#my resourceful clever boy

[echthr0s]

been tryna ignore it but I am so goddamn annoyed at "human" as the default adjective for every kind/lovely/awe-inspiring/whatever thing y'all like about people/characters/concepts/whatever. frex, posts with the framework of "I love it when characters do the thing, it's just so beautiful and human" like give me a break

and i tried to ignore it bc this is very much a me-as-nonhuman problem as opposed to there being something actually wrong with that descriptor but that's a poor reason to ignore being aggravated, tbh. like yeah it's a me problem but 1) it's not just a me problem bc other nonhumans complain about it all the time and 2) it's literally fine for me to care about something that other people don't lmao

it's just so anthropocentric in such a casual way, a casual and unexamined equation of [goodness or sociability or intelligence or complexity of mind or complexity of emotion or capacity of compassion] with being human. that doesn't even make any sense but it's so ingrained in speech (in English, anyway) that if I tried to explain my frustration to anyone that wasn't also nonhuman, or alterhuman, or aware of this in some other way, they'd be like "lmao you're kidding right. you're making up something to be mad at" yeah well I Am Not

just tired of reading posts and bein like "yeah!! that's so good, I love when that happens" and then gettin to the "it's so ~human~" part and goin "well fuck me then" and scrolling on instead of happily reblogging. sure I could just reblog it anyway but now I don't fkn want to :)

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our girl – Part 3

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: Grief/depression

The Spring Court lake had weathered the same depletion as the rest of the state. Empty wooden cabins sat abandoned and unused, the sand had turned grey and the flourishing fruit trees that once aligned it hacked down to stumps. Hybern had drained Spring Court of so much of its natural resource and beauty. 

“It’s a disturbing sight, isn’t it?” your uncle muttered, placing two steaming mugs of tea at the table beside you, joining you on the porch. His bark-like skin had weathered and aged since the last time you had seen him, untold sorrows hiding in his deep within the ripples. What atrocities had he witnessed during the war? And what bargains had he had to make to keep his own cabin standing amongst a sea of homes destroyed?

“I’m so sorry Finbark. I should have returned to help you sooner,” you said, your heart clenching as the males eyes warmed with a pain smile. 

“I did not write for a reason. I would never want to drag you into this mess,” he said, waving his hand to the desolate land around him. “Not when you were so aligned with an enemy court.”

You raised the mug to your lips, casting your eyes to the lake before blowing on the hot liquid. He was right, you had no business entering Spring Court at a time like that, never mind that you were completely preoccupied with serving your duties alongside Cassian and Azriel. Gods, your heart ached more than it should just at the thought of them.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying not to dwell. “It sparkles the same,” you spoke distantly, distracting yourself. “The lake, I mean. It still sparkles in the way I remember.”

Finbark chuckled, his eyes warming again. “You and Meryl spent so much time in that lake, I remember your parents debating on how they would have to bribe the two of you out of it.”

You forced a smile back, clenching your mug a little tighter. 

“It was the same for my cousin’s nephews, they adored playing in the water, they would beg their Aunt to come stay for weeks on end.”

“Whatever happened to them?” you asked, unsure if you could handle the truth. 

“Of Alis and the boys?” He paused then, clearing his throat. “They fled to Summer, with some luck and no deniable assistance from your High Lady.”

You had to physically swallow at Feyre’s mention, but the relief was greater to know Finbark’s family was safe. “Well, she’s no longer my High Lady,” you corrected. 

“I’m sorry, I don't mean to upset you.”

“Not at all Fin,” you smiled softly before drawing a deep breath. “I know she is a generous and caring ruler, and I’m grateful your family is safe. I only wish I could have done more.”

“I was protected too Y/N. How do you think it is my home is still standing, or that I am here at all? I’m clever, but not that clever,” he winked. “I have no doubt my relation to Alis and your parents kept me well and safe during the war. No wagons found the trail to my home, no one knocked on my door demanding answers or resources, or to pick up a weapon and fight. It was if I didn't exist at all.”

It clicked then – of course. Alis had been Feyre’s maid at the Spring Manor. Feyre had spoken of her so fondly. And you had been so worried for Finbark’s safety, confiding in your High Lady who had merely comforted you at the time, reassuring you that he would be safe. She and Rhys never mentioned their connection, or the magic they spent to keep Finbark hidden. Your heart ached at the reminder of their generosity. 

“Y/N?” your uncle waved a rippled hand in front of your face, and you blinked before straightening, drawn back from your thoughts. 

Fin sighed with a knowing look. “You don't need to feel guilty about the magic that kept me safe, sweetheart. They wronged you in a very serious way.” 

Your eyebrows clenched as you blinked back the sting of tears. “But they are good people Fin, the lot of them.”

Finbark’s hand rested atop of your forearm, his face soft with understanding. “It changes very little, young spark. The damage is all the same.” Your uncle once again waved his hand out to the barren land around you.

You stood now, setting your tea down – you needed to get out of your head. “I will make one more trip to town tonight, there are some homes still without firewood.”

“At this time? You’ve been working since dawn Y/N, why not rest? It’s not as cold tonight.”

But you were already reaching for your axe. The more you moved, the less you would have to think. “It’ll be alright uncle, I’ll return before midnight.”

He didn't say anything further as you sheathed the weapon to your back, heading up the trail to town where the sun had already began to set. 

————

It had been five months since you had found home in Spring Court. 

At first, you found work serving your uncle’s town. Much of the remaining fae had rural upbringing, with little skill to sustain themselves after their farms, once lush with crops and animals, were destroyed. 

Word spread quick of help from an outside court, and when you were sure the locals could stand on their own two feet, you began to travel, finding town after town with more fae in need. So began your course, trailing further away from your uncle’s cabin at the border and nearing the centre of the court.

Magic found you easier here too. Whether it was the exhaustion from a hard days worth of work, or that you rarely had a moment to think about yourself, you didn't know.

Soon enough, you learned to summon your sparks, lighting fires in homes in an instant or heating food and teas for the ill. It wasn’t much, but you had never yielded so much control, and didn't remember a day when you hadn't feared your abilities since Meryl’s death. Finbark was particularly delighted when you showed him your new trick, clapping with a cheer, reminding you of why he dubbed you young spark.

So much of Spring Court reminded you of your sister, and while it had never been your home, memories of pleasant holidays surrounded by loved ones seemed to wait at every garden, field or bubbling brook you encountered. You welcomed those memories, letting grief wash over you when it came, using it to fuel your determination to keep on working. Grief was a weapon of kinds, and you were only now learning to yield it. You would build a better world for those who were left behind, just like you. 

And over the course of those months, the land around you slowly came to life. Not from your work alone, but as the fae of Spring Court worked together to heal and rebuild, the land began to give back. The grass was greener and more lush now, flowers blossomed instead of dying at the bud, and trees bristled as gentle breezes passed through their luscious leaves. The land wasn’t yet singing, but it began to hum – it was healing, and so were you. And you were sure somewhere out in these lands, so was its High Lord. 

————

“Damn it Rhys! Let us go!” Cassian slammed his fists on the table, silver cutlery and porcelain plates rattling at the force. 

Rhys’s gaze was cold as he glared back at the General. “No,” was all he answered. 

Feyre fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her dinner now cold where her knife and fork set at her plate minutes ago when tension began to brew. She knew there would be another fight tonight – neither Cassian or Azriel had taken the order to begin training the new recruits at the House of Wind well. It reminded them too much of Y/N, and they had spent five months furious with both her and Rhys for placing them on court arrest, stopping them from scouting Prythian to find you.

“Feyre, please,” Cassian begged, his brow clenched in anguish. 

She swallowed, her heart pulling at his pain. “You know we can't Cass, Rhys gave her his word.” The black ink-like marking on her forearm itched at the mention, the symbol of a cross inside a triangle – a treasure and its whereabouts locked in secret. The mark had appeared the same moment Rhys had promised to not trail your location, an identical mark etched to his forearm too.

As part of that promise, the High Lord and Lady had ordered Cassian and Azriel against anything they could do to find you – there was to be no tracking your scent, no using intel from other courts, and no leaving the Night Court to investigate.

Cassian roared in frustration, throwing his head in his hands, gripping at the roots of his hair. “We only want to know she’s safe. If you care for us at all–"

“Enough Cassian!” Rhys bellowed, night filling every void of the room. Everyone froze. 

Rhys pinched his nose, the clouds of his magic lower to a thick fog that covered the floor. “You do not question our care for anyone in this family.”

Azriel spoke then, stiff and stoic from his seat. “It is worth the breach of the bargain you made. We will burden the consequence.”

“It’s not just for the consequence, Azriel,” Feyre answered, meeting the Shadowsinger’s hardened stare. “This was Y/N’s choice. How do you think she will feel knowing we have breached her trust again?”

“I will deal with that after I know she is safe.”

Rhys ran a hand over his face before rubbing at his temples. “As I have said countless times, you will not be granted permission to track her.” Rhys’s power tightened then, yanking on a leash he had kept around the General and Shadowsinger’s necks for months.

“How can you do this to us?” Azriel seethed, knuckles white from where the gripped the table. 

“I don't know Azriel. Perhaps the same way I kept Y/N grounded when you ordered her unfit to kill Alvar.”

Azriel stood then, his seat thrown back. “How dare you,” he spat, shadows racing towards the High Lord.

Rhys stood too, night magic clashing with shadows, a fight for dominance. “Calm yourself,” Rhys growled, staring the Shadowsinger down.

Mor sighed, swirling the wine in her glass from where she sat, fingers strumming the table impatiently. “Can we not go a single dinner without it turning to a fight?” she said flatly, before drawing a long sip.

Azriel’s teeth drew back to a snarl as he whipped his head to her. “Since when did you become so heartless?”

Mor stood, levelling her brown eyes at the Shadowsinger. “Don’t be a fool, I care for Y/N just as much as you. But I trust in my High Lord and Lady to dow that is right. When was the last time you exercised that same loyalty you swore to this court?” Mor paused before speaking again. “You’ve become undone, the both of you. And you will unravel this family if you continue down this path.” 

Feyre threw Mor a grateful look.

Shadows continued to bulk at Azriel’s frame. “She is our love, Mor. Are we not worthy of her whereabouts?”

“No,” Mor said, her voice flat and cold. “You are not. That is your consequence for holding her too tight.”

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his eyes widening as he recoiled ever so slightly. Cassian could not raise his head from where it still hung in his hands, but for a moment he stopped breathing.

Mor softened then, seeing how deep her words had cut. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still stern. “But it’s true. And I’m tired of having our family torn apart because of a decision that was her right to make. We have to rebuild what is here, what we have left. Otherwise our family will be ruined, and with it our court.”

Cassian took deep, shaky breaths, trying to hold the anguished cry that begged to be released. He had endured months of restlessness heartbreak, and there was no sign of it easing. It was torture.

Azriel looked back at his brother, knowing that pain, feeling it writhe within himself. Wordlessly, he walked to Cassian, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder and winnowing them from the room.

————

It was early one morning after you had set off from your uncle’s cabin, days worth of resources and tools hung from the back of your horse.

The horse was noble, a once well-kept steed that had been abandoned since the war. He had found you in a field, bucking and neighing as you approached. But with a gentle hand to his nose and some soothing commands, he had yielded, reminded of his connection to fae. 

Every great steed deserved a name, and it found you instantly – Podie. It was Nyx’s way of saying “pony”, his chubby finger pointed at the array of horses in the stables when you had taken him with your family, the lot of you chuckling at his adorable attempt. Your heart ached as you thought of the child, of how much he must have grown since you had left the Night Court. So you named your horse in his honour, and relished the comfort it was to feel feel that little bit closer to him.

Finbark had waved you off as the sun was rising, and it was only a few hours later when had you entered the trail you had become so familiar with, headed for the next town on your map. The quiet was tranquil in Spring Court, but in that moment even the birds stopped singing, and an eerie sensation swept you over you, the hairs on your neck standing. Podie’s nostrils flared as harsh breaths blew from his snout, his ears twitching nervously.

Something, or someone, was watching you.

You immediately dismounted, not wanting to zap or upset Podie as began power tickling at your skin. 

“Who’s there?” you spoke, your heart fastening at the rustle from behind the trees. 

For a moment, you thought they had found you, and your heart thundered as you prepared to confront Cassian and Azriel. Would they try to apologise again? Were they here to convince you to return to the Night Court? Perhaps they would go as far to drag you back, kicking and screaming?

Bile rose in your throat as you searched for the peaks of wings or siphons glowing amongst the greenery that rustled. Instead, antlers poked through before revealing narrowed green eyes. Heavy paws padded against the ground as a half-elk, half-lion emerged, prowling towards you.

You startled, fumbling back a few steps, too shocked to find your words. The beast approach, sniffing as sentient eyes scanned you with a knowing look. And as you stared back, you realised quickly who the creature before you was.

Before you could demand it, Tamlin morphed to his fae form, blond hair cropped to his strong shoulders, sharp green eyes fixed on you as he stared you down with a tight jaw. 

There was no question of his beauty – Tamlin was incredibly handsome, even with his face fixed with such a stern and threatening stare. He was not cloaked in green as Feyre had often described him, instead he wore brown working pants and a black shirt that were rolled at the sleeves revealing strong, veiny forearms. He was dressed no better than the working class of his court.

“High Lord,” you greeted as you bowed your head, lowering slightly at one knee. This was his court at the end of the day, no matter what he had done to ruin it. 

He watched you intently, unspeaking and his face softened ever so slightly, his jaw unclenching only a little. 

“Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve come to meet the Night Court emissary who has been assisting in the refuge of my land.” His voice was deep, commanding even after everything he had lost.

“I assure you, I am no longer affiliated with the Night Court. There is no treason to be found here.”

“I know.” He said with a straight face. “I’ve been tracking your work for months.”

