#some righteous writing

[crazy-ache]

I’m here to enjoy a good time in fandom. I am not obligated to hold my favorite character under some trial because YOU don’t like them. I don’t have to hold them to YOUR impossible standards or likes. I am allowed to enjoy them exactly as I wish. If you wish to do that, go play in your own sandbox away from mine. That is, and has been, the point of fandom.

[mirrored-muse]

ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ʙᴀʙʏ | ɢ.ɢ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 936 (blurb)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɢɪᴅᴇᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴏʟᴅ ʙᴇᴅʀᴏᴏᴍ. (ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɢɪᴅᴇᴏɴ ɢᴇᴍꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: ʜɪ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ. 😭 ʙᴜᴛ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ.

You’d been to Gideon’s room a hundred times- back when you were kids, running around Jesse and Amber’s house barefoot after Sunday school. When you started dating in high school, he’d sneak you upstairs when your family came over for dinner.

Now that you were older, helping him pack for a weekend youth trip with Abraham and the younger kids from church, the room still held that same lived-in chaos.

Which is why you’re sitting on his bedroom floor, hunched over, searching for his old Bible, the one he grew up reading, so he can give it to Abraham.

“Are you sure it’s in here?” you call from the closet, brushing aside a crumpled pair of jeans and a tangled belt that had definitely seen better days.

“Positive,” Gideon hollers from the bed. “Brown leather cover, busted corner. It’s in a box somewhere with my old church stuff.”

You sigh, kneeling to push aside a bin of tangled cords. “You need a system.”

“I have a system.”

“No, baby, you don’t. It looks like a tornado came through here.”

You grin when you hear him laugh- that familiar, warm, boyish laugh that always makes your stomach flip. You’ve been dating since you were sixteen, but you’d known him way longer. Your parents were church regulars, part of the Gemstones’ congregation for years, which meant most of your childhood was spent with Gideon, either beside you at Bible camp or passing you notes during service while Jesse preached.

It had always been him. You just didn’t know it until he kissed you on the church lawn after youth group one night, blushing hard and apologizing, even though you’d kissed him right back.

You reach for the next box and tug it toward you. The lid pops open.

Your hand stills and your eyes widen.

Sitting right on top, nestled among a stack of old sheets, is a small velvet ring box.

You stare at it for a second, like it might disappear if you blink too fast. You hadn’t meant to open it, really, but your curiosity got the best of you.

Inside is a ring. Simple. Beautiful. A soft gold band, a delicate diamond, elegant in a way that made warmth grow in your chest.

“Gid?” you call softly, still staring.

“Hmm?” he answers, distracted, probably scrolling on his phone.

“Um- I found… something.”

You’re not sure why your voice goes small. Maybe because it feels like something big. Something real.

The closet door creaks. Footsteps. Then he peeks in and his eyes go wide, like you’ve just pulled a fire alarm.

“Shit.”

“I didn’t mean to-” you start quickly, panicking. “I was just looking through stuff and I thought this box looked like- well, I didn’t think it was that.”

“No, no, I believe you,” he says, hands up as he steps inside. “It’s not- I’m not mad. I just-” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

You blink, lips pulled down into a guilty pout. “You’re not upset?”

He looks at you, really looks- like he’s seeing you for the first time. “No, baby, course not. I just… I had a whole plan.”

Your heart races. Voice soft. “What was it?”

He rubs the back of his neck, giving that sheepish, sideways smile he always gets when he’s nervous. “I was gonna take you out to the lake house and wait until sunset. I even asked your dad if I could borrow that old camera y’all have so I could film it.”

Your throat tightens, looking at him with glassy eyes.

“Really?”

He nods, cheeks pink. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a long time. Since we were, like, what- eighteen? I just wanted to wait until the right time.” He pauses. “But I always knew you were it for me.”

You take a step closer, still holding the ring box like it might vanish if you don’t hold on tight enough. “You’ve never told me that.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t wanna overwhelm you.”

“You wouldn’t’ve,” you say quietly. “You know that.”

There’s a pause. Then he glances at the ring and says, “I still wanna do it right.”

You smile, tug gently on his shirt, shaking your head a little. “Do it here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “In the closet?”

“Yeah.” You grin. “It’s us, isn’t it?”

He stares at you, then softens completely, nodding. “Okay.”

He takes the box from your hand, drops to one knee, not dramatic, not rehearsed, just real, and looks up at you, those pretty blue eyes full of fondness and nerves and a mix of something old but familiar.

“Will you marry me—”

You don’t even let him finish.

You drop to your knees in front of him, throw your arms around him into a tight hug, and nod your head against his shoulder.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He laughs against your shoulder, holding you close. Then he pulls back, slides the ring onto your finger with shaky hands, and kisses your knuckles like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“This is gonna be a fun story to tell,” he says, still breathless. “‘How’d he propose?’ ‘Oh, in his closet, next to a box of crumpled-up youth group flyers and dirty clothes.’”

You laugh, smiling at him. “Perfect.”

“Not what I planned,” he murmurs, pulling you into him, “but still perfect. You make everything okay.”

You open your mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open, Jesse barging in.

“Hey, son, you seen my— what the hell are you kids doing in the closet?”

[gemmahale]

Started writing something about Dom Soap being a herding dog (if we insist on applying the dog metaphor to him.)

A hand on the small of your back, maybe your hand wrapped in his, at worst his hand on the small of your neck to guide and direct you. He doesn't need to nip at your heels to get you to go where you should.

A nip at your earlobe followed by a growl of "Behave yerself" just barely above the din. A soft kiss along your jawline to apologize; to anyone else it looks like he's telling you a secret, but you know it's a reminder that he is in charge and you'd best listen.

A pinch - maybe the inside of your thigh or arm, or the soft, cushiony part of your hip - when you step outside of pre-determined bounds. A reminder that he's here to protect you, even if you can't detect the threat yourself.

He's subtle in the way he displays dominance. He knows his job is to protect and keep you in line, and he intends to do at least that much. He'll showboat in other areas (and does). But this power exchange between the two of you is his.

