reblogged version of one of my asks (scroll to the bottom for how faeries might get their names), but maybe i'll expand upon it for you here in a new post.

to my knowledge, there is no concrete textual evidence for how faeries are given their true names (as of yet). that being said, here are some potential theories as to how things aren't a complete circus of faerie children always doing their parents' bidding:

they give themselves their true names- essentially, faeries don't have a true name until they reach speaking age and are able to give themselves a true name. in this theory, faerie parents would give them the name that everyone knows them by, and faerie children would not be able to be controlled by anyone until they could speak or know their true name.

there's a magical object that names them- a rock? a plant? a pope? something that is bound to never speak the name aloud.

faerie parents name their children, but must vow to never use the true name- maybe it's done through a name giving ritual shortly after birth. and, since faeries are bound by their word, they would never be able to speak the child's true name aloud.

along the same vein as the last one, faerie parents give their children their true names, but due to the strict etiquette of the fae, true names are considered to be an oath and/or an honour. if parents used their child's true name against them, it would be going back on their oath, or stripping them of their honour. which is not very chivalrous or fae-like at all.

perhaps they do use their child's true name and we just haven't seen this aspect of Faerie up close yet- this is definitely the darkest theory, though i expect this means there would be varying levels of use/misuse/abuse of true names by Faerie parents just as there are varying levels of use/misuse/abuse of power by parental figures in the mortal world. so perhaps some faerie parents are better about it than others.

though it is dark, i kind of like the complexity the final theory on this list. not only does it reflect real world power systems between parents and their children, it would also explain some things:

why Cardan got Asha everything she asked for. it was mentioned in QON that when Cardan was a child, Asha would demand that he get her whatever she wanted, because he was a prince of Faerie and he had the power to get it for her. i always presumed that Cardan complied because he wanted to please his mother, and because he thought it might garner her affection, but Asha speaking his true name could be another explanation for it.

Cardan's stance against forcing people to do something they don't want to do. if the final theory is true, and he grew up with Asha always abusing/taking away his free will in this way, it's easy to see how such a thing might truly repel him in the future. why he would feel obligated to return the compelled mortal servants to the mortal world. why he wouldn't shoot the apple off the top of the compelled mortal's head when Dain told him to.

potentially, Asha knowing Cardan's true name is why, when Jude went into exile, he didn't throw Asha right back into the Tower of Forgetting. because she commanded him not to using his true name.

–Em 🖤🗡

more on True Names and Marriage Vows

more on Cardan's True Name

more theories and analysis

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - Part 4

One tragic day changes Dahlia's life forever. Despised by her father and brother, she's spent her entire life trying to be the child and sister she use to be. But nothing she ever does is good enough. She joins the Rider's Quadrant to prove them wrong. Garrick now in his second year has proven he is more than the mark on his skin to his fellow riders, and taken leadership of his own Squad alongside Xaden. Little does he know the girl walking across the parapet is about to send him on a rollercoaster of a year.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist

“What the hell was that?” Dain asks as he rushes after me.

I roll my eyes at him. “Just leave it be Dain.”

I shouldn’t have said it. But I did. Dain was most likely going to go running to our father about it, but I couldn’t care. I was my own person here. No one really cared who I was. I wasn’t going to get any special treatment.

”No, you heard what father said only a few hours ago. And here you are already blowing it.” He hisses at me. Grabbing my arm to turn me to face him.

I rip my arm from his grip and shove him back. Luckily there is enough going on around us for no one to notice. Not exactly a good impression to already be shoving other cadets around.

”I am not blowing anything. I highly doubt Fen Riorson’s son is going to go running back to father and tell him what I said. It will be fine.”

”He could say someone to something else, then word spreads and you get us both in trouble.”

I roll my eyes. “You need to learn that his opinion isn’t everything. Be your own person Dain, you might be surprised what comes of it.” I hiss back before walking off into the crowd, leaving Dain to ponder my words.

All his life Dain tried to please our father in any way he could. Which honestly was easy for him thanks to me. Dain could have gone off the rails and still been the golden child in his eyes. Part of me hoped that this would be a reality check for him. Father wasn’t here to sing his praises, look after him. He was on his own, and no one cared who our father was. If anything it would put a target on our backs.

Dain and I had waited till later in the day to walk the parapet, meaning the rotunda is full of cadets. From what I had heard before climbing the stairs, nearly three hundred cadets had walked the parapet before me. But a decent chunk of those would have fallen victim to the parapet. I had heard countless screams while waiting my turn. It’s easy to tell the first years from the other cadets, standing at the back in small groups or on our own as they stand in squads or friend groups watching us.

A hush falls over the crowd, and I turn to see the last of the cadets walk into the rotunda, followed by Xaden and the other guy who had questioned me about my name. They’re easy to spot in the crowd, both of them towering over the majority of the cadets. Though his friend was significantly taller. Also helps nearly every cadet gives them a wide birth as they walk by to join the second and third years closer to the front.

”Two hundred and ninety of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today.” The all too familiar voice of Commandant Pancheck says, his voice carrying across the rotunda as he gestures to us. As per usual he’s talking with his hands. “Congratulations. Because eighty of you did not.”

Damn. That’s one of the higher numbers I had heard. Clearly the wind had claimed a few extra victims today. Or we had a bunch of cadets willing to kill anyone who stood in their way. Which sadly was not uncommon. But I can tell I’m not the only one with these thoughts, as whispers pick up around me.

”As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible! You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers and guided by your instincts. Now amount of training or who you are will prepare you for this.” His eyes landing on me before moving elsewhere in the crowd where I know Dain is standing. Wonder if father told him to include that in his speech. “If you survive Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation in three years.”

