#robert has been on my mind a lot
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the gerbertism got to me
#sludge art#usedposting#mcr#the used#bert mccracken#gerard way#is it rpf if i redrew a direct image of them sucking face#gerbert#gerbertism#my chem#my chemical romance#robert has been on my mind a lot#idk if u can tell by my insufferable usedposting#him n jeph r just bouncing around in there#gee way#gway
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I had this idea, because I was doing some crochet.
A reader who had made a lot of crochet stuff for all the X-MEN (most of it was requested from them to the reader) and Logan noticed everyone had something handmade except him. His bratty side kicks in and he wants something from the reader. (though the reader can make him a cardigan cause he is a grandpa or like a glove that has holes for his claws so he doesn't reap them apart) you can go feral with it đ
Scott Summers, Kurt Wagner, Remy LeBeau, Robert âBobbyâ Drake, Logan Howlett
Headcanons
Theres too many x-men, so I just,,,added my faves *blush blush* I also decided to write a little thing for everybody, like my CoD posts.
Crochet was your passion, something to do in your free time when mutant-kind wasnât in danger. And with online shopping, it was so easy to get all the yarn and different hooks, patterns and recipes you might need.
So, of course you also feel the need to make stuff for all the people you care about. After filling your own room and wardrobe with all the stuff you could crochet, your yarn empire started to fill your friends closets and rooms too.
Scott Summers
For Scott you end up crocheting a couple of hats, and multiple pairs of gloves. Some you already had laying around, and just decided to throw into the pile.
What could you say? You were scared he was gonna freeze his ears when he went around in his visor. This meant you crocheted different hats depending on if he wore his visor or his shades, hats that wouldnât get too in the way.
It was a little hard for Scott to be a leader in the colorful creations you made, but everyone knew it was just your way of showing you cared. So, it made sense for the leader of the team to get the first gifts.
After a while Scott will wear the things, you make even if it isnât too cold outside, even working it into his everyday outfits if he needs a little bit of accessories. Sometimes a hat really helps with the look, you know?
Kurt Wagner
For Kurt you make a scarf. It was a crochet of the moment. You two were on a stakeout, which took way longer than planned, in a pretty cold place. So, you pulled out your crochet stuff and started going at it.
Before you knew it, there was a comfortable scarf in your hands. You had been smart enough to dress correctly for the mission, but Kurt hadnât, so of course the scarf when around his neck. You may also have scolded him a bit for not dressing right for the mission.
Kurt absolutely loves the scarf, and will wear it whenever its even just a little chilly outside. It makes you want to make him even more, especially when he starts getting sad about the first one fraying apart.
In the end he has as many scarfs as Scott has hats. One for every weather, in different colors, so he can match them with whatever heâs wearing.
Remy LeBeau(and Anna Marie)
For Remy you end up making him a hoodie, in his usual colors. It had mainly been a spur of the moment creation on your end, since you just had a lot of yarn in that color laying around.
It hadnât even really been made with Remy in mind, but our beloved Cajun was quick to swoop in and take it off your hands when you werenât sure what to do with it. and you, just wanting to make stuff for others, are more than happy to let him.
He wouldnât wear it every day, but you do see him snuggle up in the warm yarn hoodie whenever it starts to get chilly. Hes also more than happy to use it as an excuse to snuggle with Anna Marie, using it as some kind of silly flirt.
In the end you make Anna Marie a matching hoodie, making it a little too big for her, as well as making it the same colors as Remy, so they can switch hoodies whenever they want. Its kinda like getting to hug Remy, in a way, so Anna Marie enjoys it.
Robert âBobbyâ Drake
You make Bobby a blanket, itâs as easy as that. You actually end up making him multiple blankets. You didnât really have an understanding if his mutation made him even able to feel cold, or if it made him feel extra cold?
So, the first blanket was placed by the door to his room, since you didnât wanna invade his privacy. Bobby may not feel cold, but he loves the blanket anyways, especially since you try your best to make it in his favorite colors, or featuring different stuff he likes.
Its actually Bobby that asks if you can make him a second blanket, since he needs to wash the first one and has gotten so used to having the heavy yarn blanket on top of his other blankets at night. And you, being the great person you are, immediately get to work.
He ends up with a bit of a collection of blankets over the years, though most of them stay in his closet since he canât really use all of them at once. He does pull them out when the x-men are doing movie nights and stuff like that though.
Logan Howlett
It took a while for Logan to realize he was the only one who hadnât been given anything you crocheted. And⌠Heâs not mad obviously, why would he be, itâs just crochet. Heâs maybe a little jealous though, somewhere under all that gruffness.
He wouldnât say anything, Logans way too proud for that, but he does start hovering around a bit whenever you crochet, just to look⌠nothing else.
There are also of course some jokes from the others about how he hasnât been given anything, so you must not like him, or itâs because heâs always coming and going as he pleases so heâs never there at the right time to swoop in for the kill (whatever you made).
Of course, he denies hating you, or wanting anything you make. But the jokes just reach you, and it horrifies you somewhat. What if Logan really thinks you hate him? That would be the worst, because of course you donât. the only reason you hadnât made anything for him was because he wasnât in front of your face, and you were a little scatterbrained when you made stuff.
You didnât want to be too obvious about your plans, so you try to subtly get his measurements, and just kinda go off of that. Luckily the x-men system has some stuff you can use noted down. In the end you make him a nice grey cardigan, with those big pockets on the sides. It does not go above your head that itâs the kinda stuff youâd see a grandpa wear. But you think he would like it anyway.
Logan finds the cardigan by his door, like you leave all your gifts. And no, he doesnât jump up and down or cheer, but he does give a more positive sounding gruff noise than usual.
He may also have been preening just a little the next day when he wore it, just because it felt nice to be thought about, okay? Nothing else.
It also just makes you happy to see him enjoy it so much, so you end up making him some other stuff too. Whoâd have thought he would love blankets and throwpillows so much. It ends up in his ânot a nestâ bed pile. He also enjoys the gloves with holes for his claws too, so they were worth all the hard work.
#male reader#x-men#x men#scott summers#kurt wagner#remy lebeau#robert âbobbyâ drake#logan howlett#wolverine#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel headcanon#x-men imagine#x-men headcanon#x men imagine#x men headcanon#scott summers imagine#kurt wagner imagine#remy lebeau imagine#robert âbobbyâ drake imagine#logan howlett imagine#wolverine imagine#marvel x reader#x-men x reader#xmen x reader#x men x reader#scott summers x reader#kurt wagner x reader#remy lebeau x reader#robert âbobbyâ drake x reader
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ăMerrimentă
Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.
Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:Â 2,311
UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3
No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.
This was likely true.
She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and Kingâs Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mindâturning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.
Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Stormâs End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, âeven the gloomy one.â
Much was afoot in Kingâs Landing.
King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.
And she was found in Kingâs Landing quite a lot, of recent.
There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.
The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Stormâs End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of Kingâs Landing.
She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.
But the King was thereâof course the King was there.
Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. âThereâs my favorite brother,â said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.
The look on Robertâs face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.
Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at armâs length instead.
âThatâs your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?â
The Kingâs sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.
The ruse was short-lived.
Robert BaratheonâKing Robert Baratheonâbroke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. âYour face!â he boomed. âYou should have seen it!â
Her smile returned, then her laughter. âYouâre a fool if ever there was one, Robert!â She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.
Robert didnât crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. âYouâre crushing me, Robert,â she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.
He clapped her on the shoulder. âRight then, letâs get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and thereâs a flagon of wine calling my name.â
âEvery flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.â
The King was laughing again, then, and the Kingâs sister was smiling.
That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.
Meeting the Kingâs party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brotherâs family by law, and sheâd met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddardâs daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.
The occupants of the Red Keepâs great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.
âNever was there such a party before, brother,â declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.
And she knew it, too.
If she hadnât known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an earâwhich was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar faceâa face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.
Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.
Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.
She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.
He was the perfect change of pace.
Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.
"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. âItâs been too long.â
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the Kingâs Road.
Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."
Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merrimentâs for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.
âForgive me, then, for it seems Iâve forgotten my motley.â
âSo it seems.â
She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.
Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.
He indicated the floor from which sheâd just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,â he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.
"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, âbut here we are."
Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. âSurprised youâre not dancing again. It went well for you last time.â
With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.
It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.
The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. Sheâd gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadnât even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.
Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.
A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Cleganeâs gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. âYouâre alright.â
Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.
Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadnât made any real effort to leave his arms.
 "Not on that ankle you canât.â
And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also beenâŚ
More.
âYouâre quite strong,â she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.
Somethingâsomethingâfluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not followâbut her imagination could.Â
When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.
Sheâd expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.
He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.
He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.
She didnât know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.
Sandorâs breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.
And a longtime coming.
When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didnât fight her. Breathless, sheâd pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.
At last heâd taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.
âYouâve had too much to drink,â he told her.
âBut I havenât had enough of you.â
âYouâve had your fill of that, too,â he said, turning cloak and leaving.
âIâm quite certain I havenât had my fill of you.â
He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. âYou donât want that,â he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.
Y/N leaned back on the bed. âI know what I want,â she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands onâsomething lower than his beltline. âIâve known for years and years.â
Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. âTrust me,â he said, towering over her, leaning in close. âYou might want to get your fill of me, but you donât want me to get my fill of you.â
Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.
Again he had turned, then, and didnât stop to look back at her that time.
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Can I Come See You? - Quinn Hughes x OFC
gif from gabelandeskog
Title: Can I Come See You?
Author: Tory / @tkwritesÂ
Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts
Summary: After a rough game, Quinn seeks out comfort from Sarah.Â
Warnings: some suggestive themes, swearing, other than that, itâs 98% fluff.
Word count: 4,600
Comments: I know Iâve been teasing the family reunion snapshot for a while now, but with all the heavy emotions September brings, I just havenât been able to finish it. When this ask came in, I started writing right away, wanting some comfort myself. Iâve loved revisiting the beginning of Quinn & Sarahâs relationship while writing this Snapshot.Â
Thank you, thank you, and thank you gain for your support and love! I have found such a lovely community here, and Iâm so thankful. Even in this radio silence while Iâve been slogging through my grief, everyone has been so kind and supportive. Â
If you enjoyed this Snapshot, please consider commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask about it. I love seeing what you think of Quinn & Sarahâs latest adventures.
Anonymous asked: Quinn gives cuddler energy 1000000% After a game, especially when they played bad and lost/gave up a lead. Immediately wanting Sarah cuddles to make him feel better. Do you think he ever went to hers after a game, giving Eunice a heart attack in the early days. Or did they mostly hang at his?
Can I come see you?Â
A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot
If it wasnât a Friday night, he wouldnât have even asked. But it was, and he knew Sarah didnât have to be up early the next day. And theyâd lost. Epically.Â
Midway through the third, theyâd given up a three goal lead. On a power play no less. Heâd, thankfully, only been on the ice for one. He didnât know what heâd do if heâd given up more than one short handed goal in a two-minute span.
There was another game the next day, the third in four days, and he knew he really should go home and go to sleep. But Toch had canceled practice the next morning, and he was upset and feeling restless and just wanted to see her.Â
It had been a long time since heâd felt this longing to be with someone and actually had someone he could go to. He called his parents, but there was still a gap there, telling him something was still missing. He wanted a more physical kind of comfort.
It was a miserable night, and Quinn thought seeing Sarah might make him feel a little better. Heâd never asked her something like this. Hoping she wouldnât mind, he fired off a text.
Sarah was in her room after the game â after an awful game â when Quinn texted.Â
Can I come see you?Â
Her heart leapt into her throat.
Quinn had never sent a text like this before, and she wasn't totally sure what it meant. Â
He wouldn't come here to initiate comfort sex, right? That would be crazy. Her roommates were home.Â
Maybe he just wantedâŚshe had no idea what he wanted, but he'd respected every boundary she'd thrown at him so far, so she responded. Sure. Let me know when youâre here, and Iâll come let you in.Â
Though they hadnât slept together yet, she was thinking about it a lot, and they'd made out. She'd even let him take off her bra a few days before. Just thinking about that night â the reverent way he'd touched her, like she was a priceless piece of art, and the croaked, pleasured noise heâd groaned into her neck when their dry humping culminated in him coming in his pants â still made her thoughts buzz.
He asked for her address.Â
Sheâd forgotten heâd never been to her apartment before. Not inside, at least. Heâd dropped her off several times, but it was always at the end of a date, and at least one of her roommates was usually home, so itâs not like she would invite him up. Also, it seemed silly to go from his lovely penthouse to inviting him up to her little apartment. If they were going to do anything, it wouldnât be here.Â
My roommates are home, just so you know, she sent, not wanting to set unrealistic expectations.Â
He reacted with a thumbs up.Â
Normally, she would warn them she was having someone over, but telling Eunice Quinn was coming over would only give her more time to wind herself up. So Sarah stayed in her room until he texted that he was downstairs and slipped by her roommates without giving an explanation.Â
When she opened the large glass door to her building, he was standing off to the side, hands shoved in his pockets and his head hanging forward, as if it were just a little too heavy to hold up.Â
âHey,â she said quietly, not wanting to startle him.
He still jumped a little, but when he met her eyes, he smiled â genuinely â as if he was just glad to see her.Â
Her heart fluttered.
âCome on in.â Taking his hand, she pulled him into the elevator, which was, thankfully, still on the ground floor. They only went up five levels before she got off and led him down the hall, and scanned through door 538.Â
Her roommates were on the couch watching an episode of Friends.Â
They looked over, and one of them yelped before slapping her hand over her mouth. She continued to make muffled noise, her wide eyes darting between Quinn and Sarah.Â
âThis is Quinn,â Sarah introduced, though it felt perfunctory. They both knew who he was. âAnd this is Eunice,â she said, gesturing to her, âsheâs a big fan and a little bit excitable.âÂ
Quinn recognized her. She was the one who screamed when heâd knocked on the glass at Sarahâs first game. Her brown hair, which was more frizz than curl, was pushed back with a headband. She was still wearing a jersey â Peteyâs, thankfully â from watching the game.Â
âAnd this is Jane.âÂ
She was tall and willowy, with pale eyes and a thick, dark blonde braid.Â
âItâs nice to meet you,â Jane said, standing up and offering her hand to shake.
Quinn grasped it, managing to pull a smile onto one half of his mouth.Â
Eunice stood and followed suit, though he got the distinct impression that were they anywhere else with anyone else, she would be asking for a hug. âI canât believe youâre in our house right now.â Her voice actually squeaked when she said it.Â
âItâs nice to meet you,â he said, not quite managing to pull full sincerity into his voice. Though he did feel it, he was too tired and too miserable to mask the disappointment.Â
Eunice finally seemed to get over the shock of Quinn Hughes being in her living room. âTough break tonight,â she said, leaning her butt on the armrest of the couch.
âYeah,â he sighed.Â
âHere, we can go in my room.âÂ
When Sarahâs hand slipped into his, his heart did an embarrassing little flutter. Hoping it didnât show on his face, he followed her down the hall.Â
He'd forgotten what it was like to move into a blank slate of an apartment. All the places he'd rented since moving to Vancouver were furnished, including curated, so-neutral-it-wasnât-interesting artwork. Sarahâs apartment looked like a home - framed photos and unique paintings on the walls.Â
Her room was simple. There was a full bed tucked under the window that overlooked the street and a desk. There wasnât room for much else. A quark board above her desk was filled with photos of who he assumed was her family. Half a dozen babies with her same bright blue eyes or chocolate colored hair. He noticed the warm up puck he'd given her sitting on her desk, bracing the pages of a textbook open to an anatomical drawing of a seahorse.Â
She sat on the bed. It was either the bed or her office chair, and they couldn't both fit on the chair. Â
âWhat's up?â she asked after a minute or so of him looking around her room, his hands in his pockets. He was in his suit, a rain jacket over it against the wet, misty night, and had a knit hat pulled over his hair.
His eyes snapped to her. Something about seeing her in leggings and a loose t shirt, sitting on her blue and green patchwork quilt, made him ache. Longing bloomed in him to see her this comfortable somewhere where they could be together. Not together like this; together permanently. The thought stuck in his mind. Had he ever felt that way about someone before?
âI just wanted to see you,â he admitted, shoulders dropping.
âOh.â The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise. The fact that he wanted to see her on a hard night sent a giddy, effervescent shiver through her.Â
She patted the mattress, and relieved, he sunk down next to her.Â
Sarah pulled his rain jacket off, throwing it over her office chair before asking, âthis too?â as her fingers tucked under the collar of his suit coat.Â
Usually, he would have shrugged it off as soon as he'd pulled away from the arena, but he'd been driving in the general direction of Yaletown, breathlessly waiting for Sarahâs reply. Â
Nodding, he pushed his shoulders back so she could pull it off.Â
She folded it much more deliberately than he usually did, matching the shoulders and making sure the arms were flat before draping it over his jacket.Â
âYou okay?â she asked, her hand traveling up and down his back.Â
Her gentle touch and the sound of her voice sent a pang of relief through him.Â
Experiencing Sarah sharing her emotions with him so openly somehow made it easier to reciprocate and trust she wasn't going to dismiss his or throw them back in his face later.Â
He shook his head.
âDo you want to talk about it?â
âI don't even want to think about it,â he said, leaning forward and raking his fingers into his hair.
Not quite sure what he meant, her hand paused on itâs journey smoothing over the soft material of his dress shirt.Â
âCan weâŚâ he glanced over at her. In the light from her desk lamp, his eyes were the color of cognac. âCan we lay down?â
Her lips pursed. It wasnât that they hadnât cuddled before. They had, but she still wasnât exactly sure what it was that he wanted.Â
âI just want to hold you,â he finally admitted. The vulnerability of saying it out loud knotted his stomach.
Her heart did a giddy little dance in her chest, and she barely held herself back from asking, really? Â
âSure,â she said instead, although it still came out a little breathy. âYou've gotta take off your shoes, though.âÂ
As he toed off the sneakers, she scooted back, so she was laying nearest the window.Â
He lay next to her. They stayed that way, side by side for a minute before Sarah asked, âhow do you...?â
Extending his arm, he patted his side, inviting her to snuggle into him. She accepted readily, pressing her body to his. Really, he wanted her to hold him, but he felt a little too vulnerable to ask for that.Â
A deep sigh let go as her hand rested on his chest. It had taken more than six months for him to feel this comfortable with June, for him to even think about asking her for comfort. It was amazing to him that things with Sarah were so much easier.Â
âWhat do you need?â she asked, tracing one of his buttons.Â
Emotion threatened to choke his reply. Taking a moment to swallow it down, he tried to remember the last time someone had asked him that not related to improving his on-ice performance. Nothing immediately came to mind.
âCan you just talk?â
âAbout what?â
âAnything. Tell me about your roommates.â
âWell, Jane is a pediatric nurse. She works in the BC Childrenâs ER.âÂ
He let out a low whistle.Â
âYeah. Itâs a rough gig sometimes, but she really loves it. She's actually headed to work in a few hours.â
He glanced at his watch, âat midnight?âÂ
âShe works a lot of graveyards. 3 to 3 or midnight to noon. She coaches a youth lacrosse league on the weekends.â
âReally?â He felt Sarah nod. âMy mom played lacrosse. She put all of us in it, too.âÂ
âDid you like it?âÂ
He shrugged, âI like hockey better.â
âGood thing you stuck with it, then.â
A breath of a laugh escaped through his nose.
âAnd Eunice is studying biomedical engineering. Sheâs on track to get her PhD.â
âReally?â
âWhy are you so surprised?â
âI don't know,â he shrugged. âShe just seems soâŚI mean, excitable like you said.â
âOh, she's just dedicated to everything she does. She has a 4.0. I think it'd actually be higher if the scale didn't stop there. She does everything like that, you know? Doesnât matter if itâs school or being a fan. Sheâs always 110% in. I donât think she knows how to do anything halfway.âÂ
He hmmâd.
Falling into a companionable silence, Quinn sighed. Heâd been looking for this his kind of comfort with another person his entire life. The first time heâd really felt it was on their first date, and it was a revelation. Each time it happened since then, it became a little less awkward. They might well be on their way to sharing the kind of quiet moments he used to see his parents have. Sitting together on the couch reading, or folding laundry together, or watching TV, just happy to be with each other. The idea of it made his chest feel buoyant enough to float away.
âHow did you meet them?âÂ
âEunice was advertising for someone new to move in on the school housing board. Their old roommate, Jenny, was getting married. So, I met them and saw the place, and it just worked out.âÂ
âJust like that?âÂ
âI guess?â
âIâve never done that before.â
âWhat?âÂ
âInterviewed to be a roommate. Iâve always lived with teammates.â
âNot all of us have a built-in best friend squad.â
He snorted, and Sarah smiled.Â
They eased into another quiet moment, and Quinn felt his eyelids grow heavy.
âDo you need anything?â she asked.Â
âHmm?âÂ
âLike, do you need anything to eat?âÂ
âI ate at the arena,â he said, âbut I wouldn't mind something to drink.âÂ
As she pushed herself up and he resisted the urge to pull her back down. âWhat do you want? I have water, cranberry juice, or Ginger ale.â When he didn't respond, she continued, âI have some rum if you need something stronger, or I could make you some tea.âÂ
âI can't have caffeine this late. Itâll fuck up my sleep schedule.â Truth be told, it was probably already fucked just by him being here, but he didnât want to inflict any more damage.Â
She smiled, âI have peppermint, or a caffeine free maple that's really tasty as a latte.âÂ
âThat sounds nice.â
âOkay. Do you want milk or almond milk?âÂ
âAlmond, please.âÂ
âYou got it.â As she crawled over him to get to the edge of the bed, she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips.Â
His mouth was still buzzing when she left the room.Â
Eunice came into the kitchen as Sarah was filling the kettle. âWhat are you doing?â she whispered as if Quinn might hear them from down the hall.Â
âMaking tea,â Sarah said in her normal tone.Â
She could tell Eunice wanted to start interrogating her and pointedly looked the other way. Sheâd be happy to talk, but not while he was still here. Getting Eunice started on a conversation like that required a certain amount of commitment, and Sarah wasnât willing to rehash the night until it was over.
She stayed in the kitchen, watching Sarah start the kettle on the stove and pour milk into the frother.Â
âI can bring this to you when itâs done.âÂ
âYouâre sure?âÂ
âYeah. Go be with Quinn. He looked like he needed some time with you. Iâll be in in a few.âÂ
âOkay.âÂ
As she walked back down the hall, she heard Eunice mutter something about getting Quinn to play better tomorrow.
Sarah winced, wondering if he was ever allowed to be human before being an athlete.Â
Quinn looked up from his phone when Sarah came back in the room empty-handed. âNo tea?â he asked, hoping his tone came off teasing. It was surprising to him she could start something and not finish it.Â
Leaving the door cracked open, she got back on the bed and crawled over him, âEunice offered to bring it in. It takes our stove ages to boil water.âÂ
He pulled her into him as soon as she got to his other side. As she bounced against him, she giggled, and it dissipated some of the angsty weight heâd been carrying around since the game ended.Â
She snuggled up to him again, working her left arm under his back. He arched until her hand brushed his ribs.
âThatâs okay?â he asked, settling back down.Â
âYeah.â
Though half of it was tied up, he threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, then ran them through the soft strands. She made a contented little noise, so he did it again, just glad to be touching her.Â
âThank you for this,â he said, voice quiet.Â
âFor what?âÂ
âFor letting me come over. For,â he moved so he could wrap his arm around her, squeezing her a little bit closer.Â
âHey, if cuddling makes you feel better, Iâm always down,â she said, nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder. This kind of casual affection was what she missed most every time she broke up with all of her exes. Not to mention, she got so little physical touch being away from her family.
He chuckled, and it ended in a sigh.Â
His free hand found hers, and he slotted their fingers together.Â
âI really like you, Sarah.âÂ
âI really like you, too, Quinn,â she said, tipping her head back so she could see his face. From this angle, his nose was more pronounced. She had to resist the urge to pull her hand from his so she could run her finger down the ridge of it to feel the prominent bump.Â
Sensing her stare, he turned his head, bringing their lips dangerously close. It only took a bit of stretching on Sarahâs part to bring them together.Â
When he felt Sarah strain toward him again, he rolled onto his side to shorten the distance between them. Her hand stayed on his chest, and their kisses remained sweet, though the adjusted position allowed for a little more tongue, which he wasnât mad about.
This was much softer than anything they'd done so far. It was nice to know they could just be here: not rushing to get undressed or into something more intense and physical.Â
She loved this kind of lazy, slow kissing, but found it didnât usually come until much later in a relationship, after all the first physical stuff was out of the way. To be kissing - making out without really making out - like this before theyâd even had sex felt like a gift. Feeling his fingers run into her hair, bringing her face just that little bit closer to his Sarah sighed.
The way her chin moved in and out as they kissed, matching the rhythm of her tongue brushing his, lulled his body into a state of deeper relaxation than heâd felt all evening.
Pulling away just enough, she whispered, âyouâre a really good kisser.âÂ
A zing of pleasure shivered through his brain and all the way down Quinn's spine.
