#the first rule of the weave is not to talk about the weave

[vyncentevelyn]

I am Jack’s Netherese Orb.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖��️ - Rin T.

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[avelera]

Okay so I recently got low-key obsessed with Jayvik and I’ve been liking your posts about them (top tier analysis btw). Anyway I’m curious about your opinions on a couple of things:

If Jayce’s love language is physical touch, what do you think Viktor’s love language is?

What do you think the Anomaly actually is? My headcanon is that it’s caused by all the paradoxes/timelines that Mad Wizard Viktor keeps making, but idk why it would only be under the Hexgates.

Hmm, when taking into account that the love languages thing is basically horoscopes for real people, but they may have informed how the characters were written, I'd say:

1 ) I completely agree that Jayce's love language is physical touch. That much is obvious.

Viktor's love language is Quality Time - that would explain why he starts getting irritated and hurt with Jayce near the end of S1 and why he's so moved and touched by them solving equations and spending time together pre-time skip. Actually, so much of Viktor's attitude towards Jayce is explained by him seeing Quality Time as a love language it's actually making me a bit dizzy, I need to think about this a lot more because I think this might have cracked something for me...

2 ) Hoooo boy, I actually have an answer for what the Anomaly is in my mind, but it's a lot less character driven and a more metaphysics driven because I was feral about Arcane S1 before I had anyone else to talk to about it online and I've spent a lot of time thinking about Hextech and Shimmer. OK, here goes:

Hextech is an axiomatic (lawful) channeling of forces of nature, namely magic. However, magic to stay pure and reliable requires an anarchic (chaotic) AND the axiomatic (lawful) balancing act for each use of its power if it's to stay "pure" and reliable. Otherwise, you invite chaos in. Namely, the Anomaly.

In addition, every use of magic/the Arcane puts off a certain amount of "car exhaust" for every use, this allows it from a Doylist perspective to be a climate change metaphor but it does go deeper than that and follows its own magical rules. If you look closely, overuse of Hextech always puts off smoke. Early uses don't do so as much, though. In my opinion, each puff of that "smoke" adds to a potential Anomaly.

Now if you're good at magic, and skilled with it, say if you're good mage, as seen with The Mage / Viktor in 1.02, you make a point of scooping up up all the exhaust from any use of rune magic and pouring it back into the spell.

Look at how the mage scoops up all the exhaust coming out of the spell here and weaves it back into the spell!

Hextech doesn't bother to do that! Because Jayce doesn't fundamentally understand that advanced level of magic! He just keeps calling on its energy without dealing with the output of smoke/chaos/Anomaly fumes so it's just hanging in the air.

By the way, all the smoke in Arcane is hand animated so to my eyes, all smoke actually matters. I'm actually a little bummed that S2 didn't go deeper into explaining the smoke that comes off of some uses of the Arcane but not others but I'm assuming they'll delve more into in future shows because The Arcane Is Awake Now, thanks to my brilliant science boy dipshits.

The cleanest, clearest use of Hextech we ever see is the first time the science boys use it to float:

I draw a few conclusions from this:

1 ) The first hit is always free - first time you use magic, magic is happy to help you out! It will do the thing you ask! No consequences!

2 ) Magic gets more and more angry the more times you use it. Actually, by the time we get to Vi using the Atlas Gauntlets repeatedly in S2, there's a little puff of smoke every. time. she uses. them.

3 ) Magic requires some balance. Breaking a window before it let the boys float? Cool, that's balance. But if you just have it doing the same constructive motion over and over, like sending out airships, but you don't let it break some things too? It gets annoyed.

4 ) If it doesn't get applied in a balanced way, magic/the Arcane gets mad. Ekko compared the Arcane's frustration to a sigh. That smoke? Is the sigh. Again, first time you use Hextech, magic which is at least semi-sentient, is MORE than happy to help! The more you keep demanding repeated axiomatic actions, the more it sighs in anger.

Then we get to the crux of your question: what is the Anomaly?

The Anomaly built up at the base of a tower stuffed full with polished, axiomatic, reinforced Hexgems that do one constructive task over and over and over again all day, every day: safely send ships from one place to another.

The Anomaly builds up from the frustration of not allowing magic to be free. Jayce is an axiomatic thinker, he sees magic as a tool, not as a force of nature, so he's been channeling it super precisely and not scooping up all that extra exhaust and channeling it back into the magic and that means it builds up this... pearl of an Anomaly which is all this wild magic with tons of chaotic potential that can do basically anything, including time and dimensional travel but it's gonna be super weird about it.

Soooo... thanks for giving me the chance to yell about Hextech, hope that was sort of what you had in mind!

[ddarker-dreams]

yan aventurine stresses choice and consequence.

you aren't given set parameters to work with. who you can talk to, for how long, and what about — these are variables you must parse out yourself. rules can be contorted, they're the ideal fabric for weaving loopholes. understanding is the first key to undoing. you're able to operate at your own discretion, unobstructed from the many obstacles he could easily dole out.

it's up to you to gauge risk and reward.

you can unlock the door to the quarters you share with him. yes, there are IPC grunts on the other side, but they're like statues, remaining immobile as you flit about. corridors respond to your biometrics and unseal, granting you easy access. his approach is decidedly laissez-faire. he wants to see what you'll do, how you'll go about undermining him. will you bet it all on one daring escape? or will you bide your time, concocting an elaborate web of little schemes meant to ensnare him?

the endless possibilities excite him.

for you, it's far less fun.

aventurine never outright says you can't leave. should you work up the courage to ask, his answer is enigmatic and induces dread, encapsulating the theme that'll go on to shape your foreseeable future:

"you can do whatever you want," he says. then, resting his chin atop his steepled fingers, he adds, "but so can i."

you don't get it until you amass some experience.

flirt with the waiter serving you dinner to try and needle at him, he won't interrupt. steal evidence that incriminates the IPC and begin a dialogue with a journalist, his internet access is all yours. kiss him while waiting for the chance to use a knife concealed on your person, he'll act like he never saw you swipe it.

the next time you play roulette with aventurine, he later reveals the number you chose went on to decide how many hours that waiter has left to live. the day you collect all your evidence, you'll find him playing with the USB, fully willing to hand it over... if you don't mind the IPC obliterating the publisher you've been contacting. aim for his heart with your hidden blade and he'll pin you, along with the hand holding it, to the wall whilst never parting from your lips.

he meant it when he said do what you want. still, don't mistake a lack of explicitly established rules for total impunity. rules might impede you, but they lend a degree of consistency. you know what to expect, how the punishment fits the 'crime.'

without them, though, every choice has never been such a gamble.

[am-i-interrupting]

Making Self Deprecating Jokes Around Them

For @aliceneedsphalis

Alastor

Before you got together, he’d chuckle at the jokes but as he started to care about you the laughter would begin to fade.

He’d begin to ask the question, “Who made you think of yourself this way?”

If you could give him the name of people, expect them to be gone when he “crosses paths” with them.

It’s completely unrelated to what you revealed, he promises.

No, no, he just happened to stumble upon them acting a fool and decided to set them straight is all.

It wasn’t until you got together that he started to refute your “jokes.”

The first time he gave a gentle flick to the back of your head, you turned to him gobsmacked.

“Why did you do that?!” “I have rules, my dear, and one of those is to not let the object of my affections talk bad about themselves.”

At some point, you just expect it.

On occasion, you’ll say something and expect it only to not get it.

“What are you doing?” “I’m waiting on you to flick the back of my head.” “Why is that? I do have a sense of humor.”

He’ll wait until you let your guard down and then flick your head as he walks by. It’s no fun if you know it’s coming.

He does try to build your confidence though.

Randomly he’ll pop into your room with a list, a list of all the negative things you’ve said about yourself.

He’ll hold you in front of a mirror and make you look at both yourself and him as he praises what you’ve unconsciously revealed you dislike.

He doesn’t hold back his amusement as he watches you squirm.

Husk

He lets you make the jokes even if he doesn’t like them.

He’s not going to laugh. He barely even reacts.

One day though, he’ll let slip how he feels.

“Do you really think it’s funny, hating yourself? Because I don’t. You cope however you need to. I’m not going to blame you for that but it hurts to see someone I care about so much treat themself so badly.”

He might team up with Charlie or Hell, even Rosie to try to figure out a way to change your coping though.

It’s not overt but more so an offering of different ways for you to cope instead. Giving you more options than the one you have even if you still fall to the crutch.

He’s not one who’s too much of a fan of PDA, much less words of affirmation in public.

In private though, he’s constantly building you up.

He whispers how beautiful, funny, insightful, and strong he thinks you are.

He’ll be half asleep and playing with your hair, watching it weave through his claws, as he looks at you with pupils so blown they take over all the color and go on about how lucky he is to have you.

Rosie

“Now why would ya say that about yourself, hon?” is what she asks the first time you make a joke of that kind.

She wants to help you get to the root of your problems.

She’s going to subtly break into your walls and get the damn to break that holds all the secrets to why you feel this way.

She may or may not give Alastor some names if she hears them.

She might get some kind of positivity train going.

One day you just get a bunch of letters and gifts from friends that explain how much they appreciate and care for you. When you wonder aloud if there’s any special occasion you missed, Rosie just shrugs.

She is a bragger by nature, I believe, but she’d take care to make sure you were in ear shot if she could when she starts bragging about you.

She wants you to know how much she truly cares and appreciates you.

She’ll let everyone else know in the process though.

Vox

This man did not give a single flying fuck about how you saw yourself until he started caring about you in an intimate way.

It’s not that it didn’t bother him before but it didn’t bother him enough for him to make time to do something about it.

He’s a busy man and he’s used to being surrounded by people (*cough cough* Valentino *cough cough*) who will talk his ears off about their problems that he doesn’t actually care about.

He’s not just going to make you spill why you see yourself the way you do without a good enough reason.

He might even laugh at some.

He is a nervous/uncomfortable laughs though so just because he laughs doesn’t mean he finds it funny.

Even when you start dating, he’s not going to ask you why. He’s just going to listen to you ramble about your life and death and out pieces together.

Certain people he looks for on his camera and they disappear.

Aside from singing your praises and showering you with gifts though, he doesn’t really know what to do.

[byechristopher]

in for it | pt. 2

– CHRIS STURNIOLO ANGST & SMUT.

Author's note: I am a day late, but it's here now, so.. yeah. I hope you like it, babies. There's just something I love about angsty shit happening in clubs (and then smut, smut, smut.) Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: drugs, alcohol, smoking, SMUT towards the end. Minors dni.

⠀⠀

"I don’t wanna go there." I was moody, and you could hear it in my voice.

"Girl. You can’t stay in the house forever." My friend’s voice was gentle but firm, the way only she could be with me. I sighed, dragging out the sound for emphasis, but inside, I knew I wanted to go.

Because just the possibility that he might be there was enough to make my heart race, enough to make me feel that delicious burn of wanting something I shouldn't. Chris. My guilty pleasure, my weakness, the one who’d spent time dancing through my thoughts, uninvited but never unwelcome.

"Fine," I mumbled, grabbing my purse and checking myself one last time in the mirror.

As soon as we stepped into the club, the beat hit me first — a pulsing rhythm that synced with the energy in the air, lights flashing in sync to every beat drop. I followed my friends through the crowd, my eyes scanning the faces, all the while pretending I wasn’t looking for him.

But I was.

And then, there he was.

Chris stood across the room, leaning against the bar, laughing with a few friends. He looked exactly the way I remembered, maybe even better — soft curls falling just right, that signature smirk on his face. He hadn’t seen me yet, so I took in the moment, feeling my pulse quicken as I watched him, letting the thrill take over.

I kept my gaze on him, half-hidden behind the crowd, hoping he'd look my way. The music thumped, people laughed and moved around me, but my eyes stayed locked on him. And then, almost as if he could feel my stare, Chris glanced in my direction.