You gulped at that. You had hoped to blend in, an anonymous helper with no past and no future.

“Did you think you could enter my court unnoticed?” he questioned, and sharp brown quirking. 

You found your eyes narrowing. “From what I was told, your borders had fallen, and your lands used as a place for sanction after the war. I did not think announcing my arrival was necessary, and you were certainly in no position to refuse my aid.”

Tamlin was unmoved at your tone. Instead he ran that pointed green stare down your body and back up again, flicking them to Podie who stood to the side, grazing on some grass, before settling them back on you. “Why?” he asked. 

“Pardon?”

“Why have you come to aid my court?”

“I care to help those in need.”

“There are plenty across Prythian in need.” Tamlin was scowling now.

There was a beat of silence between you, only the sound of the heavy breaths that left Podie’s nostrils to fill it. 

“What did they do to you?” Tamlin asked. There was no softness in his question.

Now it was your turn to scowl. “I sought your court, High Lord, because I have an uncle who resides by the lake in the south. I knew there was work to be done here, and I had a home at his cabin.”

If your answer satiated Tamlin, he did not let it show, his green eyes continuing to pierce through you. It was a conscious effort not to let your power overcome you in the grasp of his stare. 

“Come to my Manor.”

You choked. “Pardon me?”

The High Lord shuffled then, his first natural movement, and you could have sworn a slight blush tinged his cheeks. “My apologies, I’ve spent so much time in my beast form, it’s easy to forget my manners. Please, join me for a meal at my Manor. It’s the least I can do, to thank you for your contributions.”

Your stare on Tamlin harshened. “I did not do it for you.”

Tamlin merely shrugged. “I’m aware. Regardless, I am grateful.”

You had only heard of Tamlin’s Manor through Feyre’s stories, how he had warded the home, trapping her within, hurting her with that uncontrollable rage of his. You had little interest in seeing the place where this occured, a small tether of loyalty to Feyre ignited at the thought.

You may as well have said it out loud, as Tamlin tracked the movements in your eyes before bowing his head. 

“The choice is yours, of course.”

You swallowed, observing the male before you. A High Lord would never bow their head for such a thing. 

That smallest of behaviours begged so many questions. Was he sorry? Was he ashamed? Was it possible Tamlin had learnt from his mistakes, and had grown to be a better High Lord? 

He reminded you so much of the males you once loved – a good heart with mislead direction. If he had shed of his possessive and controlling nature – you craved to see it, you needed to know it possible, even if it was in someone else. 

So you realised there was a part of you that wanted to go to the Manor and join Tamlin for an evening, to answer that question alone. You could attend for one meal, just to plug the hole in your heart for a night.

“Alright. I’ll visit your manor,” you said impartially.

Tamlin nodded once. “Is there a time that suits you best?”

You looked back at Podie, waving an arm to the gear and resources strapped to his saddle. “I will spend three days in Rellford to assist with building a new market. With another afternoon of travel I can make it to your Manor in four days time.”

Talmlin nodded again, smiling softly now, the pull of his mouth catching your breath as his handsomeness was further revealed. “I look forward to it, Y/N L/N.” After a low bow, Tamlin was once again a beast, treading away and leaving you to continue your journey.  

————

You stood awkwardly at the door to the Tamlin’s Manor, your hand hung in the air, unable to make the first knock. 

The gate had willed itself open, and you were surprised to see the exterior well kept, almost immaculate. Rhys had described it differently from his last visit, ivy overgrown and no maids or servicemen to be seen. But a stable boy had helped you dismount on arrival, guiding Podie by his reins with a polite bow. 

You smoothed out the skirts of your dress, self conscious of the scent of the horse you undoubtedly carried. You wore a humble frock, feminine and loose, one that allowed for a few hours of riding. The countless bold and revealing gowns you had once loved were left behind at the Night Court, they had no place in the new life you were building. With a final shake of your head, you willed yourself to knock on the large arched doors. 

But before your fist made contact, the doors swung open, revealing a maid. 

“Hello,” she said sweetly.

“H-hi.”

“Come inside.”

And so you did, taking in the impressive home. Natural light poured in from all around, floor length windows cast open as sheers danced gently as the breeze passed through. Tasteful vases of Spring’s finest flowers decorated the space, with countless rooms joining the space and a grand staircase that led to reveal even more of the manor. 

The maid lead you to a sitting room, the space just as light an airy, with no door, just an open archway. This was not what you had imagined at all.

“The High Lord is expecting you, but he apologises as he has a meeting that has run over. He won't be too long, but would like to convey his apologies,” she said with pep. “You can wait here, M’Lady. Would you care for something to drink?”

You silently took a seat at the lounge she had waved at, looking behind at the floor to ceiling bookshelves that aligned the room. It was a tasteful room, and you thought you could spend all day he curled up with a good book. 

“No, no thank you,” you eventually said, slow to respond in your awe of the house. 

With a bouncy courtesy, the maid left you to be. 

Standing immediately, you moved to inspect the books, fingering their spines and muttering their titles aloud. 

“Flora and Fauna of the Spring Season. How to Care for Roses and Thorns Alike.”

Your ears pricked as two sets of footsteps making their way down the staircase, and deep voices spoke in discussion. 

“I would be grateful for the resources Tamlin. And it’s clear you are mending your court. I would be happy to align with you once again.” 

You knew that voice – Tarquin.

“I’m glad, and yes, we are making progress. Though it would be insincere of me to accept any credit. I thank the people of my court, and I have had aid from others too.”

The males passed the open archway to the reading room, Tarquin stopping in his tracks. 

“Y/N?”

You froze, book still in hand. “Greetings, Tarquin,” you said thickly, barely able to swallow. 

Tarquin cast his magnificent blue eyes to Tamlin for just a moment, and you were sure if you had blinked you would have missed it. You glanced at Tamlin too, who showed no sign of discomfort. 

Tarquin was quick to recover from his shock, making his way over to greet you, embracing you with open arms and a quick kiss to each of your cheeks.

“I’m sorry to have heard of your departure from the Nigh Court,” he said, blue eyes fixed on you with a warm, sorry smile. 

You smiled back softly, rubbing his arms where they held your shoulders. “That is kind, Tarquin. I am sorry too.” You fought the urge to embrace him again – it was so nice to see a friend. 

Tamlin waited by the archway, his hands behind his back as he watched your interaction with passive curiosity. 

“And how did you find yourself in Spring?” Tarquin asked. 

You shrugged. “I have an uncle here, and I wanted to work to help repair that lost in the war.”

Tarquin nodded. “Yes, Tamlin was telling that he was quite impressed with you. And I must say, it’s encouraging to see how much progress has been made.”

You flicked your eyes to Tamlin who remained unmoved. He had credited you to another High Lord? You blushed lightly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

“And what of Varian and Cresseida? Are they well?” you skilfully diverted the conversation.

Tarquin grinned. “Varian is well, and Cresseida is engaged.”

“Engaged!” you burst, a smile so wide on your face as you thought of her. She was always a romantic. 

“Yes, she’s quite excited, as is the rest of the family. You will keep your eye out for an invitation to the wedding, yes?”

You blushed again – you were unsure how the news would be received by the other High Lords of your leaving, it was nice to know you were still considered you a friend at Summer. “Of course, Tarquin. I would be honoured to celebrate with you all.”

Tarquin smiled at that, before turning back to Tamlin. “What a jewel you have here in your court Tamlin. You won't take her for granted I hope.” You could sense the warning laced in his tone. 

Tamlin lowered his eyes slightly, a small gesture, but in the language of High Lords it spoke volumes. Understanding, submission, guilt even. “I wouldn’t dare of it,” he spoke, hands still clasped behind his back.

Tarquin seemed reassured at that. “I must journey back. A delight to see you Y/N, do take care, and come visit whenever you find suitable.”

You agreed to that, watching Tarquin shake Tamlins hand before leaving the Manor. 

“I apologise for making you wait,” Tamlin said with a soft smile. He seemed stiff still, and you wondered if he nervous to host you.

You eyed the High Lord up and down. “Not at all. I’m just… a little surprised to have our meetings overlap.”

Tamlin nodded with understanding. “I have nothing to hide Y/N. It is a lesson I should have learned long ago.”

You nodded at that, looping your arm through Tamlin’s outstretched one as he lead you through to on a tour of the Manor. 

————

The meal with Tamlin was far more enjoyable that you had thought it would be, food and company alike. He did not lead you to a dining room, instead, a small table was set in the balcony overlooking the estate, the warm spring breeze gentle as the sun set over the groomed gardens, rows of trees and flowering bushes tinged with orange from the sunset.

The conversation was awkward at first, Tamlin was nervous, and it didn't help that you headed every comment with caution. But after a few sips of wine, and a few jokes exchanged, it seemed you and the High Lord had much in common. 

You felt yourself relaxing, joking and laughing with ease. It was nice to chat and enjoy the company of another, something you hadn’t done since Azriel killed Alvar. You hadn't realised that in throwing yourself in work, you had deprived yourself from any true fun. Perhaps Tamlin had seen that, perhaps that’s why he invited you here.

He hadn't asked or pried of your past, only talking of your work with immense gratitude. And when you told him of your childhood memories in his court, Tamlin beamed with pride, his face fixed with a smile and his posture a little more straight. That of course, lead to the conversation of Meryl. 

“And what of your sister?” Tamlin asked. “Where does she reside now?”

“Ah,” you said, before drawing a long sip of wine, taking a moment before you could will yourself to respond. “Unfortunately Meryl was murdered by one of Hybern’s own spies.”

Pain sliced across Tamlin’s face, his green eyes panicked before he bowed his head in shame. “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” Blond strands fell in front of his face, his strong hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

“Tamlin, it’s alright. It was many years ago, well before the war.” 

He looked at you then, his face softening. He knew what you were saying – it was before he allied himself with Hybern. He was not to blame.

“I was a fool to have ever opened my borders to him,” Tamlin said thickly, casting his eyes down. 

“I could not agree more,” you replied, before offering him a tight smile. You were certain he regretted many of his choices, but it was reassuring to hear.

“Was your sister’s death how you found yourself as a Night Court emissary?”

You nodded. “That’s right. I was motivated to protect others, and largely driven to avenge Meryl.” Speaking of your past after all that had happened, it seemed to foreign to you now. You no longer knew the girl you were when you had found a home in Velaris.

“It would seem that is still very true,” Tamlin complimented. 

“In some ways, yes,” you agreed, unsure if he caught the blush on your cheeks. “But also untrue in others.”

Tamlin waited patiently, but didn't push. The choice was yours to continue. 

So you told him of your time at the Night Court, of the decade you had spent training with Cassian and Azriel. You spoke of the extent of your training, and how after a few years friendship had turned to love, and the family had welcomed you with open arms. 

Dancing around the details of the Night Court, you were careful not to expose Velaris or other sensitive information – you were not here to damn the court, you were only telling your story.

And as you spoke, Tamlin listened intently without casting judgement, just patiently absorbing your story, nodding where he understood and asking questions where he didn’t. He never pried, nor did he ask for more detail of the Night Court, or of Feyre and Rhys. 

Finally, you explained what lead to you leaving your old life behind, how you were betrayed by your loves and wider family, and how your one true shot to avenge your sister was stolen from you.

As you finished, you drew a big breath, and an even bigger sip of wine. You slouched further into your seat, relaxing as you felt free from the weight of bottling your truth for so long.

Tamlin watched you for a moment, before drawing a long breath. “Would you like to know what I think?”

You raised your brows, toying with your glass of wine. “Do tell.”

“I feel you were treated with an utter lack of empathy, and it was cruel to not at least tell you of the mission. I’m sorry that you were hurt in such a way. They are fools to have mistreated you so greatly, and I know this because… not only am I fully capable of such behaviour, but it is so similar to how I had treated Feyre.”

Your eyes went wide at his confession, your brows clenching at the way it made your heart ache.

“I know what it is to love another so fiercely, you stop seeing them as someone, and start seeing them as something. It was a lesson I learned only when I lost everything – my love, my council, my entire damn court. I was vengeful, jealous, and I would have torn the world in half to claim what I thought belonged to me. But I had no one to blame but myself, and I’ve learnt nothing is mine to ever own or control, no matter how much that scares me. In all truths Y/N, I am sickened that so many were hurt and lost for me to learn that lesson, and I’m so sorry that you were hurt for Azriel and Cassian to learn theirs.”

You blinked at Tamlin, swallowing your shock. “That is… a very honest confession.”

Tamlin gave you a tight smile before shrugging. “Honesty is all I have.”

You returned his smile, extended a hand to rest on his forearm. “If you ask me, honesty and trust are the only true currency of this life.”

Tamlin raised his brows then, whether he was shocked by your words or by your touch you couldn't tell. His green eyes met yours, sincerity swarming as he held you in a soft gaze. “Fae like you have known that all along though. And it is males like me who hurt those infinitely wiser, like you.”

You chuckled then. “I’m not perfect Tamlin, far from it. I think all we can do is try to be better, and work to ensure we don't hurt those that we love through our imperfections.”

Tamlin’s eyes warmed. “I think you’re right,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. 

And maybe it was the wine, or the way your heart swelled at the honestly and sincerity of his confession, but all of the fibres of your being begged you to lean a little closer, to bask in his warmth and comfort, and even press your lips to his. 

With a flick of his eyes to your lips, you knew Tamlin felt the same draw to you. He placed a large hand over your own that rested on his forearm. “Y/N, you must know I didn't invite you here to… disrupt, or interfere with–"

“I know,” you interrupted him, smiling softly.

Tamlin paused, eyes darting between yours. “Your company has been a delightful surprise. But I would hate for you to regret–"

“My life in the Night Court is behind me Tamlin. I have built a life of my own, and this is the path I choose.”