 âThanks,â he breathed, easing back to see her face.Â
He gazed into her eyes for a few moments longer, trying to calm his thoughts. Once he was over the initial daze her compliment brought on, he realized he should probably say something else. Instead of blurting out the, I like being good for you, that popped into his mind, he said, âyou make it easy to be.â
When she shyly thanked him as her cheeks pinked, he felt like he'd swallowed the sun.Â
Unable to resist anymore, Sarah reached up to trace her finger down the bridge of his nose. âHow did you break it?âÂ
âThe first time, Jack punched me in the face in an intense game of mini sticks.â
âMini sticks?â
âItâs likeâŚâ How did he explain this to someone whoâd never played? âItâs like indoor, carpet hockey. You use these little plastic sticks and a ball, usually. We used to play in the basement. My mom talks about how we played so hard, we would shake the whole house.â
âThatâs some serious competition if youâre getting your nose broken.âÂ
A breath of a laugh huffed out of him. âI deserved it. I was goading him on pretty bad, and he didnât really know his own strength. I can still see the horror on his face when the blood started pouring.âÂ
She resumed stroking, her touch feather light and gentle, âhow many times have you broken it?âÂ
âThree.â Quinn never thought heâd like someone touching him like this, but with Sarah, he found it comforting instead of irritating. It was like she just wanted to know every part of him. âThe other two were pucks to the face.â
She winced. âThat sounds painful. Those pucks are way heavier than I thought.âÂ
âItâs not fun,â he said. âThankfully, the adrenaline is still pumping, so it doesnât really hurt until after the game is over.âÂ
âYou kept playing with a broken nose?âÂ
Nodding, he laughed, âthey strap on a full face shield, and send you back out there.âÂ
An incredulous, protective look took over her face that Quinn instantly loved.Â
âDonât worry. They do concussion testing and reset it if it needs it before.âÂ
âThatâs justâŚreally?âÂ
He nodded.
âI keep seeing all these memes about how tough hockey players are, and I always thought they were kind of exaggerated.âÂ
âItâs a tough sport,â he said. âMy goal is always to be swift enough on my feet to not get involved with the harsh stuff, but sometimes a puck just redirects, and bam, your nose is broken again.âÂ
The kettle whistled.Â
As if by an unspoken rule, they pulled back from each other. Sarahâs hand dropped back to his chest.Â
A minute later, Eunice gently hipped open Sarah's door, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and the whole milk frothing machine. âI figured it would be easier for you to froth in here,â she said, setting the tray down on Sarah's desk.Â
As she backed out of the room, she widened her eyes and quirked her brows a few times, giving Sarah a look that plainly said, you have a cute, famous boy in your bed, and we're going to discuss everything as soon as heâs gone.Â
âThanks, Eunice,â Sarah said through a tight smile, hoping Quinn hadnât seen.Â
âSure thing,â she said before softly clicking the door shut.
âI donât think Iâve ever had a tea latte,â Quinn said as he rolled onto his back so Sarah could crawl over him again. The urge to pull her on top of him by her hips was so strong that he had to curl his fingers into the quilt.Â
âReally?â she asked, plugging the frother into the outlet by her nightstand.Â
He shrugged.Â
The machine whirred to life.
âItâs good. I like it at night. The warm milk kind of puts me to sleep.âÂ
When it was done, she divided the creamy concoction into the two mugs and brought one to Quinn.Â
âThis is okay?â he asked, gesturing to the bed.Â
âYeah.â There wasnât anywhere else they could go. If he spilled tea on her sheets, sheâd just have him help her change them.Â
Sarah sat opposite him, knees bent, her bare feet between his socked ones.Â
Their eyes met over their mugs, and Quinn smiled. âThis is really good, thank you,â he said, gently tapping her leg with his toe.Â
âYouâre welcome. Iâm glad you came over.âÂ
âAre you still up for the game tomorrow?âÂ
âYeah,â she said. âIâm planning on it.â
âAnd youâll stay so I can take you home?â
She nodded. âAre you flying out again after that?â
He sighed, âyeah. On Sunday. We fly out to Dallas, play them on Monday, and then go to Colorado to play on Wednesday, and then Iâll be home for a week on Thursday afternoon.â
âIâm glad itâs not too long this time.â
âMe too.â A yawn split his face. He apologized, holding a fist over his mouth.
Shaking her head, Sarah said, âyouâve had a long day.â
âYeah,â he agreed, downing the rest of the tea. âI should probably get home and get to sleep.â
While he pulled on his sneakers, Sarah set her latte aside and slipped on some sandals.Â
Rain was pounding against the glass fronted lobby when they got downstairs. Looking down at herself, Sarah said, âIâd walk you to your car, but Iâm not really dressed for it.â
Half of his mouth lifted in an indulgent smile, âthatâs okay.â Gathering her against him, he breathed in the smokey smell of her perfume to fortify himself for the dash into the rain and the drive home. âThank you again.â
Her hands slid under his suit coat, pulling him more tightly against her, âyouâre welcome. Iâll see you tomorrow,â she said, pulling back to look into his face.Â
âTomorrow,â he agreed, leaning down to kiss her. They were in public, so he knew he shouldnât linger, but he did anyway, savoring her mouth as the last thing heâd taste that night.Â
âLet me know when you get home, yeah?â she asked when they parted.Â
He nodded, and she watched him jog away before heading back upstairs.Â
Eunice was waiting in the entryway for her and immediately grabbed her hand. âTell us everything,â she said, excitedly pulling Sarah down the hall to the bathroom where Jane was re-braiding her hair for work.Â
Before she sat in the hallway outside the bathroom, Sarah got her unfinished tea. As she sipped, she explained how he ended up there.Â
Both women awed when she recounted Quinn telling her he just wanted to hold her. Eunice broke in when Sarah got to the part about making tea.
âJane, it was so cute. I walked by, and theyâre cuddling. Then, when I came back, they were kissing. Like that soft movie kind of kissing - it looked so dreamy. Then when I walked by again ââÂ
âWhy were you walking by so much?â Sarah demanded.Â
Eunice didn't even blush, âI had to get my blanket.â
âAnd it took you two trips to do it?âÂ
âI forgot what I was getting the first time and had to come back to the living room to remember.âÂ
âRight,â Sarah deadpanned.Â
âAnyway,â she said in an over-exaggerated tone, âwhen I walked by again, she was petting his nose.â
âOh my god,â Sarah exclaimed, âI am never bringing him over here again. Heâs going to think youâre some kind of psychopathic stocker for walking by all the time.â
âOh, he had no idea I was even there,â Eunice said. âHe was way too busy longingly gazing at you, Ms. Roberts. I donât think he would have even noticed me if I was stomping down the hall like a t-rex.â
âHe was pretty enraptured,â Jane said.Â
âYou too?âÂ
âI had to go to the bathroom. Mine was legitimate.â
âOh my fucking hell,â Sarah moaned.Â
âWhy were you touching his nose?âÂ
âI asked him how he broke it.â Sarah smiled at the floor. âAnd I like his nose.â
Eunice snorted, âof course you do.âÂ
Cutting off Sarahâs incredulous look, Jane asked, âwhat was the best part?â
All of it, she wanted to say. The fact that he came over at all. That he just wanted to cuddle, the kissingâŚÂ
âHe was really sweet. I told him he was a good kisser and he just looked into my eyes for a while before he goes, âyou make it easy to be.ââÂ
âOh my gosh,â Jane gushed, âreally? That is such a good answer.â
âWill you just fuck him already?âÂ
Sarah let out a surprised cough, and Eunice continued, âI think heâs proven heâs not just in it for the sex.â
âI think I knew that from the start.â
âSo why are you waiting so long to jump him?âÂ
âEunice,â Jane admonished, âSarah can take however long she likes to take that step.â
âYeah, yeah,â Eunice said dismissively, flapping her hands, âI just want to know what heâs like in bed.â
âOh my god,â Sarah said, dropping her head into her hands. âI am never discussing my sex life with you.â
âYes you will.âÂ
âNo. I won't.âÂ
âYou will,â Eunice said with a quirk of her brows. âYou've told us everything else so far. I don't think you'll be able to resist.â
âYouâre unhinged, you know that?âÂ
âThatâs why you love me.â
Laughing, Sarah had to admit she was right. Â
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okay it's kinda specific but is there any brocedes fact that is often overlooked but you think that is essential (or perhaps gives a new approach) to the lore?
that's such a good question. i have several, i hope you don't mind
the first one is the "he'll always be my best friend in my heart" quote. i've seen a lot of people use it as a very earnest declaration etc. (or if they believe in the nico is obsessed with lewis shit as a sign of that) but it was actually nico making a joke when he was doing commentary (on the italian comms i think). he was asked a question about lewis and jokingly/sarcastically said "in my heart he'll always be my best friend", and then immediately clarified that it was a joke (maybe recognising the narrative that would be spun around it). i know this seems kind of anti-brocedes but i do think it is essential to the lore that people recognise nico is not a weird as fandom likes to make out. he's absolutely weird, and he's definitely not normal about lewis, but he's not obsessive, and he feels comfortable enough making jokes about them. when you contrast that with lewis who either refuses to say nico's name in conversations where he is the most relevant person (the better teammates than max interview) or brings him up unnecessarily and then panics about it (grill the grid), i think it changes the dynamic of who is yearning, who is "over it", who is winning the idgaf war (it's neither of them but the difference is lewis lost by playing and nico is open enough about giving a fuck that he's not pretending to play). i am biased, but i also think that if you look back at them during their careers, lewis was always weirder about nico than nico was about him, although again, neither of them can truly be described as normal about each other.
then there's nico beating lewis in the 2004 f3 series that they shared. the narrative of brocedes describes it as lewis always beating nico, lewis being the one to win and nico always being slightly behind. and largely this is true. but in 2004 they were both competing in the 2004 f3 european series, albeit for different teams. neither of them won, but nico narrowly beat lewis. now they were in different teams and nico himself has said that some teams had better cars and equipment than others and that made a difference in the end result. but, nico still beat lewis. he had nearly double the number of dnfs/dns (6 to lewis's 3) and triple the number of wins (3 to lewis's 1), finishing highest of all the entrants who eventually made it to f1 (nico himself, lewis, adrian sutil and robert kubica). but nico himself barely seems to remember this. the narrative of lewis always being better, always beating him, is something he seems to have internalised, even though it isn't quite true, or at least, not as true as people make out.
my third bit of lore is that mclaren wanted to sign nico for the 2008 season. following the drama of fernando alonso (affectionate) and spygate, mclaren had an open seat and ron dennis wanted to fill it with nico. he even offered to buy out nico's contract from williams, but frank williams viewed nico as their best hope and refused. the driver that eventually ended up replacing fernando was heikki kovaleinen, nico's gp2 rival and 100% finnish to his 50% (yes nico's national identity crisis does come into this). lewis ended up winning the championship that year. heikki took only 1 victory, and while i think lewis would have beaten nico, i think nico wouldn't have been a doormat for him like heikki, and would have won at least a couple of races, which would have allowed felipe massa and ferrari to succeed. in many ways i think an argument can be made that nico not getting that mclaren seat really helped lewis to win his first championship, in the same way that if lewis hadn't gone to mercedes, nico would have won three, or if nico had stayed, there is a very real possibility that sebastian vettel would have won 2017. their presence and their success dooms the other, and it always has.
my final thing is that they are the most successful teammate pairing in f1 history. it kind of links back to the last one, where the fact that they are each as good as they are hurts the other one, unlike a lewis and valtteri line up or a michael and rubens line up where there is a distinct number one driver and the other one is to be sacrificed for him. but, even though both of those pairs were together for longer (nico and lewis aren't even in the top 5 longest teammate pairings), it takes more than a number 1 number 2 driver lineup to be the most successful. it takes nico and lewis, who are both number 1 drivers (don't come for me on this, nico would have flattened the likes of valtteri, rubens, or mark webber and you know it). although they were only teammates for four years (and one of those was a sebastian vettel/red bull dominance year) they achieved more pole positions, front row lockouts, wins, podiums, and 1-2 finishes than any other pairing in f1 history. they were utterly, utterly dominant, and that's why they hurt each other so badly. they were the dream team, the absolute best f1 could come up with, but they weren't just competing as a team, they were competing against each other, and only one of them could win
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Cards Close to the Chest // Bob Floyd
Summary: When Bob & Phoenix fall from the sky, Bobâs closest kept secrets come to light as two of the most important people in his life race to his side.
Warnings: Bob Floyd x F!reader. Fluff (poorly written) Mild cock-sure Jake Seresin. Hospitals. F18 accident. Wholesome read.
Word Count: 3k
Author Note: I was just feeling some fluffy Bob content and I thought this would be a good way to break up the tension with all my over dramatic angst/whump. Thank you so much to @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta reading this for me! Vee did gods work with this one.
Main Masterlist | Bob Floyd Masterlist
No significant other wants to receive that call. That dreaded call that tells you that the inevitable has happened. That phone call that sucks all the air from your lungs and replaces it with cement. The very phone call that alters your perception of life, of time, of all the small arguments you ever had with the person you love so dearly. It's the phone call no significant other wants to receive.Â
âIs this Mrs Floyd?â The man on the other end of the line asked with a cautiousness that told you he really didn't want the answer to be yes. Your daughter, Millicent, sat in her high chair smashing bananas all over the surface of her tray. Getting to know the texture of the latest solid you had introduced her to.Â
âThis is she? May I ask who's speaking?â You didn't mean to come across as defensive, but the panic inside your chest had well and truly begun to bloom. Your eyes lingered over to the pair of spare reading glasses your husband left lying around the small apartment the two of you and your young daughter had been staying in. If this was the phone call, the very phone call that was about to alter your life forever you couldn't help but to think of the last time you saw your husband wear those frames.Â
âMrs Floyd, Y/n, my name is Pete Mitchell, Captain Mitchell, or Just Mav will doââ The man on the other end of the line rambled off the list of names he went by. You didn't care all that much, but you let him go on. Your eyes drifted back toward your daughter, the very embodiment of half you and half your husband. Robert Floyd. In your mind, you prayed to whatever god was listening that this wouldn't be the phone call every military spouse dreaded.Â
âThere was an accident during a training exercise your husband was involved in this morning.â The words all sounded broken and inaudible, all but the few key details.
âHusbandâ âInvolvedâ âAccidentâÂ
âIs heââ Mav knew what the question was going to be, so he gave you no chance to ask, he wanted to be the one to call, he wanted to be the one to tell you that although your husband had been involved in a training accident, he was still in one piece and very much alive.Â
âHe's alive, still very much in one piece maâamââ Mav caught himself smiling ever so slightly, despite the looming knowledge in the back of his mind that the situation could have been a lot worse. âThey want to keep him overnight for observation, so if you'd like to come in and see him, I'm sure Bob would really appreciate it.âÂ
The sigh that left your body, the shock that overwhelmed you, the tears that stained your cheek you weren't aware were there all told you one thingâyou couldn't live without your husband.Â
âOâokay.â You nodded to yourself as if the man on the other end of the line could see you. âY-yes, Iâll, uh, just get our daughter sorted and I'll be right in.âÂ
It was then Maverickâs turn to sit in the deafening silence that threatened to consume his entire being. Bob had a daughter? That added a whole other layer to the incident he hadnât accounted for.Â
Bob kept that card close to his chest, his daughter, Mille, was his pride and joy.Â
âTry to keep in mind he's okay Mrs Floyd,. Your husbandâs a very skilled weapons system officer and his training truly saved his life today.â You hadnât taken your eyes off your daughter since you remembered how to breathe as you stood in the middle of the small apartment kitchen. She was so innocent, so young, so mesmerised by her dad that she would have known something was wrong if he didn't come home.Â
âIt's never been my husband's ability that I doubt, Captain Mitchell.â You replied as you wiped away your tears and reached for a sponge to go about cleaning up your daughter's high chair mess. âIt's the system he works for that keeps me up at night.âÂ
***~***~***~***~***~
Jake Seresin had never been so relieved when he was told that both Bob and Phoenix were alright and almost injury-free. Phoenix had a few bumps and bruises, a minor cut on her forearm, and a minor concussion that would surely see her grounded for a week at the minimum.Â
Bob was the same, only his ribs had taken a pretty nasty beating when he hit the ground with an unprecedented amount of force. Still, the usually arrogant, somewhat self-loathing, and above all infuriatingly good aviator wasn't about to say how relieved he truly was.Â
But he did, however, offer to take Phoenix some personal belongings for her overnight stay in the chateau short-stay ward of the Miramar Base Hospital.Â
âJust hold on a minute, sweetheart!âÂ
Jake didn't mean to stick his nose where it didn't belong, but the ear-piercing cries of a child that couldn't have been any older than one broke him out of his mid-afternoon trance. The carpark at the Base hospital was packed to the rafters, but surely there would have been a parentâs park closer to the entrance?Â
Jake wished with every fibre of his being that he could have kept walking, he wished he just could have kept putting one foot in front of the other. But his mother raised him right. With a heavy sigh and a regret deep in his chest, Jake doubled back a few paces and turned his attention to the woman struggling to get up the stroller.Â
âMaâam, I hate to be a bother but do you need a hand?âÂ
âMe?â You turned around to address the man whoâd been the only person to stop while others had walked right on past and whispered under their breath. Some had even stopped to watch, but no one had offered a hand. âYes, yes please I just need someone toââÂ
Assessing the situation, Jake was sure he knew what the issue was.Â
Within a few seconds of you trying to explain what was wrong, the man whoâd stopped to help had placed the bag he was carrying over his shoulder down onto the ground and stepped hard onto the safety that was jammed.Â
âHow did you know to do that?â You asked with a look of disbelief as you immediately raced around to grab your daughter out of the car. She was distraught. âShhh, Iâm here, see I told you just a few minutes, didn't I baby?â You tried your best to soothe the crying tot.Â
âMy sister has the same stroller, gets jammed all the time.â the man smiled politely as he stood by the now perfectly erected stroller. âJake, Jake Seresin.âÂ
âI recognise the callsignââ You replied when you finally allowed yourself to take in what the man was wearing. The same Nomex flight suit your husband frequented more often than not. âYeah, Hangman, you work with my husband.â You beamed as you bounced your daughter softly until she was calm enough to be placed into her stroller.Â
Jake was racking his brain trying to figure out who the hell your husband was. He thought he knew everything about everyone he worked with. From the secrets Rooster tried to keep to the fact Payback had a raging nut allergy. BuUt a wife and child? Who the hell had a wife and child and hadnât bothered to mention it?Â
âI work with your husband?â Jake repeated back to you like he was still trying to play catch up. âSorry, I must be having a mind blank, with all due respect to your husband.âÂ
âBob Floyd?â You mentioned your husband's name like it was honey on your tastebuds. Jake truly couldn't compute what you were saying. Bob fucking Floyd was married? Bob Floyd had a kid!? âHe had a training accident earlier today with his front seater, scared the absolute hell out of me.â You tried to laugh, but you weren't about to mention to Jake that you'd spent the better half of forty-five minutes in the shower with your daughter having a full-blown panic attack after Mav had called.Â
âYou're Bob's wife?â Jake asked with a frown that was so deeply indeed on his forehead you truly werenât sure what was so wrong about the fact you were Bob's wife. âBob has a wife?â As you clipped your daughter in, Jake picked up the bag heâd been carrying up to the entrance of the hospital before he stopped to help you.Â
âTogether seven, married for three.â You proudly smiled as you started walking your daughterâs stroller towards the hospital. Jake kept himself in line, walking by your side as he tried to compute the information he was being delivered. âBobâs a pretty private person, please don't be offended if he didn't tell you we existed.â This wasn't the first time and you knew it wouldn't be the last time you were left to explain that yes, your husband was in fact your husband.Â
The chuckle that left Jake's mouth told you it wasn't about being offended.Â
âNo Ma'am, no offence takenââ He explained through the shit- eating grin. âI just wasn't aware Bob had it in him is all.â The idea Bob had a wife was an easier pill to swallow than Bob having a whole ass child. In Jake's mind, Bob was far too ill-equipped to know how to use what he had. Or at least that was the rough opinion he had of the wallflower-esk weapons system officer. âBut it's nice to know the guys got a family.âÂ
âHe does, heâs got usââ You couldn't help it when your eyes welled with tears. âIsn't that right, Millie girl?âÂ
Jake had never stopped to wonder what the loves of his coworkers were like. Sure, he knew Phoenix and Rooster prior to their return to TopGun, but never once had he stopped to think if Bob had a family.Â
âHeâs a real lucky guy.â Jake confirmed as he walked with you. âGorgeous wife, cute kid, I'm sure heâs gonna be really happy to see you after the day heâs had.âÂ
***~***~***~***~***~
In all the time Bob had flown for the United State Navy, this had been his closest call with death. The bed sheets that covered the small hospital bed scratched at his exposed skin. The paper-thin hospital gown that now adorned his body left little to the imagination if he stood.Â
The very last person Bob expected to see enter his hospital room was Jake Seresin. Bob thought he was having an all-out nightmare when the cock-sure aviator walked in with a shit-eating grin as wide as his cheeks would allow him.Â
âNoâno absolutely not.â Bob shook his head in utter disbelief. âYou don't get to come in here and give me shit after I fell hundreds of metres out of the sky.â It had been a rough day to say the very least and all Bob wanted more than anything else in the entire world was to hug you and his baby girl. âHangman, I'm so serious right nowââ Bob pressed as Jake stood with a proud chest and that smug ass grin by the door of his hospital room, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.Â
âYou know, that's no way to talk to the man who saved your damsel in distress wife in the carparkââ Jake replied as you rounded the corner and pushed your daughterâs stroller into the hospital room. âFunny, I don't think any of us knew you were married, Floyd.âÂ
Bob's demeanour immediately softened as you made your way over with tears of mixed emotions welling in your eyes. Bobâs eyes mimicked yours, those baby blue eyes were quick to fill with clear but heavy tears as you sat on his bedside.Â
âI'll leave you guys alone.â Jake knew when to leave a room, and he had someone else to go see after all. Phoenix, probably the only woman on the planet who could keep his ego from inflating to new heights. âPut some WD40 on the safety of your daughter's stroller too. It's starting to lock upââ Jake made sure to tell Bob before he left the room, still carrying the bag full of Natashaâs personal belongings he promised he would hand deliver. Bob's precious cargo however, the family that loved him to the moon and back and three times over, seemed like a more pressing delivery to complete first.Â
âBobââ Your hands were on your husband's cheeks the second Bob leaned in to kiss your lips ever so tenderly. The pads of your thumbs worked to wipe away the tears that spilled over his lower lash line, staining his cheeks with a salty layer of tears. âWhat on earth am I gonna do with you, hey?â You smiled through the kiss, speaking against your husband's supplye lips as he tried to keep his composure. âFalling from the sky like that? You scared me half to death.âÂ
âIâm sorryââ It was the first thing Bob was able to muster as you pulled away and reached down for your little girl. âI'm so sorry. Phoenix got us out of a pretty rough spot, she's the reason I'm still here.âÂ
Youâd never met the woman who was currently flying with the love of your life, but you had to trust her. There was no room to not to.Â
âSomeone was enjoying her banana mush when Captain Mitchell called.â You explained as you picked up your daughter and handed her to Bob who was waisting with open arms and bright eyes. He was so relieved to be able to hold his daughter again, you could see that much as clear as day. âIsn't that right Millie, yeahâyeah, Dad really threw a spanner in the works, didn't he?âÂ
âHey, baby girl.â Bob mumbled into the crook of his little girl's neck as he held her close to his chest. The burn in his ribs was worth it as she used his thighs as a stable surface to tiptoe on. âOh my goodness, I can't even begin to explain how much I love you both.âÂ
âWe love you so much.â You leaned in once again to kiss your husband's lips. âI don't know what I'd do if I lost you. You don't get to scare me like this again, okay?âÂ
Bob knew that you knew he couldn't promise you that, that was the worst part. He knew this could happen again and possibly be a worse outcome than this. But Bob also knew you needed reassurance he was here, that he was safe and that he wasn't going anywhere.Â
Death himself would have to drag him down to hell kicking and screaming before he ever left you.Â
âI'm not going anywhere baby, not now, not ever.â Bob cooed as he kissed you back, thankful he got to come home to his girls after such a life-threatening accident. The WSO knew he would have to see a shrink before getting in the cockpit again. How he was going to explain away the nightmares of leaving his wife a widow and his daughter fatherless heâd never know. âIâm here, I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere.âÂ
âPhoenix, I don't think you're supposed to be walking?â Jake's voice echoed down the hall as you and Bob looked towards the door of his hospital room. There, in the doorway, stood Natasha Trace with wide eyes and shocked horror written all over her face. It was clear to you at that moment that Bob hadnât told her either, Bob hadnât told anyone about you or his daughter. You were the two closest cards he kept close to his chest.Â
âYou have a family!?â Phoenix asked almost as if the answer was unclear. âBob, you have a family and didn't tell me? Didn't tell any of us?â There was a rhyme to Bob's reasoning as to why he kept the two of you a secret. Bob just wanted something all for himself. He liked to keep his work life and private life as separate as possible. The Navy could be all-consuming on its best days, coming home to you and knowing not a single person could interrupt or stop by was simply the best version of heaven neither Bob could ever think of.Â
He just wanted his family all to himself, something the Navy couldn't control, couldn't touch, couldn't taint.Â
âNix, this is my wife, Y/n, and my daughter Millicent.â Bob introduced the pair of you softly. âMy best girls. âMy whole world is in these two.âÂ
You sent the clearly distressed aviator a simple smile and a soft wave as you stood from your husbandâs beside. You understood this was a lot for her to take in. The idea that her WSo had more to lose than she ever thought.Â
âI'm still getting over the fact you have a daughter.â Jake interrupted from behind Phoenix as you walked closer to where she stood to take her in a warm embrace.Â
âJealousy is a disease, Seresin, I can tell you exactly how I made my daughter too if you want?â Bob held his daughter in hips lap as she babbled to herself as he helped her stand on her feet. She wasnât walking yet, not even close. But she loved to stand.Â
âMy husband tells me youâre the reason he's still alive.â You spoke to Natasha like she deserved to be told this accident wasn't her fault. It could have happened to anyone. It shouldn't have happened to your husband and his front seater, but that was the luck of the drawâand you were blatantly aware it could have been much, much worse.Â
âSo, thank you for making sure he gets to come home another night.â
***~***~***~***~***~
#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd#bob floyd fluff#top gun bob#top gun imagine#top gun fandom#top gun fanfiction#bob floyd fanfiction
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Those Holi Days
It's a tad early but so is the Spring, Here's a Holi inspired racial TF ! -Occam
Robert is beyond nervous about going to the cityâs Holi celebrations. His best friend Pranav begged him to come and have some fun but Robert absolutely hates sticking out which he is sure to do. Pranav swears there are always other white people there but Robert remains unconvinced as he looks through his closet getting ready. Shuffling through he sees dress shirt after dress shirt of a wardrobe meticulously designed not to stand out.