Three years. I could do this. Despite what Panchek said, my training would give me some advantages early on. I had spent countless hours training various weapons, weight training and running. Enough to prove myself. But after that, no amount of training could guarantee me a dragon at Threshing. Or take the target off my back once everyone knew who I was. The majority would not care who I was, but the marked ones would. And extra obstacle to overcome.

”Your professors will teach you. But it is up to you how well you learn and how you use that knowledge.” He gestures to the professors near the academic hall watching us all, before gesturing to the wingleaders behind him. “But your discipline falls to your units, and your wingleaders. And if I have to get involved…” The sinister smile I’ve seen too many times in my years spreads across his face, one that never fails to send a chill up my spine. “You don’t want me to get involved. But for now I leave you to your wingleaders. And try not to die.”

Easier said than done.

A male with blonde hair steps forward, eyes scanning the cadets in front of him. Just like the other second and third years, his uniform is altered to his liking. An upside to being in the riders quadrant, our uniform policy was on the looser side. His jacket is void of sleeves, in what I assume is a vain attempt to show of his muscles. Which honestly were nothing to talk about compared to some of the other cadets.

”I’m Damon, the senior wingleader of this quadrant and the head of the Fourth Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions. Squads take your positions accordingly.”

The cadets before me start to move into formation. Four wings. Three sections in each wing. Three squads in each section. Without the first years, a lot of the squads look quite empty. Obviously taking a hit from last years third years graduating, or not many first years surviving last year.

”First years. When your name is called, take up formation behind your quad leader.” Damon instructs as another wingleader steps forward. A short brunette who barely comes up to his shoulder.

One by one cadets names are read out in quick succession. Each cadet quickly taking their place with their squad. Dain’s name is called for Second Wing, Flame Section, Second Squad. I look up to see him take his place next to a girl with bright pink hair. She immediately scowls at him before turning her attention back to the front. God I hoped she gave him a hard time. And something tells me she would.

I breathe a sigh of relief as they move onto the next squad. I wasn’t going to be with Dain. Part of me had been worried we we’re going to be paired together due to our last name. But apparently luck had been on my side today. But despite that I can’t help but be nervous about where I will be placed. With each name being called, my heart beating faster and faster.

”Tail Section, Fourth Wing.” The brunette calls out.

The last section to be filled. This is where I would be placed. I look over to see the last three squads remaining to be filled. I immediately recognise two of the squad leaders. Xaden and his friend from earlier. Maybe the odds weren’t in my favour. Dain or father where sure to blame me for somehow being placed in a squad run by a marked one. First and Second Squad fill up, leaving one squad left. And one squad leader. Xaden.

”And lastly third squad.” She calls out. “Bodhi Durran.”

A boy that looks so much like Xaden, they could almost be brothers steps forward. As he passes Xaden he gives Bodhi a pat on the back. Definitely family.

”Dahlia Aetos.”

I step forward, feeling majority of the eyes on me as I walk towards my squad. Even Xaden turning to look at me. He hadn’t even turned to watch Bodhi walk forward. In front of him his friend also turns to look at me before briefly looking at Xaden, almost like he was worried or concerned. But Xaden doesn’t look remotely phased by me being in his squad.

I join Bodhi in the formation, standing tall and trying to keep my expression neutral. It doesn't escape me that Xaden's gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the brunette reading off the names. I let out a breath I didn't realise I had been holding, preparing myself for what's to come. Ready to prove that I belong here, no matter what my last name is.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch

[callsign-rogueone]

HII!! I LOVE YOUR FICS SO MUCH they're so so nourishing and make my day so much better 😭😭

Your older/age gap Brennan has me in an absolute chokehold and it's kinda embarrassing the number of times I've gone back to read it (also 100% agree with the tags, I swear I'm a self-respecting girl but sometimes I just wanna be his trad wife).

I was wondering if I could also request a jealous!Brennan? Or just like a posessive Brennan in general? I just feel like even though he's older and mature and so composed, maybe he forgets to turn off his 'commander voice' sometimes?

ANYWAY thank you so much for writing! Hope you have a great day 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

WAIT ALSO I love that you're a Dain Aetos-enjoyer because every time I look up his tag on tumblr I get so so sad at his top posts 😭 need more of you in the fandom. OK I'M DONE (REAL).

I normally don't respond to request asks until I'm finished with it but this one made my day and I feel the need to reply now so:

hello hi i love YOU. your comments give me life, literally. I gain 5hp every time I get a notification from you. your comments are always so nice 🥹 the one about the "required reading" made me literally laugh out loud in the middle of trying to tame my work's unpredictable beast of a photocopier, so that was a bright spot for me this morning. and your art is absolutely amazing.

agegap Bren also has me in a chokehold too. like, I love all of our boys, but mister Brennan Aisereigh nee-Sorrengail is a MAN. that's a whole husband right there. I was giggling and kicking my feet every time he spoke in Iron Flame. I literally tabbed each appearance he makes... drawing hearts in the margins...