Tamlin moved then, a large hand coming to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and he gave you a pained look, as if physically trying to restrain himself. “I don't mean to lecture the more wise,” he said softly. “But if you feel that I can change or grow or learn from my mistakes, don’t you believe Azriel and Cassian can too?”

Your eyes fluttered close, your brow pulling at the weight of his question. “I suppose.” 

“And if they have changed, or at least try to, do you think that you might want to forgive them?”

You opened your eyes, holding Tamlin’s gaze with a serious expression. “Forgiveness is one thing. But I will never return to the life I had with them Tamlin, not like that. Too much has happened.” 

“Hmm,” Tamlin hummed thoughtfully. He waited a moment, green eyes drinking in your face, scanning your features delicately as you blushed, closing your eyes again to bare the intensity.

When Tamlin spoke again, his tone was a lot more assured. “I can see you have are still in the thick of processing what has happened, Y/N. And for that reason alone, it would be improper to kiss you right now, despite how much I want to.”

You were frowning as you opened your eyes, finding a sorry smile planted on Tamlin’s face. 

“You’re a cruel High Lord,” you joked flatly, returning the pained smile and holding the hand he kept to your face. 

“I’ll work on that,” he chuckled, pulling both your hands in his before kissing them. 

“Come,” he said, standing from his chair and offering you his hand. “I’m yet to show you the gardens.”

————

“Coming!” Amrin barked at the third rapping on her door, the knocks growing more impatient. Slinking into a silver silk robe, she opened the door to reveal Cassian and Azriel, their cheeks more hollow and bags even darker than the last time she had seen them a few weeks ago. 

“Gods, you both look awful,” she said plainly before walking further into her apartment, not checking to see if they followed. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Azriel grumbled. 

“Working from home, if you will.”

“Why?” Cassian asked defensively. 

“You know the answer, brutes. All of that fighting and tension, it gives me a headache.”

Azriel scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, shadows stretching across Amren’s apartment with familiarity. 

“You’re sensitive at the best of times,” Cassian bit back.

“Why are you here?” Amren spoke plainly, sounding bored by their presence. 

Cassian approached Amren while Azriel lingered back. “Help us,” Cassian said. 

Amren scoffed. “You know I can’t, boy.”

Cassian’s brows clenched before he moved to his knees, squatting in front of Amren as she lounged in a chair. “Please, Amren, do you have anything? Information from an outside court, or a lead on her whereabouts?”

Amren levelled her silver eyes with his brown ones. “Why do you torture yourself with such questions? Y/N is quite capable of taking care of herself, you know.”

“C’mon Cass, let’s just go,” Azriel said tightly from behind. From the tension in the room, it was hard to remember they were serving the same throne.

“You want my advice? The both of you need to be patient. If it takes her an eternity to forgive you, then so be it. There is nothing you can do to force that.”

“We can't just switch it off Amren, it doesn't work like that.”

“The Illyrian possessiveness, or the hopelessly in love part?” Amren mocked. “Y/N is mending herself, and I applaud that. I suggest you take a page from her book and start to do the same.”

Azriel had already stalked for the door when Amren started to mock, but she called him a few paces shy. “Whatever you took, I suggest you leave it behind,” she said, her tone almost playful. 

Azriel froze, before letting go of a gold piece of card, the paper fluttering to the floor as he and Cassian stalked out, slamming the door behind them. 

“What was that?” Cassian asked with a whisper. 

Azriel hushed him, nodding as he walked forward, waiting until they had made it a few streets from Amren’s home. 

“A wedding invitation. For Creseida.”

Cassian’s eyes light up. “Do you think–?”

“Perhaps, but I don't think we’d be welcomed company if Y/N does attend. Rhys and Feyre will surely keep us here.”

“So we keep our walls up. We won’t disclose to know of the wedding, and that way the bargain will never be broken.”

Azriel nodded. “The only risk is Amren, should she mention that I saw the invitation.”

Cassian sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “I sure as hell hope she can keep her mouth shut.”

--------

Part 4>>>>

AN: Omgosh, you guys have been so so patient with this part, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I sincerely hope you liked it, it was so much fun to introduce Tamlin and explore the way he might be healing after the war. Not to mention writing a few wins for our reader?? She deserves it.

Also how the Inner Curcle is just falling to shit without her 💅🏼 I so look forward to exploring the TEA at this wedding.... I always want to know what you guys think, so feel free to drop a comment, and if you'd like to join my general tag list, or just for Our Girl, drop a comment too :) Thank you always for your support <3

[sarnai4]

Expectation Subversion

Penguins of Madagascar has some of my favorite examples of subverting expectations for personalities. They also gave me something that I try to use when creating my own characters. It seems like the characters can easily fit into a one-dimensional stereotype, but then there's more. Let's start off with Rico.

At first glance, Rico is just a loose cannon. In lesser shows, he might have been. After all, he just needs to be the silly one who spits up weapons and sure, he is, but that's not all. Rico is also fiercely loyal. He's the same one who was terrified of a "haunted" car and still braved it head-on when it had hurt Skipper. Comically enough, he can just as easily turn on the others when Ms. Perky wants him to do something else (cue Rico attacking them because of that darn voice box). An underrated skill of Rico's is how resourceful he is. He always knows exactly what weapon is necessary for the moment. With these skills, his loyalty, and his fun/unhinged flair, he really comes to life as a character.

Private is seemingly just the nice guy of the group. He's the young one who's innocent. Again, this is a part of him. He is very nice, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings like when he was supposed to win a rude-off against Clemson. He's also pretty naive with a lot of things, being unsuspecting about Hans actually being bad. Despite this, there's more to Private than niceness. He's got the most common sense of the group, being the only one to see that grabbing the plant needed to save Maurice's life would be easier than continuing to use the jaws of life AND realizing how unlikely it was that Santa was spending Christmas Eve in a random building. I also love how he's got a backstory of being this almost ruthless mini golf player. His underrated skill is that he's the second best fighter of the group. Solely looking at fin-to-fin combat, Private is the only one who's been on par with Skipper.

Kowalski could have just been the "science nerd." He definitely has this as a core part of him, but he's also such a drama queen. I love it. He's the poster boy for book smarts because this penguin has a score of 0 for practical reasoning. Heck, he had to figure out which instincts to use. His struggles with this leads to him continuously making inventions that almost kill everybody. Kowalski is always an invention away from turning into a mad scientist. I'm convinced this actually has happened before and then he just snaps back to his senses (thinking about times like Jiggles and more). Something else which adds an interesting layer to him is how much he wants to be in charge. He's technically the second-in-command and has made it clear that he'd like to replace Skipper when the time comes. "Kowalski's log...too soon?"

Skipper seems like he's just the tough boss. In a comedy like this, he easily could've been an incompetent leader. Rather than that, he's honestly a very good leader who is clever with his plans. Seriously, his escape plans shown in Pets Peeved and more episodes really demonstrate how thoroughly he can think out a strategy even when he's on the spot. Along with this, Skipper tries to act hard and rough, but he makes it clear that he cares about his team more than anything. He even faced his fear of needles (this show singlehandedly taught me what trypanophobia was) for Private when he learned that the soldier would've been hurt otherwise. It even stretches beyond them. Skipper really cares about everyone in the zoo, going so far as to look out for Julien who is probably one of his least favorite zoo mates. I also really like how much being a leader means to Skipper. When he thought he couldn't be in charge anymore, he was having a meltdown. He even put Private as leader just so that he could make it clear who actually deserves the position. It's so petty, that it's almost beautiful.

[absolutebl]

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

Boys in Love

Thai trailer

Our only true high school BL from GMMTV and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. It's milk teeth Make it Right and that is perfectly fine with me! I like lotte milk. Also DIMPLES! Yay! I suspect they're using this one to test some new pairs for future seasons. Like a Project 101 Thai BL. (Honestly I just invented an amazing reality TV for you GMMTV, you're welcome.

Fight for You

Taiwan

Da Hei reluctantly takes on dangerous odd jobs to earn medical funds, unaware that his roommate Xiao Bai is secretly an operative sent by the intelligence agency to take them down.

Dare You to Death

Thai trailer

JoongDunk as police investigators in a mystery suspense thriller. Yes, I'm in. This is it. This it the one I wanted to instantly watch. Even though their's 20 BLs airing right now.

Interminable

Thai YouTube

BillyBabe are back in a reincarnation historical.

Love of Silom

Thai WeTV

UpPoom are back in another complex piece. Closeted brokenhearted policeman meets struggling single dad.

Mandate

Thai

A fierce political battle is the starting point of love between two men of different statuses and backgrounds, not to mention a 17 year age gap.

Me and Thee

Thai trailer

A photographer gets involved with the mafia? OMG is this a Thai dupe for Target the Finder? Only mixed with Cyrano? WILD. I mean to say, this one is wild WILD! Plus Est (my love) back in suits and ear dongles I see. Also GMMTV never gonna let us forget they bagged two of BL's best bods with PP, thanks all for the visuals. Of course this is for me. I'm the shallowest, remember? Plus I love a BL that's just a little bit...... well...... stupid.

Me and Who

Thai WeTV trailer

Lead pair from Monster Next Door, BigPark, in an adaptation of Wickedwish’s novel of the same name. A poor young man dies and is reborn into the body of a billionaire heir. The heir happens to be engaged to a handsome man who come to understand his secret.

Memoir of Rati

Thai trailer

Sing the praise song with me BLabies! GreatInn in a HISTORICAL with a class divide and everyone's favourite side couple! Be still my heart! I'm beyond pleased. (Also I got my boat in a lotus pond at last.) My only concern is this could end sad, it's in the title after all.

My Magic Prophecy

Thai trailer

Paranormal mystery with a fortune teller and a doctor. I'm in. I hope the script doesn't fail JimmySea again, they are such a great pair. I'm intrigued by this one but it felt the most formless of all the trailers, so I'm thinking we could see some significant tweaks.

My Romance Scammer

Thai trailer

New couple! My boys Ohm and Fluke (no, not that Fluke, the one from My Ride). Honestly, Fluke has popped up as a side in a couple GMMTV shows I was wondering who they'd BL him with.

This could win. Prettiest human on earth paired with the world's most potent single dimple. Will I survive? I honestly don't know, because Ohm historically doesn't have much chemistry with anyone but the original Fluke so... Still I l do love JuniorMark and this as a really unique premise (gay Heartbreakers), so I'm game.

Secret Relationship

Korea

This 2022 offering is now officially moved to 2025. To be adapted by Cradle Studio (a subsidiary of Kakao). About clever and resourceful Daon who has worked hard to overcome being poor. His cheap ways annoy his coworker, Sunghyeon but after “an incident” with his parents, Daon grows closer to him. But Daon also has feelings for his former tutor. This has the signs of a classic Kdrama all over it: Office setting, love triangle, lead suffering for his self-actualization. I’m optimistic about a longer treatment.

Secret Relationship

Taiwan

Rivals to lovers with unhinged behavior that in the source material ranges from rock-paper-scissors contests to competitive handjobs (yeah, you read that right). If anyone can do this, it's Taiwan.

The Hell Guard

Thai

Boy wakes up from a coma and becomes a messenger between grim reapers and the underworld. I adore this premise.

The Next Prince

Thai trailer

ZeeNew in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince - YES PLEASE.

The Wicked Game

Thai

DaouOffroad doing some Jack & Joker action. Trust is a luxury. Deception is a game.

The Young Gangster

Taiwan WeTV

Adapted from a novel, may not be a BL. Sociologist begins doing research in the underworld, falls in love with a gangster.

Top Form

Thai WeTV

Adaptation of a Japanese manga. Boom (Chains of Heart) opposite Smart (Don't Say No). Actor recognized as the "The Sexiest Man of the Year" has his first-place position usurped by young newcomer. But while he sees them as rivals, turns out the new kid has other ideas.

Truemoon

Thai YouTube trailer

A take on my single favorite trope: love rivals to lovers.

Your Dear Daddy

Thai trailer

Haunted by his past, Saithan is unwilling now to tie himself to anyone. On holiday in Chiang Mai, he happens to meet Sila, the wealthy owner of Phu Saengdao farm and hotel. The two find themselves strangely drawn to one another and ultimately spend a night together, thinking they wouldn't see each other again.

(source)

Historically I am pretty poor at picking the ones I end of loving, but it's fun to try.

[spockandawe]

It's just! Really persistently charming! With so many clever and resourceful characters! And some that are so smart that my poor boy with a pretty respectable intelligence stat is left in the dust 🤣

[raayllum]

Chapter length: 8k Summary: Callum and Rayla do some investigating. Ezran does some reevaluating.

CHAPTER 12: Changes

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Callum’s hand curled into a fist. “What do you mean you lost a diamond?”

“It wasn’t lost,” Deimos clarified. “It was stolen. By Aaravos.” 

Callum saw red. He whirled, punching the nearest wall and barely feeling the sting in his knuckles as he shook out his hand, Deimos’ shoulders raised in surprise.

“My dear boy!” he admonished at the same time Rayla said his name. “Control yourself.”

“Are you alright?” Rayla said, taking his hand and inspecting it. Only his index knuckle had split, but tears —for her family—swam in her eyes, trying as she might to tamp them down.

Callum clutched her hand and turned to Deimos, stony-eyed. “It’s not fair,” he said. “We came all this way and Aaravos is still the one fucking us over, centuries ahead of time.” He ran his thumb over Rayla’s own smaller, slightly smoother knuckles. This was magic. There was always a way to be clever with it. Creative. “There has to be another option.” 

“Star magic is mysterious and our resources, even here, are deeply limited,” Deimos said apologetically.

“But there has to be more than three quasar diamonds,” Callum argued and Deimos’ expression flickered.

“There are... rumours of a fourth,” he admitted. “But they are not well facilitated.”