He sighs as he throws on a white t-shirt as recommended by his friend, best thing to wear for the chalk. He sighs thinking of how confident Pranav is as he ensures his shirt sits so no one can see his small gut underneath it. Feeling a pit start to grow in his stomach about going he rushes out the door before he convinces himself to stay in.
On the brief walk over he fights with himself in his head weighing pros and cons. He does not like how intimate it is sure to be, Robert does not like crowds or parties. He read up on Holi of course and this is sure to be quite a hectic event. He starts writing up paragraphs on his phone to chew Pranav out for getting him out of his comfort zone to go to something heâs so sure he will not enjoy.
As he approaches the park he hears some kind of Indian pop music blaring from speakers set at the center of festivities. He must have been quite absorbed in his phone as only now does he notice how thick the air has become from the colored chalk in the air. His heart freezes in his chest as he sees he has already arrived at the outskirts of the Holi block party.
As Robert looks out across the crowd however, he canât hold back a smile seeing just how much fun just about everyone is having. Technicolor powders are flying through the air creating a storm of vivid blues and dazzling reds above the crowd. Dust begins to settle in Robertâs hair as he looks for Pranav at the event.
He doesnât immediately find his friend, although to Pranavâs credit there are a not insignificant amount of other white guys present in the park, some of them even seemingly dressed in traditional kurtas. He even sees another one of his friends, John, out there seemingly having an absolute blast. John was always a quiet guy but is almost moshing in the middle of the colorful crowd. Robert almost starts to get his attention before second guessing himself, when did John start growing a beard? He was always the clean cut type but under the blue powder covering his cheeks there is some clear stubble. It almost looks darker than the hair on his head even which must from the powder staining it.Â
Robert continues watching his friend have a blast smiling as the jubilee feels almost contagious before realizing, shit? Was he supposed to bring chalk for this? Pranav didnât mention anything- As soon as his mind turns to Pranav however, orange powder is slammed on his head as if it were an Easter confetti egg and his vision is obscured.Â
âGotcha Robert!â Pranav shouts in a jaunty manner having successfully snuck up on his dear friend. He ruffles Robertâs hair shedding the powder down onto his clothes as he wipes the powder off his eyes as he switches into his prescription sunglasses. Pranav continues to shout over the music as Robert cleans himself off, âyouâve survived your first color attack friend! How are you liking the festivities so far?â
Finally able to see again Robert blushes as he is standing far closer than usual to Pranav to hear him over the crowd replies, âwell I havenât done much so far but it does seem like a lot of fun!â
Pranav smirks, hearing his friend inch closer to agreeing that he was right. He puts his arm around his friends shoulder and continues, âAh! Sounds like a chance for me to say told ya so is approaching, my friend!â He starts to point around showing Robert all the stands and activities going on around the park though Robert subconsciously tunes him out as the din of the crowd rises in his ears.
Heâs not anxious? Red chalk splatters the pair, Pranav laughs as Robert is suddenly feeling adrift in his own head, but not uncomfortable. Itâs almost like he's sluggish which should be off putting at such a high energy event. He should be incredibly anxious right now. But all he can focus on is the raucous revelry of the crowd ahead and Pranavâs arm resting on his back, even this intimacy should be causing him alarm.
The hair of Pranavâs arm brushes Robertâs neck and he stops just sort of moaning in response. Keeping quiet he continues to find his head increasingly groggy. Looking towards Pranavâs face as he sees his friend beam talking about pani puri as he wipes chalk from his beard. God, heâs just so hot, why can I not be more confident like him.
Thereâs a beat before Robert out loud says, âwhat the fuck,â catching Pranav off guard. âOh sorry Rajert? Did you-â
âWhat did you call me?â Robert asks quickly.
Pausing, worried about his friend, âRobert? Your name?â
Now embarrassed as he was clearly ignoring the friend who invited him to take part in his own culture he quickly apologizes to Pranav and imploring him to continue. Which he does, âI was just saying, I told you that there would be other white dudes here dosti!â
Fighting off his fogginess to keep up Robert agrees, âYeah you were right! I just saw my friend uh? My friend, uh, Janat?â He stares confused at the crowd scanning it to see his friend once more as Pranav glances down at Robert with a sly smile, eyebrows raised in questioning, âJanat is Bengali, Robert?â At this moment Robert finally sees him, no surprise he didnât recognize his friend who in the few minutes since seeing him he has ripped off his shirt.
Janat who Robert would have sworn was a guy even more milquetoast than himself is now absolutely covered in chalk as it creates patterns down his now muscular back, sweat creating rivets of dye only seeming to increase the vascularity. Robert stares at a man he will never know as John again, as he creates a torrent of dust in the air, twirling t-shirt he must have ripped off above his head. The crew cut that once rose above his head has grown into a thick ponytail as a moustache pushes itself into existence. Robert cannot look away from his friend as he shows off his muscular body as powder continues to flow through the air. He tosses his shirt to the floor keeping his arm raised as he starts waterfalling some drink from his friend. Robertâs eyes trail down his veiny bicep to see his now-exposed pits. Knowing Janat constantly shaves to keep body looking tight, he watches as hair begins to poke out from under his pits.
Pranav, almost out of jealousy, speaks up to get Robertâs attention away from their friend, âAh yeah Janat is a real party animal huh? But we donât need to do all that eh dosti?â His beard, tanned skin, and of course red Holi powder hide his blush as he blocks Janat from view and starts rubbing Robertâs shoulder. Robert in turn looks back to Pranav and smiles. Before hearing his Pranav speak up once more âWoah Rajert! When did you start growing out your own little beard! It looks niceâ Both men move their hands to feel Rajertâs face as he freezes up feeling stubble on his hitherto perpetually clean shaven face.
Rajert reaches for his phone to see his reflection but doesnât even need to as he sees his new appearance in his lockscreen. Now a picture of him and Pranav, which is in and of itself odd, he sees the two of them standing at a pier looking like he always does. Save for the stubbled face that will now always greet him. But, that can't be right? Heâs blonde? Or at least brown right? His eyes dart again to his face in the photo and sees not only does stubble now darken his cheeks but the hair rising above his head is similarly black.
Rajert reaches to his head, once more shaking powder out as he tries to rip a strand of his hopefully blonde hair free. Pranav shouts seeing this, âWoah yaar! What are you doing? Is everything alright!?â The two of them see a long strand of midnight black hair between Rajertâs fingers. Pranav suddenly worried that Rajert is entering a state all too familiar starts to try and lead him away from the crowd before he starts hyperventilating. âIâm so sorry Rajert! I was wrong, this is too much for you here, let's go get you some shade!â Pranav grabs his hand and starts dragging him out of the crowd.
Rajert knows the crowd isnât the problem though. He was having a good time, but something happened? It was something about his hair right? He struggles to audit why he has suddenly frozen up as he is pulled through the crowd. There is a buzz in the air as the music and cries of joy continue to crescendo. Rajert feels a warmth in his chest, as well as in the hand now clasped by Pranav. He smiles as he is led and looks at the arm pulling him feeling safer by the moment.
Neither of the two notice as Rajertâs arm begins to look starkly similar to the one dragging him. The hand begins to grow in Pranavâs grasp as the thin blonde hairs dotting Rajertâs arm begin to grow thicker and darker. It begins to spread up his forearm, curling as they look and feel remarkably like the arm that brushed his neck oh so recently. Neither notices though, as Rajert remains firmly in his own mind. Stuck with the image of Janat dancing in the crowd, he seemed so free. His shirt above his head as he shows everyone around just how much of a man he is. Rajertâs eyes start to glaze as he thinks again about his pits, man. I wonder what he smells like?
âChod!â Rajert shouts as he again feels his mind drift to such horny thoughts. Neither man noticing as Rajert has just defaulted to a Hindi swear. Pranav in his part is just concerned about his friend. Yes, just a friend. He leads Rajert to sit against a tree, hiding how much tanner his arms have gotten in this short trek as he checks in. âYaar? Do you want me to go get something to drink?â
Rajert nods as he responds, his throat feeling dry, easily attributed to the significant amount of chalk inhaled. âIâm a little lightheaded Pranav.â Concern is immediately painted across Pranavâs face even thicker than the dye as he plans to run off to get his dear something to drink and eat, it must be a blood sugar thing right? âIâll be right back Rajer!â He watches as Pranav quickly makes his way through the crowd in search of the cure for his condition as his mind begins to swim even deeper.Â
Rajer watches floes of Holi powder stream above the crowd, trying to distract himself from how weird his clothes feel against his body now that heâs sitting down. He feels his sleeves pushing against his biceps as if heâs ever lifted something heavier than a textbook. He pulls at his shirt to relieve the tightness, catapulting more dust into the air. His eyes glaze over as he watches the colors dance in the air. Across the pavilion Pranav nervously watches Rajer, easily noticing that he seems to be filling out his clothes much better. He reprimands himself for thinking with his dick while his friend(?) is in such a state, though this is the Festival of Spring after all with all that implies.
Back at the tree Rajer feels a thought burst through the fog to the forefront of his mind which he immediately puts to words. âAh, this reminds me of my first Holi.â But no, this is my first Holi right? He sifts through his memories to assure himself. What he finds inside is impossible.Â
He remembers being a young boy traveling into Delhi for the festivities. He remembers seeing the colors dancing in the air as millions of hands toss dye in the air. As he does he feels his feet begin to grow in his powder covered shoes.Â
He remembers moving to the states with his older brother in late December. Feeling totally apart from hsi culture until that magical day in the Spring. Finally having Pani Puri once more with his community as he did his best to keep the chalk off the dough, laughing with his brother. He kicks his shoes off while he still can as he sees his larger feet start to rip apart his chalk-stained socks.Â
âOffo!â He shouts as he strains to pull off his socks, revealing tanned feet covered in thick black hair, his soles already wider than the shoes he removed in the nick of time. Well it is certainly not his first time being barefoot at Holi! He laughs remembering how crazy he has been in the past! In fact, he was barefoot at the big Holi festival in college, the one where. The one where he met his yaar, Pranav?
At this Pranav returns and upon seeing Rajer now barefoot he forgets the dire state that he was left in. Instead Pranav eyes his thicker thighs straining the jeans. His calves seem to be sticking out farther than they should, Pranav wonders why his yaar has put on clothes so tight on a festival day before suddenly finding the most strained part of Rajerâs clothing, his crotch. Itâs almost like heâs stuffed something in his pants. Pranav quickly changes the subject to avoid creating a similar bulge for all to see, âhave you been working on your tan Rajer?â
Rajer smirks before answering, âWell only one way to see!â As he struggles to get his larger body out of the small shirt he put on this morning. Unable to even raise his arms without tearing he instead opts to rip the shirt off in its entirety. As soon as his sweaty skin meets the air it shows the same dark brown tint that Pranav sees when he looks in the mirror. Pranav stares at Rajerâs tight muscular torso as he flexes to show off. He doesnât notice as Rajerâs eyes quickly darken from the light blue eyes once magnified by his glasses, to a brown dark enough that they may as well be black. âSee! Same as Iâve always been Pran!â
Pranav reaches down to help Rajer to his feet, finding him far heavier than when he was dragged by Pranav to this spot earlier. With a heave he gets Rajer up, only to find he is now looking up at him. Suddenly Pranav finds himself adrift in his own mind, the sight of the man before him immediately causing his cock to pulse in his pants sa he tries to reconcile what has happened. Seeing the confusion Rajer asks, âhaan Pran? Everything alright?â Pranav hears a thick accent that he would have sworn Rajer didnât have this morning. âRajer, you are feeling better now?â
Rajer stops his flexing as he takes this in and answers in perfect Hindi, âdid you call me Rajer? âS a weird pet name for Rajesh yaar.â Rajesh reaches to wipe chalk off the face of a man he can only describe as his love as he notices the growing bulges in both their pants and smirks, asking in Hindi. âAh! Do you want to find our own way to celebrate the spring Pran?â
In a reversal of this morning Rajesh puts his arm across PRanavâs shoulders and puts some of his weight on, which Pranav now struggles to carry. This knocks him out of his stupor, âChod Raj you are so heavy!â Rajesh smirks and moves behind Pranav, pressing his bulge into his loverâs back as he whispers into his ear in Hindi, âwhy donât we head back to our place eh? Maybe we could have Janat over?â
Pranav blushes at the idea and pushes Raj back as he eyes him hungrily. âWell we should certainly get out of here before your cock bursts your zipper off.â The two begin to head off back towards their now shared apartment, their pace increasing as the excitement in the air continues to get them going.
Pranav looks up at Rajeshâs chalk covered smile, âGlad you came after all eh yaar?â As they enter their apartment careful not to get chalk over everything they own they finish the little disrobing they have left to do as Rajesh replies in his true mother tongue, âwouldnât miss it for the world.â As they forcefully begin smear chalk between their bodies, creating new colors as they celebrate Holi in a far more primal way than dancing in colored powder.Â
They feel each other as if it were the first time they had fucked, not knowing it truly is. Rajesh feels his body continue to grow as he pushes Pranav into their bed. Pranav runs his hands across Rajeshâs powerful thighs as his hands are increasingly impeded by ever thickening hair as he prepares for another round of celebrating new beginnings.
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We Bleed The Same | Part: 1
Cersei Lannister x Stark Fem!Reader đş
Summary: On the road from Winterfell to King's Landing, Cersei and y/n find themselves reconciling with both old and new feelings as fate seems determined to tear them apart.
Sequel to 'Where's My Love'.
Wordcount: 4k
Pairing: Cersei x Reader
Warnings: smut, g!p reader, mentions of sexual violence & domestic abuse, breeding kink, blowjob/deep throating, unprotected sex, dubious consent, co-dependency, y/n & cersei are soulmates argue with the wall
Note: This was actually a lot of fun, I already can't wait to put out the second part! Anyway, hope you enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it (smut after asterisks)
You have been on the road for what feels like an eternity, the children are growing restless, and so are you, but King's Landing is still weeks away. Your next destination being Castle Darry, by order of the king.
Robert Baratheon is rather fond of his pit stops, and you have half a mind to strangle him for that.
What is meant to be a few weeks on the road has turned into months of long-winded journey.
You shift uncomfortably in your seat for the hundredth time, leaning back against the cushions.
You are certainly looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed, whenever that might be.
Just as you start to grow somewhat comfortable, the litter jerks to an abrupt halt, forcing you to lean forward.
Ned places a firm arm in front of his girls to prevent them from falling forward the same way you had.
âWhy have we stopped?â You ask, exasperated. Subsequently, pulling aside the curtain next to you to look out the window, only to be greeted with darkness.
You hadn't realized it was already nightfall.
As you squint, you only manage to make out an open fieldâ the scenery does look beautiful, but this isn't the castle.
âMaybe the king needed a piss again.â Arya remarks, trying her best to look over your shoulder.
You narrow your gaze at your niece, and her inability to keep her thoughts to herself. Although there is full possibility that the girl was correct.
The king had delayed the possession half a dozen times today to relieve himself.
âNo..â Sansa utters. âHe's being sick.â She observes, and it is swiftly followed by the sound of Robert dry heaving.
You grimace at the noise, no longer concealing your annoyance.
Robert has stopped the journey half a dozen times to do that as well.
âPerhaps if he didn't drink so much..â You start, although your brother interjects before you can say anything else.
âBe quiet, the lot of you.â Ned scolds, and you have to bite back a retort as you petulantly glance out through the curtains again.
Eventually, the litter resumes movement, and you rest your back once more, allowing your mind to wander.
Cersei is no doubt feeling as miserable as you are, if not more.
Had you been given leave to ride with her, perhaps this journey would not be half as excruciating.
You missed her, you crave to hear her voice, to touch her, kiss her.
If you fail to reach Castle Darry by tonight, you aim to find a way inside the queen's litter. Robert is certain to be too drunk to notice anyway.
The journey continues on for several more hours, the repetitive movement of the carriage begins to lull you, you could only fight it for so long before a deep and dreamless slumber manages to take over.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
âY/n.â You stir to Ned's voice, his hand on your shoulder is like a jolt to your system; you sit up abruptly.
As you come to your senses, you notice that the litter has stopped, Arya and Sansa are no longer beside you.
âWe're moving into the castle, I need your help carrying in the food crates.â Ned explains, pulling open the curtains next to you.
âWhat hour is it?â You ask groggily, still trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.
âI don't know.â Ned responds truthfully. âbut I reckon we'll see first light soon.â He finishes, yet you fail to move.
âCome on, you've been asleep for hours.â Your brother insists, he grabs ahold of your hand, forcibly hoisting you up.
As he tugs on your arm, you stumble out of the litter, leaning your weight on Ned as you attempt to find your footing.
You shove him away after you do, scowling at your brother, and his very successful attempt at manhandling you.
âWhen we get back on the road I am riding on horseback. I'm sick of sitting in that damned thing.â You grumble, gesturing to the carriage behind you before smoothing out your cloak and running your fingers through your hair.
âAs you wish, but I refuse to listen to you whine about saddle sores.â Ned says, approaching the stack of crates.
âI am a woman grown, I do not whine.â You contend defensively.
Ned does not heed your remark, nodding towards the large crate impatiently, he braces his hands on the underside of it. âCome, help me.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Castle Darry sits atop of a hill in the Riverlands, the climb was steep enough to knock the wind out of you.
By the time you enter through its doors, your chest is heaving. âSeven hellsââ You mutter under your breath, although you are quickly distracted by the interior of the palace.
Darry had decently high ceilings, the castle is larger on the inside as it appeared on the outside. Somehow modest and grand all at once.
The stairs, large and winding, are set at the center of the main hall leading up to the bedchambers.
Robert picked a decent place this time around, you'll give him that much.
You stroll past the stairs towards the castle's great hall, observing as Ned approaches the table in the far right, next to a window that overlooks a view of the river.
You spot your nieces and nephews enjoying an early breakfast. Next to them are Cersei's youngest children, Myrcella and Tommen.
Sansa and Myrcella appear caught up in conversation, whilst Arya and Tommen are on their knees, busy feeding Nymeria pieces of charred meat.
Joffrey is nowhere to be seen. This doesn't surprise anyone, in truth. The prince along with his sworn guard often wander about on their own. The boy was always eager to find trouble where he can, that much is evident.
You begin scanning the rest of the hall, you notice the kingsguard along with the queen's men, but no sight of the king or queen themselves.
You can't help the disappointment that settles in your belly, you were hoping to get at least a glimpse of Cersei before heading to bed.
âWhere is the queen?â You ask as you take a seat next to Robb and his half-brother, Jon.
You reach for the flagon of spiced wine, pouring it into a cup as you await a response.
Robb merely shrugs as he stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth, and your other nephew decides to opt for a smart answer.
âWith the king, I presume?â Jon remarks, insolent and juvenile.
You quickly wipe the smirk off his face by placing a firm smack against the back of his head.
Jon yelps, reaching up to rub the same spot you had just struck him. âWhat was that for?â
âI meant, which room is she in?â You rephrase, unamused before lifting the rim of your cup to your lips, taking a large drink.
A burst of nutmeg and cinnamon coats your tongue, when accompanied with the warm, bitter taste of wine, it manages to soothe you.
âI saw her enter the one upstairs, at the end of the hall.â Sansa chimes in, making sure to swallow her food first before addressing you.
You turn your attention towards your niece, a look of gratitude paints your features. âThank you, Sansa.â
âHopeless, the both of you.â You remark, reaching out to mess up Robb's head of auburn hair.
You relished the way both boys scowled at you as you left the dining area.
-
You trudge up the steep stairs leading to the bedchambers. Glancing at the row of rooms to your left, and then to your right.
You mentally curse yourself for failing to clarify with Sansa exactly which room the queen had taken as her own.
After a moment of deliberating, you decide to take a risk, approaching the room on the far left, one hidden behind a large pillar.
You knock twice before resting your hand on the pommel of your sword.
A beat passes and no one answers, though just as you move to walk away, the door opens, and a golden-haired beauty emerges from the dark room.
Your smile happens involuntarily as you pale greys catch Cersei's emerald gaze. Though the queen doesn't reciprocate, instead she pulls you in for a sudden hug.
After a fleeting moment of confusion, you embrace her in return. Your hand rests on the small of her back, the other gently threads through her golden curls.
As your gaze wanders, it is only then you notice a tear in her robe. The silk material fails to cover the bruising on Cersei's arm; the sight makes you stiffen.
The queen fails to speak, so you decide to break the silence first.
âIs everything alright?â You ask, expecting the answer, but Cersei does not grace you with a verbal reply, merely hugging you tighter.
âDo you want me to stay here tonight?â You whisper instead, your lips brush against the shell of the other woman's ear.
Cersei remains quiet for a while, as though considering your request. She pulls back slightly to look at you, her gaze softens as she traces your features with her thumb.
âYou can't, Robert's in my bed.â She finally says, and your brows furrow at the prospect.
That old brute laid his hands on her again.
You open your mouth to protest, but as if expecting it, Cersei places her hand over your mouth, stopping you. âDon'tâ do not say anything, just kiss me.â
With that, the queen leans in, capturing your mouth with her own. The kiss is desperate, and anguished. Cersei moans softly into your mouth as your tongues make contact.
She tastes like lemon and arbor red, and you are content to feel her like this, for all eternity, although the way your lungs burn for air proves your desire to be an impossible one to uphold.
You break away first, tilting your head to kiss her neck. Cersei gasps at the sensation, her fingers clenched tightly around your hair as your mouth finds the base of her jaw.
âI wantââ The queen starts, her voice trembling ever so slightly as your mouth continues to move along her tender flesh.
Eventually, Cersei finds the strength to tug on your hair, guiding your face to her own.
âI want to name you my sworn protector, when we get to King's Landing.â The older woman says suddenly. âI will declare it to the council myself.â Cersei adds, and she simply rakes her fingers through your hair at your lack of response.
âThen you'll have reason to be in my quarters.. in my company.. elsewise people will talk.â She explains, and finally, you nod.
The queen's sworn protector. Like you intended to be all those years ago, before things went wrong between the two of you.
âAs you wish.. I am your servant.â You conclude, and for the first time tonight a smile covers Cersei's enchanting features.
Striking, delicate and so damned breathtaking.
âGood.â She says, pulling you in for another lingering kiss.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
--
The following week at Darry had been at best, quiet and uneventful. You spent most of your days with your brother and his children and nights waiting for everyone to fall asleep just so you could visit the queen.
Although, you did not have the privilege of seeing her last night. After a long day of hunting with Ned and Robert, you don't recall how you got back to the castle, only that you had awoken this morning with a pounding head.
Not exactly fond of hunting, you did so mainly out of courtesyâ as to not give the king cause to be upset.
Robert is as unpleasant on a hunt as he is on any other day, if not more.
Naturally, you drank to dull the ache his company caused, as well as pass the time.
In truth, all you wanted to do is spend your days and nights in bed with Cersei. You had managed to steal moments here and there, but nothing enough to satiate your need for her.
All the more reason to look forward to King's Landing. Once you get to the city you'll be allowed to spend time in the queen's bedchambers under the guise of guarding her from harm.
Then, you'll finally be allowed to do whatever you desire with each other without the danger of being seen.
-
Tonight, in a welcomed change of pace, you find yourself in the Godswood with Ser Jory Cassel, dull blades in hand.
He is a capable sparring partner, however predictable he might be.
You remind yourself once more that he is a knight, he fights clean like most of them.
Most knights are predictable.
âI cannot be out here for much longer, M'lady. Lord Eddard has tasked me to watch over his daughters tonight.â Ser Jory says as he resumes his stance, lifting his blade.
You shrug, doing the same.
âI understand, Ser. I only mean to fight you until I grow bored.. which shouldn't take long at all.â You jest, and it manages to hit a nerve, as the knight takes a large swing at you.
You deflect the blow before swiftly maneuvering your body away with one foot, causing the knight to stumble forward.
Ser Jory recovers quickly, this time you strike first, and your dull blades kiss with a large clash.
You take the opportunity to get out of the position by flicking your wrist, as a result your sword is released from the blade lock. You twist the blade in your hand once before pointing it at the knight's neck.
The quickest win yet.
Ser Jory sighs, lifting his arms in surrender. âI yield.â
You lower your blade with a grin. Though the man yields quickly, far too easily.
Suddenly, you find yourself hoping the knight isn't letting you win on purpose, or perhaps he is just eager to get inside and resume his post.
Either way, you are not yet satisfied.
As you are just about to request for another round, voices in the distance steal your attention.
You glance over to see men from the kingsguard standing under the Weirwood, gossipingâ albeit not very discreetly.
âThey were arguing again, the king and queen..â
Ser Jory has since set aside his sparring blade. He walks over to a wooden bench in the corner of the Godswood to fetch his sword belt, fastening it onto his person.