I'll happily cook up some more possessive, jealous, dominant bren for you. I take my job of feeding my fellow Brennan girls very seriously 🫡

I am indeed a Dain Enjoyer. I'm not hiding it anymore, I'm speaking my truth. he's a bit of an idiot, but so are all 23-year-old boys, and he did the right thing in the end! also, he's hot. in my mind, he looks like Luke Newton (Colin) from Bridgerton (not how he looks in the show, but how the actor looks irl, with the beard... yeah. 🫠) the dain tag on here also makes me sad so I never look in it :( we need to make a "nice things about dain" tag or something. but the search function on this website is a mess lmao

sorry that my response was so long jhddf. but thank you again for being so nice 🥺 the fandom (and the internet) needs more people like you 💗

also I have your AO3 bookmarked, and as soon as my work contract ends and I actually have free time again, I will be seated with popcorn, ready to read all of it 🥰

[an-amber-in-the-ashes]

PLS write about the MMC with shadow powers trope, it feels like the grisha trilogy subverted it and then other authors just looked at the darkling, took him and ran with it straight 💀 fourth wing is so tropey man like why does xaden have shadow magic other than to solidify him as the angsty, brooding LI of colour for the petite white FMC

This is kind of long but bear with me

I do think that authors used to use shadow magic in books where they wanted the main characters to be different from the masses and to stand out. It was also a pretty good way for them to give characters weird and creepy powers in an elemental magic system.

I think it was new and novel and exciting at first but now it is just so oversaturated and overdone that I don't think anything new can be done to this trope.

At this point I literally just stop reading books whenever the MMC has shadow powers.

I can't help but feel like whenever the MMC has shadow powers, the character isn't really fleshed out at all and is just a carbon copy of all his predecessors.

'Omg look I'm so dark and mysterious and haunted. I have dark hair and dark eyes which suppress a glimmer of kindness, happiness etc. Everyone irritates me but I'm so loyal and protective towards my friends even though I treat them like crap.'

Like all of them are edgy white boys who were abused by some or the other person and hate the main character.

And like why does the main female character never have shadow powers, why can't she be mysterious and deadly and creepy and unhinged. (but thats a completely different thing I could go on and on about)

Another thing that confuses me is the logistics of it all. Like shadows aren't physical objects like fire or water, they are the absence of light. so theoretically if someone can manipulate shadows, they should be able to do the same with light.

The Darkling's powers confuse me the same way because he had been honing his skills for hundreds of years yet Alina managed to command at almost the same level in a few weeks. Make that make sense.

This is especially bad in newer 'booktok' fantasy books because they are basically an amalgamation of tropes arranged into a semi-cohesive thing specifically meant to sell. They have no heart at all and as a result are not original at all.

The author wanting to have their book be enjoyed by as many people as possible simply decides on a random magic system and throws in shadow powers as a way to include whatever they want in it. It just comes off as low effort at this point. They don't even try to do something new.

Fourth Wing being the poster child of unnecessarily long and trope fantasy novel is especially bad in this regard because Xaden is literally just a caricature of a mysterious fellow. I feel like Rebecca Yarros in trying to make him popular and interesting turned him into a shadow (pun intended) of what he could have been.

There were so many other interesting powers Xaden could have had. Like Dain (or whatever his name was) has an arguably better and more interesting power than him.

People freaking devour these books until they realise that its kind of bad actually and we never see them again

It's just that these days many books are designed to sell as fast as possible to a consumerist society and these books are the ones that succeed. Better books with better stories and better authors remain unpublished.

At the end, who wants to read books anyway, ao3 is where its at.

I kind of derailed at the end but this annoys me so so much. They are all the exact same 😭

[cannoli-reader]

My notes from watching the "Wheel of Time" Season 2 finale.

1:28 Is this going to become their “thing”, to have an AoL flashback at the beginning of every season finale?

1:32 Eight people in a circle, presumably Aes Sedai. No significance to this that I can see, but boy howdy do they love their overhead shots of circular patterns or images. Because the show is called “Wheel of Time,” doncha know? Which we wouldn’t, because apart from the departure from the actual Wheel of Time story, there is no sense of the Wheel of Time in this one. No references or allusions to the theme, no stories that could be other stories in a different turning, no servicing the point that knowledge and information change as they pass through hands, because everyone has a different perspective. Hell, this show does not even recognize any perspectives other than “the writers’ opinion” and “wrong.”

2:59 What, exactly are the Forsaken? Are they some sort of demon or god? They are being banished or sealed away with the use of a magic circle, so that’s what I am leaning towards.

Does anyone remember last season, when Ishamael told Rand that Lews Therin had 99 companions and failed to beat him? It looks here like he’s beating him with only 7. Kicking the can down the road 3000 years might technically be considered a failure, but on the other hand, if the Philistine Goliath popped up to start appearing in the people's dreams, would we consider David a failure?

Also, not to harp on an apparently irrelevant series of books, but Lews Therin died more than 3,750 years before Rand was born.

Finally, with all the “giving depth” and “humanizing” of Ishamael this season, plus the absolute failure of any world-building establishing what the conflict was, Lews Therin comes across as kind of a dick here.

3:29 I am watching the intro for the first time this season, and noting that the order in which the actors are named places the importance of the characters as follows: Moiraine Lan Egwene Nynaeve Rand Perrin Mat Elayne Loial “Magdalena” (who is this?) Dain Ishamael Fain Lanfear Aviendha

It’s possible that the order from Loial on down is purely alphabetical. But not the top ones. Then again, these writers might just be dumb enough to think Pike, Henney, Robbins, Madden, Stradhowski and Rutherford go before Finn in the alphabet…

4:25 LIARS! Got it out of the way early this week.

Imma put a cut here, because this is long.

4:53 Dain is wearing a Ren-faire sweater and is accompanied by clinking noises that I absolutely do not believe indicate he is wearing armor.

5:25 The old guy who advised a character to seek Aes Sedai Healing last season is here and in command of the Children. Also, he says they have a secret weapon to make the difference going up against a foe with greater numbers & supplies and in a defensive position. I think that’s what he meant. What he said was, that the enemy are better fortified. He is in a tent, so a pile of pillows in front of the enemy would make them “better fortified” and better fortifications are meaningless if you are planning a battle with hand-to-hand combat, because only one set of fortifications will come into play. If they are attacking yours, you have an advantage, and vice versa if you attack theirs. How good your fortifications are when you are attacking them does not matter.