....I lost the dog metaphor there a bit. Sorry not sorry. Yes, you'll probably see a lot of this in Museum Muse. Maybe Brix. Bite me. (I'll like it.)

[bisexualgorgeous]

an ex of taylor's is only as good as his reaction to having songs written about him post-relationship and my man joe you are quickly sliding down the rankings

[lord-squiggletits]

A tangent from the tags of my previous Pharma post (and I just thought about this so bear w/ me if it's hastily reasoned) is that the Autobots being generally sanctimonious is actually sort of a reason why I find a lot of IDW Optimus interpretations to miss the mark, specifically the accusations of calling him stuff like self-righteous, caring more about principles than people, etc. And I know that sounds really ironic, but out of every Autobot (and almost every character period), Optimus is one of the few people who has a very forgiving/humanistic perspective on life or at least has a political approach of "if we don't stop fucking fighting we're going to be at war forever and eventually just kill ourselves."

He very explicitly wanted a diplomatic end to the war and not a military victory/conquest. He extended multiple offers to Megatron personally to work together and end the war (Autocracy trilogy, which was pre/early war, and Chaos Theory, which was late/end war, so from this we can assume Optimus' stance was consistent the whole time). When ppl hated him so bad they rioted he removed himself from the planet rather than argue or fight to justify why his actions were the best he could do. Sandstorm starts murdering Decepticons and Optimus solves the murders and then throws Sandstorm in prison bc sparing one of his Autobots the consequences of his actions is less important to Optimus than keeping the peace and making sure anyone who threatens to ignite wartime hostilities is punished for it. There are multiple characters throughout the series that other people give up on as too far gone or too cowardly/evil/damaged to be worth helping where Optimus alone is the person who says "I think they can get better/they did bad things but they're still people" such as the Dynobots, Blurr, Prowl (despite how OP's patience with him hung by a thread by the end of it), Shockwave, and, yknow, fucking Megatron of all people.

And on top of that Optimus' internal thoughts most of the time revolve around feelings of guilt, responsibility, anger, hopelessness/barely hanging on to his ideals, and so on. Bro regularly has thoughts about how the entire Autobot-Decepticon war was his fault and is depressed to the point the thought of dying/martyring himself makes him feel relieved. So like. Idk guys I don't think those are the personality traits/actions of a self-righteous person who thinks he's correct about everything and everyone who opposes him or fails his moral standards is just evil or whatever.

[queen-scribbles]

Here and Now

Oka, here we go. Gotta love when characters' personal demons intersect so well. :D Figuratively speaking. Though there is also a literal demon. ~3.3k ---

In the end, there were too many.

That's what it boiled down to; there were too many enemies and Seelah the screw-up couldn't keep track of them all. They had their roles in a fight; Rethelion was the cauterizing light leading the charge, Sosiel healed their wounds, and Seelah put herself between the demons or cultists or what have you and her friends.

At least that's how it was supposed to work.

Apparently all it took to make her fumble was a trio of cultists trying to backstab the Commander. She focused just a moment longer than she should've in one spot and someone else paid for it.

The glabrezu leading the cultists teleported and she missed it. Landed behind Lann and Arueshalae and she was too far away. She yelled a warning, smote the demon to slow it down as she finished off the cultists and a babau that tried to get in her way.

Too far.

Too slow.

Not enough.

Arueshalae's wings flurried as she repositioned herself further away from the hulking demon, its swipe at her back a hair too slow. Denied one target, it wheeled on Lann. He dodged the first slash of its claws as Seelah cut down the babau. Didn't dodge the second one as she got close enough for holy fire to pour from her blade into the glabrezu's chest.

The damn demon didn't even flinch. It laughed. At her, at Lann as he spat a mouthful of blood and fired an arrow at it. And struck again.

Her hand brushed Lann's shoulder as he fell, the intended healing fizzling out on her palm.

Too late, too slow.

Seelah devoted her focus to the fight, to watching her commander's back. Deliberately ignoring the glabrezu's red-ringed claws, that the magic which soothed her wounds had not gotten Lann back on his feet. She didn't have time for the twist in her gut that knew what it meant.

Not until the glabrezu and all its minions had fallen. Only then did she drop to knees, hand on his still-warm shoulder and turn him to confirm her fears.

"Seelah?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat at Rethelion's tone. "I was too slow." My fault. It's my fault again. "It... He's dead."

"What?!" The commander had never been one to easily display emotion, so the catch in her voice on the single word was a knife in Seelah's gut.

"You heard me," she mumbled, gaze dropping from her friend's. Bad move; that meant looking at Lann. Half-open, vacant eyes drilled into her with accusations she knew he'd never fling in life.

Seelah the screw-up, couldn't even keep track of a demon the size of a house. Not until it was too late.

Seelah jerked her head back up, briefly met Rethelion's compassionate gaze--Iomadae help her, that was worse--before the two of them looked at Sosiel.

He sighed, expression grave as he cleaned blood off his glaive and armor. "I truly wish there was something I could do," he said with a shake of his head, "but I've yet to master resurrection magic in my studies."

"Arsinoe would know how to do it," Arueshalae piped up, playing with the end of her bow.

"Good, but we better get moving, then," Seelah said, sorting out her mingled relief and guilt. This could be fixed. "We're two days out from Drezen; a lot can happen out here in that time, not much of it good."

"Would Aimee accept a second rider?" Rethelion asked, chewing her lower lip in thought, her fingers tapping the Sarenrae talisman hanging from her belt. Her grief was pressed back, behind the practicality that made her such a good leader. "You could make it faster on horseback."

Seelah mulled it over a moment, glancing at her recently-acquired horse, blithely munching grass a short way down the hill. She sniffled and nodded as she stood. "If I don't wear my full kit, and we take off her barding, she could handle a decent pace with a... second person. You'd have to carry--"

"We'll manage," Rethelion cut her off. She flicked her fingers through her bangs, dark eyes unreadable.