For a split second, his eyes met mine. A spark flickered in his expression —recognition, maybe surprise, and my heart stopped. But just as quickly, he looked away, turning back to his friends like he hadn’t seen me at all. The sting of disappointment settled heavy in my chest.

I tried to remind myself why he wouldn’t approach me. The last time we’d spoken, I’d told him I didn't trust him anymore, that we couldn’t keep seeing each other. That it was better if we didn’t speak again. I’d meant it.. mostly.

But right now, standing here, with him only a few feet away, it didn’t feel like something I wanted to stick to. Not tonight.

My friends were chatting away, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I let out a slow breath, glancing toward the bar where he was standing. If he wasn’t going to make the first move, maybe I’d have to. I wasn’t leaving this club without talking to him, even if it meant breaking the rules I’d set myself.

I took a step forward, maneuvering through the crowd, weaving around people until I was close enough to feel his presence. I could almost smell his cologne, and the familiar rush came over me, a cocktail of excitement and nerves.

This time, he couldn’t pretend not to see me. And I wasn’t going anywhere until he acknowledged I was here.

I was only a few feet away when Chris finally turned, and his gaze caught mine again. His face tightened, and something bitter flashed in his eyes as he turned his back to his friends.

"You sure you wanna be seen with me? Just sold drugs to the entire club." His voice was low, edged with sarcasm as he leaned back against the bar, crossing his arms. "You've got some nerve coming here."

His words stung, but I held my ground, refusing to let his attitude push me back. This was Chris — cutting, sharp-tongued, and sassy, especially when he was upset. I had to remind myself that he was hurt too, though he'd rather burn than admit it.

"Maybe I changed my mind," I replied, my voice steady.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as if my response was exactly what he’d expected. "Right. Of course you did." He took a sip from his drink, his gaze drifting away, pretending I was just another girl in the crowd, even though I knew better.

The tension between us was palpable, and I couldn’t stop myself from taking another step closer. "Are you really going to keep ignoring me all night?"

He looked back, eyebrow raised. "You seemed very talented at ignoring me for two fucking weeks. Thought maybe I’d try it out."

That hit deep, and he knew it, his smirk twisting with a flash of satisfaction. But beneath the anger in his eyes, there was something else, something softer that he tried to bury.

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to snap back, to throw all the things I’d been holding in since our last fight. Instead, I softened my tone. "Chris… we need to talk. Really talk. You know it, too."

He watched me carefully, the smirk fading, and for a moment, I thought he might give in. But then he shrugged, forcing a chuckle that was anything but amused.

"Talk, huh? Now you wanna talk? Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head. But his voice had lost some of its edge. He set his drink down, his jaw tight as he looked at me like I was both a temptation and a challenge. "Fine. Let’s hear it. What do you have to say that’s so important you had to show up here tonight?"

I felt a glimmer of relief but swallowed it down, knowing this was just the beginning.

I took a shaky breath, steadying myself under his unyielding gaze. "Last time... things got intense, Chris. I didn’t know what to do. I got scared." My voice was softer now, almost drowned out by the music, but I knew he heard every word.

He let out a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Scared, huh?" He glanced away, his jaw clenching as he processed my words. "Got scared, accused me of forcing you take the drug. Well, that's convenient, isn’t it? You get scared, you accuse, you run."

"Don’t twist this," I said, feeling a spark of defensiveness flare up. "You know it wasn’t that simple."

He looked back at me, eyes narrowed. "Oh, really? You accuse me of fucking drugging you, you ignore me, then show up out of nowhere and expect me to just… what, forget it? Be grateful that you suddenly changed your fucking mind?"

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his bitterness. "Chris, I didn’t walk away because I wanted to hurt you. I walked away because everything was too much for me.."

He gave me a pointed look, lips pressed in a tight line. "Too much? What was too much?" He called me by my name – things were serious.

My cheeks flushed, but I pushed on. "Everything.. I saw you selling drugs.. we took pills, it was just.. too much."

He shook his head, and for a second, the anger in his eyes wavered, revealing a glimmer of hurt. "You chose to come here, you wanted to see what I do. You wanted to feel the thrill. And once you did, you threw me away."

His words hung heavy between us, sharp and raw. I bit my lip, "Chris… that’s not what I meant to do at all."

"What did you mean, then? What was I to you?"

"You’re—" I stopped, the words catching in my throat. He raised an eyebrow, his stare unrelenting.

"I’m what? Go ahead, say it," he challenged, his voice quieter now but still sharp. "Because last time really seemed like whatever I was to you didn’t mean much if you could just walk away like that."

I took a step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of pain in his eyes. "You meant everything. That was the problem. It scared me, Chris. You… you scare me."

He opened his mouth, then stopped, as if my words had stunned him. A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "Scare you? I'd protect you at all costs. I wouldn't give you anything that wasn't light."

His sarcasm stung, but I didn’t back down. "I know.. I just.. needed time to realise, Chris. I know all of this is dangerous.. but I want you."

For a moment, the tension softened, the anger in his eyes flickering into something else. But then he hardened again, his voice icy. "So, what? You’re here now because you’ve figured it all out? Because you’ve decided I’m worth the risk?"

I could see through his bravado, the way his strong front was just barely hiding the hurt underneath. And for once, I didn’t let him push me away.

"Yes," I said, meeting his gaze with steady determination. "I’m here because I’m done hiding from what I feel. I want you, Chris. I never stopped wanting you."

He looked away, running a hand down his face, caught between anger and something else. "Well, congratulations," he muttered, but his voice was softer, less biting. "Must be nice to have all the answers."

I took another step forward, my hand grazing his arm, and I could feel the tension in his muscles. "I don’t have all the answers. I’m just trying, okay?"

For a long, painful second, he stared down at me, silent. Finally, he sighed, the fight slowly leaving his stance. His voice got quieter. "I don’t know if I can handle you just… leaving."

"Then don’t let me," I whispered, my hand slipping down to his, hoping he’d understand.

He looked down at our hands, and his grip tightened ever so slightly, as if he wanted to hold on but was still unsure. The anger, the bitterness — it was all there, but so was the longing. And for the first time, I felt him let go just enough to meet me halfway.

"I want you. I want to try everything with you. I am sorry I made you sound like the bad guy." I said, my lips only a few inches away from his now.

"I want you." He whispered on my lips but it was enough for me to hear, pressing my lips against his. I could taste cigarettes and alcohol but I didn't mind. On the contrary, I loved the mix of his taste and all that shit.

His friends were long gone as we deepened the kiss, his hand slipping down from my back to my ass. He squeezed it, his tongue invading my mouth as if it was his. Or maybe it was his, at this point.

"You're mine. Don't you walk away from me ever again." He mumbled in my ear and gave my earlobe a lick, I shuddered, "no more excuses."

"No more excuses. I know what I want." I said and he grabbed my hand, leading me to somewhere only he knew.

"Let's go to the VIP corner. No one will bother us there." He said and I followed.

The next few minutes found as at the VIP cornern indeed, my back pressed against his chest, ass rubbing against his crotch as he wrapped his big arms around my waist.

"Do you really trust me?" He said against my neck from behind, biting down on the soft pale skin.

"Yes." I breathed out without a second thought.

He turned us around so I was facing the wall, his back turned to the people around us and chest still pressed against my back – he rubbed my thigh, his hand slowly riding my skirt up. His middle finger found my clit through my lace panties, I let out a moan, not caring if anyone could hear me or not. He started rubbing it, slow at first, then speeding up.

"Pull your top down for me. I wanna see your tits." He said and I felt myself getting even more wet. I did as he ordered, pulling my strapless top down, my chest now put for him to see. If anyone were to turn us around, they'd see everything. And that made me crazy.

His soft curls tickled my cheek as he kissed my neck. He grabbed my tit with his free hand, squeezing it and teasing my nipple, his other hand pushed the panties aside and pinched my clit, making me shout.

"That's for ignoring me for so long." He licked my earlobe.

He slapped my pussy and and I moaned again, "That's for even thinking that I'd do anything to hurt you."

With his finger, he smeared my juices around and unexpectedly shoved it inside of me, making me moan, "and that's for making me think you didn't want me anymore.." he groaned and fucked me with his finger, soon adding another one, "..for making me think you found someone else already.. " he slapped my tit and spread me open with his fingers, "..because you're mine. Only."

"Only yours."

⠀⠀

[jaytalking]

Spoilers for the fop: a new wish ending.

TW for vague-ish allusions to child abuse/neglect

(I've never written for Tumblr before. Go easy on me.)

----

His interrogator is a child.

Timmy had started to think today was just not his day somewhere in between "coming home from vacation to an invaded Fairy World" and "Being captured by anti-fairies minutes away from the chip and tied to a chair with iron chains". Dale Dimmadone and fucking Foop (Irep. Oh who cares.) of all people being his captors had been the confirmation.

Now there's a child with sunglasses scowling at him, and he's just bracing himself for whatever this damn day throws at him next.

"Why didn't you talk?"

Timmy considers the question for about 5 seconds before deciding he doesn't care enough to weave a lie.

"Fairies can't break the rules, not directly. It applies to revealing secrets too, not my fault they couldn't figure it out."

"But you're not a fairy, the nets didn't work on you, only iron seems to have some kind of effect."

He gives the kid a wry smile. "Burning sting" was definitely An effect.

"Not that hard to figure out; once-human, means exactly what you think it means. So yeah, Maybe I just don't want to give that idiot answers, considered that?"

The kid gives him an angry look, Timmy just raises an eyebrow.

"Don't call my dad an idiot. Do you even know who he is? He seemed to know you, that's for sure."

"Did he ever tell you about a lemonade factory? I pulled him out of there, I knew THAT Dale. Whoever the golden-toothed asshole outside is he's not anyone I care to know, that's for sure."

The kid looks somehow angrier, Timmy continues undeterred.

"I do want to know your name at least, I'm getting tired of calling you "kid" in my head."

"You first."

"Smart. It's Timmy, Timmy T-... Fairywinkle-Cosma."

He's not surprised to feel a spark of recognition from the kid, the sunglasses hide his face but for the average fairy any emotion, especially a kid's, is as visible as ever. What he IS surprised to see is a curl of dread.

"Dev. Dev Dimmadone- why don't you just give up? We've got all the fairies under nets, the chip is gone so they can't do magic anyways, and you're in chains with no way to escape. Dad even offered you-"

"There's nothing he could offer that would make me give up on my family."

There's... a picture, that's starting to be painted in Timmy's mind, and he doesn't like one bit of it; Dev must be the kid Irep used to accomplish this plan, there's no other explanation for the kid being here and knowing so much about fairies otherwise. Dev is a Godkid. Dev is Peri's Godkid-

"What about letting your family go? Would that be enough?"

"... You don't know anything, do you?"

He might have put too much venom in those words by the way the kid visibly flinches and goes silent, but in that moment he doesn't care.

"Do you know what happens when a fairy doesn't grant wishes? Their magic begins to build up, bit by bit- it gets harder to breathe, to do anything without feeling absolutely horrible- and then they're gone, just like that. Without the Big Wand, without the ability to grant wishes, that's what awaits all of them- all of US. Your dad is a short-sighted idiot who doesn't realise I'm not exempt from this- so even if I did tell him how to become like me, he'd have the exact same fate. We'd both be dead and the Anti-fairies would have a grand ol' laugh about it."

"Irep-"

"Irep doesn't care about you. I don't give a damn what he told you, but it's obvious he kept you in the dark about basically all of this and now he's off to do the same to Dale. You need to accept you've been used, kid."

Dev is quiet, eyes fixed on the floor. Timmy's anger deflates slightly; the true mastermind here is Irep, he should reserve his anger for him, not for the kid he strung along.

"... He told me it would make him proud."