5:56 So the Watchers at Falme sent out messages asking for help to every ruler and only the Children of the Light came. What are they doing? First of all, this is heavily ripping off the story of Stannis riding to the rescue of the Nights Watch from GoT/aSoI&F, and cramming it into a setting where it does not work. The Nights Watch sending letters to every king had to do with the fact that every king claimed dominion over the lands the Nights Watch protected, including the Watch itself, and thus had a concomitant duty to defend the Wall and aid the Watch. No such obligation exists for the rulers of the wetlands, since Falme acknowledges none of them as their own. Secondly, they are changing this story to make the Children heroic, coming to the aid of people in need, because the enemies are doing morally objectionable things. None of this fits with the depiction of the Children thus far.

6:18 If Prophecies are just the lies of long-dead witches, why are they so well known? Everyone even quotes the relevant line the same.

6:23 Lanfear doesn’t know any light spells? Or have we arbitrarily reinstated the “no channeling in the Ways” rule? How do they get out?

6:47 That was not a particularly clever twisting of Moiraine’s words. She was citing a past circumstance that is no longer applicable.

6:52 How can Lanfear see Moiraine got her power back? Is this a property of the ability to channel or a special skill lost to the current era?

7:11 I sort of like Lanfear for the first time, just for her putting Moiraine in her place.

7:31 Yes, Rand. Mention again that bizarre inconsistency, how you can’t channel in the Ways, but opening the gate requires it.

8:13 Aw, Journey of Destruction didn’t get any lines this season.

8:25 Another one of these desert cities.

Who cares about world-building? The locations are chosen so Rafe & Taylor can have nice tropical vacations while shooting.

8:37 What doesn’t belong here?

8:50 Have they ever explained what it means to wake from the dream? Since other parts of the story have been talking about Rand coming here to fulfil a prophecy, arguably, one might assume that Aviendha means people are going to be forced to confront a new reality.

10:15 “The most dangerous Forsaken” has just screwed up Ishamael’s plans by bringing Rand prematurely, when Ishamael is not ready and does not think Rand is prepared to choose their team. We have absolutely no reason to think otherwise, either.

11:36 What is the geography of this setting? Moments ago, Perrin & three Aiel women were approaching the city on a perfectly clear day. Now, somehow, it’s all dusty and the Seanchan can’t see anything, so they are moving deeper into the cloud, away from the open gates they are tasked with guarding. And I simply do not believe the thurible carried by the Children is responsible for the dust. And where did Perrin and the Aiel get to?

Also, what is the motivation of the Aiel to come to Falme? All we know about them is that two are not sexually interested in Perrin and one might be.

11:46 Oh, wait. Is that blurry thing that Short White Aiel said doesn’t belong here, the cloud covering the Children’s advance? But they are charging the gate that Our Heroes were approaching, so we still don’t know where they are…

12:07 Okay, so the Seanchan are grossly incompetent at military stuff and their troops have poor discipline. These are good facts to know, going forward.

12:17 I am dying. They gave Nynaeve raccoon eyes for her sul’dam disguise. I am literally having trouble typing from laughing.

12:37 They did her makeup before questioning the captive sul’dam for intel!

12:44 Renna, a newcomer to the continent, casually uses the Children’s slang nickname.

13:46 That was stupid. This is just bad writing. They are making Egwene implacably defiant, and have decided that defiance indicates strength and she is awesome, not stupid. And they create a threat to hold over her, and Egwene is still being stupidly awesomely defiant, so now they have to follow through, but Egwene calls their bluff and so Renna backs down and cuts off her braid saying it will hurt more. No sane person would remotely believe the loss of an important sensory organ and means of speech, which has actual nerve endings in it, is preferable to a haircut. And Egwene has clearly had her hair cut before, so it’s not like that hank is irreplaceable. FFS my nieces cut off more of their hair a few years ago to donate to cancer victims (I didn’t ask and have no idea what the cancer victims do with it).

We seem to be intended to be horrified because the braid is important to Egwene. It reminds her that she is alone but never alone. So now without it, I guess she is not alone, but always alone? It seems to have been the reason Nynaeve saved her life after Amalisa overchanneled them. It would be really funny if Nynaeve comes up to rescue her and then just stops and says “Where’s your braid? Oh well, she’s not really a woman, I guess you’re right, Renna, have fun with your pet.”

By the way, the implication of this narrative is that all the other damane suck, they aren’t victims of anything but their own timidity and weakness for failing to call the bluff of their sul’dam. Feminism FTW!

13:50 And now that bitch stepped on the braid! No going back from this!

15:20 Remember the big question this season as to whether or not Moriaine was stilled? Now we’re doing it with Mat and the dagger. Is he Healed or not? The show is treating this like some sort of addiction, rather than a preternatural affinity.

15:34 When someone says they will give you anything, and you want something they are currently in possession of and physically capable of giving you, the smart thing to try is asking them for it.

15:52 Nynaeve has told this woman twice “Don’t lie to me” and the woman has not made a single statement that could be construed as a lie, unless Nynaeve thinks “I will give you anything" is a lie. In which case, what does she expect to get out of this conversation? Is her subject going to have to say “Okay, sorry, I was lying, I won’t give you anything.” Then what?