âSee you inside, m'lady.â Jory announces as he rushes back into the castle. Although you hardly hear him at all as you inch closer to the pair of knights standing under the Weirwood tree.
You remain partially hidden by the darkness as you listen to their conversation whilst pretending to focus your attention elsewhere.
âI heard she broke his nose.â The kingsguard says.
âHe broke hers more like. That's why she sent her handmaids to fetch her a cold compress.â The other knight chimes in, and his words send an unpleasant shiver down your spine.
You turn away, thoughtlessly discarding the practice blade you were holding before grabbing your own sword.
You slip past the main doors of the castle before sprinting up the stairs. You pushed past the pair of guards at the foot of it as they took a moment too long to step aside.
As you reach Cersei's bedchambers you notice that her door is left ajar. You push it open, stepping inside in a panic frenzy, only to nearly trip over Robert's large frame.
The king lays motionless by the door, on a beautifully crafted Myrish carpet. His large belly spilling out of his tunic.
A compelling sight.
You look up to find Cersei standing by the window, a goblet of wine in hand. She smiles as your eyes meet.
Her hair is unkempt, her robe falling off one shoulder, but there is no blood anywhere on her, in fact she appears entirely unharmed.
You turn to shut the door, wincing as it accidentally slams into place. Yet, Robert remains on the floor, unfazed.
âIs he dead?â You quip, circling the king's motionless body and it earns a bitter chuckle from Cersei.
âNo, just passed out from drinking too much, I'm afraid.â The queen responds, her own voice slurred.
The queen is drunk.
âPity.â You remark, as a large noise erupts from the king. The boisterous and grating snore continues every time he breathes.
You tilt your head at the sight of him, Robert Baratheon is a beast, and the worst kind.
You sigh at the thought before turning around, only to find Cersei standing right behind you.
She reaches up instinctively, wrapping her arms around the back of your neck.
âDid he hurt you?â You ask softly, your own hands finding her waist.
Your jaw tenses as Cersei nodded in response.
A blind rage overcomes you then, the sound of Robert snoring agitates you beyond belief, fueling your resentment.
âI could kill him.â You mutter through gritted teeth, and Cersei merely re-focuses her gaze on you, an amused smile playing on her lips.
âYou are so adorable.â She whispers, almost mockingly, her lips then meet your neck.
The feeling of her kisses upon your skin slowly causes your anger to dissipate, you find yourself conflicted.
âCerseiââ You attempt, but the queen's mouth against the shell of your ear causes your words to die in your throat.
**
âTake me to bed..â She says, the scent of lavender in her hair invades your senses, and you find it nearly impossible to think. You are urged to do as she asks, but logic and reason forces you to consider otherwise.
âWhat?â You ask, and you feel Cersei's teeth graze your ear, she bites your earlobe before pulling back slightly to look at you.
âI want you to fuck meâ you do it so well.â She pleads, in a tone that nearly makes your knees buckle.
Cersei runs her fingers through your hair, uninterested in hearing you protest any further.
She escapes your embrace, though not letting go of your hand as she steps over Robert.
The king continues to snore loudly, you are beginning to think the man will not wake for anything at all. He might as well be dead.
âCome.â Cersei coaxes sweetly, tugging on your arm.
You let her guide you without a moment's thought, stepping over the king to follow the queen to her bed.
Cersei lets go of your hand to unlace her robe, she shrugs it off, allowing it to fall on the floor, leaving her as naked as her nameday.
The queen watches you disapprovingly as you stand frozen in place. You observed the way her hips swayed languidly as she approached you.
She reaches south to unfasten your sword belt, gripping your blade by its scabbard before placing it on the floor.
âYou are not naked enough.â Cersei points out, with a slight pout. The way she continues to slur her words causes your heart to constrict in your chest.
Even like this, she is breathtaking.
Beautiful.. and so utterly twisted.
You are so in love with her.
Cersei sets her bottom lip in between her teeth with palpable excitement as you obliged her. Unclasping your dark grey doublet, tossing it aside before lifting your tunic over your head.
The queen decides to assist you with your bottom half. Brazenly palming your cock through your breeches, her shoulder slumps in disappointment, unsatisfied with the current flaccid state of your shaft.
âWhat's wrong?â Cersei asks, her hands move up your body to cup your breast before resting on the nape of your neck once more.
You are unsure of how to respond, you remain overtly aware of the fact that Cersei's husband remained asleep only a few feet away.
You turn to glance at the man but the queen is quick to force your head in place. âDon't look at him.â She scolds before leaning in to capture your lips with her own for a long kiss.
As you aim to slip your tongue inside of her mouth, Cersei pulls away with a demand. âTake off your breeches, come here.â
You observed as Cersei climbed onto the bed, settling on her knees at the edge of it.
The sight admittedly manages to excite you; you feel your cock begin to stir.
You remove your breeches in haste, ridding them heedlessly as you approach the golden haired woman.
Now you stand in front of the bed and Cersei remains in a kneeling position on the edge as she grips the base of your semi-erect shaft. Bringing it up to her lips, she kisses the tip, all while maintaining eye contact.
âFuckââ You groan aloud as Cersei finally takes you into her mouth, her tongue flat against your cock as she begins to suck.
You let out an unsteady breath, reaching down to grip a fistful of her hair, wary of not grabbing too tightly as you allowed Cersei to set her own pace.
The queen continues bobbing her head, taking your cock inside of her mouth in its entirety.
You feel her breathe out through her nose as she takes you in even deeper, pulling another groan from you as the tip of your shaft meets her throat.
You gasp as Cersei keeps going, you notice as tears begin to well up in her eyes before they flutter shut as she takes you further in.
The feeling of her swallowing around your cock makes you see stars, and it nearly causes you to finish right then and there.
âGods above, Cerseiââ You curse incoherently.
The queen chokes on your girth before leaning back to let your cock lay flat against her tongue once more.
She continues to suck dutifully, and you grunt, this time gripping her hair harshly to pull her head back.
You needed to take her, now.
âEnough, come here.â You state, and Cersei lets your cock fall out of her mouth.
She makes a noise of surprise as you harshly met her lips. Cersei kisses you passionately in return, pulling you down on top of her.
As the queen parted her legs for you, you don't give her much warning before reaching in between both of your bodies.
You line the tip of your shaft up to her entrance, and with one swift thrust, you enter her completely, filling Cersei to the hilt.
The older woman lets out a guttural noise at the sensation, followed shortly after by a whimper.
Cersei's nails dig into your back as her entire body trembles uncontrollably.
You turn to check if the king had perhaps awoken at the sound, but again, Cersei does not give you the chance, pulling you in for another kiss.
You decide not to heed caution any longer, you begin moving your hips, steadily increasing the pace.
If the king wakes, you will kill him.
Cersei mewls into your mouth as your cock hits the perfect spot within her, again and again.
Soon, you brace your hands against the bedding on either side of her head as you begin to rut into her wildly.
Cersei lets out a series of broken gasps and moans, followed by a louder whine when she suddenly reaches her peak around your cock.
You observed as the queen writhed underneath you with every thrust afterwards, she wraps her arms around your back weakly, pulling you in even closer.
You steal at the opportunity to take Cerseiâs breasts into your mouth. Licking and sucking at them greedily.
She gasps at the feeling, and you soon earn another whine as you maintain your slow thrusts.
âPlease..â The queen pleads, and the sound of her desperation alone makes you drunk.
âFill me with your seed,â Cersei utters against your ear, her legs wrapped around your waist as though not allowing you the opportunity to disobey her.
âI want to feel it quicken inside me. I want to bear your children, your heirs. Only yours.â She continues, deliberately clenching her walls around your girth.
That does it.
Your release comes just as sudden, it is violent and unyielding.
Before you can even think of pulling out, your seed spills out in ropes, thick and warm, filling Cersei's womb, just as she wanted.
#cersei lannister x reader#cersei lannister#cersei x reader#cersei lannister smut#g!p reader#fem stark reader#stark reader#ned stark x reader#g!p
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âYouâll have othersâ, he said. âSweet babes, and trueborn.â Lysa had miscarried five times, twice in the Eyrie, thrice at Kingâs Landing.
Lysa and Jon Arryn, 284 AC, art by @sofikiii
âHer Lord Husband had told her it wasnât her fault, that the baby didnât make it. It was the first time Lysa had heard that, that something that happened wasnât her fault.â
This, of course, is not a real life out of A Song of Ice and Fire, but the general sentiment got stuck in my head about a month and a half ago. After Hoster forced a miscarriage upon Lysa, I doubt that she had heard any words of comfort like that and that wrecks me. I couldnât get it out of my mind, so I asked my good friend Sofia who I have worked with before if I could please commission this from her.
Lysa, for starters, is not the most morally upright character in A Song of Ice and Fire. Whether or not she realized it at the time, she did have two non consensual encounters at a young age with Petyr Baelish, she ends up killing her husband and aiding to the mental stunting of her young son, and she is very volatile and cruel with Sansa. Sheâs obviously not in her right mind, although that is not an excuse for all those actions, but there is an interesting story to tell as to why sheâs not in her right mind, what led her to her current state of mind when we meet her. The most surface level answer to this (although of course this does not explain her action towards Petyr prior to this) is that her father Hoster Tully forced her to have an abortion because she got pregnant by Petyr Baelish, and then married her off to Jon Arryn, who was 20 years older than him, essentially old enough to be her grandfather. She was around 14 years old at this time. We learn from the text that she is consistently pregnant over the next 14 years and of her children, only Robert survived. With this art, depicting her first stillbirth, I hoped to show a moment in time leading up to her mental decline. My goal is not to justify the things she did because she suffered, but to show a moment in which she is a victim as part of a broader statement of how woman and, quite frankly, girls are treated in Westeros. I also did not want to romanticize her and Jonâs relationship, but given what we know about him, he probably comforted her and that must have been hard for her to internalize and healthily understand because heâs a person that is victimizing her, is older than her father, but she has to cling to in a way, both as a husband and potentially for this love that she is not currently getting from her family. Sheâs a very young girl in this and that was something else that I wanted to make sure to implement, that she has just gone through a pregnancy so is looking more mature, but she still has baby fat and a lot of childlike elements to it because in a modern sense, sheâs still a kid. A kid that is grieving a baby.
As for the detailing in this art, we mostly have blue coloring for House Arryn. I wanted to do some pink on her walls, as this is her chambers instead of joint chambers with Jon (although historically, even if she had shared chambers with Jon, her confinement rooms would be completely separate anyway) and I wanted to really drive home the childlike aspect of it, that sheâs girly and frilly and has this wonder about her that comes crashing down. However, we decided it wouldnât look good with all of the blue detailings so we stuck with different shades of blue. Jonâs outfit is inspired by an outfit in the Princess Bride, I couldnât tell you who wore the outfit because I have not seen the movie. It looks like this though, which I usually use a reference for Robert Arryn but it works well with Jon too.
The fish is a stuffed animal from Lysaâs childhood in Riverrun. I never decided if Minisa or Cat made one, but I would more so go with that Lysa and Cat had matching ones as children. I think Lysa would probably get rid of most of her things from the Riverlands because of how hurt she was emotionally, but I still liked the symbolism there and how sheâs stuck between being a child and an adult. The portrait in the background is of Minisa. Although it would make sense for Lysa to shun most everything from her life before the Eyrie, seeing as Minisa was not involved in anything that happened to her that caused her harm, I do not think that would extend to her. Thereâs no reason for Lysa not to feel fondness towards her mother, and especially at the age she is in this depiction, it would make sense that she would want to feel her motherâs presence while in her confinement.
Lastly, this is the inspiration for the poses. The art is called Age and Infancy by John Opie.
Thank you for reading all of this and an even bigger thank you to Sofia!! Lysa is so interesting to me, Jon Arryn too just because of how long his life spanned. I love talking about them and commissioning things that I havenât seen other people work on before.
#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#lysa arryn#lysa tully#jon arryn#house tully#house arryn#fanart
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WoT Meta: Feudalism, Class, And The Politics of The Wheel of Time
One of my long standing personal annoyances with the fantasy genre is that it often falls into the trap of simplifying feudal class systems, stripping out the interesting parts and the nuance to make something thatâs either a lot more cardboard cut-out, or has our modern ideas about class imposed onto it.
Ironically the principal exception is also the series that set the bar for me. As is so often the case, Robert Jordanâs Wheel of Time is unique in how much it works to understand and convey a realistic approach to power, politics, government, rulership, and the world in generalâcolored neither by cynicism or idealism. How Jordan works the feudal system into his world building is no exceptionâweaving in the weaknesses, the strengths, and the banal realities of what it means to have a Lord or Lady, a sovereign Queen or King, and to exist in a state held together by interpersonal relationships between themâwhile still conveying themes and ideas that are, at their heart, relevant to our modern world.
So, I thought Iâd talk a little bit about how he does that.
Defining the Structure
First, since weâre talking about feudal class systems, let's define what that meansâ what classes actually existed, how they related to each other, and how that is represented in Jordanâs world.Â
But before that, a quick disclaimer. To avoid getting too deep into the historical weeds, I am going to be making some pretty wide generalizations. The phrases âmost oftenâ, âusuallyâ, and âin generalâ are going to be doing a lot of heavy lifting. While the strata Iâm describing is broadly true across the majority medieval and early Renaissance feudal states these things were obviously heavily influenced by the culture, religion, geography, and economics of their countryâall of which varied widely and could shift dramatically over a surprisingly small amount of time (sometimes less than a single generation). Almost nothing I am going to say is universally applicable to all feudal states, but all states will have large swathes of it true for them, and it will be widely applicable. The other thing I would ask you to keep in mind is that a lot of our conceptions of class have been heavily changed by industrialization. Itâs impossible to overstate how completely the steam engine altered the landscape of socio-politics the world over, in ways both good and bad. This is already one of those things that Jordan is incredibly good at remembering, and that most fantasy authors are very good at forgetting.Â
The disparity between your average medieval monarchâs standard of living and their peasants was pretty wide, but it was nothing compared to the distance between your average minimum wage worker and any billionaire; the monarch and the peasant had far more in common with each other than you or I do with Jeff Bezos or Mike Zuckerberg. The disparity between most peopleâs local country lord and their peasants was even smaller. It was only when the steam engine made the mass production of consumer goods possible that the wealth gap started to become a chasmâand that was in fact one of the forces that lead to the end of the feudal system and the collapse of many (though by no means all) of the ruling monarchies in Europe. I bring this up because the idea of a class system not predicated on the accumulation of capital seems pretty alien to our modern sensibilities, but it was the norm for most of history. Descent and birth mattered far more than the riches you could acquireâand the act of accumulating wealth was itself often seen as something vulgar and in many countries actively sinful. So with that in mind, what exactly were the classes of feudalism, and how do they connect to the Wheel of Time?
The Monarch and their immediate family unsurprisingly occupied the top of the societal pyramid (at least, in feudal states that had a monarch and royal family- which wasnât all of them). The Monarch was head of the government and was responsible for administering the nation: collecting taxes, seeing them spent, enforcing law, defending the countryâs borders and vassals in the event of war, etc. Contrary to popular belief, relatively few monarchs had absolute power during the medieval period. But how much power the monarch did have varied widely- some monarchs were little more than figureheads, others were able to centralize enough power on themselves to dictate the majority of state business- and that balance could shift back and forth over a single generation, or even a single reign depending on the competence of the monarch.Â
The royal family usually held power in relation to their monarch, but also at the monarchâs discretion. The more power a monarch had, the more likely they were to delegate it to trusted family members in order to aid with the administration of the realm. This was in both official and unofficial capacities: princes were often required to do military service as a right of passage, and to act as diplomats or officials, and princesses (especially those married into foreign powers) were often used as spies for their home state, or played roles in managing court affairs and business on behalf of the ruler.
Beneath the monarch and their family you get the noble aristocracy, and I could write a whole separate essay just on the delineations and strata within this group, but suffice to say the aristocracy covers individuals and families with a wide range of power and wealth. Again, starting from that country lord whose power and wealth in the grand scheme of things is not much bigger than his peasants, all the way to people as powerful, or sometimes more powerful, than the monarch.Â
Nobles in a feudal system ruled over sections of land (the size and quality usually related sharply to their power) setting taxes, enforcing laws, providing protection to the peasants, hearing petitions, etc. within their domains. These nobles were sometimes independent, but more often would swear fealty to more powerful nobles (or monarchs) in exchange for greater protection and membership in a nation state. Doing so meant agreeing to pay taxes, obey (and enforce) the laws of the kingdom, and to provide soldiers to their liege in the event of war. The amount of actual power and autonomy nobles had varied pretty widely, and the general rule of thumb is that the more powerful the monarch is, the less power and autonomy the nobles have, and vice versa. Nobles generally were expected to be well educated (or at least to be able to pretend they were) and usually provided the pool from which important government officials were drawnâgenerals, council members, envoys, etcâwith some kingdoms having laws that prevented anyone not of noble descent from occupying these positions.
Beneath the nobles you get the wealthy financial classâmajor merchants, bankers, and the heads of large trade guilds. Those Marx referred to generally as the bourgeoisie because they either own means of production or manage capital. In a feudal system this class tended to have a good bit of soft power, since their fortunes could buy them access to circles of the powerful, but very little institutional power, since the accumulation and pursuit of riches, if anything, was seen to have negative moral worth. An underlying presumption of greediness was attached to this class, and with it the sense that they should be kept out of direct power.
That was possible, in part, because there weren't that many means of production to actually own, or that much capital to manage, in a pre-industrial society. Most goods were produced without the aid of equipment that required significant capital investment (a weaver owned their own loom, a blacksmith owned their own tools, etc), and most citizens did not have enough wealth to make use of banking services. This is the class of merchants who owned, but generally didnât directly operate, multiple trading ships or caravans, guild leaders for craftsfolk who required large scale equipment to do their work (copper and iron foundries for the making of bells, for example), and bankers who mainly served the nobility and other wealthy individuals through the loaning and borrowing of money. This usually (but not always) represented the ceiling of what those not born aristocrats could achieve in society.
After that you get middling merchants, master craftsfolk and specialty artisans, in particular of luxury goods. Merchants in this class usually still directly manage their expeditions and operations, while the craftsfolk and artisans are those with specialty skill sets that can not be easily replicated without a lifetime of training. Master silversmiths, dressmakers, lacquer workers, hairdressers, and clockmakers are all found in this class. How much social clout individuals in this class have usually relates strongly to how much value is placed on their skill or product by their society (think how the Seanchan have an insatiable appetite for lacquer work and how Seanchan nobles make several Ebou Dari lacquer workers very rich) as well as the actual quality of the product. But even an unskilled artisan is still probably comfortable (as Thom says, even a bad clockmaker is still a wealthy man). Apprenticeships, where children are taught these crafts, are thus highly desired by those in lower classes,as it guaranteed at least some level of financial security in life.
Bellow that class you find minor merchants (single ship or wagon types), the owners of small businesses (inns, taverns, millers etc), some educated posts (clerks, scribes, accountants, tutors) and most craftsfolk (blacksmiths, carpenters, bootmakers, etc). These are people who can usually support themselves and their families through their own labor, or who, in the words of Jin Di, âwork with their handsâ. Most of those who occupy this class are found in cities and larger towns, where the flow of trade allows so many non-food producers to congregate and still (mostly) make ends meet. This is why there is only one inn, one miller, one blacksmith (with a single apprentice) in places like Emondâs Field: most smaller villages can not sustain more than a handful of non-food producers. This is also where you start to get the possibility of serious financial instability; in times of chaos it is people at this tier (and below) that are the first to be forced into poverty, flight, or other desperate actions to survive.
Finally, there is the group often collectively called âpeasantsâ (though that term is also sometimes used to mean anyone not noble born). Farmers, manual laborers, peddlers, fishers- anyone who is unlikely to be able to support more than themselves with their labor, and often had to depend on the combined labor of their spouse and families to get by. Servants also generally fit into this tier socially, but itâs important to understand that a servant in say, a palace, is going to be significantly better paid and respected than a maid in a merchant's house. This class is the largest, making up the majority of the population in a given country, and with a majority of its own number being food-producers specifically. Without the aid of the steam engine, most of a countryâs populace needs to be producing food, and a great deal of it, in order to remain a functional nation. Most of the population as a result live in smaller spread out agrarian communities, loosely organized around single towns and villages. Since these communities will almost always lack access to certain goods or amenities (Emondâs Field has a bootmaker, but no candlemaker, for example) they depend on smalltime traders, called peddlers, to provide them with everyday things, who might travel from town to town with no more than a single wagon, or even just a large pack.
The only groups lower than peasants on the social hierarchy are beggars, the destitute, and (in societies that practice slavery) slaves. People who can not (or are not allowed to) support themselves, and instead must either eke out a day to day existence from scraps, or must be supported by others. Slaves can perform labor of any kind, but they are regarded legally as a means of production rather than a laborer, and the value is awarded to their owner instead.Â
Itâs also worth noting that slavery has varied wildly across history in how exactly it was carried out and ran the gamut from the trans-Atlantic chattel slavery to more caste or punitive-based slavery systems where slaves could achieve freedom, social mobility, or even some degree of power within their societies. But those realities (as with servants) had more to do with who their owners were than the slaveâs own merit, and the majority of slaves (who are almost always seen as less than a freedman even when they are doing the same work) were performing the same common labor as the âpeasantâ class, and so viewed as inferior.
Viewing The Wheel of Time Through This Lens
So what does all this have to do with Robert Jordanâs Wheel of Time? A lot actually, especially compared to his contemporaries in fantasy writing. Whereas most fantasy taking place in feudal systems succumbs to the urge to simplify matters (sometimes as far down to their only being two classes, âpeasantâ and âroyaltyâ) Jordan much more closely models real feudalism in his world.Â
The majority of the nations we encounter are feudal monarchies, and a majority of each of their populations are agrarian farming communities overseen by a local lord or other official. How large a nationâs other classes are is directly tied to how prosperous the kingdom is, which is strongly connected to how much food and how many goods the kingdom can produce on the available land within it. This in turn, is tightly interdependent on how stable the kingdom is and how effective its government is.
Andor is the prime example: a very large, very prosperous kingdom, which is both self-sufficient in feeding itself via its large swathes of farmland (so much so that they can afford to feed Cairhien through selling their surplus almost certainly at next to no profit) and rich in mineral wealth from mines in the west. It is capable of supporting several fairly large cities even on its outskirts, as well as the very well-developed and cosmopolitan Caemlyn as its capital. This allows Andor to maintain a pretty robust class of educated workers, craftsfolk, artisans, etc, which in turn furthers the realmâs prosperity. At the top of things, the Queen presides over the entire realm with largely centralized power to set laws and taxes. Beneath her are the âgreat housesââthe only Houses in Andor besides the royal house who are strong enough that other nobles âfollow where they leadâ making them the equivalent of Duchesses and Dukes, with any minor nobles not sworn directly to the Queen being sworn to these ten.
And that ties into something very important about the feudal system and the impact it had on our world and the impact it has on Jordan's. To quote Youtuber Jack Rackham, feudalism is what those in the science biz would call an unstable equilibrium. The monarch and their vassals are constantly in conflict with each other; the vassals desiring more power and autonomy, as the monarch works to centralize power on themselves. In feudalism there isnât really a state army. Instead the monarch and the nobles all have personal armies, and while the monarchâs might be stronger than anyone elseâs army, itâs never going to be stronger than everybody elseâs.Â
To maintain peace and stability in this situation everyone has to essentially play Game of Thrones (or as Jordan called it years before Martin wrote GoT, Daes Daeâmar) using political maneuvering, alliances, and scheming in order to pursue their goals without the swords coming out, and depending on the relative skill of those involved, this can go on for centuries at a timeâŚ.or break apart completely over the course of a single bad summer, and plunge the country into civil war.
Cairhien is a great example of this problem. After losing the Aiel War and being left in ruins, the monarch who ultimately secured the throne of Cairhien, Galldrian Riatin, started from a place of profound weakness. He inherited a bankrupt, war torn and starving country, parts of which were still actively on fire at the time. As Thom discusses in the Great Hunt, Galddrian's failure to resettle the farmers displaced by the war left Cairhien dependent on foreign powers to feed the populace (the grain exports from Tear and Andor) and in order to prevent riots in his own capital, Galldrian choose bread and circuses to keep the people pacified rather then trying to substantially improve their situation. Meanwhile, the nobles, with no effective check on them, began to flex their power, seeing how much strength they could take away from each other and the King, further limiting the throneâs options in how to deal with the crisis, and forcing the King to compete with his most powerful vassals in order to just stay on the throne. This state of affairs ultimately resulted, unsurprisingly, in one of Galladrinâs schemes backfiring, him ending up dead, and the country plunging into civil war, every aristocrat fighting to replace him and more concerned with securing their own power then with restoring the country that was now fully plunged into ruin.
When Dyelin is supporting Elayne in the Andoran Succession, it is this outcome (or one very much like it) that she is attempting to prevent. She says as much outright to Elayne in Knife of Dreamsâa direct succession is more stable, and should only be prevented in a situation where the Daughter Heir is unfitâthrough either incompetence or maliceâto become Queen. On the flip side, Arymilla and her lot are trying to push their own agendas, using the war as an excuse to further enrich their Houses or empower themselves and their allies. Rhavinâs machinations had very neatly destabilized Andor, emboldening nobles such as Arymilla (who normally would never dream of putting forward a serious claim for the throne) by making them believe Morgase and Trakand were weak and thus easy to take advantage of.Â
We also see this conflict crop up as a central reason Murandy and Altara are in their current state as well. Both are countries where their noble classes have almost complete autonomy, and the monarch is a figurehead without significantly more power than their vassals (Tylin can only keep order in Ebou Dar and its immediate surrounding area, and from what she says her father started with an even worse deal,with parts of the capital more under the control of his vassals than him). Their main unifying force is that they wish to avoid invasion and domination by another larger power (Andor for Murandy, Illian and Amadica for Altara) and the threat of that is the only thing capable of bringing either country into anything close to unity.