The question leaves his mouth before his mind can process it.

"Would that be enough? To justify all of this?"

Something has snapped, an echo of the ignored child who wished so badly his parents would pay more attention and was called selfish for it, who lashed out and wanted more, more, and more to fill a bottomless hole in his heart, felt vindicated when the truth was made evident: that love and attention is not a damn privilege, it's the right of any child.

"It wouldn't, and it wouldn't last for long. You know this, we both know this."

Dev is shaking. Timmy clams his mouth shut. He's shaking and his grip on the iron key is tight.

"There's no way they'll forgive me."

And he has to laugh at that, a short burst cut off by the pain of the chains moving and reaching new skin.

"That's the worst part- they always do. And before you even realise you're in the wrong."

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns.

Next chapter

When Dr Gaul suggested Coriolanus return to compete his officer training, he was mortified. But she had made a valid point about his presidential future.

A man who served his country was easier to sell than a spoilt rich boy who deserted his post.

She would bring him back for the lavish parties and important ceremonies to shake hands with the right people. They all told him what a fine young man he had become. Following his fathers footsteps, despite his down fall.

He would smile and tell them it was an honor to serve Panem. An honor to fill the shoes of Commander Hoff and restore order to district 12.

Commander Hoff had been killed by rebels. A bomb went off during a hanging, hidden under the floor boards and trigged by flex of the rope. Commander Hoff had been standing directly above it and left district 12 with a dire need for a leader.

Coriolanus had only started to settle back into capital life. Before he was torn from his riches and thrown back into the dirt.

He was still bitter about returning, but his opponent, Augustus Bloom, for the presidential run was highly well known, and a few years older then him. He was a well established business man, and Coriolanus still had a school boy image.

Still, as Dr Gaul reminded him, Augustus had only known the spoils of war. Which made him fine company for dinner, but for a leader of Panem people would be looking for a man who would not shrink in the face of violence. A man who kept the scum of the districts at bay.

When President Ravinstill finally breathed his last breath Panem would be looking for a new leader and Coriolanus wanted to be the only one they turned to. With Dr Gaul's help it was a possible goal.

The first thing he did as commander was out up a electric fence around the district so there was no chance of lucy-grey returning or her covey sneaking out to help her with supplies.

He ruled district 12 with a harsh fist. It was good practice for when he would rule Panem. He experimented with ways to control people. He found that the best way was the hardest.

Fear was a great oppressant but also a great motivator. He had to balance it with small pockets of relent. The tiger won't bite you if you don't pull it's tail.

Keep in line, and the Capital would provide for basic needs. Coriolanus knew first hand what people would turn into when their basic needs were not met. So feed them, clothe them, offer the occasional entertainment to distract them from their miserable existence.

It would keep the majority at bay. And for those who knew better than to be lulled into compliancy, cruelty would be unleased into the district. Food shipments cancelled, mandatory public executions, Peacekeepers given free rein to take what they liked and flog anyone who protested. The people of district 12 would grow to hate rebels.

However, his tyrannical rule left him isolated from his army. The men kept out of Coriolanus way. Even those directly below him offered no familiar way of talking.

Only in his weekly call with Tigress and Grandma'am could he talk about something other than strategy.

He took to walks on sunny days to break up his day between work and sleep. Most of the men in his camp had taken to the district looking for their fun. Coriolanus wasn't invited out.

So he walked around the facility. Weaving through the large buildings and metrically kept gardens.

He was just about to head back to his apartment and settle himself down with documents awaiting approval when he heard quite yelling and whispers coming from the prison windows.

It was located at the far end, hidden between a tall brick wall and link fence.

He pressed himself to the wall.

"here! Here!" he could hear the quiet demands.

A traitor was interfering with Capital business. Coriolanus would make sure this rebel would met a fate worse than those imprisoned.

He peaks from behind wall not to see a ill fed man who dreams bigger than his station but a women overcome with compassion.

You're standing up on your tippy toes on the prison cell window. A basket over your elbow while your hand clung to the cell bars to keep you up. You were passing oat squares from your basket to blind hungry hands.

You had an air of vulnerability about you. A doe eyed looked that invited predators. Come eat me you seemed to cry. Coriolanus planned to do exactly that.

he walks over, trending lightly so he made no noise and picked you up by the waist, putting you down on the ground.

You stilled underneath his touch, frozen from fear. You slowly turned to see who's chest was touching your shoulder to see Coriolanus, the Commander of district 12.

You looked like Tigress had during the war. A quite braveness about you shun in your eyes. A willingness to do anything to protect those who you held dear.

Coriolanus had wanted to invite you back to his office where he would offer you a drink, and inquire about you.

But you had taken off before he could part his lips. Ran back to the broken linked corner of the fence and pulled your body along the ground and through the metal. You had dropped your basket at his feet and he kicked it as he ran.

He chased after you, grabbing your ankle and pulling you back towards him.

"Wait!" he implored. Something about you drew him to you.

It could have been his desire to protect Tigress all those years ago. Tigress had looked after him all his life and he had a large debt that he only started to pay back. Part of him held on to the disgust that he had failed her for so many years. You had the same loyalty as her, he could tell. Perhaps you could play a role in healing history.

Or perhaps it was your evident kindness that he wanted to trap like a butterfly. District life here was cold and lonely. He longed to be looked after like he was back home. He was a great and powerful man but with no one dotting on him he felt no better than a lowly peacekeeper. At least they had each other. Commander Snow had no one but his reflection to boast praise upon him.

Maybe it was a mixture of the two.

Your cry out as the sharp metal dug into you as he pulled you back through it. It was enough for him to release you. If you were hurt that's all you would be able to focus on. For all one knows, it might be all he would be able to focus on.

He stood up and watched you flee in the distance until not even a shadow of you could be seen. He committed your image to his memory, picked up your basket and walked to the entrance of the prison where the clueless peacekeepers standing guard greeted him.

He sent two to fix the hole in the fence, and demanded one other to bring him the prisoners facing the west wall one by one.

Hours of interrogation later and Coriolanus gave up hope that one of the prisoners actually knew you.

Some could describe you from what they saw but that was no good to him. He already burned you into his brain.

----------

Instead he issued mandatory vaccines. Sections were given time allotments to avoid overcrowding so he didn't miss you amongst the people and secondly so he knew which part of town you resided in.

It must have been the outer part as it was late afternoon of standing between each line for Coriolanus before he could finally see you in line. He had taken to eaten the rest of the oat bars in the basket after a nightfall of interrogation. Sat at his dinning room table in nothing but his underwear and devoured the small bars.

With acknowledgement that your resources were limited, they were quite good. Even after he was full he kept eating, hating the idea that anyone but him would taste or touch your cooking. You cooked with love he could taste it.

It reminded him of Tigress fried potato. She would always leave the best pieces for him. He imaged you both would be good friend's. Bonding over Coriolanus.

Despite his romanticizing of you last night, he didn't move, choosing to act as if he had forgotten you.

You had not forgotten him. You kept your head down, wore different clothes than yesterday and a scarf covered your hair.

You didn't really have much of a choice. peacekeepers were searching each house and surrounding areas to ensure all members were present. You also needed your vaccine booklet stamped. One missing stamp meant serious trouble.

He tried not to be obvious as he watched you get your vaccine. you moved quicker then the rest, rushing to the back as soon as your book was stamped.

He reached under one of the covered desks to retrieve your basket and followed pursuit.

He followed you as you moved through the people. Several peacekeepers had been instructed to help herd the women Coriolanus followed into a nearby ally way.

You attempted to turn right through the buildings but a Peacekeeper appeared out of thin air. You retracted froward but a looming peacekeeper at the gate squared his body to you.

You took of running to the right were another peacekeeper pushed his way through the crowd to you. You turned back to see Coriolanus walking through parted people. You see the ally and make way for it.

The plan had worked perfectly, and he nodded to the Peacekeeper still making his way through the crowd to say your work is done.

He sees you banging against the gate he had locked, trying to shove it open.

He fiddled with basket under his hand. Rubbing his thumb up and down the threaded wood as he made his way towards you.

You turn around to face him upon hearing his footsteps. You weren't sure if you were backed into a corner or if your body moved itself.

"You forget your basket yesterday" he held it out towards you but you didn't accept it.

"It ain't mine" you reply. You eyes don't even look at it. Keeping them on your shoes.

"So if i was to arrest you until the DNA testing came back on it you wouldn't mind?". He could feel your body tense.

"There ain't no rule that we can't feed em'".

A confession so quickly. Yet you still refuse to look at him.

"There is a rule about associating with rebels".

He steps closer, his shoulders lean forward almost over you.

'i was just feeding. Not associating".

Coriolanus sucks his teeth. He would feel almost disappointed having given the basket back. He would like to keep a piece of you.

"I could hang you for this, or..."

Your eyes flick to his. There was a lightness in them that you weren’t expecting.

“Or we could keep this to ourselves” he leans in close to whisper. You could feel his soft breath on your cheek, “our little secret”.

He swings the basket just outside of your hand. You reach for it but he swings it back.

“It would make us partners in crime” he warns.

He was playing. His eyebrows raised in a playful way and a slight smirk played on his lips.

You didn’t share in this playfulness. Too many of your friends had been killed by peacekeepers to find any of them amusing.

“What do you want from me?” you ask. Your eyes still at his. He saw the same fire for survival as his.

Coriolanus steps back from you allowing some distance.

“I want to help you” he swings the basket into your hand, “will you let me?”

You don’t answer. Just yank the basket away from him and turned to run out back from the ally. Taking the opportunity of him being back from you.

You turn as you wedge yourself back into the steam of people to see Coriolanus watching you as you as you try and disappear.

You knew it wouldn’t be the last time you saw the Commander.

You run home with a peacekeeper tailing you. Or at least when the basket of food appeared on your doorstep the next morning that's what you assumed.

[theotherdragomirgirl]

ELIA OF DORNE and ANDROMACHE OF TROY

I have long wanted to write this meta of sorts, because if there is one mythological woman Elia Nymeros Martell has always reminded me of, it's Princess Andromache of Troy (or Andromache of Cilician Thebe).

In Greek mythology, Andromache was the wife of Trojan Prince Hector, daughter of King Eetion, and sister to Podes. She was born and raised in the city of Cilician Thebe, over which her father ruled.

Following the Trojan War, after Achilles has killed Hector and Troy is being captured and sacked by the Greeks, her son by Hector, named Astyanax (born Scamandrius) was murdered by being thrown off the city walls. His killer, Neoptolemus, son of the mythical warrior Achilles, then took Andromache as his concubine. By him, she was the mother of Molossus, Pielus, Pergamus and Amphialus.

The world of ancient Greek Mythology mostly does not sees rape of women conquered in war as rape at all, and yet, King Priam of Troy, father in law of Andromache, himself talks of the mass rape that will happen should Troy fall.

In Iliad, Andromache is portrayed as the perfect wife, weaving a cloak for her husband in the innermost chambers of the house and preparing a bath in anticipation of his return from battle. Just as Princess Elia is said to be "a good woman, kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit", enough so that even her melancholic prince, who even by accounts of those who admired him most, did not have it in himself to be happy, grew "very fond of her".

Just like Andromache represents the injustice done to the women of Troy, to women of war torn lands in general, Elia represents the injustice done to women in King's Landing during the sack of the city.

Andromache and Elia are both widows of Crown Princes when their cities are sacked, but that doesn't save them from gruesome fates. If anything, being married to the dead heir to the throne dooms them too. One to a lifetime of misery, the other to an unbelievably horrific death.

We first learn about Elia through Daenerys, as she imagines the fall of the Targaryen dynasty:

"Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword."