16:49 Is Rand trying to hide his identity from the Seanchan? Is he famous here in Falme? Or maybe he’s trying to be inconspicuous, with this cloak covering him like we have zero other people doing. “What’s that man doing lurking in that alcove?” “What’s he wearing?” “I can’t tell, he is thoroughly wrapped up in a cloak, covering his hair as well.” “Oh, he must be harmless then. Only people with visible clothing are a threat. Ignore him.”

17:03 The purpose of that scene was to show Rand seeing what he came to Falme expecting to find.

18:20 Why isn’t the dagger having any sort of effect on Fain? Why would he want to give it to Mat, if it is so addictive?

19:05 I am so sick of the relationship bullshit drama between Moiraine and Lan. Why are we supposed to care about it, in the face of the epic battle between good and evil, with other characters facing enslavement, threats of assassination or forcible conversion to evil?

20:13 So if Moiraine can say, while bound to speak the truth, that she has always known Lan to be her better, what is the problem with the bond? Why doesn’t she do what her better is asking and get on with the story?

21:11 What is actually going on with the bond? Up until now, every word on the show has suggested one of two things, that Moiraine masked it, or that it was lost as a consequence of her being stilled. Since the latter is not true, why does unmasking the bond seem to require her to re-bond him? She did nothing like this before going off to hook up with Siuan or head out for the Blight.

21:40 How did they get into the city? Why did the Seanchan let a trio of Aiel in?

22:07 Badass Shienaran is Maseema. We have his name, in the finale.

22:13 So we just got these guys escaping their slave situation and recovering the Horn all on their own, off-screen, with the help of someone who is clearly not Moiraine but the show wants us to think it was. Am I forgetting something? Was there a scene of Lanfear helping them escape? Last I remember seeing Loial, he was talking to Nynaeve & Elayne.

22:29 Tell the barbarian savage warriors standing right there, just how important the object you carry is, why don’t you? If I have no idea what they want and what their motivation is, why isn’t Ingtar concerned?

22:44 Loial argues that they are main characters and obligated by the plot to rescue their fellow main character. He addresses this comment as well to a trio of Aiel he has just met, but not Maseema, with whom he has crossed the continent and endured slavery and retrieved the Horn of Valere.

22:49 That argument swayed Ingtar.

23:54 Some of the Children are fighting for their lives and the others are simply strolling in formation like they are in a white pride rally chanting “take the Tower, burn the witches.”

24:03 How interesting that despite all the efforts to make Egwene out as this staunch heroine who cannot be broken, they had her do a heel turn awfully fast, just because someone cut her hair a little shorter. Whatever your opinion might be of the Children, they are objectively good and in the right this episode, and Egwene has just betrayed everything by fighting them on behalf of the Seanchan. When they want to show her defiance and strength, they show her being petty and recalcitrant over unimportant things, and when they present her with a moral conundrum for the first time, they have her utterly fail.

The bad thing is, I don’t think they realize this is the story they are telling. I think they believe she is the coerced victim here who cannot be responsible for her actions, just as they thought Renna was escalating by going from threatening to cut out her tongue, to cutting her braid shorter.

And how do the sul’dam see what their charges are aiming at, when they are a step down and behind?

24:58 Expectation subverted! Sword duel that teaches Rand a valuable lesson? Nah. Note that Socially Conscious Rand did not kill the Voice.

25:33 Ingtar is observing that the Aiel women understand battle well. He has not seen them fight, just make hand gestures as they walk the streets of the city, but that’s all he needs. I guess no one noticed how well Aiel fight, in that war 20 or 21 years ago?

26:32 Ingtar, this is why you never leave your wingman! He clearly does not understand battle well, since he charged out alone and away from his companions, to no effect.

Is there some reason we are supposed to think anything other than “What a chump!”?

27:06 Moiraine called Lanfear the most dangerous Forsaken earlier this season, and now she is saying only Lanfear was freed because the others are too dangerous.

If I am going through all this effort to watch your stupid show, writers, I think the least you could do would be to watch it, too.

27:32 So if Lanfear and Ishamael were BFF with Lew Therin, how did they come to be known as Forsaken? What does it mean that they are Forsaken. Why were they and their fellow Forsaken fighting the Dragon? Don't quote some books you read to answer my question. This show has violated so much book material they do not get to lean on it.

27:38 Moiraine is just now realizing that they are on the beach near Falme, despite Lanfear’s final words telling her to do her part for the prophecy due to occur ... at Falme.

27:42 Is Domon shopping, with the city under attack, or looting like some low class scumbag?

27:58 Domon can’t you see the eye shadow? What 'good lady' on this show wears that?

28:17 The man who was picking up crap that was sold in sidewalk stalls (i.e. not very valuable), is now suddenly more concerned with survival than taking a risk to acquire riches.

28:40 A tiny broken piece of cuendillar is worth several horses, but that tiny half-empty bag contains enough money to persuade him to throw six intact cuendillar objects into the ocean.

And is there any reason Lanfear can’t accomplish the same task without a ship captain?

31:42 Mat has spent a fair share of time in a cell this year, and has learned that there is usually more than one way out of them. “Usually” he says, referencing his sole experience with a single cell.

Just being in a jail cell gives you the ability to figure your way out of any locked room. Chipping away the mortar on the stones of one cell, to get access to another, and then being allowed to leave through the door, teaches you to gimmick an ashandarei out of an evil magic dagger and also imparts the knowledge that sticking the dagger into a keyhole will activate its evil powers to melt the lock.

Why is the dagger cooperating with someone who won’t take it up and let it mess with his head?

32:00 Are we ever going to get an explanation of how Loial survived a similar wound from that same dagger? Or is this another instance of them forgetting last season’s finale?