Meanwhile a lack of centralization has its trade offs; people enjoy more relative freedoms and social mobility (both depend heavily on trade, which means more wealth flowing into their countries but not necessarily accumulating at the top, due to the lack of stability), and Altara specifically has a very robust âmiddle classâ (or as near as you can get pre-industrialization) of middling to minor merchants, business and craftsfolk, etc. Matâs time in Ebou Dar (and his friendship with Satelle Anan) gets into a lot of this. Think of the many many guilds that call Altara home, and how the husband of an inn owner can do a successful enough business fishing that he comes to own several crafts by his own merit.Â
On the flip side both countries have problems with violence and lawlessness due to the lack of any enforced uniformity in terms of justice. You might ride a day and end up in land ruled by a Lord or Lady with a completely different idea of what constitutes, say, a capital offense, than the Lord or Lady you were under yesterday. This is also probably why Altara has such an ingrained culture of duels to resolve disputes, among both nobles and common folk. Why appeal to a higher authority when that authority can barely keep the streets clean? Instead you and the person you are in conflict with, on anything from the last cup of wine to who cheated who in a business deal, can just settle it with your knives and not have to bother with a hearing or a petition. Itâs not like you could trust it anyways; as Mat informs us, most of the magistrates in Altara do the bidding of whoever is paying their bribes.
But neither Altara nor Murandy represents the extreme of how much power and autonomy nobles can manage to wrangle for themselves. That honor goes to Tear, where the nobles have done away with the monarch entirely to instead establish what amounts to an aristocratic confederacy. Their ruling council (The High Lords of Tear) share power roughly equally among themselves, and rule via compromise and consensus. This approach also has its tradeoffs: unlike Murandy and Altara, Tear is still able to effectively administer the realm and create uniformity even without a monarch, and they are able to be remarkably flexible in terms of their politics and foreign policy, maintaining trade relationships even with bitter enemies like Tar Valon or Illian. On the flipside, the interests of individual nobles are able to shape policy and law to a much greater extent, with no monarch to play arbiter or hold them accountable. This is the source of many of the social problems in Tear: a higher sense of justice, good, or even just plain fairness all take a back seat to the whims and interest of nobles. Tear is the only country where Jordan goes out of his way, repeatedly, to point out wealth inequality and injustice. They are present in other countries, but Jordan drives home that it is much worse in Tear, and much more obscene.Â
This is at least in part because there is no one to serve as a check to the nobles, not even each other. A monarch is (at least in theory) beholden to the country as a whole, but each High Lord is beholden only to their specific people, house and interests, and there is no force present that can even attempt to keep the ambitions and desires of the High Lords from dictating everything. So while Satelle Anan's husband can work his way up from a single fishing boat to the owner of multiple vessels, most fisherman and farmers in Tear scrape by on subsistence, as taxes are used to siphon off their wealth and enrich the High Lords. While in Andor âeven the Queen most obey the law she makes or there is no lawâ (to quote Morgase), Tairen Lords can commit murder, rape, or theft without any expectation of consequences, because the law dosenât treat those acts as crimes when done to their âlessersâ, and any chance someone might get their own justice back (as they would in Altara) is quashed, since the common folk are not even allowed to own weapons in Tear. As weâre told in the Dragon Reborn, when an innkeeper is troubled by a Lord cheating at dice in the common room, the Civil Watch will do nothing about it and citizens in Tear are banned from owning weapons so there is nothing he can do about it. The best that can be hoped for is that he will âget bored and go awayâ.
On the opposite end, you have the very very centralized Seanchan Empire as a counter example to Tear, so centralized itâs almost (though not quite) managed to transcend feudalism. In Seanchan the aristocratic class has largely been neutered by the monarchy, their ambitions and plots kept in check by a secret police (the Seekers of Truth) and their private armies dwarfed by a state army that is rigorously kept and maintained. Itâs likely that the levies of the noble houses, if they all united together, would still be enough to topple the Empress, but the Crystal Throne expends a great deal of effort to ensure that doesn't happen,playing the nobles against each other and taking advantage of natural divisions in order to keep them from uniting.
Again, this has pros and cons. The Seanchan Empire is unquestionably prosperous; able to support a ridiculous food surplus and the accompanying flow of wealth throughout its society, and it has a level of equity in its legal administration that we donât see anywhere else in Randland. Mat spots the heads of at least two Seanchan nobles decorating the gates over Ebou Dar when he enters, their crimes being rape and theft, which is a far cry from the consequence-free lives of the Tairen nobles. Meanwhile a vast state-sponsored bureaucracy works to oversee the distribution of resources and effective governance in the Empressâs name. No one, Tuon tells us proudly, has to beg or go hungry in the Empire. But that is not without cost.Â
Because for all its prosperity, Seanchan society is also incredibly rigid and controlling. One of the guiding philosophies of the Seanchan is âthe pattern has a place for everything and everythingâs place should be obvious on sightâ. The classes are more distinct and more regimented than anywhere else we see in Randland. The freedoms and rights of everyone from High Lords to common folk are curtailedâand what you can say or do is sharply limited by both social convention and law. The Throne (and its proxies) are also permitted to deprive you of those rights on nothing more than suspicion. To paraphrase Egeanin from TSR: Disobeying a Seeker (and presumably any other proxy of the Empress) is a crime. Flight from a Seeker is a crime. Failure to cooperate fully with a Seeker is a crime. A Seeker could order a suspected criminal to go fetch the rope for their own binding, and the suspected criminal would be expected to do itâand likely would because failure to do anything else would make them a criminal anyway, whatever their guilt or innocence in any other matter.
Meanwhile that food surplus and the resulting wealth of the Empire is built on its imperialism and its caste-based slavery system, and both of those are inherently unsustainable engines. What social mobility there is, is tied to the Empireâs constant cycle of expand, consolidate, assimilate, repeatâEgeanin raises that very point early on, that the Corenne would mean ânew names given and the chance to rise highâ. But that cycle also creates an endless slew of problems and burning resentments, as conquered populations resist assimilation, the resistance explodes into violence that the Seanchan must constantly deal withâthe ânear constant rebellions since the Conquest finishedâ that Mat mentions when musing on how the Seanchan army has stayed sharp.
The Seanchan also practice a form of punitive and caste-based slavery for non-channelers, and chattel slavery for channelers. As with the real-life Ottoman Empire, some daâcovale enjoy incredible power and privilege in their society, but they (the Deathwatch Guard, the soâjhin, the Seekers) are the exception, not the rule. The majority of the slaves we encounter are nameless servants, laborers, or damane. While non-channelers have some enshrined legal protections in how they can be treated by their masters and society as a whole, we are told that emancipation is incredibly rare, and the slave status is inherited from parent to child as well as used as a legal punishmentâwhich of course would have the natural effect of discouraging most daâcovale from reproducing by choice until after (or if) they are emancipatedâso the primary source for most of the laborers and servants in Seanchan society is going to be either people who are being punished or who choose to sell themselves into slavery rather then beg or face other desperate circumstances.Â
This keeps the enslaved population in proportion with the rest of society only because of the Empireâs imperialism- that same cycle of expand, consolidate, assimilate, repeat, has the side effect of breeding instability, which breeds desperation and thus provides a wide pool to draw on of both those willing to go into slavery to avoid starvation, and those who are being punished with slavery for wronging the state in some manner. Itâs likely the only reason the Empireâs production can keep pace with its constant war efforts: conquered nations (and subdued rebellions) eventually yield up not just the necessary resources, but also the necessary laborers to cultivate them in the name of the state, and if that engine stalls for any sustained length of time (like say a three hundred year peace enforced by a treaty), it would mean a labor collapse the likes of which the Empire has never seen before.
A note on damane here: the damane system is undoubtedly one of chattel slavery, where human beings are deprived of basic rights and person hood under the law for the enrichment of those that claim ownership over them. Like in real life this state of affairs is maintained by a set of ingrained cultural prejudices, carefully constructed lies, and simple ignorance of the truly horrific state of affairs that the masses enjoy. The longevity of channelers insulates the damane from some of the problems of how slavery can be unsustainable, but in the long run it also suffers from the same structural problem: when the endless expansion stops, so too will the flow of new damane, and the resulting cratering of power the Empire will face will put it in jeopardy like nothing has before. There is also the problem that, as with real life chattel slavery, if any one piece of the combination of ignorance, lies, and prejudice starts to fall apart, an abolition movement becomes inevitableâand several characters are setting the stage for just that via the careful spreading of the truth about the sulâdam. Even if the Seanchan successfully put down an abolition movement, doing so will profoundly weaken them in a way that will necessitate fundamental transformation, or ensure collapse.
How Jordan Depicts The Relationships Between Classes
As someone who is very conscious in how he depicts class in his works, it makes sense that Jordan frequently focuses on characters interacting through the barriers of their various classes in different ways. New Spring in particular is a gold mine for this kind of insight.
Take, for example, Moiraine and Siuanâs visit to the master seamstress. A lesser writer would not think more deeply on the matter than âMoiraine is nobly born so obviously sheâs going to be snobby and demanding, while down-to-earth Siuan is likely to be build a natural rapport and have better relationship her fellow commoner, the seamstress Tamore Alkohimaâ. But Jordan correctly writes it as the reverse: Tamore Alkohima might not be nobly born, but she is not really a peasant eitherârather she belongs to that class of speciality artisans, who via the value placed on her labor and skill, is able to live quite comfortably. Moiraine is much more adept at maneuvering this kind of possibly fraught relationship than Siuan is. Yes, she is at the top of the social structure (all the more so since becoming Aes Sedai) but that does not release her from a need to observe formalities and courtesies with someone who, afterall, is doing something for Moiraine that she can not do for herself, even with the Power. If Moiraine wants the services of a master dressmaker, the finest in Tar Valon, she must show respect for both Tamore Alkohima and her craft, which means submitting to her artistic decisions, as well as paying whatever price, without complaint.
Siuan, who comes from the poor Maule district in Tear, is not used to navigating this kind of situation. Most of those she has dealt with before coming to the Tower were either her equals or only slightly above her in terms of class. She tries to treat Tamore Alkohima initially like she most likely treated vendors in the Maule where everyone is concerned with price, since so many are constantly on the edge of poverty, and she wants to know exactly what she is buying and have complete say over the final product, which is the practical mentality of someone to whom those factors had a huge impact on her survival. Coin wasted on fish a day from going bad, or netting that isnât the right kind, might have meant the difference between eating that week or not, for a young Siuan and her father.Â
Yet this this reads as an insult to Tamore Alkohima, who takes it as being treated with mockery, and leads to Moiraine needing to step in to try and smooth things over, and explain to Siuan-
âListen to me, Siuan and do not argue.â she whispered in a rush. âWe must not keep Tamore waiting long. Do not ask after prices: she will tell us after we make our selections. Nothing you buy here will be cheap, but the dresses Tamore sews for you will make you look Aes Sedai as much as the shawl does. And it is Tamore, not Mistress Alkohima. You must observe the properties or she will believe you are mocking her. But try thinking of her as a sister who stands just a little above you. A touch of deference is necessary. Just a touch, but she will tell you what to wear as much as she asks.â âAnd will the bloody shoe maker tell us what kind of slippers to buy and charge us enough to buy fifty new sets of nets?â âNo.â Moiraine said impatiently. Tamore was only arching one eyebrow but her face may as well have been a thunderhead. The meaning of that eyebrow was clear as the finest crystal. They had already made the seamstress wait too long, and there was going to be a price for it. And that scowl! She hurried on, whispering as fast as she could. âThe shoemaker will make us what we want and we will bargain the price with him, but not too hard if we want his best work. The same with the glovemaker, the stockingmaker, the shiftmaker, and all the rest. Just be glad neither of us needs a hairdresser. The best hairdressers are true tyrants, and nearly as bad as perfumers.â
-New Spring, Chapter 13: Business in the City.
Navigating the relationship between characters of a different class is something a of a running theme throughout New Springâfrom Moiraineâs dealing with the discretion of her banker (âAnother woman who knew well her place in the worldâ as Moiraine puts it), to having to meet with peasants during her search for the Dragon Reborn (and bungling several of those interactions), to wading through the roughest criminal parts of Chachin in search of an inn, and frequently needing to resort to the Power to avoid or resolve conflict. Moiraineâs ability to handle these situations is tightly tied to her experience with the people involved prior to her time as a Novice, but all hold up and give color to the class system Jordan presents. It also serves as set up so that when Moraine breaks the properties with a different seamstress near the end of the book, it can be a sign of the rising tension and the complex machinations she and Siuan find themselves in.
Notably, Moiraine and Siuanâs relative skill with working with people is strongly related to their backgrounds: the more Moiraine encounters people outside her lived experience as a noble daughter in Cairhien, the more she struggles to navigate those situations while Siuan is much more effective at dealing with the soldiers during the name-taking sequence (who are drawn mostly from the same class as herâcommon laborers, farmers, etc), and the people in Chachin, where she secures an lodging and local contacts to help in the search with relative ease.
Trying to navigate these waters is also something that frequently trips up characters in the main series as well, especially with the Two Rivers folk who are, ultimately, from a relatively classless society that does not subscribe to feudal norms (more on that below). All of them react to both moving through a society that does follow those norms, and later, being incorporated into its power structures in different, frequently disastrous ways.
Rand, who is not used to the complicated balance between vassal and monarch (which is all the more complicated as he is constantly adding more and more realms under his banner) finds imposing his will and leading the aristocrats who swear fealty to him incredibly difficult. While his reforms are undoubtedly good for the common folk and the general welfare of the nations he takes over, he is most often left to enforce them with threats and violence, which ultimately fuel resistance, rebellion, and more opposition to him throughout the nations he rules, and has down-the-line bad ripple effects on how he treats others, both noble and not, who disagree with him.Â
Rand also struggles even with those who sincerely wish to serve and aid him in this context: he is awkward with servants, distant with the soldiers and warriors who swear their lives to him, and even struggles with many of his advisors and allies. Part of that is distrust that plagues him in general, but a big element to it is also his own outsider perspective. The Aiel frequently complain that Rand tries to lead them like a King, but thatâs because they assume a wetlander King always leads by edict and command. Yet Randâs efforts to do that with the Westland nations he takes over almost always backfire or have lasting consequences. Rand is frequently trying to frequently play act at what he thinks a King is and doesâand when he succeeds itâs almost always a result of Moiraine or Elayneâs advice on the subject, not his own instincts or preconceptions.
Perrin, meanwhile, is unable to hide his contempt for aristocracy and those that willingly follow them, which leads to him both being frequently derelict in his duties as a Lord, and not treating his followers with a great deal of respect. Nynaeve has a similar problem, where she often tries to âinstill backboneâ into those lower in the class system then her, then comes to regret it when that backbone ends up turned on her, and her leadership rejected or her position disrespected by those she had encouraged to reject leadership or not show respect to people in higher positions.
Interestingly, itâs Mat that most effectively manages to navigate various inter-class relationships, and who via the Band of the Red Hand builds a pretty equitable, merit-based army. He does this by following a simple rule: treating people how they wish to be treated. He accepts deference when itâs offered, but never demands it. He pushes back on the notion heâs a Lord often, but only makes it a serious bone with people who hold the aristocracy in contempt. Heâs earnest in his dealings, fair minded, and good at reading social situations to adapt to how folks expect him to act, and when he breaches those expectations itâs usually a deliberate tactical choice.Â
This lets him maintain strong friendships with people of all backgrounds and classesâ from Princes like Beslan to horse thieves like Chel Vanin. More importantly, it makes everyone under his command feel included, respected, and valued for what they are. Mat has Strong Ideas About Class (and about most things really), but heâs the only Two Rivers character who doesn't seem to be working from an assumption that everyone else ought to live by his ideals. He thinks anyone that buys into the feudal system is mad, but he doesn't actually let that impact how he treats anyoneâprobably from the knowledge that they think heâs just as mad.
Getting Creative With the Structure
The other thing I want to dig into is the ways in which Jordan, via his understanding of the feudal system, is able to play with it in creative and interesting ways that match his world. Succession is the big one; who rules after the current monarch dies is a massively important matter since it determines the flow of power in a country from one leader to the next. The reason so many European monarchies had primogeniture (eldest child inherits all titles) succession is not because everyone just hated second children, itâs because primogeniture is remarkably stable. Being able to point to the eldest child of the monarch and say them, that one, and their younger sibling if they're not around, and so on is very good for the transition of power, since it establishes a framework that is both easy to understand and very very hard to subvert. Pretty much the only way, historically, to subvert a primogeniture succession is for either the heirâs blood relationship to the monarch or the legitimacy of their parentâs marriage to be called into question.
And yet despite that, few of the countries in Jordan's world actually use primogeniture succession. Andor does, as do some of the Borderlands, but the majority of monarchies in Randland use elective succession, where the monarch is elected from among the aristocratic class by some kind of deliberative body. This is the way things are in Tarabon, Arad Doman,Ghealdan, Illian, and Malkier, who all elect the monarchs (or diarchs in the case of Tarabon- where two rulers, the Panarch and the King, share power) via either special council or some other assembly of aristocrats.Â
There are three countries where we donât know the succession type (Arafel, Murandy, and Amadicia) but also one we know for sure doesn't use primogeniture succession: Cairhien. We know this because Moiraineâs claim to the Sun Throne as a member of House Damodred is seen as as legitimate enough for the White Tower to view putting her on the Sun Throne as a viable possibility, despite the fact that she has two older sisters whose claims would be considered superior to her own under primogeniture succession. We never find out for sure in the books what the succession law actually is (the country never stabilizes for a long enough period that it becomes important), but if I had to guess I would guess that itâs designated,where the monarch chooses their successor prior to their death, and that the civil war that followed the Aiel War was the result of both Laman and his designated heir(s) dying at the Bloodsnows (we are told by Moiraine that Laman and both his brothers are killed; likely one of them was the next in line).
One country that we know for sure uses designated succession is Seanchan, where the prospective heir is still chosen from among the children of the Empress, but they are made to compete with each other (usually via murder and plotting) for the monarchâs favor, the âbestâ being then chosen to become the heir. This very closely models how the Ottoman Empire did succession (state sanctioned fratricide) and while it has the potential to ensure competence (by certain metrics, anyways) it also sows the seeds of potential instability by ensuring that the monarch is surrounded by a whole lot of people with bad will to them and feelings of being cheated or snubbed in the succession, or else out for vengeance for their favored and felled candidate. Of course, from the Seanchanâs point of view this is a feature not a bug: if you canât win a civil war or prevent yourself from being assassinated, then you shouldnât have the throne anyways.
Succession is far from the only way that Jordan plays with the feudal structure either. Population is something else that is very present in the world building, even though itâs only drawn attention to a handful of times. In our world, the global population steadily and consistently rose throughout the middle ages and the Renaissance (with only small dips for things like the plague and the Mongol Invasion), then exploded with the Industrial Revolution and has seen been on a meteoric climb year over year (something that may just now be stabilizing into an equilibrium again, only time will tell). This is one of the pressures that led to the collapse of feudalism in the real world, as a growing aristocratic class was confronted with finite land and titles, while at the same time the growing (and increasingly powerful) wealthy financial class of various countries were beginning to challenge the traditions and laws that kept them out of direct power. If youâve ever read a Jane Austen novel (or really anything from the Georgian/Regency/Victorian eras) this tension is on display. The aristocratic class had never been as secure as people think, but the potential to fall into poverty and ruin had never been a greater threat, which had ripple effects for the stability of a nation, and in particular a monarch who derived much of their power from the fealty of their now-destabilized vassals.
In Jordanâs world however, we are told as early as The Great Hunt that the global population is steadily falling, and has been since the Hundred Yearsâ War (at least). No kingdom is able to actually control all the territory it has on a map, the size of armies have in particular shrunk consistently (to the point where itâs repeatedly commented on that the armies Rand puts together, some of no more than a few thousand, are larger than any âsince Artur Hawkwing's dayâ), large swathes of land lay ungoverned and even more uninhabited or settled. Entire kingdoms have collapsed due to the inability of their increasingly small populations to hold together. This is the fate of many of the kingdoms Ingtar talks about in the Great Hunt: Almoth, Gabon, Hardan, Moredo, Caralain, to name just a few. They came apart due to a combination of ineffective leadership, low population, and a lack of strong neighbors willing or able to extend their power and stability over the area.
All of this means that there is actually more land than there are aristocrats to govern it; so much so that in places like Baerlon power is held by a crown-appointed governor because no noble house has been able to effectively entrench in the area. This has several interesting effects on the society and politics of Randland: people in general are far more aware of the fragility of the nation state as a idea then they would be otherwise, and institutions (even the intractable and mysterious White Tower) are not viewed by even their biggest partisans as invulnerable or perpetual. Even the most powerful leaders are aware, gazing out constantly, as they do, at the ruins of the hundreds of kingdoms that have risen and fallen since the Breaking of the World (itself nothing more, to their understanding, then the death of the ultimate kingdom) that there are no guarantees, no promises that it all wonât fall apart.Â
This conflict reflects on different characters in different ways, drawing out selfishness and cowardice from some, courage and strength from others. This is a factor in Andorâs surprisingly egalitarian social climate: Elayne and Morgase both boast that Andorans are able to speak their minds freely to their leaders about the state of things, and be listened to, and even the most selfish of leaders like Elenia Sarand are painfully aware that they stand on a tower built from âthe bricks of the common folkâ, and make a concentrated effort to ensure their followers feel included and heard. Conversely it also reflects on the extremely regimented culture of the Borderlands, were dereliction of duty can mean not just the loss of your life, but the loss of a village, a town, a city, to Trolloc raids (another pressure likely responsible for slow and steady decline of the global population).Â
The Borderlanders value duty, honor, and responsibility above all else, because those are the cornerstones holding their various nations together against both the march of time and the Blight. All classes place a high value on the social contract; the idea that everyone must fulfill their duty to keep society safe is a lot less abstract when the stakes are made obvious every winter through monsters raiding your towns. This is most obvious in both Hurin and Ingtarâs behavior throughout The Great Hunt: Hurin (and the rest of the non-noble class) lean on the assurance that the noble class will be responsible for the greater scale problems and issues in order to endure otherwise unendurable realities, and that Rand, Ingtar, Aglemar, Lan (all of whom he believes to be nobly born) have been raised with the necessary training and tools to take charge and lead others through impossible situations and are giving over their entire lives in service to the people. In exchange Hurin pays in respect, obedience, and (presumably) taxes. This frees Hurin up to focus on the things that are decidedly within his ken: tracking, thief taking, sword breaking, etc, trusting that Ingtar, and later Rand, will take care of everything else.
When Hurin comes up against the feudal system in Cairhien, where the failures of everyone involved have lead to a culture of endless backstabbing and scheming, forced deference, entitlement, and mutual contempt between the parties, he at first attempts to show the Cairhienin âproperâ behavior through example, in the hopes of drawing out some shame in them. But upon realizing that no one in Cairhien truly believes in the system any longer after it has failed the country so thoroughly (hence the willingness of vassals to betray their masters, and nobles to abandon their oathsâsomething unthinkable in the Borderlands) he reverts to his more normal shows of deference to Rand and Ingtar, abandoning excessive courtesy in favor of true fealty.
Ingtar (and later Rand) feel the reverse side of this: the pressure to be the one with the answers, to hold it all together, to be as much icon and object as living person, a figure who people can believe in and draw strength from when they have none of their own remaining, and knowing at the same time that their choices will decide the fates and lives of others. Itâs no mistake that Rand first meets Hurin and begins this arc in the remains of Hardan, one of those swept-away nations that Ingtar talks about having been left nothing more than âthe greatest stone quarry for a hundred milesâ. The stakes of what can happen if they fail in this duty are made painfully clear from the start, and for Rand the stakes will only grow ever higher throughout the course of the series, as number of those âunder his chargeâ slides to become âa nationâ then âseveral nationsâ and finally âall the worldâ. And that leads into one of the problems at the heart of Randâs character arc.
This emphasis on the feudal contract and duty helps the Borderlands survive the impossible, but almost all of them (with the exception of Saldaea) practice cultures of emotional repression and control,spurning displays of emotion as a lack of self-control, and viewing it as weakness to address the pains and psychological traumas of their day to day lives. âDuty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a featherâ, âThere will be time to sleep when youâre deadâ, âYou can care for the living or mourn the dead, you cannot do bothâ: all common sayings in the Borderlands. On the one hand, all of these emphasize the importance of fulfilling your duty and obligationsâŚbut on the other, all also implicitly imply the only true release from the sorrows and wounds taken in the course of that duty is death. It is this, in part, that breaks Ingtar: the belief that only the Borderlands truly understand the existential threat, and that he and those like him are suffering and dying for âsoft southlandersâ whose kingdoms are destined to go to ruin anyways. Itâs also why he reveals his suffering to Rand only after he has decided to die in a last standâhe is putting down the mountain of his trauma at last. This is also one of those moments in the books that is a particular building block on the road to Randâs own problems with not expressing his feelings or being willing to work through his trauma, that will swing back around to endanger the same world he is duty-bound to protect.