Daenerys' description of the sack, and what happened to Elia and the rest of the Targaryen royals during it, is very similar to what befell Andromache. Her son was ripped from her arms, and murdered before her eyes, while her father-in-law was murdered by the invading forces. Elia and Andromache's role as mother, a fundamental element of their position in marriage, is emphasized within the text of their respective tales.

Following the murders of their sons (and daughter also, in Elia's case) both women are subjected to aggravated rape. Andromache is made a sex slave, and Elia is raped to death.

Both women had their family entirely stripped from them by the violence of war, making them fulfill the fate of conquered women in ancient warfare.

Both are wives of admired, beloved crown princes seen as the hope and future of their dynasty. And later, widows.

Both loose everything due to their husbands dying in war at the hands of a great warrior. Robert of House Baratheon, in case of Elia. And Achilles, in case of Andromache.

The so-called (or so-perceived) "good guys" of the stories victimize Elia and Andromache, or outright benefit from their victimization.

In some versions, it is Odysseus who kills Andromache's infant son, and then takes her mother-in-law, Hecuba, as his war prize.

Robert Baratheon had a just cause to rise against the man literally named "the mad king", but he defiles the justness of his own cause by walking to his throne of swords over the brutalized dead bodies of Elia and her children (Princess Rhaenys, not even three years old, stabbed half a hundred times, infant Aegon bashed into a bloody pulp against the wall, Elia raped with her son's blood and brain on her rapist's hands, then cut in half by him), calling them "dragonspawn" with disgust. Not only refusing her family justice, but actually awarding the man who orchestrated the monstrous deeds with a crown for his daughter.

Then there is their treatment by other women:

Hermione, daughter of Menelaus, king of Sparta, and his wife, Helen of Troy, wife of Andromache's captor and rapist Neoptolemus, blamed Andromache for her inability to become pregnant, claiming that she was casting spells on her to keep her barren. To the point that she asked her father to kill Andromache and her son while Neoptolemus was away at Delphi.

The same way, in text, Cersei Lannister blames Elia for her unhappiness as wife of Robert. Basically declaring that if Rhaegar had only married her, not Elia, everything and everyone would be well and happy. That it must have been madness that drove King Aerys to marry his son to the Dornish Princess.

Outside of text, we have the fandom's treatment of, and attitude towards, Elia. People who prefer Rhaegar Targaryen with Lyanna Stark, treat Elia as if she was the interloper in the marriage, and not his lawfully wedded legal wife, in eyes of both the Old Gods and the new. I have seen people outright say "fuck Elia and her children". It is honestly... Bizarre.

Andromache was famous for her fidelity and virtue. And it is safe to say Elia was both of those things too. Since even her biggest detractors, Jon Connington and Cersei Lannister, two people who wanted her husband for themselves, could not find any fault in Elia in that regard. Jon could only complain that Elia was sickly and unworthy of Rhaegar, despite the fact that she gave him two children in two years, and Cersei could only complain about Elia's breast size.

And yet, for all their amazing qualities, both women still suffered unquestionably and immensely, all for someone else's "love story".

Paris made off with Helen, and Andromache payed the price with all that she held dear.

Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna and thousands died for it. Including his innocent wife and children.

Andromache.

Elia.

Daughter

Princess

Sister

Wife

Mother

[mystardustmelodyyy]

@remotewatch HQ’s Election Countdown Day 6: Law Students

Hand to god, it began purely as an academic partnership. Splitting note-taking responsibilities and checking each other’s work, that sort of thing. Sure, Jack was absurdly pretty, but the addictive spike in positive instructor feedback after you’d been reviewing each other’s writing for a bit had much more to do with it. When you started fucking after your study sessions, then before, then doing as much as you could before the ten minute break timer went off between subject blocs, it was pretty easy to justify. Literally getting fucked to sleep six nights a week made it nigh impossible to stay up worrying about what concepts would screw you over on an exam. The more time you spent letting Jack’s tongue lave over you and the longer you let him say he needed to coax you on his fingers before stretching you out over his dick like taffy, the more you struggled to worry about much of anything.

If you had to put a date on it, Halloween was around when you realized a change was going to be necessary.

The whole night had actually been going swimmingly: an Anything But Human dress code for your friends’ potluck was by far the least contrived of the season, and you’d started designing your honeybee costume the second you got wind of it. At your request that he please select a corporeal, non political costume for one party, Jack grabbed some wire, pliers, and black yarn from your craft basket and whipped up a cat ear headband to match the first all black outfit his eyes landed on before he’d headed over.

You, on the other hand, spent the last hour leading up to the party thoroughly saturating two powder puffs in gold spray glitter for your behind the knee curbiculae, leaving him to meticulously glue gold rhinestone smatterings to the black velvet of your dress and taking care to push his head back whenever it dipped too close to the fresh E6000.

Things only started to go south when you had to bend down to draw on Jack’s whiskers with your eyeliner. His patience lasted almost long enough for you to reapply your lipstick and kiss the tip of his nose pink before one finger was curling under your swooping low, gold marabou-trimmed neckline.

“I’m glad I didn’t let you talk me into going commando with a catsuit-“ he murmured, nuzzling his nose over your chest “it would be a real problem when you look this good.”

Soon enough, your legs were hooked securely over his shoulders and any lingering stressors were steadily eroded away with each full-weighted, eyelid-fluttering thrust of Jack’s hips.

When you eventually get out the door, it’s already sunset, and the fading daylight reveals comically dense patches of your pollen glitter reaching from Jack’s shoulders clear down to his navel. That good for nothing spray adhesive hadn’t held shit in place; you’d be amazed to discover any sparkle left behind your knees the way he’s bathed in it.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! We look like a couple of perverts, and we’re late!” you frantically swat at his chest trying to clear some of the glitter, only working it deeper into the weave of his sweater.

“We’ll fit right in!”

“No, I’m serious! We really need to set some ground rules or something because this is getting ridiculous.”

✨✨✨✨✨

I’m sure you’ve all seen these by now 🤭. I know we talk a lot of the Harris Walz campaign specifically but Jack makes a good point- there are so many other candidates and propositions on your ballot that are just as important. For example, it is vital for us to secure as many GOP seats as possible. Vote.org has a great feature where you can enter your information and get a preview of your ballot to prep for when you vote for real.

Stay informed and stay mobilized, my beautiful heauxs! 👏🏽🩵💋

[lokideservesahug]

What's Better Than One Woman In Motorsports?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Susie Wolff x F1 Academy!reader

Warnings: Teensy bit suggestive at one point, one comment that has implied homophobia/sexism but it's quickly sorted out.

Notes: Haven't written in aaaages and I haven't written wlw before but I hope this is alright. It's based on this request and I really hope I did it some justice.

Summary: Women in many fields are accused of romancing their bosses to climb the ranks yet no one seems to suspect you and your boss... Well because you're both women. Which gives you the perfect opportunity to sneak around of course!

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You grin, the adrenaline from winning the race still not having worn off. You feel yet another pat on the back from your team; you worked extremely hard for this race. Abbie certainly put up a fight but with an overake that many were calling a "stroke of genius", you managed to take the lead and pass the checkered flag first. You skip towards the post race interviews and beam at the interviewer.

As the interviewer starts talking You, you glance behind them only to meet Susie's eyes. You look doen at the intensity of her gaze, you can feel her pride without her having to mutter a word. The interviewer asks a few bog standard questions and you awnser them all with a wide grin, thanking your team in the mean time. You're shortly ushered onto the podium where you see Suzie again.

You stand tall and wait for the awards to be given bit may or may not space out as Maya and Abbi are given their trophies. However, the sight of a familiar pair of eyes easily forces you back into consciousness. Susie gives you a wide grin that quickly turns into a smirk as you lower your head slightly to allow her to place the medal around your neck. Her hands linger a moment longer and you feel both your cheeks and the spot where her hands once lay grow slightly warmer.

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One of the advantages of working in F1 Academy was that you were under far less of a watchful eye than any F1 driver. And despite the fact that you'd love nothing more than to drive in F1, you couldn't complain when you manage to get away with things like this.

The sight of your girlfriend (and practically boss if you want to get into the logistics of things) greets you. Susie's back is turned to you but the smell is enough to tell you exactly what she's doing this early in the morning. You weave your arms around her waist and lean into her warmth.

"Morning." You can hear the smile in her voice and you give a small hum back, still with your face tucked into the back of her old Williams shirt. Susie shuffles slightly and turns around, wrapping you in a hug. "How did you sleep." You look up into her eyes and smile, "Quite well thank you. What about you?" Susie smiles and gives a similar awnser before breaking the brief picture of domesticity and pulling away to serve up some food for you.

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After a lovely breakfast and a long talk about the F1 season (the two of you have a no work talk rule but considering that neither of you work in F1, you can chatter all you want about about the 'crown of motorsports'), you both head into your bedroom to get changed.

"I saw this really nice beach nearby and wondered if you wanted to try it out?" You see Susie's look of contemplation at your words. Despite the fact that the two of you ought to keep a low profile and be miles apart in public, the sound of the two of you lounging round in the soft sun doesn't sound all too bad. "Where is it?" You rummage around in a drawer for your swimsuit. "About a twenty minute drive I think." You see the conflicted look in Susie's eyes and slowly walk up to her.

You take her hands in yours and put on your most persuasive face possible. "Please? It'll be fun and the moment we see anyone we can go." Susie makes a thoughtful noise and you begin to attach onto her neck, leaving open mouthed kisses up and down her jugular. "Fine. But we have to keep an eye out." You grin and swiftly wrap her in a hug.

"Thank you! This is going to be so fun." Susie just rolls her eyes at your far too happy reaction but smiles a bit at both your happiness but also the thought of the two of you getting to spend more time together in such a public-leaning setting.

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You wake up to the unfamiliar sensation of chilliness. You hear the distant mumbles of Susie's soft voice that finally string together as you become more awake. You try and open your eyes but are met by the harsh sun, outside of the window and so yoir eyes flitter closed again. The bed shifts beside you and you croak out a question to your girlfriend now lying her head on your shoulder. "What was that about?"

She rubs shapes into your side with her hand and pauses for a moment. "Well... let's just say you're in a shock when you check twitter later." Yoh go yo sit up and shoot the older woman a confused glance only for her to push you down gently. "That's not for now. Just rest for a bit longer." And who are you to ignore your gorgeous girlfriend when she all but forces you to stay in bed, cosied up to her for longer?

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Yourusername

Yourusername: Through people being conniving and myself not ever having enough 'juicy gossip', recently some have believed that they can be invasive and pry into my personal life. My love life and my life in general is not a topic for a news source or the subject of a photo, crafted without mine or my partner's consent. It is instead an invasion of something I hold so dearly to me and a show of awful character of others.

Despite what many may tell you, my relationship is neither wrong or inappropriate. The correct people are aware of it (and said there was no issue from the get go), and both my girlfriend and myself hold professionalism to the highest standard - and would never let anything interfere eith our jobs. I love Susie but I would do anything for my job, including of course following every rule to a T. I don't appreciate the speculation many of you have begun to create and I think some may need to take a step back and realise the negative impact of your words on not only the people in the sport, but also on yourselves.

I love Susie. I'm not embarrassed about it but I am sorry that the many of you only recieved conformation from someone that thought their judgement about our relationship was better than our own.

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Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

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[asha-mage]

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 that’s 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 Jordan’s 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 general–colored neither by cynicism or idealism. How Jordan works the feudal system into his world building is no exception–weaving 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 them–while still conveying themes and ideas that are, at their heart, relevant to our modern world.

So, I thought I’d talk a little bit about how he does that.

Defining the Structure

First, since we’re talking about feudal class systems, let's define what that means– what classes actually existed, how they related to each other, and how that is represented in Jordan’s world. 

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 ‘most often’, ‘usually’, and ‘in general’ are going to be doing a lot of heavy lifting. While the strata I’m 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 country–all 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. It’s 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. 