33:08 When psycho ladies rain fire down on a city, we must always have a white horse running through the confusion.

33:27 They are taking a long time with this disciplinary issue. And why did Egwene step down from the parapet and obligingly kneel in the middle here? Renna looks increasingly like a chump, which does no favors for Egwene’s image in defeating her.

33:41 I was always for giving the Children of the Light a chance, but now that they have prevented Egwene from losing her tongue, I can see that they are wrong and evil and can only do or be evil. Ecrasez l’infame!

And Dain seems somewhat surprised at the efficacy of siege engines. This might fit in a book series where trebuchets might not actually exist, and ballistae are just being invented, but projectile launching devices were used in the Aiel War in this setting. Maybe he is surprised that they are having more effect against a stationary tower, than they had against light infantry?

34:10 Okay, that looked like Nynaeve, Elayne & their captive just strolled past the Children of the Light’s unit, who did not lift a finger against these “witches”, whom they are intent on killing to make their capture of the city possible.

35:43 Why are the Aiel walking through a battlefield … well, at all, since I have no idea why they are here, or what they want … but what I was going say was "unveiled" ?

35:52 Good thing Maseema’s cool working with a bunch of foreigners. I guess he knows that Aiel are much more trustworthy than other people and so he can afford to work with them to protect the Horn.

Imagine if he had some other opinion?

35:59 Seriously, Aiel woman who might want to have sex with Perrin, what in that fog made you veil when the actual combat your party was in a little while ago did not?

36:25 Mat has, in case anyone has forgotten, seen an Aiel before, and got a good look at their distinctive garb as well as a briefing on them from Thom. More than anyone, he should have known them for what they are at first sight.

36:51 I am not crediting Egwene’s act of defiance for enabling the Children’s attack to succeed. They had plenty of time to reconfigure their positions. The other sul’dam commented on Renna losing control and Renna pulled her out of the line to kneel for another tongue bluff. Someone else was watching that sector. Also, hitting their position does not mean that the projectile came from the direction Egwene was supposed to be watching. She was being directed to shoot fireballs down into the streets, and the missile came from above. And because it flew through the air, launched from beyond the city, it could have come from any direction, since they did not establish the direction Egwene was facing, relative to the siege engines.

36:57 What good is putting the collar on Renna supposed to do?

37:43 Why did that work? Is Egwene wearing the bracelet to her collar? Renna is still wearing hers, and Egwene is still collared, so why is Egwene not getting the feedback of what Renna is suffering?

38:13 Nothing Egwene is doing has changed the fact that she is being held by a trained woman with far more experience using the a’dam. This is just plot armor, again, like the last time she was a captive and Valda decided not to look at her or do anything about the prisoner who just got free in his tent.

39:30 Our heroine just murdered a helpless prisoner. And this writers’ pet is the one for whom Nynaeve is continually stripped of in-book accomplishments, and has been made into an ineffectual chump.

41:15 Show viewers have not been given enough reason to care about this relationship in which they are randomly affectionate or not, and Book readers know he has two superior love interests in danger in the streets below.

41:42 The Forsaken chucking these insufferable versions of Our Heroines around the set will never not be entertaining.

42:46 So you can channel at someone you can’t see, inside a city, while you are in a ship offshore. This apparent lack of a limit will be very interesting when employed in future episodes.

43:06 I must point out that this show has told us fuck-all about what Lews Therin did in his last life.

43:45 If you wanted to make Ingtar have a heroic sacrifice, this might have actually been a good time for it, instead of at a random moment where it really didn’t seem to matter, since they were still in the midst of the battle.

43:59 Where would we be without the Whitecloaks!

I am laughing my ass off because all the woke dipshits who lap up the changes the show made absolutely hate the Children of the Light. The subreddit group that is critical of the show calls itself Whitecloaks, and I saw someone on social media bragging about getting it shut down. These people also call fans who criticize the show Bookcloaks.

And now they’re the heroes.

Incidentally, last we saw of her, Egwene could use their bathing services.

44:22 Nynaeve and Elayne look like they are having a pooping contest.

45:03 Is Hopper going to die saving Perrin from Valda?

46:08 Perrin is running out like he is going to hunt down the people fighting slavers, because one of them killed an animal with no way to know the extenuating circumstances.

46:20 Fuck you, Perrin.

What he did in the books was wrong, but excusable, as he was under mental duress he was not prepared for and did not choose and was attempting to reject.

This was just premeditated murder.

For the record, the score for this episode for murders of people who are active members of organizations fighting for the Light and against the Shadow, by Our Heroes, is 2.

46:45 I wonder who is going to answer the Horn, since we have not heard of a single legend, or the name of a hero in this setting. A doll being named Birgitte does not count.

47:15 Is it just going to be some nonsensical power-up? Because they said when they introduced it in the Episode That They Keep Forgetting About, that it was supposed to call the Pattern’s greatest heroes to fight at their side.

47:30 Fuck. It’s going to be them, isn’t it? The characters are the Pattern’s greatest heroes.

47:52 Oh, good. I mean, I have no idea who these people are supposed to be, so it doesn’t mean much, but whatever. At least it's not teleporting all the MCs we just saw in the montage to Mat's side.

47:56 I do know who they are supposed to be and it’s even worse! That’s Uno and Amalisa in the front. FUUUUUUCK.

For the record, Uno died pointlessly, spitting defiance at the Seanchan. Old Man Bornhald was fighting the Seanchan far more effectively, doing more good for the world, when Perrin murdered him. Amalisa got two heroic women killed with her ineptitude, and would have killed two more had they not saved each other, all after letting thousands of men be massacred with her inactivity. Why are they bound to the Horn?