“Tell us,” Rayla said thickly. She was still holding Callum’s hand, but she looked small, shoulders hunched. Her brave face was on, marred by the telltale tremor in her bottom lip. “Please?”

[p4ngilz]

Could you write a connor x daughter of Athena. Where she has been at camp for a year, but they have known each other for about two weeks and he flirts a little too much in training and she thinks he is being mean. but in the end they make up.

★ nice

oh em gee my first req i feel like spongebob on his first day with his shiny lil spatula and squeaky shoes

p.s. so sorry this took so long i was so very sick when you sent it in and then exam week left me bruised and broken and so sleepy 😭

wc: 2.4k words

Who the Hades is this guy? Or more like, who the hell does this guy think he is?

You stared at the hunched-over figure wiping your bronze weapon down with a cloth, whistling as he went. It was too casual for someone like him to be doing something like that, especially with your weapon.

You recognized him as one of those Stoll brothers. They had been at camp for almost as long as you had, yet it seems that he's been popping up and about into your business these past few days. And he had been doing it a lot. Offering to carry your things, greeting you good morning and good night, even going so far as to try and make your bed for you. It was strange. Suspiciously strange. And you didn't trust him. From what you've heard and seen around camp, he was a prankster, an awfully resourceful two-faced troublemaker who could ruin your day with two paperclips and a cup of orange juice.

You thought he was no match for you, though. After all, you were equally crafty and clever as well, if not more than him. You thanked your mother, Athena, for both those skills and the grace to notice the signs this early on.

Gods, what was the purpose of all of this? You couldn't figure him out. You had some ideas, some guesses, but you couldn't pinpoint anything exactly. You needed direct contact with him; you needed to observe him up close so you could finally see his true intentions. Did he get bored and were you his new target? Was he doing this for a bet? Did you do something recently to catch his attention?

So, it was strange. Strange that you two have been skirting around each other for the past few years, not talking unless forced to and if you did, you only exchanged small talk. Why was he now all up in your business? Was he plotting something? You remembered when he put a tarantula in your half-sister Annabeth's bunk. You thought that was the last time you'd see those two boys.

"You look like you're plotting to kill him."

You jumped. Said Annabeth stood behind you, holding a plastic bag full of something you could only guess was your cabin's deposit of trash. Every other morning someone would do this to keep the cabin clean—and every morning Connor would greet you. Today, he added an offer to wipe your weapon down. You reluctantly agreed, vulnerable at 7 in the morning.

You knew you shouldn't be driven by rumors and gossip, shouldn't judge a book by its cover. But your overly paranoid self just refused to try and get to know the boy.

You pursed your lips and turned to Annabeth, sucking in a breath. "What's he like?" You asked.

"A little shit," Annabeth replied, and your heart sank. "But," she continued. "He's a reliable little shit. He's not evil or anything like that. He just has a talent for getting on people's nerves, him and Travis. It's a Hermes kid thing. Why?"

You glanced nervously to the side. "He's been doing the absolute most for me recently. Asking if I need help with anything, greeting me every time we see each other. We're not close. We're not even close to being close."

Annabeth took a few moments looking over at him as well, a small smile on her face. "Hmm. Well, I can't say anything for sure. But there's a very low chance he's doing this out of malice."

You cringed. "So..."

"Just wait and see where this goes," She advised, swinging the plastic bag. "If he hurts you, beat him up." Then she went away.

You scratched your head, starting to walk away from your cabin. That was...sort of helpful? No worries. You could handle this. It wasn't everyday you dealt with someone with the first name Connor and last name Stoll, but it wasn't everyday that you climbed the lava tower, either, no? And you survived that. So how hard could a boy be?

Quite hard, as it turned out to be.

You watched him stand up, stuffing the dirty cloth in his pocket. He then looked around the camp, walking in circles as if searching for someone. You knew he was looking for you, so when he turned in your direction you reluctantly waved a hand, but not enough to be obvious or easily noticed in the bustle of the camp.

When he spotted you, he jogged up to you like an excited dog, haphazardly swinging your weapon. He held it out with calloused hands. "Here!"

"Thanks. Erm, Connor." You added his name for good measure and took your weapon back. You inspected it quickly. No tampering, as far as you could see. It was clean, too. You looked back up at him and nodded. He had done a decent job. An honest, decent job?

"Did you just wake up?" He blurted out, sporting a smile that made you feel...what, self conscious? His words didn't help.

"No, I've been doing errands while waiting for you." You kept your answer plain and simple. "Why?" Without realizing it, you smoothed out your shirt.

He saw where your hands were going and chuckled, his eyes crinkling as if you just cracked a joke that amused him twice as much as the average pun did. "Don't worry, sunshine, you're not the ugliest thing I've seen in my life."

And the he walked away whistling, probably going off to tie someone's shoelaces together to trip them up. What the fuck? You thought, still processing what had just happened. What was that all about? Don't worry, sunshine?

You bet Apollo was laughing at you from Mount Olympus with the way the sunlight was shining right onto your face as Connor walked away, blinding you as you stood there in confusion.

You eyes searched the assortment of campers for Annabeth, some tiny bit of support you could anchor yourself to. She wasn't there. No striking grey eyes of hers among the orange shirts. You grit your teeth, accepting your defeat.

Well, not exactly your defeat. Not yet, at least. Hopefully not.

You gave Connor your best glare as he walked up to you in the middle of the arena. He swung his sword in his hand back and forth as if this was a game to him. Luckily for you, you also saw it as a game. A fun game to try and get to learn a thing or two about him. You wanted to observe him, close up? Here was your chance.

Sword practice. Sparring. Percy as the instructor overseeing the match. Perfect.

"Shake hands, guys," He said, standing between you and Connor. He then nodded at the boy. "No cheating, alright? No extra tricks."

"Yeah, yeah," He said, tapping his foot. You saw how he seemed almost giddy, but when he met your eyes, his smile melted and he cleared his throat.

You held a hand out. He shook it, not taking his eyes off you. He had a serious expression on, devoid of all humor or teases. "Nice shirt," he mumbled. And then he was off, stepping backwards until he was a reasonable distance away from you.

Shaking the confusion out of your head, you got into position, holding your weapon as you adjusted your stance.

Percy gave the signal and you two were off, celestial bronze clashing against one another. Your ears rung and you tried to not let the sun blind you.

Frustratingly enough, you couldn't observe much except for his physical traits (a light spray of freckles across his nose bridge, a nasty looking scar on his knee and a bruise on the other one, a hand with only one fingernail painted cherry red; unsurprisingly enough for a son of Hermes, he seemed to be ambidextrous) and that he was awfully talkative.

"I might have trouble focusing, but I'm multitasking right now, see? Your face is distracting, but I can handle it." "You're nice to look at when you're cornered like this, you know? Cute and mad, I should piss you off more!" "I really like your lack of enthusiasm all the time!"

Parry. Strike. Slash. Clang! The tip of his sword grazed your jaw and you swiped at his shins. Contrary to his blabber, you stayed silent except for grunts and the like, determined to finish him off.

Someone in the audience of campers yelled for Connor to focus. Instead he laughed. Soon you ended up with your weapons pressed against each other, screeching as the material of each grinded against one another. You were face to face with him now.

"You seem a little rusty, maybe you should consider practicing with me—"

That was your last straw. You pushed him back, so hard that you ended a few feet away from him, and charged, but at the last second swung to disarm him from his waiting sword instead of striking. With your momentum, you wrapped an arm around his neck, pushing his head upward, and stepped behind him, holding your weapon to his throat.

Victory.

"You know, I'd say something, but I don't think it's very audience friendly, I think it should be reserved for someplace without overbearing coordinators or nine year olds," He giggled.

You released him after Percy gave you the signal. Of course, you had to be somewhat polite. So you maneuvered his body so he was facing you, standing properly now. You took his clammy hand and shook it, looking him straight in the eye.

"Good duel," You said, nodding, chest still rising and falling from the intense practice match.

"Yeah, yeah, good duel," Connor replied, stumbling over his words. "Percy didn't...didn't have any comments for us, y-yeah, that's...that's good, right?"

You nodded again, and he let go of your hand, swallowing and glancing at the floor. He wet his lips, as if there was something he was itching to say, something stuck in his throat.

"You...you have nice eyes." He walked away with something you might have called a scurry.

Tilting your head in utter confusion, you heard a voice and felt a hand tap your shoulder. You turned around to see a little girl of about 12 years old. Strands of her dark hair stuck to her chubby cheeks from sweat. "Return the compliment. That's pamahiin, you know." She shot a cautious glance at Connor's turned back.

"It's what?"

"Superstition where someone curses you in the form of a compliment. He's been saying all kinds of things since the start of your match!"

"That doesn't sound like a Greek superstition to me. Where'd you hear that?" The girl left before you could finish. You shook your head. Silly kids.

You decided you had some business to attend to, so you jogged after Connor, following him down the path to the archery range.

"Hey," you called. "Connor!"

He slowly turned around, looking anxious. "...Yes?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You're being strange. You kept talking during sword practice—you never do it that much, and you keep offering to do things for me. Are you following me around? Why did you compliment my shirt out of the blue right before we started?"

His brain seemed to load. And then he smiled. "You watch me during sword practice?"

"Sometimes, when there's nothing else to watch. The point is, you're acting off!"

He cleared his throat. "Well, erm, you know, I've just been seeing you around and I wanted to get to know you more. Wait, I complimented your shirt? We're all wearing the same ones."

You stepped closer. "No, are you up to something? Trying to get under my skin? Everything you say is somewhat backhanded and it feels like you're planning to get me in trouble, or both of us in trouble. If you don't like me, just say it straight to my face." You clenched your fists as you finished.

His expression morphed and looked horrified. "Oh, my Gods. No, I'm sorry."

You stared hard, waiting for him to explain himself.

"Shit, Y/N. That, uh...that wasn't...oh man, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I mean, I am mouthy all the time, but I didn't want you to think of it like that! I do, I'm complimenting you, I guess we just don't match up in terms of what's a 'nice' gesture or not.

"I'll say it straight, then. I'm being nice to you, trying to say nice things. Because I think you're nice."

You raised a brow. "...Nice?"

"Yes, nice. And I really liked practicing with you. And greeting you in the morning and at night. And you. I like being nice to you even if you don't understand my little pickup lines sometimes."

"So you weren't trying to be mean?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Ah...okay. I see. That's...fair. I guess I was just paranoid." You slowly nodded, understanding his defense. You could see him nervously putting his thumbs through his belt loops.

"Mhm." He looked to the side. "Oh, and by the way, maybe the thing I said this morning was confusing, you're not ugly at all, I think you—everything about you, is very, pleasing to the eye."

You chuckled. "—Is nice."

He let out a relieved laugh at how you had caught on. "Yes, exactly that. Oh," He perked up, looking behind your shoulder. When you followed his gaze you saw some campers walking towards him, and they did not look very happy. He put his sword back into his scabbard and tied his shoelaces, which had come undone.

So he was a prankster. Obviously. But he wasn't as bad as you thought. Not mean, just a little mischievous at times. You definitely were just paranoid. It's not everyday you got that many compliments. Puzzling ones that needed comprehension, yet still compliments. And he was easy to talk to. Not mean at all. Come to think of it, you hadn't fallen victim to his or Travis's pranks lately, not in a long while—

"That's my cue," he reached over and awkwardly patted your shoulder, averting your gaze. Despite that, he was smiling ear-to-ear. "See you sometime, okay? Bye!"

"Bye...!" And he dashed away, leaving you beaming in amusement. Wait, pickup lines? Those were pickup lines to him?

Nice? Nice as in flirting?

[thattimdrakeguy]

Hey,

So if it's not too much to ask, can you give me a summary on the Core Four's personalities? I really wanna know for analysis reasons, I'm re reading all the core 4 young justice and teen titans books and trying to decipher my favorite one.

I can give you the personalities as intended by their creators no problem, Person Newtonote.

Now as you read you might think "Oh, hmm, that doesn't add up with what I've read" when it gets into the Young Justice and Teen Titans books, but that's 'cause different writers write different things, and some writers understand some characters better than others, and some of it is just plain character development, or in worse case writers doing what ever they please 'cause they don't care.

I'll let you judge when what happens.

Onto what you've asked though, I'll try to keep it simple as I can while still being detailed:

Tim Drake:

My personal favorite, that much is likely obvious.

As intended, he is an idealistic young boy, and dreamed of Robin as an even littler boy (he's pretty small for his age). He's clever, and resourceful, and thinks very very highly of the legacy of Robin. It's his heart though that got him his job as Robin, and his compassion and genuine passion for the role of Robin. And he displays what many may call boy scout tendencies. Even admitting to original Robin Dick Grayson that he enjoys helping old lady's cross the road (or something like that.)

Being raised in private schools, without a lot of friends (He's shown having no friends until he goes to public school to my knowledge), he's a pretty naive and oblivious, trusting person. And it's through out his journey's he has to learn how dark Gotham City can get. Though compared to the other Bat-Family members of this era (90s) he's very much the heart and light-hearted youthful energy to it.

His social ability is mostly perfectly fine, he's no complete weirdo. Kid can get friends easy peasy. Easily likable to folks. Endearing. But he has an oblivious side, and can get ahead of himself. Has a habit of getting spiritually adopted by people who instantly want to protect him. Anyone from Batman, to former CIA agents, and even villains. He's just got that babyface on him, and button nose.

He also deals with anxiety in terms of being Robin, being worried that he may be stripped of the job, or let people down, or mess something up. And sometimes that lends him having a lot of insecurities about himself. While having some prior training in martial artists, and implications of having taken gymnastics, also a former boy scout, he still doesn't naturally take to the role like all other Robins around him. Which means he has to try a lot harder to have his keep.