On the one hand, a cynical voice in her head pointed out there wasn't any real need for urgency. Or the other hand, she agreed this needed to be fixed as quickly as possible. Why tempt fate to make it more permanent? Besides, saving the world wouldn't be the same without him, and she'd hate to lose a friend. Especially one that was her fault.

Arueshalae helped with removing all of Seelah's plate aside from the chestpiece and armored boots. She needed something in case she got ambushed on the way. Aimee's pleasure at being free of the stitched leather barding turned into a disgruntled snort when the trade-off was an extra rider. But she set off at a trot, quickly picking up speed with only the normal nudging from Seelah.

"See you in Drezen!" she called back. Iomadae protect us.

---

For once there were no demons. No cultists, no roving bandits. The roads was clear and the journey went smoothly. Seelah offered many prayers of gratitude for her request being granted. It was taxing enough to travel with a dead friend, even knowing the goal was undoing the dead part. If she didn't know better, she could almost convince herself he was sleeping, so long as she didn't look at the deep ragged gashes torn across his chest.

She talked to him the night she camped. Even knowing he couldn't hear and unnerved by the ringing silence that should have been snarky replies. This is my fault and I'm gonna fix it, she promised silently. We need you back.

The Drezen gate guards saw her coming and must've recognized her, because the way was clear for her to ride right in. She didn't stop, barreling through the streets with hollered warnings until she reached the chapel.

"Arsinoe!!!" The urgency in her voice--not to mention the horse and limp figure balanced in front of her--drew attention from more than just the priest emerging from the chapel. "We need help." Seelah said, breathless, before Arsinoe asked.

Arsinoe cocked her head, looking at Lann. "Healing?" The bloodstains were hard to miss.

Seelah shook her head. "He's past that, or we could've handled it," she said, carefully sliding off Aimee's back. "Arueshalae said you know how to bring people back?" She couldn't have kept the hopeful, desperate lilt from her words if she'd tried.

"I do," Arsinoe nodded, her expression shifting to unspoken understanding, and Seelah's heart leapt.

She reached up and grabbed Lann's belt to haul him off the horse. Staggered a little under his full weight. They'd leaned against each other when sharing a drink, or for support after less grievous injuries, but this... well, he was heavier than he looked. She grit her teeth and carried him in, following Arsinoe to a small room at the front of the chapel. Her arms were burning with the effort and she had to fix her gaze on a much smaller and less consequential cut on his arm so she didn't get lost in... the other ones.

It didn't matter that she could get him back. That it would be in just a few minutes, even. Right now, this second, he was dead and she couldn't shake that it was her fault.

"Here is good," Arsinoe said. She indicated a cot along the windowed wall of the chamber.

Seelah's muscles almost cried in relief when she laid him down. She rolled her shoulders a few times, still staring at the slender slice through scales, the blood staining his sleeve, as Arsinoe rummaged for the components she would need.

"Are you alright, Seelah?" Arsinoe asked, rejoining her.

"What? Oh, yeah." Her gaze had drifted to Lann's face--he still looked like he was sleeping--and she jerked it up to look at the cleric as she answered. "Nothin' but sore muscles and a hot bath'll fix those."

"That's not what I meant," Arsinoe said gently. She set down the small pouch she carried and twisted her shimmering gold hair in a bun. "it's not easy to lose friends, no matter how permanent or temporary, and.." she hesitated, biting her lip. "It hasn't been that long since Elan and Kiana's wedding."

Her gut twisted. Seelah the screwup strikes again. "At least this can be fixed a little more quickly."

Arsinoe took took the doubled hint to drop the topic and get to resurrecting her friend. "Very true." She pulled a flawlessly beautiful diamond from the pouch. "I trust the commander has means to replace this?"

They'd probably found something comparable in their travels, but even if not... "We'll make it work."

"I would help regardless," Arsinoe clarified, placing the diamond on Lann's chest. "just confirming where the replacement is coming from. Restocking from Nerosyan is quite a wait, and I'd hate to be short if someone else needs it."

"I hear you," Seelah muttered, staring at the way the diamond reflected the closest of the ragged gashes.

"You'll want to look elsewhere," Arsinoe said, "right there's about to get very bright."

"Right." She shifted her gaze up to look out the window, around the walls. Arsinoe closed her eyes and started to chant the words of the spell.

It was somehow awe-inspiring and more... understated than she'd expected. The diamond glowed with soft golden light, refracting in diffuse rainbows to paint the walls. There was no heavenly chorus or Angels reaching down or brilliant blaze of light, though the glow was enough to make her glad she'd heeded Arsinoe's warning.

Seelah barely waited for it to fade before looking down. The gashes were gone, all of them. Lann's fingers twitched, still chest now rising with breath, and her heart leapt.

She poked his shoulder and grinned despite the lump in her throat when he groaned.

"Didja happen to get a look at the driver of the cart that ran me over?" Lann muttered, draping one arm over his eyes.

"Yep." Seelah laughed, uneven and high-pitched. "It was an ugly-ass lobster mad we wiped out its cult."

"Oh. Yeah. Charming fellow," he deadpanned, then what she could see of his face twisted toward a frown. Processing that where he remembered being didn't match his current surroundings. He shifted his arm to look. "...wait."

"We're back in Drezen," Seelah offered, "since Sosiel doesn't know how to resurrect people yet--"

Lann's arm dropped and he pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Wait, what?!" He looked down at himself, searching for injuries that were no longer present.

"Sorry, yeah, that's a backwards way to explain." She smiled sheepishly. "Our glabrezu friend took out its frustration on you and you... were dead." She nudged his shoulder. "Heavy emphasis on were."

He ran a hand down his face. "Right. Okay."

Seelah arched a brow at his flat tone. He was probably tired. Disoriented. Coming back from the dead was a strain, from what she understood.

"You'll need more rest," Arsinoe chipped in, as if she'd read Seelah's thoughts. "You're welcome to do so here, though these are far from the most comfortable beds in the city."