48:15 Aquaman?

48:43 Mat is desperately trying to remember a legend about a foul-mouthed one-eyed man to figure who is this stranger on his left. And I actually don’t think that’s Amalisa.

49:00 As a Show Viewer, I have no idea what he said or what it means. As a Book Reader, I know that it makes absolutely no sense in this context. (for those who forgot, he just yelled the Old Tongue motto of the Band of the Red Hand, "It's time to roll the dice" which alludes to battle being a gamble and they take pride risking their lives, since their theme song is about dancing with death, and also Mat's incredible luck. Mat's luck has not been established and these are immortal spirits risking nothing in this combat, so far as we know, and since we saw one of them die, who is now active again, we can guess as much)

49:35 While the Horn of Valere was being sounded and Mat leading the Heroes into battle, and Rand confronted Ishamael, Perrin is desecrating the corpse of his murder victim.

Have I mentioned Fuck you, Perrin?

49:57 Uno smoke-ported here to attack the men fighting the villains who murdered him in his last life, whom he was summoned to fight. The Children are literally doing his job, and he attacks them. Because Main Character Morality.

51:32 Nynaeve's and Elayne's story is just suffering porn.

52:00 I guess the Horn made Rand remember past lives, while not having any effect on anyone else? Because they sure as shit have not done anything in 16 episodes to set up or justify Rand’s insistence that he has never served Ishamael. For that matter, they haven’t actually had him assert that Rand has or will.

52:32 AHAHAHAHAHA! You can’t fuck with Prophecies!

They’re really just mashing together book elements. Wow.

Who cares about context or meaning or whether they make sense? And the show simps are going to call this genius and economical storytelling.

53:42 Years ago, I wrote parody retellings of the story depicting Egwene as the unrealistically perfect hero and then gave it up because Sanderson’s account of her fight with the Seanchan was more ridiculously over the top than anything I could devise? Rafe Judkins managed to top him.

54:16 Moiraine will let a thousand innocent people die if it means Rand will live, because that is what it means to support him. But that is not what Lan is saying. His point is that she has no idea how their actions relate to Rand. He is not saying “Is Rand worth it?” He is saying “We have no idea what the situation is or what actions will help Rand and what actions will serve the Forsaken’s goals.”

54:22 But he accepts her statement, because Script.

54:33 Some bad guys randomly showed up on this beach, coming from a direction they have no reason to be coming from, for no reason other than to give Lan a redemption fight.

55:43 Hi Elayne!, Meet your future rebel-turned-vassal, arms dealer and sperm donor!

56:12 She limped through a battle and up a really high tower with a hole in her thigh, because her friend was useless but another friend needed help and is now Healing the prophesied savior of humanity. Should we have had her in the first season?

Nah, we needed time for Dana the Dumpy Darkfriend and Stepin the Tragic Warder, whose story actually had absolutely no bearing on the arc we thought it was setting up this season.

That being said, why did she think it was more important to Heal him instead of helping Egwene fight?

Also, they were trying to make this a big emotional reunion between Rand and Egwene when he arrived on the scene, and then we had her stand between him and the most powerful servant of the Dark … and in the middle of it all, he gets a love-at-first-sight gaze with some random chick who is basically here because she didn’t have any friends.

By the way, is there anyone who can’t Heal? I’m not even kidding. The first on-screen action of a wolf on this show was to lick Perrin’s wound, which he might have taken in Shadar Logoth. For all we know, Wolf-Healing is a thing Perrin can do now.

56:45 Of course, we had to set up Moiraine’s critical contribution.

57:00 What were Suroth & her Voice reacting to?

57:10 The Voice was facing the other direction from Moiraine’s weaves! Everything about this shot says she is flinching away from their approach, but she should not be able to see it coming.

Assuming she can see the weaves, when last episode or so, you had to be a channeler or ex-channeler to see weaves.

57:19 Moiraine was behind the ships and her weave hit them in the prow!

58:19 Should we be impressed by this little mark on his hand, when he was just impaled with a fiery dagger-spear of Evil and had it fixed by a person who is present?

58:39 A better response to Ishamael saying “do you see it, Lews?” would be “My name is Rand!” Followed by a stomp. Stop indulging this frenemy bullshit.

59:25 What is going to be the excuse for Moiraine not channeling to solve other problems on a scale of sinking multiple Seanchan vessels, going forward?

59:34 They have said that prophecy more times in this episode than in the entire book series.

59:42 Okay, why did Lan drop into a superhero landing pose? Is that his “help Moiraine channel” position?

1:00:45 Thank the Whitecloaks! They saved you guys! Rand & co just showed up after they took out all the damane (and one of his companions was one of your oppressors).

1:00:50 Oh, hey Aviendha. Glad you and your friend who would sleep with Perrin and your friend who wouldn’t, could be here. Why was that again?

1:01:03 Please, please cut to Elyas looking up from lifting his leg against a tree somewhere.

1:01:08 D’aw! Look, even Lanfear is proud of you, Rand!

1:01:24 Loial really should be on the tower with the rest of the gang, narratively speaking.

1:01:55 Right, shouldn’t she be getting some cargo to Domon? What has she been doing all this time?

One of them is going to be freed, aren’t they?

1:02:08 More than one. “Softly, softly” I believe, is canonically Moghedian’s line. “My way is best. Softly, softly, in the dark,” but that doesn’t mean anything. Could be Semirhage, since the shallow dipshit segment of the fandom thinks she’s the most badass.

1:02:12 IDK if that’s binding goop from her prison, or if Moghedian is actually a lunatic who plays with spiders and webs.