The disparity between your average medieval monarch’s 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 people’s 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 chasm–and 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 acquire–and 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 wasn’t 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 country’s 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. 

The royal family usually held power in relation to their monarch, but also at the monarch’s 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. 

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 drawn–generals, council members, envoys, etc–with some kingdoms having laws that prevented anyone not of noble descent from occupying these positions.

Beneath the nobles you get the wealthy financial class–major 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 didn’t 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, ‘work with their hands’. 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 Emond’s 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 ‘peasants’ (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 it’s 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 country’s 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 (Emond’s 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. 

It’s 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 slave’s 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 ‘peasant’ class, and so viewed as inferior.

Viewing The Wheel of Time Through This Lens

So what does all this have to do with Robert Jordan’s 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, ‘peasant’ and ‘royalty’) Jordan much more closely models real feudalism in his world. 

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 nation’s 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 realm’s 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 ‘great houses’–the only Houses in Andor besides the royal house who are strong enough that other nobles ‘follow where they lead’ 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 isn’t really a state army. Instead the monarch and the nobles all have personal armies, and while the monarch’s might be stronger than anyone else’s army, it’s never going to be stronger than everybody else’s. 

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 Dae’mar) 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 time….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 throne’s 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 Galladrin’s 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 Dreams–a direct succession is more stable, and should only be prevented in a situation where the Daughter Heir is unfit–through either incompetence or malice–to 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. Rhavin’s 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. 

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 ‘middle class’ (or as near as you can get pre-industrialization) of middling to minor merchants, business and craftsfolk, etc. Mat’s 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. 

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. It’s 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. 

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 ‘even the Queen most obey the law she makes or there is no law’ (to quote Morgase), Tairen Lords can commit murder, rape, or theft without any expectation of consequences, because the law dosen’t treat those acts as crimes when done to their ‘lessers’, 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 we’re 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 ‘get bored and go away’.

On the opposite end, you have the very very centralized Seanchan Empire as a counter example to Tear, so centralized it’s 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. It’s 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 don’t 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 Empress’s name. No one, Tuon tells us proudly, has to beg or go hungry in the Empire. But that is not without cost. 

Because for all its prosperity, Seanchan society is also incredibly rigid and controlling. One of the guiding philosophies of the Seanchan is ‘the pattern has a place for everything and everything’s place should be obvious on sight’. 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 curtailed–and 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 it–and 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 Empire’s constant cycle of expand, consolidate, assimilate, repeat–Egeanin raises that very point early on, that the Corenne would mean ‘new names given and the chance to rise high’. 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 with–the ‘near constant rebellions since the Conquest finished’ 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 da’covale enjoy incredible power and privilege in their society, but they (the Deathwatch Guard, the so’jhin, 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 punishment–which of course would have the natural effect of discouraging most da’covale from reproducing by choice until after (or if) they are emancipated–so 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. 

This keeps the enslaved population in proportion with the rest of society only because of the Empire’s 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. It’s likely the only reason the Empire’s 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 inevitable–and several characters are setting the stage for just that via the careful spreading of the truth about the sul’dam. 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 Siuan’s visit to the master seamstress. A lesser writer would not think more deeply on the matter than ‘Moiraine is nobly born so obviously she’s 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 Alkohima’. But Jordan correctly writes it as the reverse: Tamore Alkohima might not be nobly born, but she is not really a peasant either–rather 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 isn’t the right kind, might have meant the difference between eating that week or not, for a young Siuan and her father. 

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-

“Listen to me, Siuan and do not argue.” she whispered in a rush. “We 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.” “And will the bloody shoe maker tell us what kind of slippers to buy and charge us enough to buy fifty new sets of nets?” “No.” 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. “The 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.”

-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 Spring–from Moiraine’s dealing with the discretion of her banker (‘Another woman who knew well her place in the world’ 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. Moiraine’s 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 Siuan’s 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 her–common 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. 

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 that’s because they assume a wetlander King always leads by edict and command. Yet Rand’s 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 does–and when he succeeds it’s almost always a result of Moiraine or Elayne’s 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 ‘instill backbone’ 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, it’s 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 it’s offered, but never demands it. He pushes back on the notion he’s a Lord often, but only makes it a serious bone with people who hold the aristocracy in contempt. He’s 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 it’s usually a deliberate tactical choice. 

This lets him maintain strong friendships with people of all backgrounds and classes– 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 he’s 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 anyone–probably from the knowledge that they think he’s 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, it’s 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 heir’s blood relationship to the monarch or the legitimacy of their parent’s 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. 

There are three countries where we don’t 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 Moiraine’s 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 it’s 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 monarch’s favor, the ‘best’ 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 Seanchan’s point of view this is a feature not a bug: if you can’t win a civil war or prevent yourself from being assassinated, then you shouldn’t 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 it’s 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 you’ve 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 Jordan’s world however, we are told as early as The Great Hunt that the global population is steadily falling, and has been since the Hundred Years’ 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 it’s repeatedly commented on that the armies Rand puts together, some of no more than a few thousand, are larger than any ‘since Artur Hawkwing's day’), 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 won’t fall apart. 

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 Andor’s 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 ‘the bricks of the common folk’, 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). 

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 Ingtar’s 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 ‘proper’ 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 oaths–something 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. It’s 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 ‘the greatest stone quarry for a hundred miles’. 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 ‘under his charge’ slides to become ‘a nation’ then ‘several nations’ and finally ‘all the world’. And that leads into one of the problems at the heart of Rand’s 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. ‘Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather’, ‘There will be time to sleep when you’re dead’, ‘You can care for the living or mourn the dead, you cannot do both’: all common sayings in the Borderlands. On the one hand, all of these emphasize the importance of fulfilling your duty and obligations…but 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 ‘soft southlanders’ whose kingdoms are destined to go to ruin anyways. It’s also why he reveals his suffering to Rand only after he has decided to die in a last stand–he 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 Rand’s 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 of….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, ardor–you name it–are 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, it’s knowing that they will be strong enough to bear whatever you are feeling. I would hesitate to call even the Saldaens well-adjusted (I don’t 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 Perrin’s 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 necessary–trust 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. Faile’s effectiveness as Perrin’s 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 ‘again’ 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 series–that simply burying his emotions for fear they might hurt others is not a healthy way to go about life, and it isn’t necessary to rule or lead either. His prejudices about what constitutes a ‘good’ Lord (Lan, Agelmar, Ingtar) and a ‘bad’ 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 bit–

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 series–which 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 it’s 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. 

Consider how often the refrain of ‘don’t even know they’re part of the Kingdom of Andor’ 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. 

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 Women’s 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 Women’s 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 we’re 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. 

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. It’s 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 don’t 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 Women’s Circle deems unsuitable (such as widower and single father Tam al’Thor) is subject to intense pressure to ‘correct’ 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 region’s lack of taxes). This is made possible by the geographic isolation and food stability–two factors that insulate the Two Rivers from many of the problems that cause the formation or joining of a nation state. It’s 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 it’s 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 is–and 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 Borderlander’s 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 them–and even before Rand’s 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 Gai’don, 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 Dragon’s 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 don’t 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 Aiel’s contempt for the feudal ‘shorebound’, but don’t 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. 

They are not society without problems–the implication of their strong anti-corruption and anti-nepotism policies is that it’s 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 Blades– and they can fall just as easily, for shows of incompetence, or failures to execute their duties. 

They are also another society who is able to adapt to circumstances of Tamon Gai’don 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 don’t think it’s 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? It’s Jordan digging into a fundamental truth about the world and people–at no point in our own history have we ever found a truly ‘perfect’ model for society. That’s something he’s constantly trying to show with feudalism–it is neither an ideal nor an abomination, it just is. Conversely, the Two Rivers, Aiel, Seafolk, and Ogier (who I don’t 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 either–Jordan 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 Jordan’s 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 Jordan’s 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 ‘where 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?’. And he does this with every country, every corner of his world–shining 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 it’s a simplifying question, not a complicating one. Whatever you answer–yes or no–does not add to the depiction of these systems or the people within them, it takes away. You make someone flat–be 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. 

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 Jacobins’ 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 revolutions’ 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 Republic–and 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 Jordan’s books. The story could be simpler–Morgase 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 human–with 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 pleasures–but for every Laman, Weairamon, or Colavaere, you have Dobraine, Moiraine, or Darlin. And that is one of the core tenets of Jordan’s 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, Jordan’s 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 assumed–not 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.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume Meta 7x04

How we all doing?? have we managed to find some semblance of equilibrium in this new world where we have canon bi buck?? I’m not sure I’ll ever know how to exist in this world but that’s fine with me! I’m still here writing my silly costume metas and having a blast in this bright new world!

No Hen this week as we never see her out of uniform!

The rest is below the cut because you would all hate me if i clogged your feeds with this beast (shes 7k)- you have been warned!!

Actually going to start this week with a uniform out of work section!

Because three times in this episode, we had one of the firefam wearing an element of their uniform out of work and its actually pretty key!

We have Bobby in his LAFD polo when he informs Athena that Harry is wanted for assault and he fled the state.

Then we have Chim at the basketball game in his LAFD hoodie

And finally Buck at the airfield on his tour with Tommy.

All three are playing into the idea of protecting ones self by being in an official capacity in some way. Firefighters (like all first responders) are of course there to 'protect and serve' the community.

Bobby delivers the news to Athena about Harry - he's in uniform because he can inhabit a small aspect of his captain mentality - makes it easier to deliver the news and also gives him the distance to play the 'don't shoot the messenger' card if necessary.

Chimney has to step into paramedic mode at the end of the scene. The LAFD hoodie separates him from everyone else at the court and foreshadows that he will have to 'go to work' its also about chimney being there as the colleague not the almost brother in-law of Buck. An important distinction - it protects Chim from being seen to favour anyone (specifically from Buck. (Buck is angry and not being rational so Chimney has protection from Bucks potential anger for helping Eddie - Buck is already feeling awful by that point so the protection isn't needed but it provides cover if it were) and allows him to go into first responder mode. (this is so badly worded but I'm sure you get what I mean!!)

Buck is at the airfield under the guise of wanting to find out more about becoming an air support firefighter - its the cover under which he is operating to try and befriend Tommy. The jacket also provides him protection from Eddie when he shows up and finds out Buck is not coming to Vegas with him and Tommy.

Bobby

Just the one costume for Bobby this week - a maroon tee that her's wearing to sleep in. we see him in this colour a lot - its a bit of a staple colour for him and I've spoken a lot about maroon tees and shirts representing parental roles in relation to the various children of the 118. Its no different here -we can see from Bobbys face he isn't buying what Harry is saying and the parental concern we see evidenced here plays out with him calling Michael and finding out what is really going on.

Athena

Athena wears a lot of black this week, which is fairly typical from her, although we are in a much more overall muted palette than usual and its missing the jewel tones we're used to seeing her increasingly wear. its a bit of a signal of returning to normality now they're back from the cruise disaster.

She starts off in black and pink pyjamas but I'm going to talk about those at the end in the pink section so we're skipping ahead to this ruffle smocked cream blouse and her gorgons head necklace is back. the ruffling is an nod to her feathers being ruffled when Bobby tells her about Harry and his arrest warrant, and the white with the black trousers is about things being black and white - for Athena as a cop things do tend to be black and white when it comes to the law - of course Athena has always been one to work within the law to bend the rules but in this moment things are black and white.

Then we have her all in black with a red longline cardigan which has a open weave that give the appearance of mesh or a cage. The show has been using Red since day one which makes sense as it is a first responder show and you literally cannot escape it when the fire trucks are red! But they have always been pretty careful about when they use bright red in the costuming meaning its appearance with such regularity this season so far is pretty telling. Its an advance warning of incoming danger/trouble/strife, but it is rarely worn by the one who is directly in danger - they will be involved, but not the centre of it. The best example of this is Bucks bright red broadcloth shirt when Christopher calls him because Eddie is smashing up his bedroom.