Lann nodded absently, staring at his hands in his lap. "Yeah, if I'm gonna sleep this off, I'd rather do it in my own bed."

He wobbled when he stood and Seelah grabbed his arm until he was steady. "I can walk with you part of the way," she offered, "I still gotta stable Aimee."

He nodded again and they walked out in silence, aside from Seelah's profuse thanks to Arsinoe. Aimee was gone, hopefully cared for by some kind soul who'd pieced things together from the helter-skelter arrival and her exchange with the priest. She should still check, which meant walking the same direction regardless.

Lann didn't say anything until they were practically level with the stables. "Y'know, I don't really feel like sleeping..."

"Okay." Seelah shrugged, glancing at his pensive expression. "I think as long as you're not, say, doing cartwheels around the battlements, another type of taking it easy is alright. You want me to grab a drink?"

He thought about it a moment before nodding. "Yeah, that'd be good."

"Let me make sure my horse is actually in the stable and I'll get 'em."

Aimee was indeed safely stabled, so after getting the name of the helpful soul responsible, Seelah headed to the Half Measure. She emerged after only a few minutes and minimal fuss, tankard in each hand. However, she'd only made it halfway back to the outbuildings where the mongrels had set camp when she caught sight of a familiar silhouette up on the battlements and changed course.

"What did I say about the walls?" she joked as she joined him and handed over one tankard.

"I'm not doing cartwheels," Lann countered, but his half-smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Touché," Seelah said with a laugh. She followed his gaze out toward the Worldwound. "Looking for something in particular?"

He shook his head, sighed, and turned to slide down the wall until sitting with his legs loosely crossed. Without spilling his drink, which was impressive.

She joined him, her legs crisscrossed in closer, and let the silence hang a few seconds. "How're you feeling?"

"Sluggish. Worst hangover ever doubled." Lann set the tankard by his knee.

Seelah wrinkled her nose and took a swig of her drink. "Sorry. Just curious, seein' as I've never been dead."

"Can't recommend it," he said dryly, leaning his head back against the wall. His fingers toyed with the loop of beads tucked in his belt. "Why... why'd you bring me back?"

Seelah, mid-drink, choked on her beer. "Are you kidding?" She frowned. He wasn't kidding. "You want to be dead?"

Lann made a sound that was not a firm yes or no. "Not much use if a silly little demon can take me down, after all."

She snorted, setting down her tankard so emphatically it sloshed on the stonework. "If a glabrezu is a silly little demon, I'm the second coming of Iomadae! The thing's five times the size of us combined. Its claws alone are half as big as your body!" She winced and sucked her teeth, remembering what that combination had netted. "If anything, it's my fault for not holding its attention."

Lann snorted and straightened to look askance at her. "And what were you supposed to do against something five times the size of us put together?!"

"Protect you? It's what I'm here for; to watch everyone's backs, keep the monsters' focus on me and off you, keep you all alive and I failed."

And failed big, even if there were no lingering consequences to it. He didn't even have any scars.

"All of us is a pretty tall order. There are better uses of your time where I'm concerned," he muttered.

Seelah frowned and leaned forward, studying his face as she rephrased her earlier question. "Lann, do you want to die?"

It took him a worryingly long time to answer. "I... I want to fight the demons, seal the Wound, and help my people," he said, looking down at the beads rolling through his fingers. Some were red now, stained with his blood. "If that costs me my life, so be it. Mongrels aren't known for having terribly long or good ones anyway. There's worse ends than doing something heroic, right?"

She chewed her lower lip and gestured over her shoulder and the wall. "In case you missed it, both the Worldwound and your people are still here, so you're still needed."

"Don't you think 'needed' is a little strong?" he muttered, letting go of the beads to reach for his tankard.

"No," Seelah said bluntly. "Rethelion wouldn't have you traipsing all over the Worldwound with her if she didn't want and need you along. Hell, that glabrezu only went after you and Arueshalae because you'd picked off half of its cultists. Don't think we woulda won without you."

"Except you did," Lann pointed out. He took a single swig of his drink and was back to playing with the beads.

"After you'd cleared almost half the rank and file, made my job a lot easier. If only I'd been able to return the favor." She tugged on her holy symbol to give her own hands something to do.

"Again, doubt there was much you could do against a glabrezu on your own." He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed.

"Still my job to try. And I look out for my friends." She thought of Curl. Jannah. Elan. A sigh breached her lips. "Try to, anyway."

"And you do a good job of it," Lann said, eyes still closed. "Could have been worse, right?"

"I guess." She traced one finger around the sword point on her symbol. You still died on my watch.

"Only lost me, and you fixed that." His tone was so bland when he said it.

She wondered again if he was just tired. He had described this as feeling like a nasty hangover. "You don't sound happy with that last part."

"No, I am." A pause. "I think. This does mean I still have to deal with Woljif." He sighed, hands fallen still. "I just don't know if I'm worth it."

"Of course you are!" Seelah burst out. "You're a friend! You're my friend, you're Ret's friend, you're Ulbrig's friend, we want you around!" Normally she might've tied it off with a joke or teasing, but she was serious as a balor about this and needed him to understand. "I'm a little short on friends at the moment, so the remaining ones are getting treasured all the more fiercely. I can't undo Jannah's cowardice, or Curl working with demons. This I could undo."

Lann opened his human-side eye to look at her. "So, I'm a back-up friend?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Keep talking like that and I'll dump my drink over your head."

He gasped in mock affront. "You'd waste good beer?"

"If it gets you to come to your senses." She nudged him with her elbow.

"Consider them come to." Lann straightened and picked up his drink again. "Just hard to wrap my head around. Thank you, by the way." He tapped his tankard to hers. "Don't think I said that yet."

"You're welcome," Seelah grinned. "And worth it."

"Heh." He took a drink, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "So where's the rest our troop? Didn't see any of 'em on my way up here."

"Oh, out there somewhere." She gestured over the wall again. "Rethelion and I were in a hurry to fix you being dead, and Aimee can only manage one extra rider."