In the Bat-Family in this era (the 90s) he's the heart, and baby to everyone. They're uber protective of him, and take him out of the action when they deem it to be too much for someone like Tim. Within Young Justice he puts on a heavy Robin persona to hide what he's really like. Making himself out to be a more Batman-esque mysterious leader.

When really, he's a dorky, fanboy, who loves Kaijus, Crocky the ??? Crocodile I guess (Basically Barney the Dinosaur), super heroes, cars, Warlocks and Warriors (Dungeons and Dragons), sports, comics, Sci-Fi, fantasy, and cartoons. Self-admitted geek, with some popular interests in there.

Think of Tim as sort of Autistic kind of. He's never officially said to be. But when you read his origin, it's definitely a legitimate way to interpret him. Though I believe his uniqueness is intended to really be molded by Tim's passion, and obliviousness from a lack of parental figures in his very young life.

Tim is supposed to be an optimist, as told by his creator, but to be real a lot of writers seem to forget that, even when making jokes about how he's optimistic compared to others. I think sometimes the writer's own cynism leaks out into him. So remember that...despite a lot of writers forgetting it. Be better than them.

Cassie Sandsmark:

My personal second favorite member, but, please, make up your own mind here.

She's a rebellious teenage girl, and tomboy. She stays up pass curfew to party, but is at heart a good hearted individual who truly wants to help. This comes at odds with her stubborness and headfirst attitude. She hates being treated as a kid. And shows a great deal of intuition and cleverness. She's also a babysitter. Seemingly a good one too.

Her need to prove herself can put itself ahead of her own logic though. And she buts head with her very stuffy mother who doesn't appreciate Cassie's care-free nature. She means a lot to Cassie, and Cassie wants her approval. Cassie's natural being is...very much in contrast to what her mother would prefer though. It's fun.

A lot like Tim she's also shown to be a Super Hero fanboy. For her it's specifically Wonder Woman and the Flash, while with Tim it's basically anyone the writer decides he hasn't met offscreen yet.

Through her journey's she learns to contain herself though, and better use her powers.

Bart Allen:

The most teenager-y teenager you ever seen. He has ADHD, but not the uber-hyperactive, talkative, hugger you see in some more modern misunderstandings of him.

Originally he was pretty quiet. Super popular in his school. Girls loved him and considered him a pretty boy. But in reality he has no social knowledge, because he was raised in basically a video game for two years. He's essentially an alien learning to fit in with human civilization. So he's incredibly reckless without intention. It takes him awhile to truly process the concept of death and related repercussions. So he's sort of dangerous.

He can be quite surly, and mean spirited on occasion. But like most heroes, he has a good heart that comes out in the end. It's just simply the 90s and being Anti-Authority is the norm. His name is Bart after all. Underneath that is a young man who does sweet things when he has it in him.

Just don't think of him like a baby like how a lot of people make him out to be. He's a teen's teen.

Original Bart, like original Tim, and original Cassie, to me, is the best version of the character. The most nuanced, and interesting.

Oh, and minor violent streak on Bart too. Started a fight before, and stuff like that.

He cares inside. That has to count for something right?

Kon-El:

Hot-Headed pervert. Over-confident. Fame hungry. Lady magnet. Stubborn. Head first. Sort of a prick. But again good hearted.

I haven't read him as much as the others, because I don't personally care for him. Then in the early 00s with Teen Titans they decided just to make him an angsty young Clark, which is personally boring.

I don't have a lot of great things to say about him. His solo is very dated, and overtly sexual. Something I have no interest in reading.

He's at his best in Young Justice though, where he isn't written as jail bait by a writer who thought it'd be great if he dated grown women to fulfill teenage boys dreams. Instead you get to have fun with a very flawed character without the distracting perversion...mostly.

Punk styled. Loves dressing like a punk. Until he doesn't. Ruh-roh.

--

Again though, different writers write different things. They catch onto different things more than others, some are plain neglectful, others don't care, some want to change stuff for the sake of it. It's comics, you'll be lucky if it's consistent.

But on my years of studies, all that is what the character's where intended to be by their creators. So a lot of it is a starting pad, but it's also the purest form of them you're going to find.

[starshideurfics]

Captive, Captivating, part three

Part Two

into the steddie-verse, omegaverse, dubcon, breeding, we’re all in the same imperial rome/war prize gutter together, mdni 🔞

Geta watches as his betrothed is ushered away to prepare for their wedding, calming his need to growl with the fact that Stepan is wearing his clothes. That he is marked as belonging to Rome.

Belonging to Geta.

“Your grace?” Junius says from his side. “Are you certain of this mating? The emperor will not be pleased.”

“The only thing I could do to please Caracalla is drop dead.”

“Geta…”

“Better to be mated to an omega with no ties to Rome—with no ties to my brother—before he can force one upon me. This way I’m not married to one of his spies.” He’s not a fool. He has good reasons for making his offer.

But that is not his focus now.

Now he must prepare for his wedding.

At least Junius knows well enough to accept that answer without any further pushing. He simply purses his lips and follows Geta when he goes to finalize the official treaty with King Rikhardt.

Geta spends the early afternoon drinking with his betrothed’s father. Then he is brought to the temple, surrounded by statues of gods that are not his gods, but perhaps another version of them.

Stepan waits at the altar for him, still wearing the blue tunica, but his hair has been braided back, with tiny, white flowers woven into a crown that sits over his veil. His lips are dark, like he’s been biting them—the very picture of a nervous, virginal bride.

The priest joins their hands, binds them together with a strip of soft, woolen cloth, and pronounces them wed. Geta presses a suitably chaste kiss to Stepan’s lips, his omega frozen at his touch, but he relaxes when Geta interlaces their fingers to hold his hand. They are expected to keep their hands bound throughout the wedding feast, until they retire for the night. At least his sweet wife will become more acclimated to his touch.

King Rikhardt is clearly the type to look for opportunities to celebrate, to enjoy good food and drink, to have music and dancing, to have his queen in his lap and whisper in her ear to make her laugh. Geta appreciates the revelry, but his attention is pulled by his tablemates. Stepan is pressed tightly against his side, their hands joined and resting in his lap, but a young alpha woman and a boy who looks just past his first rut have claimed Stepan’s other side.

It’s easy enough to tell they are his siblings, the three of them whispering in their own language as they eat, and Geta wishes he could understand them. Then Stepan squeezes his hand, pulling his gaze directly to his warm eyes. “Husband, meet my sister and brother, Ravna and Torsten.”

Before he can say a word, Ravna asks, “Do you go on campaigns often?”

The implicit question is obvious: Will you ever bring my brother back home?

“No, not often,” Geta answers truthfully. He does not know when he will have a safe opportunity to leave Rome again once he returns.

“Oh…” She tugs her younger brother close, ruffles his curls as he stares at Geta with deep blue eyes.

“Stepan says you are leaving tomorrow,” Torsten says, both a question and a challenge.

“Yes, with our terms in place here it is time to move on. We shall be moving further east.”

“So, you will come back here on your way to Rome.”

Geta considers saying they will turn to the southwest at the end of the campaign, but it was clever to ask at all and he smiles. “We will come back this way when the campaign ends.” The boy grins back, and Geta whispers at Stepan’s ear, “I’m sure your father will appreciate throwing us another feast then.”

“As long as it is not too late in the year,” Stepan agrees, more worried about wasting resources than upsetting his father.

The promise and the whispers destroy the last bit of nerve the boy has, and Torsten asks question after question of Geta: about Rome, the places he’s traveled in the empire, his horse, and if he’s ever seen a lion up close. He’s happy to indulge the boy’s curiosity, but then there’s a great pounding, as all in attendance at the feast slap the tables and stomp their feet on the floor.

“It is time!” Rikhardt calls across the great hall. “For my eldest to go to his mating bed!” He raises his mead in a toast. “May their mating be a fruitful one!”

A cheer goes up throughout the room, and Geta laughs as he and his bride are forced to their feet and hoisted into the air. The small contingent—seemingly made up of members of the king’s council and guard—carry the couple off to a private room and deposit them in a nest of blankets and pillows, leaving as quickly as they’d come.

Geta almost asks if this is Stepan’s nest, but he quickly realizes the smell is wrong. These blankets lack his scent, and even as a prince, he likely slept in a shared room.

“We may as well get it over with,” Stepan murmurs, reaching for the hem of his tunica with his free hand.

“Get it over with?” Geta growls, leaning in close to scent at his neck. “There is no ‘over’ now, mellitus. You are mine. Your pleasure and pain are mine. Your neck and your cunt are mine. And I told you: I care for what is mine.”

He licks a slow stripe from Stepan’s mating gland up to his ear, nipping at the lobe. His omega shivers.

He’s meticulous as he removes the handfasting knot from their joined hands, is just as precise as he strips the tunica from him and pushes Stepan to lie back.

Kneeling, Geta forces his legs apart, revealing his red cunt and soft little cock. He rubs his hands over Stepan’s hairy thighs, and inhales deeply, desperate for his sweetness.

“You’ll be weeping with pleasure before I even get my teeth in your neck, do you understand?”

Stepan nods, jaw held tight.

“Good. And this is only the beginning.”

🌙🏛️🌿

Stepan is frozen, the pretty flower crown his mother made for him crushed beneath his head, veil trapped under his shoulders, as his husband bends down and takes his prick into his mouth.

A gasp punches from him at the sensation when Geta sucks, tongue cradling his small member, but his hips buck when a finger slips inside to push up against a spot that makes him see stars behind his eyelids. Not that he moves at all, Geta’s strong arm holding him in place.

His legs shake and he lets out a weak moan, fingers clutching at the blankets at his sides. Geta presses a second finger inside him, the pressure incessant until he goes taut as a bowstring, warm slick flowing from his cunt. But Geta does not stop, stroking and sucking while Stepan cries out.

His hands find their way into Geta’s hair, weakly pushing him away, the alpha chuckling as he does. “Too much?” he asks, dark eyes sparkling in the low light, daring him to speak, fingers still inside his cunt. He presses a slick-wet kiss to his inner thigh. “It’s important for you to peak, mellitus. To open your womb so my seed can take root.” Another kiss low on his belly and he pulls his fingers from Stepan. “Do you feel open now? Empty?”

He nods, tears in his eyes, hoping this will be enough. “Yes, Dominus,” Stepan whispers. “Please…”

“So good, my clever little omega.” He trails wet fingers along the crease of Stepan’s thigh, swirls the mess through the short curls around his sex. Nips at the soft skin at the bend in his knee. Swats lightly at his hip. “Up. On your hands and knees.”

Turning onto his side is hard enough, limbs weak, and Geta lifts him around the middle. He tries not to go limp as he is manhandled into position, ass high, legs spread. Teeth bite into the meat of his buttocks and a strong hand squeezes his hip. “Such a lovely cunt.” A kiss over the bite. “So loose now, but I’ll still fill you to the brim.”

The blunt head of his cock notches at Stepan’s entrance, Geta gripping him at the waist as he pushes all the way inside. Somehow, he feels even bigger this time, reaching places so deep Stepan can’t get a full breath. All he can do is pant shallowly as Geta begins to move, picking up speed as he chases his pleasure, skin slapping against skin.

At least it doesn’t last long, Geta grunting as his knot swells and locks him in place, his hot spend filling every available crevice in Stepan’s very full cunt. They’ll be stuck here awhile, maybe even long enough to fall asleep, Stepan thinks. Hopes. Then they can hurry through trading bites in the morning…

“Mmm, perfect,” Geta hums, “Take me so well.” His hand slides down to rub his belly. “Gonna keep you nice and full tonight, omega. Have you peak on my knot.” That hand moves down to hold his soft prick, thumbing at the head, his other hand still gripping his hip and holding him in place.

It’s too much. Geta using his mouth on him was too much in the first place, and now he is too full and completely empty all at once, his body clenching down on the cock inside him, pulsing around the knot at his entrance. Each time the pressure sends a jolt of pleasure-pain through him, made more intense by the attention to his prick.

Stepan peaks again, a weak dribble of slick coming from his prick, his cunt locking hard around Geta’s knot, pushing the alpha over the edge with him and forcing him to spill more hot seed. “Please,” Stepan whimpers, “Dominus, I’m so-”

“Full?” Geta interrupts. “No, mellitus, you are nowhere near full enough.” He pets Stepan’s flank, leans down to kiss along his spine. “You’ll take at least two more knots tonight.” Geta spreads his hand wide over Stepan’s navel. “You’ll be full enough when you look like you’re carrying my pup.”

The very thought his husband can spill enough seed inside him to distend his belly is laughable, but it also heats Stepan’s cheeks. He may have given up much of what he wants for the good of his people and his pack, but he still desires motherhood. He wants the pups Geta keeps promising.

He also wants to lie down. His arms shake under him, and he sniffles as Geta holds him up. “I am tired, Dominus. Please.”

“Yes, of course. You need to keep up your strength,” Geta soothes as he guides them down onto their sides. He holds Stepan close, their bodies pressed together. He brings one hand up to cup a breast, but he does not tease or fondle, simply holds him and rubs a tiny circle with his thumb.

Soon enough, his knot shrinks, and Geta shifts his hips, his soft cock slipping free. “With how sweet you smell it shouldn’t take long for me to be ready again.” Geta kisses along Stepan’s shoulder, buries his nose against his neck. He squeezes the breast in his hand, presses his palm to the hard nipple, and Stepan sighs.

“I think there’s a better way to spend our time waiting.” Geta pushes himself up to sitting, smiling down at Stepan, his eyes so soft. “Get on your back, my sweet.”

Stepan rolls onto his back, stares up with unshed tears clinging to his lashes. Geta slots against his side, head resting on his chest. Then he turns just enough to take a nipple into his mouth, suckling gently, tongue flicking occasionally over the hard bud.