Here we have it on Athena in the scene when things are about to properly kick into action with Harrys story. Athena is literally a red net about to ensnare Harry. its the one time in this episode we see Athena in a bold bright colour - something that generally is attached to her being happy or having fun, but not here.

The denim sleeveless shirt/jacket when Athena goes to the hospital to visit the lady who shot her son (does she have a name - I cant remember!) and later to talk to Harry about the reality of his altercation, is quite bulky and blocky. It's far less fitted, structured or flowy that we are used to seeing on Athena. To me this is about playing into her struggles to tread the line between mother and cop - that neither role fits right. That denim is also a fabric associated with labour, it suggests Athena is working hard to figure it out.

Then we get this all black outfit when she takes Harry to the station - it is such a simple yet effective bit of costuming, especially with the silver zips and buckles- it blends her in with the police officers in the station so she can hover the line between mom and cop - and makes it look like an arresting officer bringing in a suspect.

Harry

New Harry comes with a new style!!

I actually can't wait to see how they dress him over the rest of the season because there was a definite colour theme at play here this week with all the beiges, greens and redish browns which is very not how younger Harry dressed (he was much more bright colours).

Not going to lie - my hatred for the copaganda and the fact I've been in Bi Buck land since the episode aired has made it hard to focus on Harrys outfits in greater detail, but I do have a few thoughts!

This first shirt is a map print, maps denote journey's andHarry is on a literal and metophorical journey - the literal being the one he made form Florida to LA. The metaphorical one is all about his journey to become a man, and learning to take responsibility for his actions, so this shirt is essentially setting out his arc for the season - Makes me feel like the storylines with harry we're going to see are going to be about the community service he has to undertake and him figuring things out and growing up a bit in relation to that.

Then next up we have this cream hoodie with an brownish beige pocket. the thing I found interesting about this choice was the fact that Harry played himself off as innocent. lawyers usually instruct their clients to wear white shirts to court, and to avoid loud patterns. The white is because i suggests purity or innocence, and the loud patterns should be avoided because it suggests you're trying to employ subterfuge (that you're lying). So Harry wearing a block of cream is a play on this idea. We see him in the map shirt before - when he is employing subterfuge about his reasons for visiting, and now this cream is him trying to suggest his innocence to his mother - the use of cream rather than white is telling us that he isn't as innocent as he is making out!

Finally we have check theory (my most beloved) in play. harry returns to wearing patterns - this one check and in greens and browns. there is an element of military to the green shades, its a coloour we've seen used on Eddie to show his military background, but it is also a colour frequently worn by Athena - usually when she is fighting for her family in some way. Here it feels like a refelction of that, with the added aspect of green being a colour of growth. Harry shows contrition and is willing to take his punishement, showing his growth, but also showing his understanding of fighting for his family - and Athenas willingness to do the same. its showing us tht he is his mothers son. And of course the check is the pointer towards the fact he is in trouble - that his earlier protestations of innocence were false!

Then we move on the he Buckley-Hans

Chimney

Only the one for Chimney this week, it's a very short scene where he is completely oblivious to the tone of the conversation. He's dressed completely in greys and is by all accounts neutrally costumed. this is intentional - he's not the focus of this scene and when we think that so much of this episode is shown from Bucks pov, the use of neutral grey makes sense - Buck is projecting on to chimney in this scene. Buck himself is speaking his jealousy and fear, while what Chimney says is actually the little voice inside his head that isn't in fact jealous of Tommy, but is impressed by him

Maddie

Again only two costumes for Maddie this week and one of them is her dispatch outfit, but I'm including it because of its place with a mini colour theme for this episode, which both of her outfits play into.

I spoke about the use of red in Athenas section and its representing danger, and it is in play for both of Maddie's outfits, the wearer changes though. In the first scene, Maddie is in blue - dark blue. a tee with 'The Great School' and bobcat logo on the front. I love this, the bobcat is a symbol of inner strength and resilience in the face of adversity, while Maddie is a great source of learning for Buck - he essentially raised him and has been a sounding board for him since she returned to his life. Maddie is the next level wise older sister, her point of view is important to Buck and is grounding for him. She had got him to back down from his spiral over Eddie and Chris, until Chimney came in (and like I said above, that was Bucks inner voice, not really Chimney)

Then we have her dispatch uniform and its red. This is a clever play actually, it allows the costume team to put Maddie into red, a colour we don't really see on her outside of work (a deliberate choice as it helps distinguish work from non work to the audience). Just like Buck was the angry one in the other Buckley siblings scene, her Maddie is the one who is angry (with good reason) and we again get Buck recieving education at he hands of Maddie - in her place of work where she is a lifeline to people and where she holds authority. Buck needed her in a lifeline capacity in this moment and he got it, despite her anger. She gave him the advice and help he needed.

Eddie

Eddie my man looking suave and confident - this Eddie is Bucks version of Eddie so of course he looks cool, well dressed and in a green and black combo. In nearly every scene where Eddie nad Buck have a deep meaningful conversation - one that gets through to Buck on a higher level - that works on Bucks abandonment complex, Eddie is dressed in a black shirt and khaki green trousers (the only exception is the will reveal when he's in navy blue but that is to play in the yellow blue colour theming and its a close to black as they could have a blue!), this outfit is an inverse though, which is actually really clever. Eddie (Bucks version) here is playing into Bucks fear of abandonment - Bucks version of Eddie has spent so long building him up and chipping away at that fear that to invert that colour theme and have green on top and black trousers is a fun way of inverting that chipping away at Bucks fear - this is putting another brick in that abandonment wall

The black tank top!! Its back and everybody cheered! Ok so I wrote this meta about when the show puts Eddie into a black tank top and how it means he's in an emotionally vulnerable place and once more, the theory plays out. Obviously Eddie gets physically injured, but his face when he looks at Buck after he's gone down shows him emotionally vulnerable. Yes there is a little bit of anger and a lot of pain in the look he gives him, but there is also understanding and a little guilt too.

It's the moment Eddie realises that he has unintentionally sidelined his best friend, and the effect that has had on Buck and his abandonment issues. This is Eddie showing his truly deep understanding of Buck and how Buck ticks (and because this is also from Bucks pov, its also showing us Buck understanding that Eddie understands how Buck ticks) we get all of this proven when Tommy comes over to Bucks later and clearly states that Eddie is feeling bad about the whole situation.

It is also worth noting that When Buck has seen Eddie at the gym or being sporty in some way Eddie has either been in uniform or in a black singlet and that he always looks super competent (even if he is working through things when he is in the black singlet). From my perspective, this is an interesting choice to play into because it suggests Buck recognises Eddies emotional maturity over him, even when he's not in a great place (we can discount fight club Eddie becasue Buck didn't actually see him there), its clearly something Buck admires and places as central to how he sees Eddie.

Tommy

Tommys costuming is chefs kiss perfection to me. The wardrobe department have literally dressed him as Eddie and I am living for it.

Its a way to emphasise that Tommy and Eddie are super similar. this serves two purposes - it builds a visual connection for the audience - we don't need to be shown Tommy in the army or fighting/ training in Muay Thai etc, we can mentally make a connection to the ones we've seen of Eddies in the past and accept the information as fact. obviously not all people who join the army or undertake MMA are going to dress the same, but this is television where visual information is valuable real estate, so playing into tropes and stereotypes is a key piece of arsenal.

The other thing about it is the specific Eddies its calling back to - fight club Eddie and to a lesser extent, post breakdown Eddie when he's back in therapy and unrepressing himself.

Tommys basketball outfit is really about making him stand out from everyone else - it makes him seem to appear more because the blue shorts and the light coloured top will catch your eye, even if he's not the focus of the camera at that moment. This is all about the fact that this is Bucks perspective on things - he is seeing Tommy everywhere and feeling like he's taking over/ taking away Eddie and so we the audience feel that same thing in a visual way. The thing the blue shorts do is visually connect Tommy to buck in the next scene we see Buck in - when he is talking to Maddie at dispatch - the blues are similar enough for us to subconsciously connect back to that scene and link Buck and Tommy together rather than Buck to Eddie - who Buck is dressed more similarly too in the basketball scene.

It doesn't hurt that the blue shorts also play into yellow blue theory - especially against the sunsets yellow hues in a scene that is playing homage to a famously queer coded scene from Top gun.

Then there is this outfit from Bucks loft. again is very similar to an Eddie outfit - its the same style of shirt we often see Eddie wearing especially in seasons 4 and 5.

Tommys jeans have always been reminiscent of Eddies Jeans (I mean I know they are jeans, but I promise the significance will become clear when I get to Buck!)

Even Tommys watch is similar to Eddies Christopher watch (every other watch in the show worn by the men is all black - black strap black face and mount only the Christopher watch is different) in that it has a different coloured strap to the watch face and its mount.

The other thing I want to mention quick, is the progression of Tommys costumes in relation to them being similar to Eddies. By this I mean the first non uniform costume we see Tommy in is very stage 2 Eddie, while the one below is very much more stage 3 Eddie.

I also really like the use of a purple/red/black shot tee for this scene as well. If you watch the scene through, the way its lit changes its colour as different sections of the scene unfold. The red tones are there early on, during the apology and conversation around Eddie being allowed to have more than one friend and Christophers adoration of Buck. it gives it that air of danger lurking, because Tommy isn't sure how things are going to play out. and plays into the red/blue theme we saw with Buck and Maddie in this episode - just on a much lower level.

Then it turns this purplish shade as we move into the initial stages of flirting - from the moment Buck moves around the counter to put himself in the same space as Tommy. It gives things an air of mystery, but purple can also be a colour of enlightenment - both elements are in play here and I love they were able to do this with this shirt.

The shirt turns black at the moment Tommy says 'my attention' - the moment he essentially hold all the cards on making a move - he is the one with the power here (as the already queer person in the room) and black is a power colour, so its the perfect choice for the moment he makes his move.

Buck

Buck my beloved bi disaster. His costumes were doing some pretty impressive storytelling this episode!

We start off at the air field - I spoke at the start about this LAFD jacket and the theme of protection, but I also have other things to say about it and the rest of the costume. We don't generally see Buck out of work wearing uniform (we actually don't see many of the firefam in uniform out of work tbh) so when we do its going to have meaning. T

he thing with the bomber jacket being the choice (they could've made it a hoodie which we've seen him wear out of work more!) is that on one level plays into its name and the fact that its being worn at an airfield, while on another level it low key plays into the Buck cheating arc. which is actually fun - the idea that he's 'cheating' on the 118 by claiming he's thinking about his career options and also cheating on Eddie by trying to befriend Tommy (because at this point that is all it is its only once Eddie appears that things change).

The trousers are also important. I know I've said before about how trousers are less important than tops because they are less likely to get screen time. We not here - here they are really important, but only with the context of the rest of the episode.

These are the short in the leg dark trousers we've come to know and love on Buck - he's been solidly wearing them since season 2 and what we have seen him wearing so far in season 7 so no surprises to see them here. But this is the last time we see them and its super important and telling.

We also have Bucks white trainers - the ones that he wears when he moves forward on his journey - we see him in them the entire time this episode.

Buck and Maddie this episode have a red v blue thing going on in their scenes together. In this one Buck is in red and Maddie in blue. I spoke about the red for danger theme they seem to be using this season for the red clothes above in Athenas section and it applies here - Buck in red is foreshadowing the danger/strife that the basketball game presents as that is what he is talking about and what he is most upset about over Tommy and Eddies friendship.