I also suspect strongly that this is the source of the otherwise baffling Saldean practice ofâŚ.what we will call dedicated emotional release. One of the core cultural Saldean traits (and something that is constantly tripping up Perrin in his interactions with Faile) is that Saldeans are the only Borderlanders to reject the notion that showing emotion is weakness. In fact, Saldeans in general believe that shows of anger, passion, sorrow, ardorâyou name itâare a sign of both strength and respect. Your feelings are strong and they matter, and being willing to inflict them on another person is not a burden or a betrayal of duty, itâs knowing that they will be strong enough to bear whatever you are feeling. I would hesitate to call even the Saldaens well-adjusted (I donât know that there is a way to be well-adjusted in a society at constant war), but I do think there is merit to their apparent belief in catharsis, and their resistance to emotional repression as a sign of strength. Of course, that doesn't make their culture naturally better at communication (as Faile and Perrinâs relationship problems prove) but I do think it plays a part in why Bashere is such a good influence on Rand, helping push him away from a lot of the stoic restraint Rand has internalized from Lan, Ingtar, Moiraine, et al.
It also demonstrates that a functioning feudal society is not dependent on absolute emotional repression, or perfect obedience. Only mutual respect and trust between the parties are necessaryâtrust that the noble (or monarch) will do their best in the execution of their duties, and trust that the common folk in society will in turn fulfill their roles to the best of their ability. Faileâs effectiveness as Perrinâs co-leader/second in command is never hindered or even implied to be hindered by her temperament or her refusal to hide/repress her emotions. She is arguably the one who is doing most of the actual work of governing the Two Rivers after she and Perrin are acclaimed their lord and lady: seeing to public works projects, settling disputes, maintaining relationships with various official groups of their subjects.
The prologue from Lord of Chaos (a favorite scene of mine of the books) where Faile is holding public audience while Perrin is off sulking âagainâ is a great great example of this; Faile is the quintessential Borderland noble heir, raised all her life in the skills necessary to run a feudal domain, and those skills are on prime display as she holds court. But that is not hindered by her willingness to show her true feelings, from contempt of those she thinks are wasting her time, to compassion and empathy to the Wisdoms who come to her for reassurance about the weather. This is one of those things that Perrin has to learn from her over the course of the seriesâthat simply burying his emotions for fear they might hurt others is not a healthy way to go about life, and it isnât necessary to rule or lead either. His prejudices about what constitutes a âgoodâ Lord (Lan, Agelmar, Ingtar) and a âbadâ one (literally everyone else) are blinding him, showing his lack of understanding of the system that his people are adopting, and his role in it.
Which is a nice dovetail with my next bitâ
Outsiders And the Non-Feudal State
Another way Jordan effectively depicts the Feudal system is by having groups who decidedly do not practice it be prominent throughout the seriesâwhich is again accurate to real life history, where feudalism was the mode of government for much of (but by no means all) of Medieval and Renaissance Europe, but even in Europe their were always societies doing their own thing, and outside of it, different systems of government flourished in response to their environments and cultures; some with parallels to Feudalism, many completely distinct.
The obvious here are the Aiel who draw on several different non-feudal societies (the Scottish Highland Clans, the Iroquois Confederation, the Mongols, and the Zulu to name just a few) and the Seafolk (whose are a combination of the Maori and the Republic of Piracy of all things), but also firmly in these categories are groups like the communities in the Black Hills, Almoth Plain, and the Two Rivers.
Even though itâs an agrarian farming community made up primarily of small villages, the Two Rivers is not a feudal state or system. We tend to forget this because it looks a lot like our notion of a classic medieval European village, which our biases inherently equate to feudal, but Jordan is very good at remembering this is not the case, and that the Two Rivers folk are just as much outsiders to these systems as the Aiel, or the Seafolk.Â
Consider how often the refrain of âdonât even know theyâre part of the Kingdom of Andorâ is repeated in regards to the Two Rivers, and how much the knowledge of Our Heroes about how things like Kingdoms, courts, war, etc, are little more than fairy tales to the likes of those Two Rivers, while even places unaffected directly by things like the Trakand Succession or the Aiel War are still strongly culturally, economically, and politically impacted.Â
Instead of deriving power and justice from a noble or even a code of law, power is maintained by two distinct groups of village elders (The Village Council and the Womenâs Circle) who are awarded seats based on their standing within the community. These groups provide the day-to-day ordering of business and resolving of conflicts, aiding those in need and doing what they can for problems that impact the entire community. The Wisdom serves as the community physician, spiritual advisor, and judge (in a role that resembles what we know of pre-Christian celtic druids), and the Womenâs Circle manages most social ceremonies from marriages to betrothals to funerals, as well as presiding over criminal trials (insofar as they even have them). The Mayor manages the village economics, maintaining relationships and arbitrating deals with outsider merchants and peddlers, collecting and spending public funds (through a volunteer collection when necessary, which is how weâre told the new sick house was built and presumably was how the village paid for things like fireworks and gleeman for public festivals), while the Council oversees civil matters like property disputes.Â
On the surface this seems like an ideal community: idyllic, agrarian, decentralized, where everyone cares more about good food and good company and good harvests than matters of power, politics, or wealth, and without the need for any broader power-structure beyond the local town leaders. Itâs the kind of place that luddites Tolkien and Thomas Jefferson envisioned as a utopia (and indeed the Two Rivers it the most Tolkien-y place in Randland after the Ogier stedding, of which we see relatively little), but I think Jordan does an excellent job of not romanticizing this way of life the way Tolkien often did. Because while the Two Rivers has many virtues and a great deal to recommend it, it also has many flaws.
The people in the Two Rivers are largely narrow minded and bigoted, especially to outsiders; The day after Moiraine saves the lives of the entire village from a Trolloc attack, a mob turns up to try and burn her out, driven by their own xenophobia and fear of that which they donât understand. Their society is also heavily repressed and regressive in its sex norms and gender relations: the personal lives of everyone are considered public business, and anyone living in a fashion the Womenâs Circle deems unsuitable (such as widower and single father Tam alâThor) is subject to intense pressure to âcorrectâ their ways (remarry and find a mother for Rand). There is also no uniformity in terms of law or government, no codified legal code, and no real public infrastructure (largely the result of the regionâs lack of taxes). This is made possible by the geographic isolation and food stabilityâtwo factors that insulate the Two Rivers from many of the problems that cause the formation or joining of a nation state. Itâs only after the repeated emergence of problems that their existing systems can not handle (Trolloc raids, martial law under the White Cloaks, the Endless Summer, etc) that the Two Rivers folk begin adopting feudalism, and even then itâs not an instantaneous process, as everyone involved must navigate not just how they are going to adopt this alien form of government, but how they are going to make it match to their culture and history as well.
This plays neatly with the societies that, very pointedly, do not adopt feudalism over the course of the series. The Aiel reject the notion entirely, thinking it as barbaric and backward as the Westerlanders think their culture isâand Jordan is very good at showing neither as really right. The Aiel as a society have many strengths the fandom likes to focus on (a commitment to community care, a strong sense of collective responsibility, a flexible social order that is more capable of accounting for non-traditional platonic and romantic relationships, as well as a general lack of repressive sex norms) but this comes at a serious cost as well. The Aiel broadly share the Borderlanderâs response of emotional suppression as a way of dealing with the violence of their daily life, as well as serious problems with institutionalized violence, xenophobia, and a lack of respect for individual rights and agency. Of these, the xenophobia is probably the most outright destructive, and is one of the major factors Rand has to account for when leading the Aiel into Cairhien, as well a huge motivating factor in the Shaido going renegade, and many Aiel breaking clan to join themâand even before Randâs arrival it manifested as killing all outsiders who entered their land, except for Cairhienin, whom they sold as slaves in Shara.
And yet, despite these problems Jordan never really suggests that the Aiel would be better off as town-or-castle dwelling society, and several characters (most notably the Maidens) explicitly reject the idea that they should abandon their culture, values, and history as a response to the revelations at Rhuidean. Charting a unique course forward for the Aiel is one of the most persistent problems that weighs on the Wise Ones throughout the second half of the series, and Aviendha in particular. Unlike many of the feudal states faced with Tarmon Gaiâdon, the Aiel when confronted with the end of days and the sure knowledge of the destruction of their way of life are mostly disinterested in ignoring, running from, or rejecting that revelation (those that do, defect to the Shaido). Their unique government and cultural structure gives them the necessary flexibility to pivot quickly to facing the reality of the Last Battle, and to focus on both helping the world defeat the Shadow, and what will become of them afterwards. This ironically, leaves them in one of the best positions post-series, as the keepers of the Dragonâs Peace, which will allow them to hold on to many of their core cultural values even as they make the transition to a new way of life, without having to succumb to the pressures to either assimilate into Westlands, or return to their xenophobic isolationism.
The Seafolk provide the other contrast, being a maritime society where the majority of the people spend their time shipboard. Their culture is one of strong self-discipline and control, where rank, experience, and rules are valued heavily, agreements are considered the next thing to sacred, and material prosperity is valued. Though we donât spend quite as much time with them as the Aiel, we get a good sense of their culture throughout the mid-series. They share the Aielâs contempt for the feudal âshoreboundâ, but donât share their xenophobia, instead maintaining strong trade relationships with every nation on navigable water, though outside of the context of those trade relationships, they are at best frosty to non-Seafolk.Â
They are not society without problemsâthe implication of their strong anti-corruption and anti-nepotism policies is that itâs a serious issue in their culture, and their lack of a centralized power structure outside of their handful of island homes means that they suffer a similar problem to the likes of Murandy and Altara, where life on one ship might be radically different then life on another, in terms of the justice or treatment you might face, especially as an outsider. But the trade off is that they have more social mobility then basically any other society we see in Randland. Even the Aiel tend to have strongly entrenched and managed circles of power, with little mobility not managed by the Wise Ones or the chiefs. But anyone can rise high in Sea Folk society, to become a leader in their clan, or even Mistress of the Ships or Master of the Bladesâ and they can fall just as easily, for shows of incompetence, or failures to execute their duties.Â
They are also another society who is able to adapt to circumstances of Tamon Gaiâdon relatively painlessly, having a very effective plan in place to deal with the fallout and realities of the Last Battle. The execution gets tripped up frequently by various factors, but again, I donât think itâs a mistake that they are one of the groups that comes out the other side of the Last Battle in a strong position, especially given the need that will now exist to move supplies and personnel for rebuilding post-Last Battle. The Seafolk have already begun working out embassies in every nation on navigable water, an important step to modernizing national relationships.
How does all this relate to feudalism and class? Itâs Jordan digging into a fundamental truth about the world and peopleâat no point in our own history have we ever found a truly âperfectâ model for society. Thatâs something heâs constantly trying to show with feudalismâit is neither an ideal nor an abomination, it just is. Conversely, the Two Rivers, Aiel, Seafolk, and Ogier (who I donât get into to much here for space, but who also have their own big problems with suffrage and independence, and their virtues in terms of environmental stability and social harmony) all exist in largely classes societies, but that doesn't exempt them from having problems or make them a utopia, and it certainly doesn't make them lesser or backwards eitherâJordan expends a lot of energy to show them as complex, nuanced and flawed, in the same way he does for his pseudo-Europe.
Conclusion
To restate my premise: one of Jordanâs profound gifts as a writer is his capacity to set aside his own biases and write anything from his villains to his world with an honest, empathetic cast that defies simplification. Feudalism and monarchy more generally have a bad rep in our society, for good reasons. But I think either whitewashing or vilifying the feudal system is a mistake, which Jordanâs writing naturally reflects. Jordan is good at asking complicating questions of simple premises. He presents you with the Kingdom of Andor, prosperous and vast and under the rule of a regal much loved Queen and he asks âwhere does its wealth come from? How does it maintain law and order? How does the Queen exert influence and maintain her rule even in far-flung corners of the realm? How did she come to power in the first place and does that have an impact on the politics surrounding her current reign?â. And he does this with every country, every corner of his worldâshining interesting lights on familiar tropes, and exploring the humanity of these grand ideas in a way that feels very real as a result.
The question of, is this an inherently just system is never really raised because itâs a simplifying question, not a complicating one. Whatever you answerâyes or noâdoes not add to the depiction of these systems or the people within them, it takes away. You make someone flatâbe it a glorious just revolutionary opposing a cackling wicked King, or a virtuous and dutiful King suppressing dangerous radical dissidents, and you make the world flatter as a result.Â
I often think about how, when I began studying European history, I was shocked to learn that the majority of the royalists who rose up against the Jacobins were provincial peasants, marching against what they perceived to be disgruntled, greedy academic and financial elites. These were, after all, the same people that the Jacobinsâ revolution claimed to serve and be doing the will of. Many of the French aristocrats were undeniably corrupt, indolent, and detached from their subjects, but when you look closer at the motives of many of the Jacobins you discover that motives were frequently more complex then history tends to remember or their propaganda tried to claim, and many were bitterly divided against each other on matters of tactics, or ideals, or simple personality difference. The simple version of the French Revolution assigns all the blame to the likes of Robespierre going mad with power, and losing sight of the revolutionsâ higher ideals, but the truth was the Jacobins could never properly agree on many of their supposed core ideals, and Robespierre, while powerful, was still one voice in a Republicâand every person executed by guillotine was decreed guilty by a majority vote.
This is the sort of nuance lost so often in fantasy stories, but not in Jordanâs books. The story could be simplerâMorgase could just be a just and good high Queen archetype who is driven by love of her people, but Jordan depicts her from the beginning as humanâwith virtues and flaws, doing the best she can in the word she has found herself. Trying to be a just and good Queen and often succeeding, and sometimes falling short of the mark. The Tairen and Cairhienin nobility could just all be greedy, corrupt, out-of-touch monsters who cannot care for anything beyond their own pleasuresâbut for every Laman, Weairamon, or Colavaere, you have Dobraine, Moiraine, or Darlin. And that is one of the core tenets of Jordanâs storytelling: that there is no system wholly without merit or completely without flaw, and no group of people is ever wholly good or evil.
By taking this approach, Jordanâs story feels real. None of his characters or world come across like caricature or parody. The heinous acts are sharper and more distinct, the heroic choices more earned and powerful. Nothing is assumedânot the divine right of kings, or the glorious virtue of the common man. This, combined with a willingness to draw on the real complex histories of our own world, and work through how the unique quirks of fantasy impact them, is what renders The Wheel Of Time such a standout as a fantasy series, past even more classic seminal examples of the genre, and why its themes of class, duty, power, and politics resonate with its modern audiences.
#Wheel of Time#WoT#WoT Meta#Wheel of time Meta#Feudalism#Class Politics#Worldbuilding#Wot Book Spoilers#AMOL Spoilers#No one has ever done it like Robert Jordan and no one may ever do it like him again#Their is no earthly way I can tag all the characters refrenced in this#so I'll hit those I talk about more then three times#Rand al'Thor#Moiraine Damodred#Elayne Trakand#Mat Cauthon#Perrin Aybara#faile bashere#Morgase Trakand#ingtar shinowa#Hurin#tuon athaem kore paendrag#I invite pepole to discuss/respond if they want#but a reminder that I assume good faith whenever possible#and ignore bad faith when apparent
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Full Robert Sean Leonard 'House'-a-palooza Interview: "As we know, Iâm straight, but yeah, itâs like, homina homina homina."
May 01 2006Â |Â By Maureen Ryan
Do you watch the show much?
"I can't watch it. I mean, Hugh doesn't watch it because he's anal and ⌠eight years old. [laughs] And by the way, I donât buy it, I think he does watch it.
âI watched in the first year. We live in New York and [my fiancĂŠ] was in California] and she likes it because Iâm on it. But then she left, she had to come back to New York, and what are you going to do? The idea of me watching myself on TV, alone in Santa Monica, was just about... just short of, like, a bottle of Makerâs Mark and a shotgun away from shooting myself. [much laughter]Â So I havenât watched it all season. But when I have watched it, Iâve been mildly confused and Hugh is appropriately grumpy."
I have this theory that a lot of my favorite shows arenât even about what theyâre supposed to be about -- they have to be set in a hospital or police station or outer space or whatever because the network can market that, but theyâre secretly not even about that. Like, âHouseâ is really about ethics and morality.
âYeah, sure, I think thatâs true.â
But you canât pitch that show to the network. âHey, we have this great show that examines personal morality!"
ââItâs based on âA View from the Bridge.ââ
Right! Theyâre really going to for that.
âYeah. [laughs] I think itâs good, and when itâs right, when the show works, the mystery works. It has a Sherlock Holmes-ian feel to it, and you do kind of want to know whatâs wrong with [the patients]. And it is interesting, the turns and twists that get you there. And thereâs always a little bit of character-driven fun stuff in between, of who these people are and how they affect each other. And thatâs it at its best. And I guess that could be true of any show.
âItâs tricky, youâve got a lead character [whoâs different from the TV norm] and youâve got to be careful because those characters can be one-note. Heâs the cranky guy, heâs the Australian guy, Iâm the friend in one or two scenes a week. You just have to be careful, and I think we are, we have a really great team of writers. And the numbers are building, people are watching.â
So this two-parter on May 2 and 3, I think the unofficial subtitle is the âFestival of Foreman.â I guess theyâre his Emmy episodes, and thatâs fine. But youâre hardly in them, whatâs up with that?
âHonestly, Iâm okay. I donât want an Emmy. This is what I want -- I know exactly what I want. I did play with a guy named Skip Sudduth, âThe Iceman Cometh,â seven years ago. I saw him five years later, and I said, âGeez, Skip, where have you been? I donât see you at readings anymore.â He said, âIâve been on âThird Watch.ââ It sounded familiar but Iâd never seen it. He said, âIâve been doing it for five years.â I said, âHoly crap!â And he was back doing theater. Thatâs my dream.
âAnd itâs happening. I walk down the street and people say, âWhere are you?â and I say, âIâm on this show called âHouse.ââ My friend Lewis Black [from 'The Daily Show'] said, âWhat is it called? âHeadâ?â
âIâm okay. Iâve never been happier than where my career is now. And I donât want it to change necessarily. Moneyâs good, and Iâm glad Iâm getting that, and Iâm putting it away for later in life when I do more Tom Stoppard plays at Lincoln Center and make no money. But really, Iâm great. I donât mind working two days a week.
âBecause those other guys, the Scooby gang, or the Mod Squad -- they are at that studio for 16 hours a day saying âtachycardia, lupus, blablahdeblah.â Honestly, Iâd kill myself if had to do those scenes for that long. Iâm very happy with the size of my role, I donât want it to get any bigger. Iâm happy.â
So we wonât see the very special âHouseâ episode where Dr. Wilson almost dies?
âThat might be how I get off the show.â [laughs]
Well, you could die and come back as a ghost. Then it would be the âHouse Whisperer.â
âYeah [laughs]. The hair makeup people were saying one day, âOh, I love those scenes with you and Hugh, there should be more of that.â And Iâm like, âShhh! Donât say that!â Iâm the luckiest man in Hollywood. I work only with Hugh, pretty much, whoâs great. And I work two days a week.â
Do you fly back and forth to New York then?
"No, not really. They donât let me because they need me around, the schedule changes so much. Iâm going to try to get away with that a little more [in the upcoming season]. Now that [my fiancĂŠ] is here, I really will kill myself if Iâm out there as much as I was last year, without her.â
So five days a week youâre doing what â Botox injections? Going to the mall? Watching âMauryâ?
âRob Lowe once said the secret to being an actor in L.A. is sleeping as late as you possibly can and going to be as early as possible. I remember him saying, âI recommend pajamas by 4:30 p.m.ââ
Whatâs interesting about this show is that theyâre taken something that could be a very formulaic procedural and quite often turn it on its head.
âI didnât know anything about TV, Iâd never done [a TV show], but I now know very well that there are procedurals and character-driven shows. âLaw & Orderâ is a procedural and âGreyâs Anatomyâ is a character-driven show. The test [as to which category a show is in], someone once said to me, which I thought was hysterical, is this question: Did Sam Waterston sleep with [the assistant DA] on âLaw & Orderâ? If the answer is âI donât give a [hoot], I want to know the next element of the case,â then itâs a procedural.
âOur show is weirdly, and there must be precedent for this, but itâs weirdly equally both. I think itâs very much a procedural, and without that sick patient every week, we wouldnât work. And without the character stuff it wouldnât work. And weirdly, people do care if House sleeps with one of our characters, and also care equally whatâs wrong with this person and how theyâre going to solve the case.â
I guess I like the character stuff better, but youâre right, it probably wouldnât work without the suspense of the weekly case and somebody being critically ill.
âNo, I think you need that. I think the echoes of Sherlock Holmes are too strong. The original idea of the show was House and Wilson, like Holmes and Watson. But it got away from that, and his team is Watson, if you want to be technical about it.
âIâm more like ⌠the only way Iâve found to define it, and itâs so pretentious that it makes me want to jump out a window, is like King Learâs fool. Iâm like the only one who tells him the truth. And [Wilson] has nothing to lose. I donât work for him and he doesnât work for me. Iâm the only character who chooses to be with him as opposed to being there because of a job. And because of that I have the freedom to tell him what I think. Not that Cuddy holds back much.â
I think her role is to say, "No! Bad House!"
âHave you talked to Lisa Edelstein [who plays Cuddy]? Sheâs so great. This Japanese woman once said to her, âYou on âERâ!â And she said, âI have been on âER,â but now Iâm on âHouse.ââ And [the woman says] âOh yes, âHouse.â You say, âNo, you donât!ââ Every time we do the table read, I burst into laughter at some point, because there is the voice of that woman in my head, âYou say âNo, you donât!ââ Thatâs the entire definition of Lisaâs character. Not completely, but we laugh [about it]. We have the same dilemma. Weâre on this show that weâre ⌠kind of on. Crew members say, âHow long have you been on the show?â âUh, since the pilot.â They really donât know what weâre doing there.â
So in terms of the other stuff going on in your career, thatâs going well, all the theater stuff?
âIâve achieved everything I wanted to do. When I was growing up, I wanted to be Kevin Kline, Sam Waterston. I grew up watching the Public Theater and Shakespeare in the park and Marion Seldes. I mean, I may as well be gay.â
Iâm not entirely sure youâre not.
[laughs] âBut the thing is, I got it [i.e. his goals]. Iâve done 14 Broadway shows and got a Tony award, and now Iâm making money and no one even really knows. Iâm getting away with murder. If I come back to New York in two years and nothingâs changed, Iâll be thrilled. All I really want to do is [act in] plays, play with my dog, have kids. My desires are pretty simple. I donât really want to do movies anymore. Iâm pretty tired of camera acting.â
Why are you tired of camera acting? Is it the repetition of it?
âNo, no, quite the opposite. We donât rehearse enough. We do scenes where people barely know their lines, where people just about know their lines. In theater, you do it so many times and you get so familiar that then you can actually start having fun with it. And I really miss that feeling.
âItâs true of films too. I donât know. I think Iâm fine on film, but ⌠I have walked offstage and thought, âWow, no one has done that better. People may have done it as well, but not better.' Iâve actually had that feeling after âLong Dayâs Journey Into Night,â or a Shaw play or whatever. Iâve never felt that way with film. I always feel like, âBoy, Donald Sutherland would have done that a lot better.â [laughs] I just donât think itâs what I do best. I think Iâm fine, but there are people who are eerily good at it. In all humility, of which I have none [laughs], thatâs how I feel about my work on stage. I really do feel that Iâm gifted at it.â
Just to change gears completely, what happens in the finale?
âWell, I think the finale is a bit of a cliffhanger. Something very exciting happens. Itâs extremely exciting and freaky and I think itâs great. I canât say what it is. You end this season very curious about how the next season is going to start. Itâs a great final show and a big cliffhanger.â
So it seems like Hugh Laurie is so disparaging of his own talents. But heâs so good as House.
âSome people ask me, âOh, why does Wilson want to hang out with House so much?â and Iâm like, âYou idiot.â [laughs] House is designed to be attractive! Heâs brilliant, heâs self-deprecating, he has a limp. But yeah, Hugh hates himself and heâs very funny about it. Thereâs no better combination in my book. Like Lewis Black.â
But as an acting partner, heâs good to work with?
âOh yeah. The thing is, with this part, Hugh has a huge obstacle he has to deal with, having an American accent. His problem isnât our problem. We as the audience donât have that problem, because what he doesnât know is that he does it perfectly. But of course he doesnât hear that. Thatâs why he canât watch the show.
âWhen youâre doing an accent, you donât feel like youâre interesting in the role. Even if everyone around is telling you that you are. And to be in a play is one thing, but to be on TV show that runs for years, I donât know how heâs going to do it. To be that hard on yourself and be that disappointed in your own work. But as I said, and underline this four times, heâs wrong.â
And then he obviously hates when anyone calls him a sex symbol. You read his quotes when people ask him about that stuff and you can feel the embarrassment rising off the page.
âYeah, he hates that stuff. And even more than the âsexyâ stuff, he hates the âyouâre brilliantâ stuff. Of course thereâs a part of him that likes him, thereâs a part of all of us that likes that. [But him being hard on his performance], itâs not false vanity.
âI think Hugh does work heâs proud of and does work he thinks is good, Iâm just not sure itâll ever be this [show]. Having an accent⌠acting is letting go and forgetting yourself, itâs the opposite of ego. Itâs flying away and getting away from yourself and forgetting. And when youâre doing an accent, itâs virtually impossible to do that.
âItâs hard when you're in a play, doing the same lines, the same way for eight months. Hugh learns 72 new lines a day and has to put an American accent on them. It really is an actorâs nightmare. Iâve done [with accents] Brian Friel plays, Martin Sherman plays, Tom Stoppard plays, and maybe five months into it you have a night where you kind of feel OK and kind of forget the accent and let go and let the scene happen. To have a strange accent in your mouth while playing a role, and then be judged for it, thatâs hard stuff.