1:02:52 She actually has spider-themed powers.

1:03:43 Book!Moghedian would not dare risk taunting or failing to strike a foe of actual stature. She thought she could get away with it with a couple of untrained girls, but Lanfear in this position would be dead. She would not say “when I strike, I don’t miss” to an enemy she was confronting, she would have already struck.

1:04:00 “All five of them…” Which five? Perrin, whose contribution was to bring a shield that he was given because Uno wandered off from the main fight instead of just giving it to Mat or showing up on the Tower his own self? Nynaeve, who was Black, and a Woman? But not Elayne, who was more heroic than either of them?

1:04:25 “Light help you, Rand al’Thor.” The problem with this show is that the writers are so stupid, I can’t tell whether that’s just a dumb error in word choice that a character would never say, or a hint that’s she’s repentant or secretly working against the Shadow. I mean, Dark.

1:04:34 Okay, according to the credits, Bain is played by Ragga Ragnars, who is 6’2” according to IMDb, and played Gunhild in “Vikings,” while Chiad was played by Maja Simonsen, who is only 5’8”. Now you can tell them apart on re-watches. The irony is, I have been differentiating them based on the only thing we are told about them, that one would and one would not sex Perrin, and now I don’t remember which one Aviendha said was which.

1:04:36 Someone named Helen Tran played Amaresu, who was a Hero of the Horn ITB, so I guess that’s who took the Horn from Mat, whom I thought was Amalisa.

Wow. Wowie wow wow wow. This was the show’s worst case yet of randomly cutting and pasting stuff from the books with no regard for set-up, pay-offs or context. It was also the worst case of robbing Nynaeve of accomplishments, of promoting Egwene and of ignoring objectively bad things the characters do, all rolled into one.

Seriously, how would the plot of his episode have been different if Nynaeve had suddenly died in Ryma’s safehouse of an allergic reaction to eye shadow? Considering the anatomical nonsense otherwise seen on this show, there is no reason Elayne could not have limped her own ass up to the tower. Or, hey, you could have had a meet-cute with her and Aviendha, and then she could have helped Elayne and been on the tower-top as well, and we’d even have the same racial balance.

In the whole season, aside from filling screentime, Nynaeve’s major contribution to the plot was Liandrin cutting her bonds to allow them to escape the Seanchan, because Liandrin is randomly super invested in Nynaeve. We don’t know why. The show tried to claim she was trying to recruit Nynaeve for the Black Ajah, but how is that supposed to work if she disrupts Nynaeve being taken prisoner as she was ordered by Ishamael. Also, note that Egwene was present to defend Rand, and Elayne to Heal him, solely because of Ishamael’s orders that they be brought to Falme and turned over to the Seanchan. Why are we supposed to have taken him seriously as an antagonist again? If he comes back down the road, should we be scared, or elated that the Light is going to benefit from a bunch more own goals?

But back to Nynaeve, we have her failing to learn to channel, then pushing back against Liandrin, then being made to take the Accepted test, and then suddenly Liandrin is taking them to Falme, where she mostly carps and bitches, Ryma and Basan do all the work before dying stupidly. Nynaeve and Elayne capture a sul’dam to use to infiltrate the damane kennel, but she gets shot and that goes nowhere. She pushes the crossbow bolt through Elayne’s leg, but I have strong reservations about the efficacy of that treatment, especially since she just left the wound uncovered afterward, and whether or not it would make it easier for her to walk on. And then she helps Elayne up to the Tower, where she does absolutely nothing! Why even is she a character? Remember when people took issue with the multicultural casting of the inhabitants of an isolated town whose limited breeding pool was a plot point for two separate issues, the dipshits all shrieked about how important it was to see a Strong Black Heroine? Congrats, ladies! Hope you’re happy.

Rand’s interactions with Ingtar in the books seeded his leadership arc and his coming to accept his role and purpose. But they never even met on the show, and yet, the show felt compelled to stick a bunch of his big moments in there with another character, which had no relevance to that other character’s arc, and they also excised the detail in his backstory that made all those moments important for his arc and the plot!

With Ingtar rendered pointless in hindsight, how did Perrin help matters? As noted above, the plot forced an opportunity for him to wield Dead Uno’s shield against Ishamael, but it required yanking Uno to a different location in the fight to make that happen, and Mat could have got it from Uno if he had just stayed near the Hornsounder. All Perrin did was murder Bornhald Sr., who was a legit hero of this season, and free Aviendha, who also might as well not have been in this season, except to say a nonsense word no WoTcher would understand.

Most of the season was taken up with Moiraine and Lan’s relationship squabbles that were based on something that wasn’t real and a conflict Moiraine claims, while bound to speak truth, did not exist. We got a LOT of the adventures of the Pervert Trio, starring Rafe Judkin’s boyfriend. We got Elayne, whose white privilege pushed her ahead of Nynaeve as a hero for the events of Book 2. We got a pointless Accepted Test that apparently only tested whether or not you were smart enough to come in out of the rain, instead of anything like your commitment to the White Tower or your ability to perceive the falsity of a scenario. The magic system has no discernable rules and is not congruent with the books, which translates into nothing more than a mechanism of plot convenience. We were introduced to the power of a wolfbrother, which makes you racist specieist against white people fighting the Seanchan humans in favor of wolves. We got more Min viewings, which proved inaccurate, again. If you were paying attention, there was an actress who got to play a member of both Ravenclaw House and the Brown Ajah. There was a midget Aes Sedai. Siuan was obnoxiously arrogant and condescending and the show demanded we care about her because she and Moiraine were sooo in love.

Just garbage, all the way down.