It's a slightly burnt out red in comparison to Bobbys red shirt from the cruise, Athenas red cardigan, or even the red he wore when Eddie had his breakdown. Its not a full high alert colour, its a more muted and restrained colour - suggesting the danger is going to be less of a big thing, that it's just a part of it rather than the main big thing

We can also see that Buck is now wearing more traditional stonewash jeans - this is the first time we're seeing them on him since Eddies arrival at the fire house. I'll explain them in more detail in Bucks last outfit of the episode, but I needed to point their presence out here.

Basketball Buck in his white shirt and dark blue marl cut off tee - its very Buck posturing at the firehouse gym and its meant to be. Its a direct reference to the last time Buck showed any jealousy towards Eddie. The shorts are different this time in that they're white/light grey rather than black, but I think this is done for two reasons - it creates a pairing with Eddie - they are dressed similarly with dark tops and lighter grey shorts, but on opposite teams/sides.

It also makes him stand out from everyone else at the game - excepting Tommy (and a random guy in a red top with white shorts that I'm living for. When Red = foreshadowing as I've talked about above, this guys actions on the court are precursors of what is about to happen - we see him bump into Tommy - a couple of moments later and Buck does the same thing, then just before Eddie gets taken out by Buck, he gets breezed past by Eddie stumbles and starts limping. Its fun and clever and not something many people will pick up on - its a bit like the role of the bullet in Hamilton!)

Bucks bright blue chunky corduroy shirt with white tee underneath. I already spoke about the visual connection between Tommy from the basketball game and this shirt. It also fits into the red and blue theme I spoke about above - this time Buck is the one in blue and with the combination of Buck in his danger incoming white shirt and Maddie being in red it signals exactly what this scene is going to be about.

The danger, in my opinion, is Maddies wrath at Buck getting physical with Eddie. Its a perfectly valid and important response from her and plays into the growth we get from Buck in this episode that is not connected to his bi awakening - the recognition and acceptance of his bad behaviour in a far more mature way than we saw from s3 Buck.

The chunky corduroy give the shirt vertical stripes and we all know how I feel about Buck and vertical stripes at this point - I wrote about them a lot in my seasons 5 and 6 metas and the blue and white nature of bucks outfit plays into the theming that was at play in early season 6 - where Buck was free from Taylor and resisting buying a couch because he was looking for the right couch etc. (and playing house husband to Eddie nad feeding them!!!)

Here in this episode we kind of have Buck going through a similar process - free from the shackles of death and trying to figure things out - who he is and what he wants, he's still on that hamster wheel in many ways at this point in the episode but he is about to jump off it.

This is the key to happiness and Lev's advice and the year of yes scene 2.0 - the same shade of blue are at play here. Lev figuring it out ('I get it now') just as he's dying and Buck then trying to figure out what Lev had figured out and essentially failing before he died only to now get it and free himself is a blue thread we've been following through season 6 up to bucks death, then the use of this shade of blue in Bucks costumes tailed off - we saw it reappear a couple of times after the lightening strike - specifically around Natalia and his continues flirtation with death - almost like his hovering around death was him trying to grasp what Lev had figured out.

Then the blue had been gone again only for it to reappear here in this episode in a scene that precedes Bucks bi awakening and his comments about being free and 'yeah that works' with their double meanings that play in the same way as lev's 'I think i get it now' just without death coming immediately after. It's a scene when he starts to get an inkling on what his jealousy is actually about. (The fact we know he's going to be back in this bright blue in the next episode in a scene with Eddie - that is very likely a coming out scene also plays into this idea.)

And the stone wash jeans are once more there for all to see!

Then we get this dark navy blue shirt with silvery white dots and yet again those stone wash jeans.

Ok lets talk about the jeans! The fact that we haven't seen Buck wearing stone wash jeans, which if you watch the opening couple of seconds of the dispatch scene, you will see are proper normal length on him and not ankle swingers like we've got used to seeing him in for the last few seasons!

The thing with him suddenly wearing these stonewash jeans is all about imitation - imitation of Tommy (and by extension, imitation of Eddie even though we don't see Eddie in stonewash denim in this episode) because you know that old adage of dressing like the person you want to be , or the idea that you subconsciously start dressing like the person you have a crush one?? Well yeah - Buck has all these new feelings that he doesn't know what to do with, but Tommy is cool and Tommy dresses like Eddie and Eddie seems to like Tommy better than Buck now so maybe if Buck starts dressing a bit like Tommy he'lI get Eddies attention back. So he's pulled out the stone wash jeans so that he's dressed a bit more like Tommy, but he's also dressing a bit like his crush that he doesn't yet realise is a crush.

The other small thing that I think is a nice nod - So Like I said earlier, the last time we see the jeans is in 2x01 - Eddies introduction to the firehouse. This is the moment (on screen at least for us as viewers) that Buck ceases to be the probie - that baton is passed to Eddie, so its almost like a symbol of him graduating and maturing in some way. then we get the jeans back for Bucks bi awakening - we see them the entire time he's navigating all these new feelings he has - he's never been with a man, so he's like a probie again.

The thing is, that the jeans appear to be gone for his date with Tommy (makes sense - he's on a date so he's got to look good for his man!) , and from what I can tell from the (super dark even when brightened) stills from the Buck Eddie loft scene, it would appear they are gone for that scene too. We've had bts of Oliver in the jeans again, so I don't think they're gone completely, but that makes sense, he's still a baby queer after all, still navigating his way through things.

On to the shirt! I wrote a whole meta about this shirt (and the jeans actually!) when we first got this still - you can read it here and I'm still a little awestruck at how close to the mark I got!

What I want to add to what I said, now I have context is that the two previous times we've seen blue shirts with dots are played upon in this scene - the lawsuit is the obvious one and the parallel is showing Bucks growth - he got jealous and worried about being replaced and ended up lashing out and suing everyone, now he got jealous and thought he was being replaced, but as soon as he lashes out, he realises he is in the wrong and verbally acknowledges it.

The diner with Maddie scene is a bit more tricky to parse out, but for me, it ties to Doug - Maddie is quick to call Buck out when he confesses to Eddies injury not being an accident, because of her experiences at the hands of Doug. In the diner scene she is determined to go back to her apartment and her life in the aftermath of killing him - she wants life to go back to normal. In the loft scene Buck is trying to achieve that end too - he's in a new world where Tommy exists as part of his life now (as Eddies friend initially) and he wants to clear the air and move forward - so he's still a part of Eddies life.

I also want to talk about the contrast between this scene and the one where Taylor turns up at his door after the shooting and the difference between being chased and doing the chasing. Its spots v stripes!

Buck is in a similar shirt - short sleeved button up in a dark shade (black) - this one with vertical stripes for the Taylor scene and he thinks he's being chased for the first (ish) time (Abby sort of chased him but he is the one who pushed for it to be a relationship when I think she just wanted a bit of fun and a hook up! so I'm not sure if it actually counts or not). Thing is Taylor only chases him after they've already kissed and when he's then made it clear thats what needs to happen. (as an aside - Natalia does pursue Buck - not romantically, but because he has died - and she is the one wearing vertical stripes

While in this scene he doesn't have to say anything, yes he flirts, but he isn't explicit about what hewants - Tommy is the one who makes the decision to go for it, and so when he genuinely gets pursued, he is wearing dots

Chased verse's doing the chasing - dots v stripes

Then we have the Pink.

Pink is back in full force in 7x04 with it popping up regularly throughout the episode.

I didn't include Athenas pink dressing gown or Bucks pink shorts in their sections because I actually wanted to talk about them here. The context the scenes they were in gave me the information I needed to figure out what I think the purpose of all the pink we've been seeing is.

Lets start with a quick recap of all the pink from the 3 previous episodes then we'll look at the pink from this episode as well as the fact I've already spotted some for 7x05 from the trailer

7x01

Athena's pale pink top in therapy with Frank

Sue at dispatch in a pink cardigan

Christophers pencil is pink when he's sat at his desk - when he reads the letter from Shannon

Marisol in her bright pink strappy top

Lola's Manzanillo outfit is bright pink and white

Norman has pink flowers on his Hawaiian shirt and he later wears a bright pink polo shirt when he's pretending Lola is still with him.

7x02

the woman who is teaching her daughter to drive

the pink roses on Hen's jacket (which I know I said play into the theme of family bonds etc but the pink has a second meaning)

7x03

The cruise ship family nearly all wear pink at various points (grandma and mom are the exceptions)

and now 7x04

We have Ashley C in hot pink at the Bachelor mansion

Athena in her dusty pink ddressing gown (and pyjama pants

The woman who shot her son is in pink

And then there are Bucks pink shorts!

All of these scenes with the pink are scenes about either naivety and or innocence

The pink on Athena is about her being naive about her relationship with Bobby - not recognising that she is nothing to fear about them spending time together.

Sues pink cardigan. Sue's line is about the civilians at risk from the fighter jet - she is representing their innocence

Christophers pink pencil - in that scene his behaviour might be naive (he's a child so of course it is) but it comes from a place of complicated feelings as he does begin to mature - he was the innocent party in the loss of Shannon and he is the one left to suffer.

Lola is naive on the ship about having an affair and thinking she could get away with it and that it wouldn't hurt Norman. She’s also innocent in the plot regarding the bitcoin (or whatever it was)

Norman is also both naive and innocent - not recognising the fact his wife is cheating, for selling up their entire life and he is innocent in the bitcoin plot.

The mother and daughter were innocent in the car crash.

the pink flowers on Hens jacket hint at her being innocent of any wrong doing (from a departmental perspective) at the car accident.

The cruise family are innocent - just in the wrong place at rhetorical wrong time and they are a representation of all the innocent people on the boat who end up in danger on that ship.

I think the Marisol top is an interesting one - it plays into Chris being naïve thinking he can date multiple girls without them finding out. But I also think it’s foreshadowing her naivety in general - I think we might either see her immaturity in some way (perhaps on a date with Eddie) which will prove terminal for her relationship with Eddie. Now we know about this date scene coming up this is possible but it could also end up being about the fact that she is likely going to be an innocent party caught in the crossfire of Eddie unrepressing himself (much in the same way Ana was back in s4/5.

Ashely C's pink dress is a representation of the innocence of trying to find love.

Athena's pink dressing gown is about her innocently and blindly/ naively being excited about Harrys return home to her.

The lady who shot her son is innocent in that her actions were brought about by something out of her control and so she can't truly be held responsible for them.

Then Bucks pink shorts are about his queer innocence and naivety about his feelings the fact that we see them in a scene where Tommy isn’t present, a scene that is meant to inform the audience that his behaviours is all about Eddie and not Tommy - that he’s naively not grasping that part of this internal confusion that he's experiencing.

To add to all of this, we have Marisol carrying a pink bag in the teaser for next week, to me if pink theory is correct then this is playing into the idea that Marisol is naively dating Eddie and that she's going to be an innocent caught up in whatever goes down in that scene (part of this arc) the use of lighter pink here specifically on a handbag is giving me babyish vibes as well (its screaming little girl playing at dress up!). As a quick aside - I am very amused that shes been dressed in a basic black top - she looks like wait staff!

And of course there is Eddies pink ensemble that is connected to either Chims bachelor party or the Madney Wedding. I have no idea what is going to happen in this scene(s) but whatever does go down - place your bets on Eddie being innocent (and or naive!) in whatever goes on - itll be fun to see if I'm right! 🤓

Right 7k later and that is me done for this meta!!! I am handing out the tea, coffee, cake and biscuits (all dietary requirements catered for!)🫖☕️🧁🍩🍪- you've earnt them if you've made it to the end of this monster! Hope you enjoyed reading. i'm off to revel in Bi Buck some more - I can't believe its happened I'm overcome!!! 🩷💜💙

Tagged peeps as always are below!