âAnd can I tell you, when you have dinner with Hugh Laurie [speaking in his real accent]⌠I miss that voice.â
Yeah. He called me once directly for an interview. I was expecting the publicist to put him through, but it was just that voice on the phone. I was sort of thrown for a minute.
âAs we know, Iâm straight, but yeah, itâs like, homina homina homina.â [laughs]
---- [source (part 2)]Â | part 1Â |Â part 3 ---
it took me two hours to track this interview down. it might be the longest one he's ever done. first i tracked it down to tumblr pages posting about it with no source please stop doing that. then i found a short youtube video of laurie saying "homina homina" on an snl skit i think and someone in the comments mentioned the site where the rsl interview was posted. however the site wouldn't let me in, i guess they took it down so i headed to archive dot org. i didn't have a specific link though so that didn't really work out either. then for nearly an hour i tried a wide range of word combinations on google until i stumbled upon a livejournal page of rpf hugh laurie/rsl fanfic. SOMEONE tysm karaokegal posted the exact link i was looking for in the comments. quick trip to the wayback machine and here you go!
i should be on those ethical hacking competition things
#house md#hatecrimes md#gg.txt#robert sean leonard#rsl#interview#source hunting success#hugh laurie#james wilson#gregory house#i nearly went insane#trying to find this thing#part 3 is an interview w katie jacobs#part 1 is general quotes#muted
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Why You're Wrong About Rachel Zegler
This is a long post, but there's a lot of context missing from the Rachel Zegler "discourse" that I thought I could add with my history of watching this unfold from the beginning.
The Snow White Thing
You probably know this part. There's a curated video of Rachel going viral, framed to make her seem like she's never seen Snow White, she hates the story, she hates the character, she's ungrateful, and single-handedly ruined Disney's brand. The clips from these videos are not newâ they were released nearly a year ago in September 2022 and nobody cared about them at the time. Why? Because all the full interviews she did that day at the Disney Exo in 2022 showed a young, charming woman who was excited and proud to be cast in an iconic role. The interviews were very well received and it was a non story. Now that it's been edited down and cut together in a malicious way, and the people sharing them are purposefully misquoting her, they've twisted the context. Normally, this would be a non controversy. Even if that video wasn't taken out of context and spliced together to make her seem like she hates the film, most people wouldn't care. The issue is the response to the video.
Let's get this out of the way: Rachel Zegler doesn't hate Snow White. She relayed that she was afraid of the forest scene as a child and didn't revisit it again until after she was cast in the role. She has since then watched it several times and has expressed for YEARS before that interview came out that she was incredibly honored and grateful to be playing such an iconic Disney princess. If you watch the full videos that those clips came from, this comes across immediately to anyone with their own mind. If you hate someone for being scared of something as a child, I don't know what to tell you. If the role was being given to the biggest Snow White fan, you would be correct that she doesn't deserve it. Unfortunately for you, this role requires talent and Rachel has the Golden Globe and critical acclaim from people who matter within the industry (her peers and critics).
You know who does hate their beloved characters in beloved franchises but the general public still applauds them? Harrison Ford, Sean Connery, Daniel Craig, and Robert Pattinson. They've all expressed outright contempt for the roles and the films they were part of, but nobody cared. People had fun with their quotes but they still respected them. Rachel said nothing even closely resembling their remarks, but she's being torn to shreds. Are we seeing a pattern here?
Rachel never said a single bad thing about the character or the animated filmâ she said that it was outdated and that set people over the edge, foaming at the mouth to have her burned at the stake. If you think it would be perfectly fine to have a movie about an abused 14 year old girl run away to play housemaid for a bunch of men, get kissed in her sleep/death by an adult man, and then wake up to fall into his arms in 2024, that's certainly a hot take. If you're against remakes, direct your ire at Disney. But if you truly think that plot would work with young girls today, you're the one who's out of touch. It would do far more harm than good to portray a young woman in that light.
She also never said that there was anything wrong with romance or love. She said that the new Snow White wasn't only dreaming of that. I can't stress enough that this wasn't her decision⌠she was describing the plot of the new film that was written by Greta Gerwig and approved by Disney. There's a prince in the film and he will also have a more developed personality and storyline. If you have a problem with the writing, wait until it comes out so you can write your strongly worded letter to Greta. If you have a problem with the concept in general, take it up with Disney. There's no need for you to be defensive over hurting the legacy of a multi-billion dollar company or a 87 year old cartoon written by a proud racist antisemite. This is the most confusing part of the hate campaign to me because it wasn't even her opinionâ she was literally describing the plot of the film she had nothing to do with. It also isn't a new thing. Disney actors have been promoting their newer films this way for years.
It's perfectly okay to like things that are problematic. It's becoming an issue that we refuse to acknowledge that maybe some things we love are harmful. What we can't do is justify why it's not problematic, and in fact everyone who calls it out is the problem and NOT their precious cartoon. The 1937 Snow White was an amazing feat of animation. It's a classic for a reason. But it was also Hitler's favorite film and was directed by a white supremacist (the one who is "rolling in his grave" due to Rachel's existence, according to his son). Things don't exist in a vacuum and we can't ignore the bad parts.
How We Got Here:
The thing that everyone is missing is the source of this campaign. This started in September of 2020 when transphobic actor Gina Carano made fun of trans people by changing her pronouns to beep/bop.boop. Rachel indirectly called her out by coming to the defense of the trans community.
She never called out Gina by name (though she rightfully could have). Mind you, Rachel's first film hadn't come out yet. Nobody knew who she was outside of those of us who were anticipating West Side Story and were fans of her covers on YouTube. She was a "nobody" in the industry. Take this part with a grain of salt because I can't confirm it, but Gina and her fans directly blame Rachel for her being banned from Twitter. Again, I really don't think that matters as she's harmful to the trans community and shouldn't have a platform. What does matter is that fans of Gina (which, let's be real, are just fans of transphobia) have been stalking Rachel's every move since then. Unfortunately for them, there wasn't much they could use against her other than to call her woke and #snowbrown when she was cast a year later as the Disney princess. The noise has always been there, but unless you were a fan of hers, you probably didn't hear about it. It wasn't until two years after this that they had something else against her.
If you've recently seen a video of Rachel crying circulating that claims to be her reaction to the recent Snow White backlash, it's an old video. It's from a vlog from her youtube channel posted in June 2022. It was in response to these exact same transphobic anti-woke conservatives who thought that they had something when she did an interview on the red carpet of the Shazam premiere. When asked why she joined the DC universe, she responded "I needed a job." It was generally well received by most people who thought it was cute and funny, but those who were waiting in the shadows latched onto it as an excuse to send her death threats.
The video was also about a month after she was invited to present at the 2022 Oscars and was made to seem like she bullied the Academy (as a no name newcomer, mind you) into letting her attend. In reality, a fan left a comment on her Instagram asking what she was wearing to the event. She responded that she wasn't invited but would be rooting for everyone from her couch in her boyfriend's pajamas. It was the public who demanded she get an invite and the Oscar's must have agreed that it was very odd that the lead actress of a film that was nominated for Best Film wouldn't get an invite. Whether it was an oversight on their part or a scheduling issue with Rachel's filming, I truly think there was no malicious intent from either party. Keep in mind, she used to be very active with her fans (she's a huge fangirl of things herself and has always had a strong relationship with her fans) and she wasn't used to her comments becoming articles and national tv segments. This was the first time it happened to her. It appears she learned that she's not just a girl who posts on YouTube anymore and she's going to be put under a microscope for every move she makes. She has since shut down her Instagram comments and rarely interacts with fans outside of liking comments these days because of this.
I know this is long, but I need people to understand where this is all coming from. It didn't just happen out of nowhere. It's an orchestrated campaign built by violent conservatives, and thousands of women who saw Barbie this summer are hopping on the bandwagon to beat another woman into submission because they have a lot of internalized misogyny to deal with. She's not smug, you just hate women. It's okay to find people annoying, but it's valuable to look into why you think that. If you see a confident young woman expressing views that don't actually harm anyone and you think she needs to be "humbled" and "put in her place" by the entire internet dogpiling her, you've lost your mind. Using "body language experts" (fake job) to diagnose her as a psychopath is so vile. Everytime someone mentions her name online, the comments beneath it are full of the most violent, misogynistic, racist things I've ever seen. If you're contributing to that, you've chosen your side. Reevaluate or seek help.
I'm tired of seeing this happen to young women. We let this happen to Jennifer Lawrence, Brie Larson, Millie Bobby Brown, Halle Bailey, and Jenna Ortega. It's one thing to call out celebrities and hold them accountable when they're doing something actively harmful, but that's not what this is about. That's never been what this is about. We pick these girls to pieces and examine them and pull them apart to justify our hatred of young women who rise to success too quickly for our liking. We dogpile and try to stamp out the flame before they burn too bright. Barbie is still in theaters and you all loved it, yet you're demanding that a bright girl with a big future be small and submissive and humbled because you have issues. That's not feminism. You're just the girls who would have bullied Weird Barbie for using her hands too much when she talks.
#rachel zegler#snow white#disney#barbie#rachelzegler#there's also misinformation about her standing up for ansel elgort which isn't true#sorry but she hates that man#you're thinking about ariana debose who defended him#we'll get into that later
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The other side of everything
I think all of you have read the repeated sentences about what's wrong with Fivelila. So I thought I'd write my thoughts on it and maybe some of my headcanon.
1) Age gap
Problem: Ritu is 15 years older than Aidan. Five and Lila have an age difference in both directions, mentally he is much older and physically she is older.
My take: About the age of the actors, I'll say this much - the opposite is so common and many people don't find it strange. For example, did you know that Julia Roberts was 23 when her film Pretty Woman came out and that Richard Gere is 19 years older than her? And I haven't noticed anyone being disgusted by how that's possible. I could find some more extreme differences, but I don't think I want to.
Aidan is 21 and yes, he did TUA when he was younger, but a lot of people still think he's a kid. But no, he's not. Deal with it.
My headcanon: Lila is older than she looks. And that's thanks to the Handler and the work she does for the Commissions. Does any of us know how long has she lived somewhere outside of time? Sounds like another possible parallel to me.
2) Lila was cheating on Diego
Problem: Lila was unfaithful to her husband.
My take: Lila made it clear that she wanted a break with Diego and wanted to reconsider their marriage. Yes, the circumstances ended up being pretty wild, but it was more than obvious that she wasn't happy in the marriage. Among other things, it was over six and a half years for her before anything happened with Five. There are countries where such a long separation between spouses could also help to bring about an immediate divorce if necessary.
I also think that the only thing that connected them the most was their children and not that they were compatible as partners. A completely natural thing that happens really often in real life when someone builds a relationship on desire, which they mistake with love.
3) Five is homewrecker
Problem: Five is the reasons why his brother's family fell apart.
My take: It's not true. Five was not the reason that Lila and Diego had problems in their marriage. Yes, she was still his brother's wife and that's a bit morally grey, but their situation was complicated enough (as I wrote in the previous point) and it's completely understandable. By the way, don't people like this family precisely because their morals are often a bit grey? I guess that's probably only true sometimes, huh?
4) Five cheated on Dolores
Problem: Five was unfaithful to Dolores
My take: Sorry, but this is the biggest piece of shit ever. If someone prefers a relationship that Five made up in his mind just to keep himself from going crazy and heal his trauma, then our fandom isn't the one that's wrong. By the way, if Dolores was real and played by Rachel Delduca, she's definitely older too! I couldn't find the exact age, but it's pretty obvious that she's older than Aidan.
5) Five killed Lila's parents
Problem: Five was the killer of Lila's family and Handler could have kidnapped her. Her family may be alive, but it won't change the past.
My take: Yes, this is about the only thing that could never work in another story. Lila gets her family back, but it doesn't change what happened to her. Still, I think even she knows very well what it's like to work for the Commission and what it was like when an order came down. Handler bears most of the blame, even though she wasn't the one who killed them.
My headcanon: I don't think Lila had clean hands either, though we never really saw that much in the story. Still, even she could have been the murderer of some random parents of some random kids because that was her job. For example, she killed several people on the Commission to get access to past records in the barn, so it would be a bit hypocritical for her to blame others for actions that she herself had done before.
If you have any other thing I should discuss, please post it in the comments, I'll do another post about it.
#the umbrella academy#tua#fivelila#fivela#five x lila#my thoughts#there are two sides to every problem#Five and Lila make sense#I don't think anything would make me think otherwise#tbh#five hargreeves#lila pitts#another article
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dr. robert chase x reader - the chase itself (smut)
hi guys :D i know i haven't posted in a while, but i recently asked a VERY good friend of mine to cook me a fanfic of this very beautiful man, and HE DELIVERED. like all out jaws on the floor type delivered. i love this man fr, so i'm posting it here with his permission. it's his first fanfic ever, and in my humble professional opinion he overdelivered - so have fun reading this beautiful smut fic of reader and dr. chase <3
I. Humble Beginnings
Taking place in Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, New Jersey, you are a fairly new nurse who pursued a medical career in quite a common way. The way being that it was more so your parentsâ wish for you to go to medical school than your own, but you donât necessarily hate that fact; at least it gave you a direction, so to speak.
Itâs early in the morning, so thereâs not a whole lot going on. You went around doing your usual checkups already and what not, therefore you decide to go on your well deserved coffee break. However, right as you are are on that, and you step out of the cubicle you are in, you glance over to an unfamiliar face through an operating room.
Some would call it love at first sight, but it really is more than that. Itâs the kind of tingly sensation no one could forget. Itâs almost shameful, but you canât be bothered by that feeling right now. As if you physically couldnât take your eyes off of them, you lose all sense of purpose, standing there, unable to think. Suddenly, someone bumps into you, which wakes you up from your total amusement. You feel the need to know more, so as you squint your eyes, you can read their name off of the shirt they are wearing.
âDr. Robert Chase..? I need to.. have a talk with him. I just need to.â â you think to yourself, ponderingly.
You go back to working with a saturated mind, unable to concentrate.
II. The Chase Itself
As days go by, youâre quite hesitant to reach out to him, but you seriously feel the need to. Why is that, really, you ask yourself. You ache to even have a talk with him at this point, but you long for more. Way more. You canât think of anything else.
After contemplating for a good while, you decide to ask around to know what time he gets off from work, since you want to surprise him at the last minute. Thatâs the only way you see that you could have a one-on-one with him anytime soon.
With that out the way, you now know everything you needed to know. The only thing that divides you from your desire is to actually act up on it, so you gather all your courage. You look at the time, and youâre actually pretty shocked how caught up you were thinking about him. If you donât hurry then youâre going to miss him that day entirely, so you start sprinting.
You notice him as he is turning around the corner, all dressed up, ready to leave, and you stumble right into him.
âI need to tell you something inside, itâs.. itâs important, alright. And it might just take a whileâ â you tell him, struggling with your words. âGreat. I was just about to leave, you know. Whatever, show me, I donât have much time for this. Is it really that important?â â he answers abruptly, being quite impatient.
You suddenly catch a rush of excitement. This is all that you were planning for the past few days or so, to get close to him, and it looks like youâre on track.
III. An Uneasy Start
Chase swings open the door of the office heâs just been in, ushering you in and closing the door behind him, since thereâs quite the commotion even late into the night, itâs a hospital after all. Itâs dark inside, the only light sources being a dim lamp he accidentally left on and the Moon seeping through the closed blinds faintly. The room has a surgical bed, a cabinet behind it with all kinds of training supplies, a desk with an office chair and a hanger stand. He puts his white coat on the stand, then undoes his tie, putting it into his pants pocket in a really apathetic way, with most of it hanging out.
Seemingly being quite contempt with the situation, he sits down onto the office chair, facing you, and he seriously doesnât look like he wants to be there.
As a last effort at trying to ease up the situation, you grab the glass of water that is sitting on the desk and you splash it at him, in a playful way. Not surprisingly, this backfires, since he doesnât seem too happy about, not in the slightest. He stands up from his desk and goes on to wipe off his shirt to make it slightly less messy, all without even muttering a word. You do feel pretty stupid for that.
With another attempt at getting his attention, you arousingly start to cut the strings off of a few upper buttons on your blouse with a surgical knife, as he turns back to you, giving him a snarky look.
âWas that really necessary? What was so important about any of this? Can we get to the damn point?â â he asks you with a loss of temper. âI might have lied about that important thing.â â you answer him not so bravely.
He's visibly frustrated at you, and with a change of demeanor, he stands up and is now closing distance between you in a rush, as you are backing up. He halts as he catches up to you, towering over you.
With both hands on your shoulders, clenching them hard, he asks you, in an almost belittling tone: âIs this what you wanted? â âI donât know, is it?â â you answer him in a pretty similar way.
Like the kind of tease you tend to be, you start gliding around your fingertip on his chest, which he.. seems to enjoy, and lets you do for a short while, for then to push you to the nearest wall.
IV. Lust
Fueled by lust, you immediately grab his chin and assertively start kissing him, which absolutely catches him off-guard. In reaction to the advancement on him, he forces your body onto his as he caresses your back. After this goes on for a bit, he grabs you by the thighs, lifts you up and tosses you onto the surgical table.
With your arms behind you, youâre sitting halfway up as your legs are pulled up. You lock eyes while he is still holding you by your thighs. He leans over, drags you closer and is now standing between your legs.
You clumsily unbutton Robertâs shirt, one by one. In contrast, he carelessly tears off a few more of your buttons, making the blouse slide off your shoulders, which then falls onto your lap, flustering you in the process.
He then puts a hand on your lower abdomen, which feels surprisingly soft, even though his hands are quite firm. Most notably, itâs warm. So warm in fact, you feel like you could melt into him, and you are all about that feeling. Starting from your thighs, continuing to your hips, he brushes his both his hands across all the way up to your chest in a painstakingly soft and throughout way, but at the same itâs quite the calm moment.
An intrigued nervousness starts to pile in you as he suddenly starts to unbuckle his belt, which was undoubtedly the loudest noise in the room so far. In the meantime, like the obedient girl you feel like you are, with each rattle, you can't wait to obey. As if you were a household maid, youâre more than ready to satisfy the head of the house, as if he shook a bell around.
He tosses aside his pants and boxers and you feel like you canât catch up with your heavy heartbeats as he rests his rigid cock on your stomach. It all just feels so sudden, and itâs starting to grow on you in a pleasurable way. He goes onto removing your bra, while youâre simultaneously stroking him slowly and briefly, before he goes down on you again.
You can feel it throb against you, and itâs just as, if not hotter than his hand is, which he has below your stomach again. He needily grinds against you over and over, lifting your skirt up with it every time, and rubbing against your inner thighs.
He doesnât wait around before removing your panties, which are drenched by this point, and neither does he wait to penetrate you, as he is inside you now.
âMaybe I did need this.. â - you hear him talk out loud quietly.
At once, as he is slowly, but forcefully thrusting into you, you see him pulling out the tie out his pocket, which he puts around your neck now, instead of his own.
Itâs tightened real well, and heâs gripping it by the base, close to your neck. In the meantime heâs constantly pulling on it upwards, as itâs digging into the back of your neck, scraping your chin against itâs band, making your head tilt backwards considerably. With every moan you make, he tightens more on it, leaving your neck all bruised up. As he is fucking you, youâre nails deep in the sheets. You canât help yourself but feel pleasured.
As heâs starting to get rougher on you, you begin to develop second thoughts and try to resist him, but as youâre doing that, he immediately tugs you closer, rendering your attempt futile. As you look at him, he seems to be way too into this, as his eyes lose all focus and glare, and you can only watch as his control over himself fades, railing you without a care in the world. This creates even more neediness in you, as you cross your legs behind his back, clinging onto him.
You can barely even keep your eyes on him, and youâre not even resisting his pull on your neck anymore, so you fully commit into tilting you head back in joy. All this sexual fulfillment demands you to do so, as you are slipping out of control more by the second. You feel like you could finish at any time, and as heâs also getting close, heâs painfully grazing your stiff walls more and more, with your moans sounding pitifully more helpless.
Ejaculating with a quiet grunt, he blasts the majority into you, leaving two strings across all the way up your body, all for you to feel ecstatic about. You really do feel like you owned up to it with your services, as if it was his way of rewarding you. Not to forget about you, he pushes you over the edge too, as youâre desperately gripping his shoulders. No matter you could barely take a break after your climax, he leans closer over your stimulation filled shivering body, and goes for a deep passionate kiss. Not even bothered by the fact you are still desperately panting and gasping for air along with him.
V. Not So Aftercare
After standing up from the bed, he comfortably hugs you by your hips, to which you endearingly put your hands onto his. After romantically rocking you slightly around with his hug, he leaves his hands off of you to start dressing up. Itâs getting quite late.
As he is about to button back his shirt, he looks at you still standing there, still looking a bit shocked from everything that happened so far. Deciding to help out, he steps besides you, getting your bra back from your bed, and putting it on you. Heâs slowly buckling the back together, and you are simply just unable to look him in the eyes, since you're becoming increasingly shy in a sudden way, blushing like you never have before.
"You.. didn't have to, you know.." - you tell him in a higher pitch voice.
You really enjoy his care, it does fill you with joy. Then you reach out for your panties, but as you are pulling them up, he slides his hands under yours, taking the lead again, which surprises you even more. You are so overwhelmed with emotions at this point, you shake right into his hand as he pulls it all the way up, giving you a slight friendly chuckle, and blowing you a kiss right above the lining of your briefs, gaining him an immediate gasp from you. You're truly mesmerized by him.
He continues dressing himself, and as you calm down, you rush into his arms, facing his chest. He caresses and pets your face and head with one arm, for him to go onto groping your ass, and going down to your thighs. His hand lifts your skirt away from time to time, letting colder air in. After he finishes clothing up, he swings you to his other side and pushes you right to the desk.
âI need more of you. I need to feel you in more ways.â â he tells you with a shaky voice.
You almost even stumble, and with an utterly scared look on your face, you glance at him. Without precaution, he pushes you down onto the floor. You look down onto your legs. Your knees are together and your feet are far apart, completely side-tracking you. You even put your hands on your knees in a cute way, but as you lift your head, his cock gets into view, poking through his pants fly, which takes you aback.
Your first and immediate reaction is to press your lips all around him, kissing and licking his shaft as it pumps against your mouth. After growing tired and wanting more, he puts his thumb in your mouth, and with a few fingers latching onto your chin, he pushes downwards on your jaw. With closed eyes, you stick out your tongue, waiting for him to enter. He lets go off of his fingers from your face, following up with exactly what you expected. It feels way bigger than what you anticipated, leaving your mouth sore in the first minute, already. Heâs being frantic with you, mouth fucking you without relent. Youâre huffing for air as you whimper, but you arenât getting any. You start to sob as he goes deeper down your throat. As you move your tongue in a swing like motion, from side to side, you circle the bottom of his shaft as he shoves himself in an out. You soak his cock with your saliva, blending with his precum. No matter how much of it you gulp down, Itâs flowing out your mouth.
Resting his elbows and head above you on the desk, he looks down at the top of your head, as you suck him off. From the table, as he rocks you around, all kinds of documents fly off. Not that he cares, really.
Without even telling, he comes into your mouth, throbbing against your lips. You stomach it all as you look up to him, initiating eye contact, and smiling. After spewing out his cock, you grab it by the base and gently rub it off with a napkin. He pulls his zipper up, and kneels down. He parts your hair slightly and greets your forehead with a last smooch.
Looking back at you for the final time, he waves at you, winks in a mocking, yet sweet way and leaves though the door. You can only wish to meet soon in a similar fashion.
VI. Reflection
Youâre at a loss of thoughts. Heâs been so careful, yet so careless with you at the same time, and thatâs just messing with your brain right now, so you lean your head against the desk, you close your eyes and give into the bliss once again.
Even after he left, youâre sitting in the dark, in the same position he left you in, with his tie still around your neck. You feel embarrassed, but you canât help yourself as you take in the scent of his tie, pleasuring yourself through your clothes, while thinking about him. He has a hold on you, and you know that well.
#fanfic#house md#greg house#robert chase#chase x reader#dr chase x reader#smut#robert chase x reader#dr house#dr house x reader#wowzieez#9899#robert chase imagines#imagine#robert chase oneshot#oneshot#robert chase one shot#robert chase x y/n#y/n#no mentions of y/n#hospital sex#hospital#doctor x nurse#fanfiction#smutfic#lemon
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Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc
gif from gabelandeskog
Title: Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc
Author: Tory / @tkwritesÂ
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts
Warnings: Highly emotional, angst. mild fighting, lots of anxiety, swearing, crying, fluff. If I missed anything, please let me know.Â
Summary: An invitation to his family reunion over the fourth of July has Quinn and Sarah tumbling into a long conversation about their future in the off-season and beyond. Though the ensuing fight is resolved, the reality of their commitments vs. their love for each other is put to the test.
Word Count: 4,600
Comments: Iâm back with some highly emotional goodness. This fic was halfway done for a long time until your overwhelming reactions to my WIP ask game really got me in gear to start writing again. I really like the way this turned out, and I hope you do, too. It's, like, 98% dialogue. So if that's not your thing, I won't be offended if you skip this one. But it is setting up all of our off-season fics.
If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.Â
I love Quinn and Sarah, and Iâm constantly blown away that so many of you love them, too.
Summer Decisions
A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot
âMy parents want to know if you want to come to our family reunion over the 4th of July. Itâs in New Hampshire.â
âOh,â she said, voice quiet.Â
âIs that not okay?âÂ
âItâs just a big step,â she said, âmeeting your whole family.âÂ
âIâm meeting your family in June, arenât I?â he asked.