It feels good, so much less intense than attention to his prick, but it still makes his cunt clench. He feels bold. Wants to encourage this gentler pleasure from his alpha. Slowly, Stepan reaches for Geta’s hand where it rests on his waist, and brings it up to cover his other breast. Geta massages the soft flesh, moans around the tit in his mouth, his own arousal growing where he’s pressed to Stepan’s hip.

But he keeps suckling until each one of Stepan’s breaths ends with a hitch or gasp. Then he lifts himself off and settles between his legs. His thrusts start slow, hips rolling smoothly as his knot fills, leaving him rocking in place, body tensing as he spills and spills and spills.

Geta collapses on top of Stepan and mouths lazily at his neck. “You have to peak when I bite you,” he mumbles. “Our bond must be strong.”

Stepan does not know what to say. Geta sounds so desperate. So vulnerable. He simply strokes up and down his back, fingers trailing over his shoulders. Presses a single kiss to his forehead.

They lie together, subdued, as they wait for Geta’s knot to go down. All the teasing and bombast has cooled along with the sweat on their bodies.

Geta slips free of him again, but keeps their bodies close, tangling their legs together as he tugs Stepan to his chest. He nuzzles against his cheek, and Stepan isn’t sure whose tears he feels on his skin.

“Dominus?” he murmurs, “Are-”

Needy lips cut him off with a sharp kiss.

🌙🏛️🌿

Stepan does not know how to kiss, his mouth still as Geta holds him in place, sucks on his full lower lip. He tastes so sweet, every part of him, and Geta wants more.

Needs more.

He rolls on top, pins him down, eyes shut tight as he licks into Stepan’s mouth, his cheeks cradled in his hands. His omega is so warm. So sweet. But his attempts at kissing back are feeble, and Geta just wants to *feel* him.

Geta bites too hard at his lip, makes Stepan whimper, tries to soothe it with his tongue, and finally kisses his way down to his ear. Gentle hands hold his head in place, a pointed toe drags up his calf, and soft lips ghost against his forehead. He whines at the sweetness of it, aches with need for him.

He has never wanted so badly to worship a previous sexual partner; Geta has always been content to be fawned over, enjoyed an omega moaning or crying at being stretched on his knot.

With Stepan, he prefers his little gasps of surprise, the way his legs shake, his sighs of pleasure when Geta plays with his pretty tits. Which has him thinking of a babe suckling at one of those perfect tits instead, and a purr rumbles through him—at the thought of his pup in his mate’s arms.

But they are not mated yet.

He must bite first, have Stepan bite him. They both must peak, could peak together. A pair of bites to bind them to one another, taking the tie of a knotting and making it eternal. A fastening of not just their hands, but their souls.

Geta scrambles to get up, needs a moment to breathe. To sit alone.

“Dominus?” Stepan asks, cautiously sitting up across from him. His voice is so soft, with a rough edge, like his throat is dry.

Swallowing, Geta notices his own thirst, and glances around the room for something to slake it. He sees nothing, but knows his guards wait outside the door, and pushes himself up onto shaking legs of his own. Two quick words are all it takes for Geta to close the door again with a wineskin in hand.

He pulls the stopper, takes a sip, and hands it to Stepan as he sits beside him once more. His omega drinks, throat bobbing as he swallows, and he smiles as he hands it back to Geta. “Thank you, Dominus.”

“You shall never hunger or thirst as long as I draw breath. I told you-”

Stepan reaches out, grabs his wrist. “I know.” He raises onto his knees, shuffles forward to close the space between them, and straddles Geta’s lap. “Care for me now, Dominus,” he whispers, leaning their foreheads together, and guiding Geta’s fingers to his open cunt.

Slowly, he rubs at his sweet inner spot, gets him wet, and uses that wetness to stroke his prick. Stepan sighs, cunt fluttering around a single finger. “Please,” he begs, “Give me your bite, Dominus. Give me a pup.”

“Yes,” he moans. “Going to give you so many pups. Have you fat with twins before the year is out.” Geta reaches for his half-hard cock, fumbles to stroke himself without disturbing Stepan’s place on his lap.

Stepan nods. “Twins with your dark eyes.” He looks down between them, his hand covers Geta’s, adds more pressure, and when a pearly drop of pre-spend beads at the head, he swipes it up with his thumb and raises it to his lips.

Geta can’t help himself after that, crashing their mouths together as he gets his hands under Stepan’s thighs, raising his hips, and guiding him over his cock. Hands gripping his shoulders, Stepan builds a slow rhythm, raising and dropping as he clenches, panting open-mouthed as Geta sucks and nips at his lip.

They’re both too sensitive after all that has come before, and soon Stepan’s legs are shaking. He drops hard, grinds down as Geta’s knot begins to swell. They rock together, orgasms building, and Geta pinches a hard nipple. Stepan cries out as he cunt spasms, and Geta sets his teeth to his neck.

He bites fast, blood and sweet lymph on his tongue, and releases just as quickly. He hurries to get Stepan’s mouth in place as he cock jerks and spills.

Stepan takes longer to let go, moaning as he completes the bond, his tongue laving over his bite as he shudders through an extended aftershock, his peak cresting to match Geta’s. The bond settles as he pulls back just enough to press their temples together, breathing each other’s air.

“Let me see, mellitus,” Geta murmurs once he’s caught his breath again. “Need to make sure it is not too deep.” He thinks he did it right, that his bite on his mate’s neck should heal well once it is covered with the sacred herbs, but he needs to see for himself.

Stepan follows the order easily, tilting his head to show off the bite: a neat set of punctures in two curved lines. No torn and ragged flaps of skin, the bleeding already slowed to a sluggish pace. He drops a gentle kiss over it, then kisses up Stepan’s neck, and nuzzles at his cheek.

“We should try to rest, my sweet. I fear if we wait for my knot to release, we will not sleep tonight.”

Part 4

[tyrantisterror]

Why are Bulma and Piccolo your favorite Dragon Ball characters?

It might sound weird, but I love Bulma because of her very glaring flaws. She is loud, short-tempered, vain, self-centered, arrogant, too-clever by half, and extremely bossy, all of which are traits that are generally given to villainous women so that we hate them. But Bulma's not a villain - she's a hero, and for all her faults, she's also incredibly smart, resourceful, and resilient. Bulma never says die, never gives up, always tries to come up with a solution to whatever shit gets thrown her way, and goddamn, she manages to pull something together more often than not! In fact, most of her virtues are connected to her flaws - that arrogance pushes her to defy the odds and succeed, her tendency to overshoot when showing off her smarts will lead to situations where she can apply those smarts under pressure to more spectacular results, and you know what, she is really fucking pretty, so why shouldn't she be proud of it? Like, I've said before on a few occasions that I love it when a hero has villain coding, and Bulma has all the same villain coding as Jessie from Team Rocket - but she's a hero, she's unambiguously a hero, and a hero we need more often than not, and that's so damn cool. I love that she gets to be this loud, bossy, arrogant, vain person who's nonetheless a good friend and incredibly reliable and resourceful ally, that for all her abundant faults she's still a lovable and iconic hero. Girl characters don't get to be those things often enough! We need more Bulmas in the world.

My love for Piccolo is a bit simpler/more obvious. One, he's got a kickass character design - he and Aku from Samurai Jack cemented my love of costumes with big fucking shoulder pads/pauldrons. Two, as a person who had never seen Dragon Ball and found out about the series when they aired Dragon Ball Z on Toonami back in the 90's, Piccolo was the weirdest thing that first episode threw at me, and it threw a LOT of weird shit at me in that episode. Talking turtles, cats, and pigs, a lady with blue hair, a guy whose kid has a monkey tail, aliens, all sorts of shit. But then there's this big green guy who everyone is terrified of for reasons the episode doesn't really explain (because there's a whole series you're supposed to have watched before it) who asks the father of the monkey tail boy to team up with him against the monkey tail alien, and the green guy has these weird pink ridges on his arms and the coolest fucking outfit I had seen at that point in my life, and when he takes off his weird purple ball hat thing it turns out he has antenna under it, and his teeth are sharp like a vampire, and he blows a hole through the dad guy's chest, like holy shit what an icon, I loved him immediately.

And then Piccolo proceeds to train the monkey-tail kid, claiming he's going to use him to take over the world, but as the show goes on it's clear that Piccolo is not as evil as he claims to be, and clearly cares for this kid despite claiming to only be using him as a tool, all leading up to the big battle with Nappa where Piccolo, that ruthless green slug vampire motherfucker, takes the killing blow to save the kid he stole. Blew my goddamn mind. There were almost no other characters in the media I had consumed as a child up till that point who matched Piccolo's moral complexity- about the only ones I can think of that compare are Dinobot from Beast Wars and Hexadecimal from Reboot, and, well, I'm also obsessed with those two, so here we are.

Piccolo had a great character arc and defined so much of what made Dragon Ball Z instantly special and unique in my eyes as a kid. There was no one like him, no one who did what he did, no one who looked as cool as he did. What a fucking legend.

[girlithinkimgay]

thinking about how, with possibly the exception of grian in 3rd life, all of the life series victors were, not necessarily outcasts, but didn't rely on and team up with other people.

grian, like I said was the exception, but never originally planned to stay with scar at the desert for long, and ended up not losing his first life until way too far into the series to make new allies, because he was only indebted to scars alliance until after he lost it.

then it was scott, who was always clever with who he teamed up with, not jimmy, because he knew it was almost a flight risk to keep him safe, due to 3rd life, and picked self-resourceful teammates.

then pearl, who was most certainly an outcast of double life, not staying side by side with her soul mate, scott, and was quite literally the mysterious, crazy dog lady of the server, who couldn't be trusted, and was fully prepared to kill Scott in the end, as she had her bow ready to shoot, but he ended up letting her win due to him not wanting to win again, and so won out of kindness, but was ready to win the hard way.

then martyn, who, because ren wasn't in limited life, had Scott, but it was never a close alliance (imo), like it was sort of a last resort, and he was always running around interacting with other groups anyways, like the clockers and the bad boys. and then in the end, totally betrayed those whom he'd promised to help, and killed them instantly, crowning him victor.

then of course scar, the absolute outcast that chose not to have allies that he would have to account for. he had no substantial allies for the entirety of secret life, and survived through pure wit and charm, and again, went out willing to fight, not even realising pearl had accidentally died after she fell, and even himself commenting on the fact of how ironic it was that the guy who had no friends, and no attatchments/promises to keep to anyone had won.

(I do count cleo as canon, but bc it was a 1 ep special, I don't think it counts in my argument in the sense that no one had long enough to make actually proper allies and attatchments)

[sheisaquarius-blog]

Hi! Idk if this is related to your Love Like Magic AU but if you could assign each character a familiar, what animal or magical creature would you assign for each one of them?

oh man, i LOVE this question! so, in the 'love like magic' au, most of the familiars are not-too-out-of-the-ordinary pets/animals, but i'm going to take a few liberties with this ask for fun. obviously spork, freya and zelda, and bones and birdie all make little cameos in that fic, and i also gave ianthony bowie, but i want to go a little more magical with this question! hope you don't mind. everyone's familiars look something like this to me:

ian: a canine of some kind, for sure. maybe a wolf or coyote? fiercely loyal and a little rough (ruff) around the edges.

anthony: a crow. yes, part of that is based off the wwad video, but i've always loved the idea of his magic being dark but feather-soft. also wise, piercing eyes.

damien: gotta give damien the other spooky flying creature--he gets a bat. maybe a dagger-toothed long-nosed fruit bat? just love the difference between the 'scary' perception of bats and the reality. plus, i tied damien's magic so closely with the moon and night that it had to be nocturnal.

shayne: an owl, perhaps? wise and a little fearsome. intense. broad and also loud. maybe a little nocturnal for his sun-related magic, so maybe second best would be a golden eagle. but i do love an owl for him.

courtney: courtney gives such strong horse energy. i'm partial to an akhal-teke for this particular take because of the mark i gave her. these horses have an iridescent sort of sheen to them, so i like that for her.

angela: hyena. scrappy and resourceful. an incredible laugh. dog version of a cat.

arasha: a fox. red, clever, lanky, cunning, and elegant. cat version of a dog.

trevor: some kind of fresh water turtle. the boy is 80% neck, 20% vibes. enjoys his own pace. (also he works with chanse and i love the idea of chanse's favorite animal being trevor's familiar)

chanse: spotted leopard. gorgeous, elegant, biblically accurate eyes. something in the big cat family at the very least, preferably something lithe. gotta jump that car.

spencer: a frog. i don't know if i have a good justification for this one, it's just vibes. cute and i want to hold him in my hand.

tommy: i have to give credit to @lilac-hecox for this one because i was struggling, but maybe a cuttlefish? aquatics are hard, but a) comes with its own mustache, and b) i like it as a pairing to spencer's frog. they have an incredible ability to blend and camouflage, which i love for tommy, too.

amanda: like her co-owner she also gives me horse energy. maybe a friesian? i like the idea of her and courtney both having horses. friesians are maybe the most gorgeous, and also they're good at many things, including drafting. and goodness knows amanda carried 'love like magic' on her back despite not getting the justice she deserved from me.

[secondratefiction]

O yes, please! If you're willing to write some headcanons and/or blurbs for Captain Rex or Commander Cody or both, that would be wonderful! 💕 Thank you very much!

Alright, my last time really writing for Rex went a little off the rails and angsty, so let's see if we can't come up with something a bit more happy for him...

Baby boy is super awkward and kind of oblivious when feelings first start to become a thing... like this man could get smacked right in the face with it and still not fully process what's going on...

But once he actually gets into the swing of things and gets comfortable with himself and expressing those emotions/showing that kind of affection? He is just the sweetest most adorable thing ever.

Love language is 100% acts of service, and he is especially good at the little everyday kind of gestures:

He knows exactly how you drink your caf and always has a cup waiting for you in the morning.

Man can't cook to save the republic, but he will absolutely do the dishes/clean the kitchen after you cook for him.