Lann glanced at her over the rim of his tankard. "...I rode a horse?"

"Well..." Seelah pursed her lips. "You were dead, and I had to do all the work, so I dunno if it counts."

"Mm."

"If you wanna ride a horse, I can help with that."

"I think I'll pass for now." He set down his tankard and looked out over the city, quiet for a few minutes. "You must've really legged it. How long...?"

"Oh, less than a full day." Seelah set aside her drink and started fiddling with a loose seam on her boot. "Aimee's very fast, though I did have to stop for sleep." She could see him doing the mental calculations on travel time. "Didn't want to be absent your jokes or your company any longer than necessary."

"Keep talkin' like that, it'll go to my head," Lann mumbled into his drink.

Maybe it needs to. she thought. "Oh, Heaven forbid," she deadpanned. "You might start believing me an' Ret when we say we like having you around."

"I know, what's wrong with you?" he said dryly.

Seelah grinned. "Guess you'll hafta stick around to find out."

Lann chuckled. "Stay in the here and now? Guess I will. Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble, anyway."

"Deal." If that's what he needed to tell himself, she'd take it. She was just glad to have her friend back.

[saphira-approves]

Okay so I finished Murtagh last night and I think I’m just going to put a lot of my slightly more coherent general thoughts here under a readmore. Spoilers ahead! Beware!

Right off the bat I want to bring us back to The Fork, The Witch, and The Worm. Not to Essie (although reliving that encounter from Murtagh’s perspective was EXQUISITE), but to Eragon, because the thing I love most about that story is that Eragon is glad to see his brother, even from afar, and is glad to see he’s alright, and hopes that Murtagh will one day join him at Mt. Arngor. We’ve talked recently on the blog about ill feelings and condemnation towards Murtagh during the war, especially on Eragon’s part, but the ending of The Fork makes it clear that—while I would love to see Eragon acknowledge and work through them—Eragon no longer holds those feelings, and in fact really wants the chance to reconnect with his brother and his friend, because he loved him like a brother before he even knew they were related, and after everything that’s happened, he loves him still—even if Murtagh is going to have some trouble believing or internalizing it.

And so I present the theme of this initial reading response: Murtagh is so, so loved, to an extent that he does not fully realize. He knows that Thorn loves him, obviously, but I believe it’s significant that—even though he has some Complicated™️ thoughts about Selena and harbors resentment towards her for, in his mind, choosing Eragon over himself—the memories of her that we actually get to see/“hear” (page 90 my beloved) are fully memories of Selena’s love for him. “…beautiful boy” anyone? “My strong boy?” That is her BABY and she LOVES HIM. Also, again, DESPITE HIS RESENTMENT, Selena’s love is the REASON HE KEEPS HIS SCAR! Scar lore alert! Scar lore alert! SELENA WAS THERE AND SHE’S THE ONE WHO HEALED HIM! (though I am still partial to thinking Brom was involved. I’ll write about that later it doesn’t matter right now)

(Also, on a bit of a lighter note, HIS HORSE TOY?????? Horse girl Murtagh CONFIRMED!!!! Little me would have been so jealous. …on a completely different note, I have woodworking connections and access to real horse hair. Hm. The Ideas.)

And then Tornac, son of Tereth, may your name live on forever. THE FIRST MEMORY WE GET OF TORNAC IS A HUG. THE FIRST TIME HE HUGS MURTAGH. MURTAGH HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH DO YOU KNOW??? I KNOW YOU KNOW A LITTLE BIT BUT DO YOU KNOW????? And the way he LEAPS to Murtagh’s defense when he falls in their escape, he REFUSES to let Murtagh languish in Urû’baen, that’s his BOY, his BEAUTIFUL STRONG BOY, that’s HIS SON, NO TAKE BACKSIES, MORZAN! He sees Murtagh’s darkness, yes, but more importantly he sees Murtagh’s goodness, and he knows Galbatorix will do everything in his power to destroy it, and that is something that Tornac simply cannot abide. You remember how I posted about Brom saying it’s easy to die for what you believe in, and then like ten pages later he dies for Eragon? Yeah. Yeah that one. That post. Do you see the point I’m making?

Tornac died for Murtagh. Selena did too, I’m pretty sure—it’s never been explicitly stated, in this book or the rest of the Cycle, but we know Selena was anxious to leave Carvahall as soon as Eragon was born, and that she died shortly after returning to Murtagh. I think Murtagh knows, on some level, but I also think that actually acknowledging it is going to break him just a little bit. Selena left Eragon and returned to him, presumably to spirit Murtagh to Carvahall as well, but she left too early. She wasn’t recovered. The real tragedy of this is that, if she’d left any later, she might truly have been too late—Morzan had been killed, and Murtagh would have been collected to Urû’baen before she reached him. Depending on how much she was coordinating with Brom, she might have known this, and made the choice to return to Murtagh anyway, because it was the easiest choice in the world. Eragon and Murtagh both believe that Selena left them. As Murtagh believes Selena chose Eragon over him, I’m pretty sure Eragon believes the inverse. In truth, Selena was trying to choose both of them, to save both of them. It’s a tragedy that she failed, but the most important thing about such a tragedy is that the love is there. It didn’t save them, not at first, not until much later, but the love is there and it matters because those are her babies, those are her sons, and she would gladly die for them. She did die for them. It was easy; she believed in them.

So yeah, I think eventually Eragon and Murtagh are gonna have a talk, and some revelations are going to be made, and a good long cry is going to be had all around. Catharsis! They need it!

But that’s not all! Murtagh is loved not only by the dead and the distant, but by the living and the near, too. Up to this point, the werecats we’ve met have been aloof, proud, intentionally distant. I always got the sense that Solembum likes Eragon and Saphira, but I don’t know that he would call them friends, even if Eragon and Saphira would, and he’s the most in-depth werecat we’ve met. But now we also have Carabel.