Theyâd discussed him coming to visit when she went home for a few weeks after school. Were it not for the Canucks making it into the playoffs, she would have bought a ticket for the Monday after her classes would be done. Instead, she pushed her visit back until mid-June, wanting to be in Vancouver to support him through the entirety of their run, however long it may be.
âYeah, I guess thatâs true.âÂ
It was a little strange to her how comfortably serious they were, but she couldnât imagine life with Quinn any other way. It was that fated belonging sheâd talked about so much when they first met. Even still, it was a little jarring to think about him meeting her family or meeting his before they even hit the six month mark.Â
The phrase, âwhen you know, you know,â never made sense until she met him. She knew, and even though it felt too fast and scary sometimes, she knew it would all turn out okay.Â
âSo weâll fly out from Van, what? The night before?â
âIâll have to fly out from Michigan.âÂ
âMichigan? Why?âÂ
âI thought I told you we train in Michigan in the summer.â
âYou did, but I thought⌠I thought maybe that changed?âÂ
âWhy?âÂ
âBecause of us?â she gestured between them.Â
âI mean, Iâd love for you to come with me.âÂ
âI canât do that, Quinn.â
âWhy not?â
âI canât just pack up and move to Michigan. I still have my research work, and if Iâm not working or in school for more than 6 weeks in a quarter, it violates my education visa. Not only will I have to move back to the States, I wonât be able to finish my degree.âÂ
âThen Iâll fly you out every weekend.âÂ
Pricked, the old wound split open, and she couldnât quite hide the annoyance in her voice, âso itâs up to me to fly to you?âÂ
Shit. He hadnât taken her schedule into account again. âSorry, no. Of course Iâd come here, too.â
The annoyance still fresh in her mind she found herself asking, âwhy do I have to remind you my time matters for you to take it into account?â
Quinn winced. âI know your time matters. Iâm sorry, itâs not fair for me to assume you could just pack up and move or fly out every weekend.â
âThen donât bring it up again,â she said.Â
Okay then.Â
âIâm trying here, Sarah. This is all new to me, too.â Heâd never felt close enough with June to figure out a summer situation. They saw each other once or twice when he was gone, and that was enough. Looking back, that should have been a huge sign about the trajectory of their relationship.
âAnd yet, I assume because I have a vagina, I was raised to take other people into account.âÂ
âThatâs not fair,â he said.Â
âNo? Then why do you always jump into me coming to you? Into me changing my plans? Into me inconveniencing my life before you do?âÂ
Fuck. This wasnât supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be a nice, light conversation about how he wanted her to meet everyone he loved.Â
âMaybe we should just break up for the summer,â she said when he didnât say anything. Â
âWhat? No!â Quinn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, hurt and disgruntled she would even suggest such a thing.Â
âWhat would you suggest, then?â
Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. âDo you want to date someone else?â His voice was hesitant as he braced himself for the blow.Â
âNo. Of course not.âÂ
âThen why do you want to break up?â he asked through the relief easing his mind. âWhy would you even say that?âÂ
âBecause we wonât be together.â
âThat doesnât mean we should just call it off. Why do you always jump into âwe should break upâ or âI should goâ when something hard comes up?âÂ
âIâŚâ Sarah broke off, caught. âI donât know.âÂ
âMaybe you should figure that out because Iâm willing to put in the work here,â he said, gesturing between them.Â
âThatâs not fair.â
He raised his eyebrows instead of throwing her words back in her face.Â
âIâm sorry, Quinn. I am trying, and I know youâre trying.â Tears pricked at her eyes, âIâve justâŚâ her mind whirred, trying to find the right explanation. In the end, as it always did with Quinn, the truth won out. âIâm scared Iâm going to fuck it up and I donât want to lose you.âÂ
Bridging the space between them with one big step, he pulled her against him. When they boiled down to the heart of the problem, they were both scared of the same thing.Â
Tucking his nose into her hair, he breathed in the calming, smokey scent that was uniquely hers. âI donât want to lose you, either,â he said. âWe can still be together. Just separately.â
A laugh snorted from her nose, and she pulled back, âwhat?âÂ
âLong distance?â
It was Sarah's turn to suck on her lip. âIâve never done that before.â
âI have. It's not easy. But I think we're both committed enough to make it work. Plus, we'll see each other pretty often.â
She had her thinking face on as a pregnant pause passed, so Quinn didnât interrupt.
âWhat would that look like?â she asked, finally.Â
âWeâd talk on the phone and video chat a lot. I can come see you every weekend.â
âThat doesn't make sense, Quinn. You go to Michigan to train and be with family. If you're flying back here every weekend, won't that mess with those things?â
âProbably, but ââ
âThen it's out of the question. You need to do what you need to do.âÂ
He felt whiplashed. âI thought you wanted me to come here.âÂ
âOnly in equal measure to me coming to you. I wonât let you give up your summer training for me.âÂ
It stuck him how much care and understanding were laid out in that statement.Â
âJust like I know you wouldnât want me to give up my research for you. It wouldnât be fair.âÂ
Still wrapped in each others arms, Sarah rested her head on his shoulder as they thought.Â
Tucking his face into her hair again, Quinn breathed deeply. As always, that smokey, vanilla scent was so calming to him. He couldnât ever get it out of his mind.Â
âThis fucking sucks,â he said, voice muffled.
âI know,â she agreed. âI wish it could be different."
It couldnât. They both had commitments that needed to be fulfilled, and they just didnât match up.
âI wish Iâd known. I would have made different plans.âÂ
âHow would you have known?â she asked. âWe only met four months ago.âÂ
âHas it only been that long?â he asked. The reality of the swiftness of their relationship hit him full force. âI feel like Iâve known you forever.âÂ
âI know. I do too.âÂ
âI donât want to go the summer without you,â he said, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.Â
âI donât either,â she agreed, âbut itâs not like itâll be five months where we just donât see each other.âÂ
âFour,â he corrected.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âFour months, I come back in September.âÂ
Well, that was a relief.Â
âOkay, four months. I mean, we already have stuff planned. Letâs talk through what we do have,â she suggested, breaking away from him all together and pulling her planner from her bag. Flipping to the summer months, she lay it on top of her comparative physiology textbook and sat at the table. The urge to make a plan itched beneath her skin.Â
He sat next to her, leaning in.
âSo we have my family in June,â she said, pointing out the 10 days she had blocked out for her visit, âI sort of expected youâd come on the weekend?â Â
âYeah, that sounds good. And our reunion over the forth,â he said, flipping the page. âThen, weâre going to Hawaii at the end of July. You can come. Iâll get you a ticket.âÂ
âHold on, have you talked to your family about this?âÂ
âNo, but itâll be fine.âÂ
She shook her head.Â
He couldnât believe she was turning down the option to spend two more weeks together.Â
âThatâs your family vacation, Quinn. Iâd love to come, but I donât want to go inserting myself ââ
âYouâre not inserting yourself, Iâm inviting you.âÂ
âAnd Iâm telling you I wonât come unless all your family is okay with it. Including Jack.âÂ
Even though Quinn had assured her Jack was a good guy and very devoted to his family and would come around once they met, he was still aloof anytime she happened to be around when he and Quinn were talking. Even Ellen had said as much, but Sarah still felt hesitant. Until she saw it from Jack himself, she wasnât about to jump into an already planned vacation. She knew what it was like having a new person join the family. She didnât want to make it any harder than it had to be.Â
Quinn huffed.Â
âThe last thing I want is to come between you and your brothers,â she said gently.
His expression softened. âOkay. Iâll talk to them about it when theyâre here.â
âSo, it looks like weâll see each other every three weeks or so, depending on when you come to Nevada and what Hawaii looks like. At least until August.â
Every three weeks felt like too long. He could hardly stand a week on the road, and they werenât even living together. Yet.Â
âIâd like you to come out to Michigan,â he said, âmeet the guys. See the house.â
âOkay,â she agreed. âAnd you can come back here sometime here,â she said, her finger circling over a few weeks in August.Â
Quinn nodded. It certainly wasnât going to be easy, but it did feel better to have a plan.
âAre you renting this place out for the summer,â she asked, âwhile youâre gone?â
âI kind of thought you might move in here.â
âWhat?âÂ
âI mean, itâs just going to be empty, and Iâd really like to live with you when I move back.âÂ
She couldnât believe he could drop such a huge bomb so easily. As she tried to reconcile what he was saying, she repeated, âwhat?âÂ
âI meanâŚâ he paused, voice and expression suddenly hesitant, âonly if you want to.âÂ
Her brain finally caught up, âitâs not that. Itâs justâŚwe havenât even talked about living together, and now you have this whole plan about how I should live here over the summer.âÂ
âI just thought thereâs no real need for you to pay for rent anymore, since you spend so much time here anyway.âÂ
âIâŚâ she was struck with the care in that statement, âthatâs really sweet, Quinn.âÂ
He beamed.
âBut I canât live here alone all summer.âÂ
Expression falling, he opened his mouth.
âI just ââ she interrupted before she lost her nerve. What was one more in a series of already vulnerable conversations? âIâd love to live here with you, but I canâtâŚI donât know how my depression will act up if I live alone for that long. Iâve never lived on my own before, and I donât think a summer where Iâm missing my boyfriend is the best time to start.âÂ
The thought that sheâd be here alone hadnât crossed his mind. Not in a concrete way. Like, he knew sheâd be here, and he knew heâd be in Michigan, but he never thought about it like she would be the only one in the apartment.
âOh,â he whispered, taking her hands in his, âthen of course not.âÂ
His immediate acceptance made tears rush to her eyes.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â Quinn asked as she took a hand back to wipe her face.Â
Smiling despite the tears on her cheeks, she shook her head. âI just really love you.â Her voice sounded full, almost like she had a cold.
âI love you, too,â he said, feeling a little confused, âbut I donât know why youâre crying.âÂ
âJustâŚâ How could she explain something like this? âThe way you accept and trust my needs. Itâs really nice.â
âThe last thing I want is for you to be unhappy, Sarah.âÂ
This brought on a new wave of tears, and she tucked her head into his shoulder, trying to pull herself together.Â
Quinn still felt a little whiplashed but tried to roll with it, running a soothing hand over her back.Â
âWhat?â he asked when she mumbled something into his shirt.Â
Pulling back, she wiped her nose before repeating, âIâll have to sign a new lease. It comes up in July.âÂ
âIâll buy you out of it,â he said as if it was the simplest, easiest solution to any of the problems theyâd discussed that day.Â
âI canât let you do that, Quinn. Thatâs a lot of money.âÂ
He hated having this conversation, but it needed to be had. It was actually a little surprising to him that itâd taken this long for it to come up. June had asked him about it a month into dating.
âSarah, I make eight million dollars a year. I can buy out your lease.âÂ
Her eyes went wide. Theyâd never discussed money so concretely. She knew he made big bucks. All pro athletes did, but, âeight million?â she asked. âWhat do you do with it?âÂ
âI have a financial advisor whoâs helped me invest most of it,â he said, âand I donât really have all eight million available all the time. But I paid off my parents and some of our familiesâ houses, and I give quite a bit to charity.âÂ
Sheâd seen the way he was with money. He never worried about it, but he certainly didnât throw it at anything and everything. He wasnât irresponsible.Â
Opening her mouth to say something, she found her mind still reeling and closed it again.Â
The annoyed look he would give her when she paid the dinner bill flashed in her mind. No wonder. He made so much more than she did. All the same, she wasnât about to become some sugar baby. That went against nearly everything her parents had taught her.
âI still want to pull my weight,â she said.
Quinn was a little taken aback by the fierceness in her voice, âwhat?âÂ
âIf we move in together, I still want to pull my weight.âÂ
His lips pursed, and he held back his initial response in favor of gathering more information. âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âLike, if I make $80,000 a year, I want to pay whatever percentage that is of what you make.â
âYou only make $80,000 a year?â he asked.Â
âNo. Right now, I make $50,000 a year from my research stipend. It pays for my schooling, too, so itâs technically more, but $80,000 is a general base salary for a marine zoologist.âÂ
âYouâve been living on $50,000 a year?âÂ
âYes, and Iâve been fine,â she said, giving him a look that stifled any follow-up questions he may have had. âMy point is that if ââ she paused to correct herself, âwhen we live together,â he beamed and she lost her thought for a moment before continuing, âI want to pull my weight, even if it is just a small percentage of the household. I donât want to be some beholden trophy wife.âÂ
âBeholden?â he repeated, an amused smile playing on his lips.
âYes, I donât want to be some kept woman. A lot of financial advisors that I listen to say you should split the household and each pay the percentage compared to your salaries. How much do you pay here a month? Do you rent? Is it a mortgage?âÂ
âItâs a rental. Itâs not really smart for me to buy a place when thereâs a chance I may get traded in three years. Itâs not enough time to build adequate equity on a home.âÂ
Sarah stuck a mental pin in that to come back to, âand how much is your rent?âÂ
â12,000.âÂ
âA year?â she found herself asking, even though she knew that couldnât possibly be the answer. Â
âA month,â he said with an indulgent smile, knowing it was her shock speaking more than anything else.
She wasnât quite sure why, but this fact struck Sarah harder than anything else theyâd talked about. She knew sheâd never be able to afford an apartment like this on her own, but this was insane. More than a fifth of her yearly salary went to Quinnâs rent each month. She counted herself lucky to find a private room for under $2000.
âOkay, so if I make,â she paused, doing mental calculations - moving decimal points. Her voice was flat when she spoke again, âone percent of what you doâŚâ She trailed off, looking into his face, âQuinn, this is insane.âÂ
âI know,â he agreed. âIâm happy to just pay, but if you would feel better paying whatever, Iâm happy for you to do that, too.âÂ
 âSo, Iâd pay one percent of the household expenses.â Saying it out loud, it sounded so silly. One percent? That seemed minuscule, too insignificant to matter. âMaybe I could pay ten percent? One feels too tiny.â
âSure,â Quinn said, knowing this was important to her. Unless she was storming in, trying to take over all the bills, he was happy to have her contribute in whatever way she wanted. âIf you want to do that, letâs do that. Whatever youâre comfortable with.âÂ
They sat quietly for a moment, and he gathered his thoughts.
âI know itâs important to you to contribute,â Quinn said gently, âand Iâm not saying you shouldnât - but I just want you to know Iâm happy to pay for things. I know Iâm insanely blessed to make the kind of money I do to play a sport that I love. Iâd really, really like to live together once I move back. So if that means I need to buy out your lease, Iâm happy to do it if youâre comfortable with that.â
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she thought. If Quinn paid off her lease, she wouldnât have to put off moving in with him or live on her own in this giant apartment or find a place to live for the two months between when he was home and when her lease was up.Â
She wondered if this was one of those instances her grandmother often talked about. âSometimes,â she would say while they were cleaning the basement or kneading dough, or working in the garden, âlife showers you with blessings. And itâs up to you to catch them.âÂ
She always accompanied this wisdom by shaping her hands into a bowl as if to fill them with water.Â
Sarah did the same now, pulling her other hand out of Quinns to cup them together.Â
Eyebrows knitted together, he glanced from her hands to her face.Â
She giggled and told him the story.Â
âI should start doing that every morning,â he said, cupping his own hands together.Â
âEvery morning?â she repeated.Â
âWell, every morning that youâre here. When I wake up next to you, I feel like the luckiest guy alive.âÂ
Despite it being incredibly cheesy, Sarah couldnât help feeling moved. âQuinn thatâs really sweet,â she said. âI feel like that, too,â she paused, feeling like she needed to add a caveat. âAnd I want you to know your money isnât part of that. I would love you no matter how much money you were making.âÂ
âI know,â he said, leaning in to brush his lips over hers, âIâve known that from the start.âÂ
His hands found her waist as their lips connected.Â
A while later, that pin sheâd stuck in for later snapped back into her mind, and Sarah pulled away. âWhat did you mean about getting traded?â
Well, they might as well have all the hard conversations all at once. âIâm in contract for the next three years, but after that, or even before, thereâs always a chance I could get traded.âÂ
The trade deadline had already passed for the season, and Sarah had watched, fascinated, as players were moved around from club to club, like pieces on a chess board as organizations tried to build the best teams possible. Now, she had a new level of understanding, knowing lives and families were being uprooted in the process.
âBut they love you here.â
His smile was wide and genuine, âI love it here, too. I donât really expect Iâd be traded anytime soon, but I canât say never with what I do. I could get seriously injured, or my game could crash.âÂ
She gave him an incredulous look.Â
âIts happened before.âÂ
âTo you?âÂ
âNo, but it has to people I know. I really like it here, but I canât guarantee Iâll play here forever, or even for the next three years. I think I will, but I canât say for certain.â
âWhat happens if you get traded while Iâm still finishing my degree?â
âI donât think that will happen, but I guess weâd make it work apart until you were done. Most players get traded right at the end of their contract, so weâd be apart for the rest of the season, and then weâd decide what to do moving forward. If I was moving clubs by choice, weâd decide where to go together. â
She nodded. âDo you get any say in trades?âÂ
âI think I probably would, but it doesnât always work out that way. I mean, Bo had a monster year last season, but they couldnât come to an agreement, and so he got traded, and I know he would have liked to stay. Itâs just never guaranteed.âÂ
âHow do you live your life like this?â she asked.Â
He shrugged, âyou just kind of have to get used to the idea that things could change tomorrow.âÂ
âThat sucks.â
âYeah.âÂ
The concerns his parents had expressed when they were here snapped into place, and a sudden, consuming worry that she might not want this kind of life overwhelmed him.
âAre you,â he paused to lick his lips, trying to find the right phrasing, âI mean, do you think you could be okay with that?âÂ
Even as it was racing with anxiety, the worried look on his face melted Sarahâs heart. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that while it felt steady now, his life had the possibility of being in flux all the time, and that where he chose to work was only partially up to him. At the same time, she didnât want to be without him. The pull between them was too strong, too fated in a way she couldnât deny. She was too in love with him to be scared of the reality of his life.Â
There was only one thing for it. âItâll take some getting used to, but I think I can,â she said. Perhaps this wasnât even something she needed to be worried about. Thoughts buzzing, she tried to think of players on Quinnâs level whoâd been traded recently. She couldnât remember any off the top of her head. Sheâd have to look it up.Â
He gave her a relieved smile, and she saw moisture shining in his eyes.Â
âOh, Quinn,â she said, her hands coming up to cup his face. The course hairs of his beard tickled her palms. âI think Iâd probably move to the ends of the earth with you.â The words just fell out of her mouth, and once they were out there, spoken aloud for everyone to hear, she realized how true they were. For someone so practical, it was strange for her to have such a frivolous thought mean so much.Â
His face split into a beaming smile, and he pulled her into a hug. Tucking his nose into her hair again, he let a few grateful tears fall. âI donât know what I ever did to deserve you,â he said.Â
âI donât know either.âÂ
A sudden, surprised laugh barked from his chest, and he pulled back with a raised brow.
âOh no,â her hand went to her mouth as a blush blazed over her cheeks. âI meant that I feel the same way.â Shaking her head, she wondered if she had ever said something so stupid. âYouâre the most understanding, accepting man Iâve ever met, Quinn. Iâm so glad the Universe brought us together.âÂ
He nodded, âme too.âÂ
Looking into his eyes, which seemed more hazel than usual to the point that she could almost see a ring of green near the iris, the reality of what was coming hit her square in the chest, âthis summer is gonna fucking suck.âÂ
âI know,â he said, pulling her into his lap.Â
Arms around his shoulders to bring herself closer, her feet hung awkwardly off the sides of the chair. Though she knew her toes would be tingling from lack of blood flow within a matter of minutes, she didnât readjust, savoring the feeling of his solid chest against hers.Â
The deep breath she sighed out moved her whole body against his. âWeâll get through it together, right?âÂ
Tightening his grip, Quinn agreed.Â
As the minutes passed, his hands traveled over her back in slow, calming waves that put her totally at ease.Â
âDo you have homework?â he asked quietly, almost as if he didnât want to hear the question himself.Â
âYeah, but it can wait a while.â
A pleased little hum filtered up his throat, and he pulled her tighter against him.Â
âCan we move to the couch, though?â she asked. âMy feet are falling asleep.âÂ
Laughing, he stood, hands cradling her butt to keep her wrapped around him. When she hooked her ankles around his back, Quinn filed the position away to try later.Â
Halfway up the stairs, Sarah unwound herself from him. Sure, he was an athlete, but carrying her up the stairs was still taking a toll.Â
She lay down on the suede couch and held her arms open for him. He gratefully lay on top of her, his head on her chest.Â
Running her fingers through his hair, Sarah replayed their relationship in her mind. Knowing what she knew now, both about Quinnâs celebrity status and his quiet nature, the fact that he came up to her at all was a miracle. He could have any woman in the city, and heâd stuck his neck out for her. It was overwhelming to think about sometimes. She hoped she was living up to his expectations.Â
Half an hour later, Quinns phone chirped with a notification, bringing them out of their sleepy reverie. By that time, theyâd switched places, and Sarah was draped over him.Â
âItâs 6,â he whispered into her hair. âIâve got to get up to make dinner.â
Even as she whined, Sarah pushed herself up. This soft, caring version of Quinn was always her favorite, and she didnât want to let him go. âI love you,â she said, looking down at him.
âI love you, too,â he said, standing and hugging her to him again before they had to get back to real life.
Her arms tightened around him. âI donât know what I ever did to deserve you, Quinn Hughes, but Iâm so glad youâre mine.âÂ
Tucking his face into her neck, he pressed a few soft kisses there before telling her, âSarah Roberts, you are the best thing thatâs ever happened to me.â
Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist
To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist
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đ¨â¨ď¸Art Magicâ¨ď¸đ¨
Uses, Forms of it, and Why I Think Everyone Should Try it at Least Once.
Foreword
Right before the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I had been trying and failing to rekindle my flame for magic work. No matter what I tried to do I just couldn't get back into my studies and I was reaching a point where I was convinced I lost my spark and was doomed to live an empty life. Then it all changed when a YouTube Channel challenged how I thought about everything: Molly Roberts. That's when I was opened to the possibility of art magic, and I'll now share my love of it with anyone willing to read on.
What Is Art Magic?
A means to utilize art for spellwork, raising magical energy, or for exploring your magical subconscious. It encapsulates multiple different types of art and is generally not confined by conventional expectation (unless that's what you prefer).
You can utilize art magic by. . .
Using traditional art methods
Digital art methods
Collages
Music composition
Jewelry making
Embroidery
And much more!
How do I know if Art Magic is Suitable for Me?
There isn't a specific thing that'll indicate this form of magic is perfect for you, however I have some anecdotes from my personal experience as both a witch, and a regular artist that form a sort of idea on what could denote this being perfect for you!
First off, craving freedom from personal restraints was a big factor that pushed me towards blending my craft with my passion for art. If you want to run from the monotony of life, if you feel trapped by the social construction of boxes, or if you simply want to challenge your own mental restraints... then this idea might resonate with you.
Challenging yourself with a new form of magic, similarly, can also be a good enough reason to try. I'm the type of person who loves to constantly learn new things and I unfortunately get bored really quickly if I can't get new source materials. Using Art Magic has proven a fun challenge for me that allows me to explore a lot more topics you can't just open a book to find.
For those that may not be able to safely perform a lot of traditional style spells, this form of magic provides a discreet way to practice witchcraft. Most people wouldn't really question someone if they picked up the hobby of making art, and even if they did there's plenty of reasonable excuses out there.
How you prefer your spells to manifest themselves can also affect if this journey is a good idea or not. I find that Art Magic is really good when it comes to subtle spellwork that is more longform (though depending on how you construct them you can definitely create a spell that's the opposite).
Catalog aspects of your magical journey. Imagine a grimoire filled with pages of drawings, each one telling a story of something you experienced or learned as a witch. This especially may be more beneficial for visual learners.
You could use it as a means of meditation, sometimes art can be calming and it can open the door to your mind (so-to-speak). Especially if you're like me and struggle with staying completely still while trying to clear your mind, this may be helpful for you.
Trying to better understand archetypes, deities, types of entities, or even your own self can also be a big part of this. I've used art magic as a way to embody the "energy" of something before so I could better understand it. Especially when you're trying to seek knowledge that isn't often written on, it can provide a great way to explore more.
How Can I perform an Art Spell?
I have a step-by-step process that can give you some insight on how you may approach it:
1) Think of the intention you want. I like to close my eyes and meditate on it for about a minute then I write down if my mind wandered to any specific imagery or ideas.
2) Think of visual symbolism and colors that can help you capture the mood you want. Perhaps you need a warm color palette to invoke positive feelings, or maybe there are specific objects or animals you can include on the composition that represent something.
3) If you feel it fits your composition, you can include sigils, symbols of significance, and include shapes that have certain associations. It doesn't even have to be obvious either. You can use a circular composition to convey something endless for example, or a triangular composition to show priority over something.
4) In general follow what your heart tells you. This is a little cliche, but ultimately follow what seems best to you. Art isn't about boxing yourself in and my guidelines are just general ideas for anyone who's lost!
Why do I think that everyone should try it at least once?
From my experiences as a witch, I find that a lot of paths to be followed are quite rigid. By no means am I implying that a rigid structure is bad-- it creates a foundation from which we can work upon. I myself am exploring rigid, 'traditional' (for lack of a better term) ways of working magic. Art magic pushes you out of your comfort zone in a safe way. It makes you consider how you associate things. It makes you create new sigils and makes you research new symbols you previously wouldn't have used.
So next time you're lost on a spell, or you've lost your way in your Craft and you don't know what to do, think about maybe giving Art Magic a try. I hope my guide was a helpful starting point for anyone interested in the topic!
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