Handyman might not have been part of his training, but he is clever and resourceful, and he managed to fix several things around your home that you kept putting off because they 'weren't that bad'.

He's never felt more proud of himself that when he saw how happy you were when you realized everything he'd taken care of.

[yeehawpurgatory]

Arthur Claus?

❄️❄️❄️Seasons Greetings!❄️❄️❄️ @sanx049

I hope you have a wonderfully Merry Christmas and a warm holiday season. This little fic is my gift to you, hope you enjoy!

I had a lot of fun writing this. I took inspiration from your prompt about a gang/camp scenario. Plus who doesn't love Arthur doing the most at every possible moment? :) This fic was also crossposted to Ao3 so other folks might also enjoy. Do let me know if you have an ao3 account I could use to officially gift it to you there.

Summary: After a series of misfortune, the gang finds themselves cold, broke, and otherwise down on their luck. Arthur notices everyone's dwindling spirits, particularly little Jack. Despite what he'd said about being helpless himself, he takes it upon himself to organize something to bring everyone's spirits back up.

Words: 4k+

@rdrevents

It’s hard to decide which is colder; the miserable weather or the people moping about their equally miserable camp. Arthur sighs, tucks his head closer to his chest, and tugs his jacket up to block the chilly wind. 

    Nearly a week ago the cold set in. Dutch hasn’t delivered a good speech for a few days, too caught up in trying to plan their escape from this precarious situation. Cold and wet, hungry and broke, and on the run from both the law and O’Driscolls after a stagecoach turned out to be a clever setup. It knocked them off their kilter, left a few men injured, and spirits down. 

     Sticking by Dutch’s side is Hosea. The two commiserate about their next moves from the torn fabric of Dutch’s old tent. Susan’s coming down harder on most everyone around, including Mr Pearson. Speaking of, the mentioned man started whining to Arthur about their lack of food a few days ago, and he hasn’t stopped since. Strauss sits around with no money to count and little resources to stretch. Swanson lingers around their pathetic campfire, shaking and sleeping and waking in those fits of his. The girls are mostly kept busy between tending to themselves and the men laid up; Bill, Mac, and Lenny. Uncle is Uncle, he’s fine, if not annoying, which is nothing out of the ordinary. 

     With little to no reason to leave camp aside from hunting and replenishing in the nearest town, most of them sit around, moping, twiddling their thumbs and trying to keep busy. It’s not the men and women Arthur worries about however. They’ve all experienced hopelessness that rivals this. 

    He peers through the hair which fell on his face, too damn long but nowhere to get it cut and no one around he trusts to do it, not after last time. 

     Little Jack Marston sits in his mother’s lap, bearing a look so listless and sad Arthur has to look away. The boy is too smart for his own good; even if he doesn’t have an understanding of their situation, he’s observed the mood around camp and somehow absorbed it. He’s moping worse than any of them. 

     How much he could’ve remembered from last year Arthur doesn’t know, but the boy looked forward to the colder season only weeks ago. A lot of folks had. With Dutch’s insistence they’d steal a tree, nab a few pieces of decor, and shoot something big and meaty for Pearson, it was hard not to get caught up in the excitement. To be hopeful for a while. 

     “Arthur, you got a second?” A voice steals away his attention.

     If it ain’t the person I want t’see the least. Arthur lifts his head at the call of his name. His horse sniffs and huffs, blowing a visible gust of cold white air in his direction. 

     “Maybe. Depends on what you want.” 

     John bristles, and frowns. For a second Arthur thinks they may fight again. Hell, with the lack of action getting to him Arthur might welcome a fight. At least it’ll give him something to do. Despite his assumptions, John’s frown dissipates. 

     “Look, I know how things is, but I need t’ask you something.” 

     Typical John. 

     “What?” Arthur asks, his voice a little harsher than it needs to be. 

     “It’s,” John pauses, and glances over his shoulder, “it’s the boy,...and Abigail too I guess.” He scratches at his chin and neck, dark and stubbly; he lost his razor and mirror it looks like. 

     Arthur eyes him curiously. Marston’s relationship with his own son is basically nonexistent, but somehow better than his soured relationship with the mother of his child. Yet, here he stands, ready to ask Arthur for his input when he’s ignored so much of it in the past. 

     Arthur swallows his resentment for the time being. “What about them?”

     “Don’t know if you noticed, but folks are…down.” 

     He chuckles. “You think I’m blind? Of course I noticed.”

     “And the boy, he…I mean, he’s a good kid, usually happy. But he ain’t smiled or laughed or nothing for a week.” 

    “And that bothers you?” Arthur asks pointedly, unable to suppress the snark at the end of his question. 

     Again, John frowns but doesn’t address his attitude. “Look, you’re good with him. Ain’t there something you can do?”

     Arthur stands up straighter. Once again John Marston comes to him, asking him to shoulder his burden, to take on his responsibilities. If he weren’t so cold, so tired, and so fed up with their predicament, he might’ve shot the other down then and there. Instead, Arthur sighs. His thoughts on John aside, the boy’s mood is unfortunate. What might rival that misfortune however is Abigail Roberts; her taking it all on her shoulders while her good for nothing husband prances about, trying his utmost to avoid his own family. 

     “Should I wave my hands around, say a few words, try to will our shit circumstances away?”

     “Goddammit Morgan, I’m not askin’ for me. It’s just… you’re good with him, hell, you’re good with everyone. Always takin’ care of folks. I just thought, maybe you could do something?”

     Do something? He goes out to get what little supplies they can afford without being asked, he puts up with Susan and Pearson’s nagging, and endures Dutch and Hosea’s ramblings; and Marston wants him to do more than that? To hell with him!

     “Look, I ain’t in the mood for this just now. If your family needs something then it ought to be you who takes care of it. I can’t do nothing for you.” Arthur looks away. There’s something about John’s pathetic, dark-eyed stare that usually had Arthur giving into his requests like he was dealing with a Goddamn child, instead of a hardened capable man. 

     John says nothing for a second, then he clicks his teeth. “Alright then. Sorry I asked. Don’t know what I was thinking, you got a lot to do. Abigail’s been kicking my ass about the boy, I figured you’d know what to do.” 

     “Your problems are your own.” Arthur digs into his pocket, feeling around for the pack of smokes he’s certain is in there. He finds nothing, then remembers he’d tossed it to Tilly earlier that day. “Best be on your way.” 

     “Right. Well, thanks.” John swivels on his feet, though he lingers for a few seconds. Maybe he’s waiting around, expecting Arthur to give in and agree to save his ass like all the other times.

      It ain’t gonna be like all those other times, not just now. 

     John finally slinks away, leaving Arthur and his horse alone again. His attention shifts to his animal. She sniffs at him, nuzzling her nose against the hand he’s got sitting there. Probably looking for something to eat. 

     “Sorry girl,” he shushes her. “Ain’t nothing I can do for you neither.” 

***

     “Hey Arthur, c’mere for a second.” Abigail beckons him toward her. “Can you please watch him, just long enough I can get something to eat?”

     “Sure.” How can he say no to her? Though it is a curious thing she’s asked him over any of the girls. Or his own damn father. “You uh, asked John?” 

     She huffs. “Dutch needed him for something. Left a while ago. I know you probably have things to do, but everyone’s so caught up and I-” 

     “Hush, I understand. Go take a few minutes, I got the kid.” He tells her. 

     Something in her blue eyes soften, relief overcomes her, “thanks Arthur, I can always count on you.” 

     She leaves him be but for some reason her words stick with him. She can always count on him? What about now? He shakes his head.

     “Hi Jack!” He says with a smile, wondering if the boy can tell a real one from a fake one. Hopefully not.

     “Hi Uncle Arthur.” Jack looks at him, then drops his head. 

     “Where’re your things? I don’t see no toys.”

     Silence then, “I left them at the other camp.” 

     Oh. “Well, you can always practice your letters.” 

     Jack looks down, fiddling with his fingers. A blatant display of stress. 

     “You…don’t have your books, do ya’? Let me guess, you left them at the other camp.” Arthur says.

     The boy looks up at him with big shining eyes, craning his neck. “Don’t tell Ma, she’ll be sooo mad.” 

     No wonder the boy’s been so glum, he’s sitting here with nothing. No toys, no books, no one talking to him. Abigail’s been with him, trying her best, but she’s tired and often needed elsewhere. John’s been keeping an eye on him at least, the little good that’s doing. Hosea is busy. Tilly is busy. Dutch is busy. Sure, sometimes Arthur checks on him, but it’s just not enough entertainment for a boy his age. 

     “I won’t tell her nothin’, promise.” 

     That seems to make him smile, just for a second or two. Then it’s back to sulking.

     Arthur sighs, taking a seat on a nearby chair. The boy is usually chatty with him if no one else. Yet he sits there quietly now. 

     “Ain’t heard much out of you. What’s wrong?” 

     Jack seems to contemplate, staring up at the sky as he does. “Hmm, Ma and Pa are busy. And they look sad. So is everyone.” 

     “No Jack, they're not sad, no one is. Folks is… just a little,-”… what can he say to a child that won’t make them worry or ask more questions? “They’re tired, and they’re thinking…about where we’re going next.” 

     “It’s cold here.” 

     “I know Jack.”

     “And boring.” 

     “Yeah.” Arthur chuckles.  

     It’s like he figured before. The kid is perceptive even if he doesn’t know it himself. There’s no way to lift Jack’s spirit, no point in trying if everyone else is still down and stressed out. The kid’ll just work himself up again.

     There’s nothing he can do. Nothing at all. 

    “Arthur!” Abigail joins them again. He gets up from the chair, beckoning her to take the seat. She does, smoothing her skirt and tugging her jacket up a bit more. “Thank you for that.” 

     He nods at her, wondering briefly if he should mention anything about Jack, but the kid’s sitting right there, and he promised he wouldn’t after all. 

     “It’s no problem. I’ll catch you later.” 

     Arthur leaves them be, reflecting, pondering. Jack won’t cheer up so long as the camp is all gloomy. Mood around camp won’t get better unless they get out of here; or unless they’ve got something to bring their spirits up. Though what could do the job? 

     Just then he hears laughter. Loud and annoying and clearly coming from Sean Maguire. Javier jerks awake from where he sat at a table slumped over, knocking a bottle over and cussing. Following that is the sound of Pearson calling out. “Food’s ready!” 

   Food. Booze. Sean. A series of ideas smack him in the face and suddenly, Arthur Morgan has a plan.

***

     With a rifle slung over his shoulders John makes his way to guard duty, or rather, he was until he notices the small crowd in the middle of camp. 

     He peeks over everyone’s shoulder and frowns, his mouth falling open slightly. What the hell?

     Past the crowd of people standing shoulder to shoulder, he first spots Sean Maguire with a hand on Jack’s shoulder. The young man is in the middle of telling a tale, his movement exaggerated and his voice loud.

     “…And some say he’ll visit the do-gooders while they sleep, leaving them gifts of all kinds. Toys for the little boys, dresses for the girls, maybe coins for their parents! Tell me that don’t sound magical, eh kid?” Sean’s got Jack captivated in a tale he’s clearly weaving on the spot, but dammit, the kid is more lively than he has been in quite a time.

     John’s eyes fall to the big old circular table sitting in the middle of the commotion. His eyes go wide. 

     Their odd mismatched plates and bowls sat neatly in their respective piles, along with their mugs and tin cups. A few brand new bottles sit next to them. John recognizes all but one, whose label is shining and clean. Oddly enough he spots pieces of paper with names on them, fixed to each bottle with twine. Gifts? 

     Nevermind the booze. There’s the beginnings of a feast, or the closest to one that he’s seen in a while. Potatoes, carrots, peas and corn, things he knows have to have come from a can; he’s lived off canned food his whole life, he recognizes it instantly. In the middle of the plates sits a few good looking hunks of meat, those ain’t seen a can for certain. 

     Susan stands beside a pile of chocolate bars, also tied up with twine and paper on them. She calls out folks’ names and hands them out. More gifts? 

     The table itself is oddly decorated with pinecones and branches with dried red berries. Individually wrapped hard candy is strewn about another plate next to some coffee, this one only holding biscuits. Most are cracked in half and clearly from a tin, but still certainly put there with care. Twine ties a few pieces of greenery to each table leg. John isn’t much for style and presentation, but he has to admit it’s a pretty sight. 

     “What is all this?” Dutch takes him by the shoulder, not unkind, just caught off guard. 

     “I…have no idea.” 

     “Oh look! He’s left something for you.” Sean’s voice steals their attention. 

     “Really?” Jack pipes up with enthusiasm only a child could have. 

     “Says your name on it after all!” Sean kneels down, grabbing a wrapped box from beneath the table, giving it to the boy. 

     Jack lights up, forgoing his manners and tearing newspaper and twine until he gets it open. Then, he stares down with a wide smile overtaking his round face. “Look! Ma!”

     Abigail comes into view, her face also a clear look of disbelief, but she’s smiling as she looks down at the boy. “What’cha got there?”

     The kid holds up two new books, one in each hand. A few folks give him an exaggerated whoop, a few clap; mostly, John notices they’re happy to see the boy’s blatant display of innocent joy. It’s a welcome change for sure. 

     “I bet your Pa can help you read those,” Abigail looks up, singling him out in the crowd. 

     John opens his mouth but someone else speaks up from behind him and claps him on the back.

     “Yeah, he’ll do that.” Arthur. “Won’t you?”

     John looks at him, then Abigail, then the boy. His wide eyes and happiness, Abigail’s hopefulness, Arthur’s threatening form looming near him; “of course.” 

     “Yay! Thanks Pa!” The boy doesn’t wait for any other prompting, he dives right back into the box half his size. 