Carabel, who, from her position within Gil'ead, watches the people around them, and discerns their character: this is a skill I would say she has honed to near-perfection. When we meet her, she is desperate, though she hides it well. She sees Murtagh, and she measures his character, and what she sees is enough to make her take a chance on him, and she's right. Murtagh saves Silna, compromising his own principles to do so—swearing an oath he knows he'll have to break—and is so clearly relieved to see Silna safe with Carabel, despite the deceptions. We know, also, that Selena had been liked enough by Solembum for him to speak with her, and I wouldn't be surprised to discover that Selena was at least respected by werecats, if not outright known as a friend; it's possible that this, too, helped push Carabel to take a chance on Murtagh, though she makes no comment about it. Whatever the case, ultimately it is Murtagh's character that she gambles on, and Murtagh being simply who he is fulfills her hopes—not only in saving Silna, but his kindness towards her even when she was difficult, carrying her only when it was necessary and setting her on her own paws when he deemed it safe. Just in being himself, he earns love from two strangers, and the respect of an entire race.

(This echoes throughout the book, in all of Murtagh's interactions with children—he cares so much about kids. Not just as an abstract moral stance: he truly, genuinely cares for children on a deeply personal level. Essie in Ceunon; the two boys in Gil'ead he gives coins to, twice, and reprimanding their father for using them to pick marks; Silna; the children in Nal Gorgoth. In telling his story to Nasuada, he broke when he reached the children he slaughtered under Bachel's control.)

And Alín! Alín, who was raised to revere dragons, who cannot help but idolize Thorn. She is terrified of Murtagh, as a stranger and a strange man, but his connection to a dragon allows her to view him in another light. I can write so many essays about Alín, I'm probably going to, but here I'll just say this: despite her circumstances, despite how she was taught, despite how thoroughly she has been programmed by the cult of the Dreamers, the simple truth of Murtagh's compassion gave her the room to question, to think for herself, to ask herself if what she has been taught and raised to believe is truly right. Murtagh doesn't make the decision for her, he physically can't—it is Alín herself who finds the strength to break herself free, inspired by Murtagh, but not wholly because of him.

And in the dungeons of Nal Gorgoth, Murtagh meets Uvek, an Urgal shaman, and can I just say: I would kill and die for Uvek. He's got similarities to Murtagh that aren't discussed in plaintext, but are easy to draw: they both tried to be alone in the wild, thinking it would be better for them—different reasons, but they came to the same conclusion—but both have come to discover that they are better off in a pack. With friends. With brothers. With family. (As an aside, I really hope Uvek becomes one of the first Urgal riders.) I love the metaphor they share, about trust being a knife with a blade for a handle; and I love that once they decide to trust each other, they both jump in, feet first, 100% on board. That's always been Murtagh's method anyway (Eragon-era Murtagh my beloved, looking after this stupid dumb kid with his whole ass), and it is incredibly refreshing to see someone else with the exact same mindset throw their whole lot in with Murtagh. The gentle forehead bump! Uvek loves this crazy squishy Murtagh-man.

And finally, finally, Nasuada. The Guinevere to his Lancelot, and there's not even an Arthur for them to dance around, except for the Arthur of Public Opinion that would prefer to view Murtagh as dread Mordred. I couldn't keep from laughing, just a little bit, every time Murtagh was encouraged to/shown visions of taking the throne, because lol! Nah, you dumbasses, that's the love of his life for whom he broke his own shackles and turned on his tormentor and slave-master. The day he turns against her of his own volition is the day he is No Longer Murtagh. He keeps the newly-minted gold crown so that he can keep a piece of her with him—a coin!! A tiny little portrait!! An accurate tiny little portrait, to be sure, but one he'll soon be able to find in any decently full purse!! He may not want to admit it to himself, he may try to distance himself for her own good and the good of her rule, but he cannot truly deny his heart. As for Nasuada himself, she doesn't even hesitate to take him in—and she would have no reason to, having heard about Gil'ead, except that she knows him, she has seen his true being in a way only Thorn can relate to, and even in uncertainty she cannot believe evil of him. She's the one who reaches out to comfort him when he crumbles in telling his story, she supports him without a word when he struggles to stand, and she wants so badly for him to stay, Public Opinion be damned. She won't destroy what she's built, but she will move heaven and earth to be able to keep him near, for as long as he wishes to remain.

This whole book, really, was just a chorus screaming to Murtagh, "YOU ARE LOVED!! YOU ARE WORTHY OF LOVE AND YOU ARE LOVED!! IT IS THE LOVE THAT ENDS WARS, THAT DEFEATS FEAR, THAT PERSISTS IN THE FACE OF DEATH AND RUIN!! YOU ARE LOVED!!" And maybe he can't hear it yet, not with his ears, but his heart, eventually, might start to catch him up. And I absolutely cannot wait to see it.

[starlightcleric]

Knight Commander Cassandra thought dump of the day:

Due to her high constitution score, she can eat Lann's questionable cave recipes without getting sick.

She has low charisma. Lann has low charisma. It is painful for everyone else to watch them interact with their obvious crushes, to the extent that Daeran and Woljif have developed a drinking game.

Cass in general is just very badly socialized, having been allowed to run wild until age 10, and then subject to human experimentation for the next 10-70 years.

She is actually not the best person for Lann to ask with help with reading, having not a very advanced reading level herself, but she tries.

When she has to deal with official documentation, she meticulously takes notes of words she doesn't understand so she can ask people about them later (usually Regill and Anevia, but occasionally Daeran).

The overall success of her Crusade owes more to the advisors she has around her rather than her own merits.

She is actually relieved when Galfrey removes her of her title. She's not thrilled about being sent to the Abyss, but agrees that this mission fits her skillset better.

Her platonic best friend is Ember. They have similar outlooks (atheism), though Cass does not extend to Ember's all-encompassing mercy. She likes Seelah, but they don't understand each other very well.

Daeran desperately wants to trim her split ends, and she doesn't understand why.