     John takes a step back, turning to face the other man. Arthur’s standing tall, an innocuous look on his face, but John’s known him for a long time. Something is off. His eyes are ringed and dark beneath, and they droop. His shoulders aren’t so straight. His back is hunched. He’s tired. They all are, but him more than usual. Realization dawns on him.

     “Huh, wonder what else is in that box.” 

     Arthur shrugs. “How should I know?”

     John’s eyes narrow. “When’d you have the time to do all this?” He asks quietly. 

     “Do what?” 

     “Don’t bullshit me Morgan.” John turns back around at the sound of laughter from Jack, who’s feeding Hosea a piece of chocolate with his already messy hands. Abigail’s musing over him, while most other folks have settled around and began picking at the goods. 

     When he turns back to Arthur, to press him further, he pauses. Arthur’s suppressing a yawn, rubbing his eyes, blinking a few times. Lord, he’s beat. 

     “How?” John asks gentler than before.

     Arthur sighs. “I had help, so don’t go thinkin’ I did this on my own. Woke Pearson up an hour earlier, had to promise him the best bottle. Ha! Susan was already up, I had her and Tilly help me.” 

    “Just where’d you get all this?” John asks.

     “Uh, in town?” Arthur answers like it's obvious.

     “You went yesterday?” 

     “I went last night.” Arthur scratches his beard. 

     “Last night? And no one asked you where you were headed?” 

     Arthur sighs again. “Believe it or not, Sean can keep quiet when he wants to. Certainly not now though, I think he’s still yapping away.” 

     A glimpse over his shoulder confirms that. 

     “He was happy to keep quiet last night, even gave me some suggestions.” Arthur yawns. “Now, I got’ta go get some shut eye, you have anymore questions need answering, or am I free to go?” 

     John’s just got the one. 

     “Where’d you get the money for all that?” 

     Arthur visibly sags. “You remember the stagecoach we did a few months back?”

     “Yeah.” John’s not sure where this is going. Arthur couldn’t’ve had money remaining from that. Could he? 

     “Well I splurged a little. Bought a few nice things. A pistol, got a set of buckles, a good watch.” 

     Meaning dawns on John. “Oh, Arthur, really? You sold ‘em? Those were…yours.” 

     Arthur gives him an irritated look, shifting on his feet and looking away. “Weren’t nothing.” 

     Weren’t nothing? Just how selfless could he be? Just as John gets ready to retort, Jack calls him.

      “Pa! Come see this!” 

     When he turns back around Arthur gives him a hard look. “Go be with your family. Oh, and I picked you up a razor and a mirror. S’in your tent.” 

     He’s off before John can say another thing to him.

***

     Finally, finally they managed to leave that sorry excuse for a camp. Dutch finally pulled his head out of his ass, and with Hosea’s direction he led them onward and outward toward someplace better. No longer than a few days, and now the gang is good and settled someplace better than they’ve been in a long while. The weather warmed enough to travel in comfort, enough to lift the spirit of folks around him. It’s a real miracle if he’s ever seen one. 

     It’s not just the folks whose spirits have lifted. The animals are doing much better too. Boadicea returned to her regular self, much to Arthur’s pleasure. 

     “Hey Arthur, can I steal you for a minute?” 

     He peers up at Marson’s freshly shaved face. “What now?” He mumbles with a blessedly dry cigarette hanging from his lips. 

     “Just get up and follow me.” John leaves no room for argument as he walks away. Arthur’s got half a mind to let the fool trott on by himself, but for some reason, he follows the other man. 

     “You steering me toward trouble now Marston?” 

     John honest to God laughs at that. “Nah, I reckon you’ll like this.” 

     Arthur’s scowl deepens. God help Marston if he decided to try some nonsense today. After everything he’s done he needs a break. A day, a few hours, a single hour; is that too much to ask around here? 

     John leads him toward the horses, where a few other folks are standing around. Then, he stops and clears his throat. 

     It’s like he blew a whistle for some call to action. Folks turn around. Abigail, Tilly, Marybeth, Karen, Sean; they’re all here. Arthur lifts a brow. 

     “What’s going on?” 

     Karen and Marybeth share a look, Tilly spots a guilty smile.

     “Arthur,” Abigail starts. “What you did for Jack, well, that was real good of you. Lifted most of our spirits too.” 

     “I agree, and you certainly enlisted the best accomplice,” Sean snickers. 

     John steps past Abigail, stooping down lowly before standing upright with a large box in his arms. “Ain’t much, but a few of us thought you should have this.” 

     Arthur stares at the box, then at John, then to the rest of them. “What’s this?” 

     “It’s a gift, from all of us.” Tilly says. “A few others chipped in too.”  

     “Javier, Hosea, even a few cents from Uncle.” says Marybeth. 

     “Course’ we had to pick it from his pockets,” adds Karen. “You can thank Abigail for that.”

     Abigail laughs. “Weren’t nothing. Now take it.” 

     John hands him the box. Arthur takes it, his eyes widening. 

     “It’s heavy! I thought you said it weren’t nothing much?” 

     Another round of guilty looks from the small crowd. 

     “Look, I think the words yer’ lookin’ for is ‘thank you’, ain’t that right?” Sean says. 

     If he wasn’t so surprised Arthur might have smacked him over the head, or at least threatened to do so. He swallows hard, unsure of what to say. “Thank you. All a’you. This is…it weren’t necessary.” 

     John snorts, “don’t even know what’s inside yet.” 

     “Open it!” Says Marybeth. “Please!” 

     The box is crudely wrapped in newspaper, the sides tucked in messily and a few spots are stained and torn. It tears away easily. Arthur takes off the lid. 

     He pauses, then chuckles. 

     “Okay, this is…,” he chuckles again, shaking his head. 

     He pulls a small pouch out. From the gaps in the cloth he sees strands of hay sticking out. There’s another, and from it he can smell the peppermint candies. There’s a few perishable things; a pear, an apple, a few carrots with dirt still on them. There’s also a small hard bristled brush, and a few tonics, all sitting atop a new saddle blanket; they really pitched in to get things not for him, but for his horse? It’s…kind of funny, but practical. Needed.

     Arthur looks up. “This is real thoughtful, thank you, all of you.” 

     “Arthur,” Abigail says, “there’s more things.” 

     More? Arthur rummages around, frowning as he looks under the blanket. Then, he finds it. A book? A brand new leather bound journal and a good pen. A belt buckle, no, two of them? A bottle, a big one at that, a good bottle of dark whiskey. A pack of premium smokes. 

Just when he thinks that’s all, his fingers touch the edges of something square, no, something rectangular. Arthur slips a hand inside and feels for that one last thing. 

     Seconds later, he pulls it out and blinks. Words die in his throat. He stares down at a picture of his dear Ma, fitted and framed carefully. Perfectly in fact. 

     “I…how?” He looks up at the rest of them. 

     “Took a little bit of effort and snooping to get that picture.” Tilly tells him. 

     “Who?” That picture was pressed in the back of his old journal, an old thing falling apart at the spine, hidden away at the bottom of his trunk of things. Arthur looks to Abigail. She’s always been a good thief. Was it her? 

     Abigail shakes her head. “Ain’t me.” She tilts her head to the side, to where Marston stands with his hands behind his back causally. A hint. A confirmation. 

     “Really? John?” Arthur says in disbelief.

     John shrugs. “It weren’t hard. I just, waited for you to be busy. I knew where to look.” 

     He should be mad at the thought of John invading his space like that. Any other day he would be. He looks down at the framed picture. His Ma is smiling faintly. It’s an image he’s seen a hundred times, the only image of her he has left in fact; but seeing it like this, cared for, treated so nicely. Well, Arthur Morgan might think himself a hard man, but this is enough to melt his heart. 

     “I don’t know what to say.” 

     “You don’t have to say anything. Just, take the gift and take the thanks.” John tells him. 

     “Just don’t turn around and break it,” Karen says. 

     “Never,” Arthur replies. He means it. “I’ll take good care of this, thank you lot. It’s…this is…thank you.” 

     Sean breaks away first, prompting others to join him. Karen follows, Marybeth and Tilly return to their spots. Abigail goes too. Only he and John are left standing there. 

     “Was I right? Do you like it?” John’s grin is sheepish. For a moment, Arthur forgets to be annoyed or mad at him. 

     “I love it, really. I wasn’t expecting that from…anyone.” 

     “Yeah well, m’sure everyone’s glad to see you happy for a change. Enjoy it.” John says, then quickly adds. “Dutch thinks I’m on guard duty, I have to go.” 

     Arthur bids him a goodbye, and soon he’s standing alone. He’s still clutching that picture of his Ma, still looking down at it when his horse whinnies. 

     Arthur chuckles. “Yeah girl, there’s plenty in here for you too.” 

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

Ep. 13 "Into the Breach" Review

This was another fantastic episode that packs so much into its 25 minute runtime. Seriously, the finale better be like an hour. I feel like there's so much we have to address, yet so little time. My faith in you doesn't waver Jennifer; you've guided us through thick and thin. I will say that Rampart is surprisingly a really fun character to revisit and I enjoy watching him interact with the Batch. This man doesn't learn, but he's funny now so I give him kudos for entertainment purposes. I loved the dark atmosphere as the finale draws nearer and near. This is the end of the Bad Batch. We know it and they know it.

As usual, spoilers below:

MAMA ECHO RETURNS!!! After so long, he graces us with his appearance and he serves. I loved everything from his action sequences to his sass. Watching him sneak around the Imperial ship, rolling off of crates and working his magic was awesome to watch. That's why he's the Arc Trooper. And boy was he funny too. If it were possible, Rampart would've definitely be set on fire. Between being told he was being demoted to being denied the title of "sir," Rampart was demolished by Echo. It's just so good to see Echo again. I love him so much for his kind heart, quips, and awesome action sequences. The writers delivered!

Rampart, Rampart, Rampart... what will we do with you? He certainly hasn't changed and probably never will. But honestly, I kinda hope he doesn't. Sometimes, people are just aholes who do the right things for the wrong reasons. Rampart provides an interesting moral perspective. And he's still hot. Seeing him cleaned up in the uniform didn't help either. I'm a simple woman guys. He's also hilarious and I love it. Rampart's ego is so big that he unintentionally comes across as whiny and comical. Going forward, I seriously wonder what they'll do with him because he's going to Tantiss. Will he get dropped off? Sell the Batch out? Die in the battle that is to come? Next week will tell. I'm glad he was brought back though. He did his job as a villain well. Now, we get to see him in different situations and it's fun.

Omega, my sweet bean, hang in there. This episode does so well in establishing just how much she's grown over the past few seasons. Omega's always been resourceful and clever. Seeing her scheme to escape the Vault was exciting. You can also see the influence her brothers, particularly Hunter, have had on her. Omega's become more confident and mature. She's a leader in every sense of the word. The other kids look to her for guidance as she plans an escape. I also want to give the other kids a huge hug; I can't imagine what it must be like for them. It's one of the darkest things we've ever seen in Star Wars. Also, Emerie and Scalder rivalry definitely is gonna end with Emerie's true motivations being discovered. Scalder's not gonna let her allow Omega to slip away.

And seeing the boys strip their armor of all their color... that was legitimately heartbreaking to watch. I see it as a symbol of finality. There is no going back once they get to Tantiss. Hunter's "negative" just cements that. The last 5 minutes of the episode were so tense as the boys hitched a ride. As a my discord friend put it, "all roads lead to Tantiss."

There were a lot of smaller moments I enjoyed too. Wrecker was pretty funny this episode. Crosshair and Hunter voicing their trust in Echo was sweet. It furthers just how much the Batch truly trust and know each other. It's that implicit trust that makes me love their dynamic so much.

Anyways, that's all for now. We're truly in the endgame guys. After so long, we've finally made it to Tantiss. All that's left is to get Omega, the children, and escape which is so much easier said than done. I'm so scared yet excited for what's to come. See y'all next week!

[dukeofriven]

Rereading Pern as an adult is a complex experience because Anne McCaffrey filled her books with strong female characters but boy howdy does Anne McCaffrey seem to hate women. Anne McCaffrey builds a world in which the weyrs, the home of dragons and their human riders, are promiscuous and sexually uninhibited places, and then proceeded to shame any and every woman in them who is the slightest bit promiscuous as the sluttiest slut slut who ever slutted, how dare she, what a vain and stupid whore. Every female protagonist is rigidly monogamous, bitterly jealous, resentful, and suspicious of any woman who isn't sufficiently meek towards her, and full of loathing and contempt for expansive female sexual desire. Not the men: the men get around and do so with, at most, a boys-will-be-boys eye-roll and chuckle over their multiple-partner virility, but not the women. If you are a woman and you enter the sexually promiscuous weyr culture and enjoy it, you're evil, which in McCaffrey's lens means that your are both vain and stupid, the one indivisible from the other. I'm going to out on a limb here for a moment. I've seen a lot of this in genre fiction: a particular type of woman whose beauty and vanity are so all-encompassing that it's the totality of their self. I've met plenty of vain, attractive people in my life but never once garnered the impression that, when left alone, they—like Narcissus—did nothing but stare at themselves in the mirror and think about how beautiful they are and what that does for them. And here's the out-on-a-limb part because I wasn't Anne McCaffrey and can't speak for her but—does this come out of insecurity? Did women of a certain era—the ones who wrote protagonists who were 'strangely' pretty despite not being written as resembling classic bombshells—was this their revenge fantasy? Because it always reads as personal, like they're all thinking of Debbie Fitzluder in grade 11 who was the 'prettiest' girl in school and this was what they imagined the object of their hatred did all day instead of being the tangled mess of adolescent anxieties and fears she likely was. Sure she's hot but that's all she is, she isn't clever and resourceful and cooler to hang with like me. It always feels painfully insecure, and yet I've seen male authors run with the same theme until genre fiction becomes this long exercise in insisting that women primarily do nothing but busy themselves hating and resenting other women.