[wonda-ch]

🐉

A party of brave, enthusiastic dragon hunters. A midnight-blue dragon who is not quite at it's best. An unnoticed pursuer. And we follow them to their escalating encounter.

Intended for a prompt game, this story escalated somewhat and became a delight that connects some topics. It stands on its own somewhere between original story, ttrpg and Pathfinder wotr.^^ Hope you have fun :)

[maryasmorevna]

why are you, as an adult in 2024, still hung up on reylo. why are you still mocking the shippers. why do you believe yourself to be superior only because you dislike a stupid ship from a fucking space fairytale. girl (gnc) get a grip

[fandomobscura]

So I'm an indie author. I talk about it sometimes. And I'm on indie writing bluesky, right? Which is a significantly less radioactive descendant of indie writing twitter that still manages to skyrocket my blood pressure once a week or so. And this week there's an amazon boycott - you know this, you've seen the posts. Don't buy anything from bezos until the 14th.

You all would not believe (or maybe you would) the number of voluntarily!! amazon-exclusive authors I'm seeing complain that suddenly people decided to stop giving money to the overlords for a week. Trying to whine and moan and make moralizing threads about supporting the poor indie authors, "buying an indie book is fine it doesn't hurt amazon not to", "we're all sooo reliant on the torment nexus uwu", but it's a decision they made, knowing there are plenty of ways to distribute extremely cishet vampire romantasy to the masses? I'm not sure I have any sympathy.

If you can't even stand for something for a week, what will you fall for in the future? Plenty of indie authors are doing just fine divesting from amazon, and if readers don't want to spend their money there that's their prerogative.

[vmures]

Want to know why I never trust the "protect the children!" crowd?

Almost always the people doing really harmful shit, or even very potentially harmful shit, to children are in that crowd.

They're often the type that circulate actual CSA materials as a bizarre gotcha to people they are bullying and calling pedos (as an example, remember the campaign against ao3 staff a while back were policy and abuse volunteers were getting sent this shit).

They are also frequently the ones to include graphic violence and implied or actual graphic sexual abuse in fics deliberately mislabled as General Audiences and tagged in a way that makes the fic seem like harmless fluff. All because they want to harass a group of people and don't care if children and teens stumble upon it. Technically children shouldn't be on ao3 (at least not as registered users since the ToS require you to be at least 13), and generally I say that it's up to children who do go to ao3 to be careful of what they read and mind the tags and ratings. But how can they do that if you deliberately mistag and misrate your fic.

In short, "protect the children" is more often than not a dog whistle. It can be one for the "we must control our children and everything they learn" crowd (frequently but not always evangelicals here in the US) or it can be one for the "I need a weapon to dehumanize, attack and traumatize those I dislike and this serves as both a weapon and a cover for my harassment and abuse of others. After all, I can just say I'm doing this horrible things to protect innocents even though I'm actually deliberately harming or setting up potential harm to children through my actions." Often it's a mix of the two camps. Ultimately, they don't actually care about children, it's just a nice smokescreen.

[arcane-vagabond]

Am I in a pissy mood or is everyone else just being ridiculous and annoying right now?

[elavoria]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @theoneandonlysemla, @sylvienerevarine, and @sheirukitriesfandom over the last weeks, thank you! I tag you all back and also @dirty-bosmer, @nostalgic-breton-girl, @1helios1, and @illumiera. : )

More Pathfinder, but this time from a tabletop Wrath of the Righteous campaign spouse and I are putting together just for ourselves [and our numerous characters] on the side of the Shattered Star campaign. Here’s Pathfinder!Amaryllia during her first meeting with her new ancient evil lich bestie—and yes Isanna is here too; this iteration of her already went through the entirety of Shattered Star:

Amaryllia took his hand in both of hers and ran her thumbs across the blood-red tattoo, taking care to touch him only gently so as not to accidentally damage his paper-thin skin, taking care not to look too surprised by his hand’s unnatural pallor and lack of warmth. The powerful pulse of life that ran through her and imbued her with a radiantly healthy glow made the latter particularly—unfairly, she thought briefly—evident when their hands were joined, but it was easy enough to disguise her alarm as wonder, for the wickedly pointed marking that adorned his hand, robes, and staff intrigued her. “What is this symbol?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet his only to become distracted again by the ioun stones circling his head. ���Why, it’s the rune of wrath,” he answered, as surprised by the question as she was by the reality of his undeath. “Only fitting for a runelord of the same, don’t you think?” “It meant kindness, once,” Isanna said stiffly. Amaryllia spared her a glance, only to frown slightly at the distaste evident in the inquisitor’s glare. “Is that true?” she asked as she turned her attention back to the lich. “Yes,” he said, though not without hesitation. “Once.” “Then it can mean that again,” she suggested eagerly. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled into his, and he offered her a small, weary smile in return. “‘Once’, my dear,” Alderpash said with a gentle, almost begrudging fondness, “was a very, very long time ago.”

[righteous-pines]

Chivetiger joined the clan long ago under the lead of Pinestar, but his life as a loner isn’t even a distant memory now. Though he spends much of his time alone, thinking up dialogues and stories in his head that fill his chest with pounding excitement, he is often the cat others in the clan turn to with their problems, as he always seems to have a hypothetical on how to handle everything. He’s happy to spit out his opinion on the matter, and then be left alone, no other conversation necessary. He can often be found in a shady corner, off to himself, sorting his collection of shiny rocks and mumbling softly to himself in little voices.

[rollofleaf]

7 Snippets 7 People

Tagged by @cassynite ! Thank you for thinking of me, it’s good motivation to try and push myself to write more. Sorry it took me a few days to get to.

Tagging @arendaes , @iwoszareba , @bearvanhelsing , and @silversiren1101 !

Snippets are from various things I’m working on, I did a different character for each.

1. (Slight nsfw)

Marazhai lounged on his bed with all the smugness of a content cat, completely unashamed in his nakedness. He still proudly bore bleeding scratches along his chest and bruises on his thigh. Heinrix, on the other hand, was hurriedly donning his clothes, desperately avoiding the mildly amused gaze of the Rogue Trader that had interrupted his heresy.

Arethousa strode up to the psyker and grabbed him by the ear, pulling him close despite his gasp of protest. “Now, Inquisitor. If you ever see fit to question the bond I share with Yrliet again, I will be forced to remind you of what I just witnessed. Perhaps that will stop you from criticizing a Rogue Trader in public?”

He winced. Still, it was a fair request considering his shame. “Y-yes, Lord Captain.”

Arethousa released him with a grin. “Good boy. Or is that the xenos's line?” She promptly turned and walked out the door, in need of some soap to scrub the sight from her eyes.

2.

Grace groaned, furiously rubbing her temples as she pulled herself to her feet. She had slept through the night after her kidnapper’s ship crashed on the beach. And… Her mind was still a blank, impenetrable fog. Some part of her had expected her memories to return after escaping the illithids, but such hopes were dashed. She looked around. This place was wholly unfamiliar, though just about nothing was familiar to her. But she was near the ocean, at least.

Grace walked over to a small tide pool, staring into the water to get a good look at her unknown face. She was a tiefling, she knew that instinctively. Deep red skin, straight horns, short purple hair. She was pretty, all things considered. And her cheeks were stained with blood. Sweet, delicious blood. Enough to lick up, yet she wanted more, wanted enough to bathe in. She was hypnotized by the sight until her reflection began to move on its own and speak in a voice not her own.

“Oh, good, you’re alive! How are you feeling, love?”

3.

“You… You speak true. I am terrified… Will I learn to love you only after I kill you? To struggle so long to regain that joy, only to cast it aside in the process like the petals of a dandelion… But… I would rather love again and mourn you. I must do this. I must trust that this will lift the curse and pursue it. What else can I do?”

You can let me save you. The words hung on Ethyn’s lips, begging to be free. But they would mean nothing to her. She could only act for Nyrissa, not placate her with promises. She simply gazed up at the beautiful nymph that had crushed her heart. “If you’re so resolved, then do it. End me.”

Nyrissa raised the knife. Her tears fell on Ethyn’s innocent skin, blossoming into roses as they touched her. She plunged the knife down, into the bedsheets. She couldn’t do it. Even in a dream, she couldn’t force herself to finish Ethyn off. With a furious groan, she tossed the knife aside and rolled onto her back. “I… I cannot.” She laughed out. “A spider with sympathy for what’s caught in her web. And I cannot even feel sympathy… I do not love you. I cannot love you or anyone! So why do I feel this way? Why do you haunt my dreams, make my hands tremble, why do I trust you in this way? Why does that accursed word still hold sway over me?!”

4.

Hilde roared as she brought her axe up, bringing it down with enough force to decapitate the succubus. Arueshalae darted in front of the demon, barely managing to parry Hilde's swing with her starknife. The succubus's hands were trembling, her eyes squeezed shut as she shook violently. "S-stop. S-stop it!" She shook her head as she settled into a fighting stance, leveling her bow at Hilde. Arueshalae was fighting desperately against the control, her eyes pleading and desperate as they stared into Hilde's.

The other succubus let out a pompous laugh as she darted back and away from the melee. "Oh, darling! You want to be a stupid little mortal, so you'll be controlled like one..." Arueshalae flinched and loosed her arrow, crying out in terror and worry as it nicked Hilde's shoulder.

Hilde looked right past her friend, glaring at the succubus controlling her. "You're going to suffer for that. Arueshalae, don't worry. I know it's not you that's hurting me."

5.

There was a distinct skip in the elf’s step as she strode through the thick trees of the lands known as the Hinterlands. A terrible name, this land was anything but hinter! It was beautiful, nearly unspoiled, a treasure trove of unique life and people that Noriaralyn had spent nearly two weeks exploring with relish. What she did not expect to see or hear in her wanderings was the sound of crying. The elf’s long ears perked and flicked as she stopped still to pinpoint the source. Some nearby bushes… She walked over as the wailing grew louder, carefully tugging aside the leaves as the crying suddenly halted. The kaldorei found herself staring into the eyes of an infant, a baby dwarf. Pudgy fingers reached out curiously at the deep purple skin and bright green hair of the face staring into hers as Nori reached out to gingerly pick up the baby.

“Aww… Hello, little one… Why are you here all alone? Where are your parents?" The infant's wails quieted as Nori lifted her out of the bush, brushing some stray leaves off of her.

6.

Ssathera's vision slowly returned. Faded sunlight dappled the surface of the water above her, in her escape she must have thrown herself into the icy river. The ghouls hissed and growled at the water's edge, peering through the murky depths but unwilling to venture in. She let herself sink deeper to hide from them, the naga's gills happy to breathe water oncemore. Still, the chill only made the pain of her myriad bleeding scratches that much worse. Her scales had been torn away where the abomination's hook had landed, and her blue blood seeped into the water.

She felt fear far more chilling than the frigid depths rise in her breast, a tremble in her tail and fins. She should go back. She had sworn to fight and die with her kin and the blood elves. Her sisters, her allies, her friends. But how many had been cut down? She was one siren, what could she do? No, she had to go back, she couldn’t run! Her tail began to beat, propelling her through the water. Away from the battle. Try as she might, she could not fight her cowardice.

7.

The drow’s gaze flitted between Shadowheart and the imposing form of the Nightsong. The two shared unspoken words and Taliira turned to focus on Shadowheart. “I think you should do as your heart tells you to.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “Come now. You must have thoughts on this, -Selunite-.” She spat out the word with all the contempt she could muster. Her hand trembled. She needed Taliira to try to sway her, to fight her and give her the resolve to do what Lady Shar commanded. She needed the drow to prove her doubts right, to prove that she was just a lapdog for Selune that would try to turn her from her faith. If she wasn’t, then she didn’t know what to do with the doubt that swelled in her. If the doubt wasn’t subterfuge from Taliira, where did it come from?