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @bewilderedbuckley @spotsandsocks @bewitchedbewilderedbisexual @rogerzsteven @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothill @copyninjabuckley @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @bi-moonlight @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud @tommykinarddd @satashiiwrites @lover-of-mine

(if the tags don't work its because people have changed their url (very valid of you!) and I didn't know, so let me know if you want tagging in future in the comments so I can catch the new urls!

[drchucktingle]

tingleverse lore: tingle types

recent post on the four tingler types has got buds talkin about TINGLEVERSE LORE so i thought it would be nice time to talk on the ways of dinosaur, unicorn, bigfoot and living object, since there are some new buckaroos who are just jumpin in the tingleverse deep end OK HERE GOES

four tingle types is not something chuck just now made up it has been that way since beginning. anyway theres several layers of reality in infinite stack and the EROTIC TINGLEVERSE is a group of CLOSE layers (outside these layers is THE VOID but we dont need to talk on right now)

the HORROR TINGLEVERSE is part of the same stack but farther away. it is a separate group of layers with a few similarities to erotica layers (mainly dealing with THE VOID and the consequences of weaving timeline layers) but otherwise a different space within tingleverse stack

anyway back to the erotic layer. the thing that makes these layers unique from our own is the incursion of four sentient species which are the ones listed. i will now go over what each group encompasses because it might not be what you think

first of all, DINOSAURS is not just reptilian creatures it also means ancient mammals (sabertooths and mammoths) and even prehistoric squids and sharks

next is BIGFEET. in the tingleverse bigfeet are a broad species that also includes mothmen and jersey devils and some other cryptids. this is discussed in the the books they are featured in in more detail

UNICORNS are next. unicorns are pretty much just unicorns what the heck can i say. of all the creatures inhabiting the tingleverse they have the least variety but the most beautiful mane and i think thats worth something

last is LIVING OBJECT which a lot of buds seemed confused by in quiz. in the tingleverse, living abstracts concepts fall into the living object category because once they physically manifest they BECOME a living object. so thoughts and ideas that are sentient are living objects

LIVING OBJECT is the most broad group because it can encompass ALL THINGS. it is also the most existential of the species as i think some buckaroos discovered on the TINGLE TYPE test.

i suppose i should put link to the test here also if you do not believe this has been master plan for nearly a decade of worldbuilding rules here is an old shirt with the tingle types on it. one of first shirts chuck ever made

alright buds hope you enjoyed this tingleverse lesson. LOVE IS REAL

[amethystarachnid]

Hello, I would like to request 19. A Second Chance with Tony, please 😊 this "someone important from their past" is the reader. They dated when they were young, but reader had to move, but they never stopped loving each other... now reader is back and they meet again, they talk about their lives and start to reconnect... Tony invites her to spend Christmas together and she accepts, and Tony prepares Christmas with everything she loves just to see her happy, in the end they kiss and spend the night together (I know you don't write smut, but you can add some spicy things) and the next morning they make their relationship official again, and this time forever ❤️

SECOND CHANCE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.2k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said <3

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes but nothing too descriptive

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The cold New York wind bites at your cheeks as you step out of the cab, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck. The city is alive with December’s usual frenzy—twinkling lights strung between lampposts, store windows crowded with holiday displays, and the steady hum of a thousand conversations weaving through the streets. It's beautiful, in a way, but the sight of it doesn’t fill you with the usual seasonal warmth. There’s an ache deep in your chest, one that no amount of bright lights or carolers can thaw.

It’s been years. Almost ten, to be exact, since you’ve stepped foot in New York. A decade away, and yet it still feels like the city breathes in sync with your heartbeat. You left when you were twenty-three, thinking you’d be gone only for a few months, maybe a year at most. Life, as it turns out, had other plans. Now you’re back, but the thought of being here again fills you with more nerves than nostalgia. It’s not the city itself that haunts you—it’s what, or rather who, you left behind.

Your suitcase wheels clatter against the pavement as you pull it toward the apartment you rented. The holidays have turned every corner into a whirlwind of red and green, gold and silver, but your mind is elsewhere. You can feel it creeping up on you like a shadow, the memory of Tony Stark’s face when you said goodbye.

“I’m coming back, you know,” you’d told him back then, the words as fragile as the tears streaking your cheeks. “It’s just for a while. I have to help my mom get settled. You understand, don’t you?”

He’d nodded, but his silence had been deafening. The weight of it sat between you as you hugged him goodbye, his arms tightening around you like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go too soon. And then you left, not knowing that “a while” would stretch into years, that the life you’d built with him would dissolve into memories.

You wonder if he’s the same person now, all these years later. If he still walks with that easy swagger, the cocky grin always threatening to crack his face in half. If he still talks like he’s three steps ahead of everyone else, like the world is his personal chessboard and he’s just having fun moving the pieces around. Or maybe he’s changed. Maybe the years have softened him, carved some of the arrogance out of his sharp edges. Or maybe he’s even sharper now, the weight of everything he's achieved since you left pressing harder on his shoulders.

You try not to think about it as you unpack, the simple routine of organizing your things grounding you for the first time all day. But no matter how many sweaters you fold, how many toiletries you arrange on the bathroom counter, you can’t shake the sense that this city, this moment, is leading you straight back to him.

It’s late afternoon when you decide to venture out again. Snow flurries are beginning to fall, dusting the sidewalks and piling up on window sills. You find yourself wandering without purpose, letting the city guide you. The streets feel familiar but different, like they’ve been rearranged slightly in your absence. You take it all in—the hum of the subway beneath your feet, the scent of roasted chestnuts wafting from a vendor’s cart, the laughter of children building snowmen in the park. It feels like home, and yet it doesn’t.

You’re not even sure how you end up at the Christmas market in Bryant Park. It’s bustling with holiday shoppers, the air thick with the scent of mulled wine and pine. You weave through the crowd, pausing now and then to admire the handmade ornaments or the glittering string lights overhead. It’s almost enough to distract you, but not quite.

You’re looking at a small booth selling intricate metalwork—ornaments shaped like snowflakes, reindeer, and stars—when you hear it. That voice. That unmistakable, sharp-edged, honey-smooth voice that’s haunted your dreams for years. Your heart stutters, and for a moment, you think you might have imagined it. But then you hear it again, clearer this time, cutting through the chatter around you.

You turn slowly, your breath catching in your throat. And there he is.

Tony Stark stands a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of a sleek black coat, a scarf draped loosely around his neck. His hair is shorter than you remember, a touch of silver at the temples that wasn’t there before. But his eyes—their rich, whiskey-brown warmth—are exactly the same. They lock onto yours, widening slightly in surprise before something softer, something bittersweet, settles over his face.

“Y/N?” he says, his voice quieter now, like he’s not sure if you’re real. “Is that…?”

You nod, your throat too tight to form words. The noise of the market seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there, caught in the gravity of a moment you both thought would never come.

He takes a step closer, his breath visible in the cold air. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you were—God, how long has it been?”

“Ten years,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Almost.”

“Ten years,” he echoes, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. You look… you look good.”

“So do you,” you reply, and it’s not a lie. He does look good. Better than good. He looks like the kind of man who’s spent the last decade conquering the world, but there’s something else there too—something tired, maybe even lonely, that tugs at your heart.

The silence stretches between you, thick with everything you want to say but can’t. You don’t know where to start, don’t know how to condense ten years of absence into a single conversation. And then, as if sensing your hesitation, Tony speaks again.

“You’re back,” he says, his tone somewhere between a question and a statement.

You nod. “Just for a while. I’m… I’m not sure how long yet.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he says finally, “it’s good to see you. Really good.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “You too, Tony.”

Another pause, and then he clears his throat, glancing at the booth behind you. “Are you shopping for ornaments?” he asks, his voice lighter now, almost casual. “Because, uh, I should warn you—some of these vendors are scammers. I mean, who pays fifty bucks for a metal snowflake?”

You laugh despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension between you. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you say. “Just looking.”

“Well, in that case…” He steps closer, his gaze softening. “Maybe I could buy you a coffee? Catch up? I mean, unless you’ve got somewhere to be.”

You hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a bad idea, that reopening this door will only lead to more heartache. But then you look at him—the way his eyes flicker with something like hope, the way he’s holding himself like he’s afraid you might disappear again—and you know you can’t say no.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Coffee sounds good.”

He smiles, a real, genuine smile that sends a warmth through you you haven’t felt in years. And just like that, you’re walking side by side through the snow-dusted streets, the weight of the past trailing behind you like a ghost.

The coffee shop is warm, its windows fogged from the contrast between the bitter cold outside and the cozy heat inside. The scent of roasted beans and cinnamon wafts through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Tony insists on paying for the drinks, brushing off your protests with a lopsided grin and a comment about “old-fashioned chivalry.”

You find a small table near the back, the kind meant for two people to sit close, elbows almost brushing. The mugs between you steam faintly, but neither of you seems in a hurry to drink. Instead, you’re both looking at each other, trying to reconcile the people you’ve become with the people you once were.

“So,” Tony begins, leaning back in his chair. His hands wrap around his mug, but he doesn’t lift it. “Ten years. I feel like I should’ve prepared a slideshow or something, highlight all my achievements since the last time we saw each other.”

You chuckle, the sound soft and a little shaky. “I think everyone already knows your highlights, Tony. I mean, you’re everywhere. Stark Tower, the Avengers, the headlines. It’s not exactly subtle.”

His grin tilts, more boyish now, and you see the flicker of the man you once knew beneath the billionaire persona. “Yeah, well. I’ve been busy. You know me—can’t sit still. But what about you? What���s been going on in Y/N-land? I feel like I should’ve hired a PI just to keep track.”

You roll your eyes, taking a small sip of your coffee to stall for a moment. “Nothing that exciting, honestly. I spent a lot of time moving around. Different cities, different jobs. I stayed in Chicago for a while, then Boston. My mom moved again, so I went back for a bit to help her. Life just… kept happening, I guess.”

“You always did like to keep moving,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “But I thought you’d stay here. You said you’d be back.”

The words aren’t accusatory, but they hang between you like a ghost. You look down at your hands, tracing the edge of your mug with your finger. “I thought I would too. I didn’t plan for it to take so long. But every time I tried to come back, something else got in the way. And then so much time had passed, I didn’t know if it even mattered anymore.”

“It mattered,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath hitch, but he pulls back quickly, leaning on humor like a crutch. “I mean, you missed out on a hell of a ride. Turns out, saving the world is a full-time gig.”

You laugh lightly, grateful for the change in tone. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve been keeping busy, huh? Flying suits and alien invasions, not to mention the whole playboy billionaire thing. I’m surprised you even have time for coffee.”

“For you, I can make time,” he says without missing a beat, and there’s a flash of something mischievous in his grin that makes your heart do a little flip.

The conversation shifts after that, flowing more easily now that the initial awkwardness has passed. He tells you stories about the Avengers—ones that don’t make the news, the kind that leave you laughing so hard your sides hurt. You tell him about the small things he’s missed—your favorite city, the time you tried skydiving and almost chickened out, the stray cat you adopted and had to leave with your mom when you moved again. The minutes stretch into hours, the outside world disappearing as you fall into a rhythm that feels both new and achingly familiar.

Eventually, there’s a lull in the conversation, and Tony takes a sip of his now-cool coffee before setting the mug down. “So,” he says casually, though there’s a hint of tension in his voice. “Is there, uh… a guy in your life? Or a woman. Or anyone, really. Not that it’s any of my business, of course. Just… curious.”

The question catches you off guard, but the way he’s trying—and failing—to appear nonchalant is almost endearing. You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “No. There’s no one. I guess I’ve been too busy to really settle down.”

For a split second, you think you see relief flash across his face, but he hides it quickly, taking another sip of his coffee to cover his reaction. “Busy, huh? Yeah, I know the feeling. Sometimes it’s easier to focus on work than deal with all the… complications.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “What about you? Anyone special? Or is Tony Stark still the most eligible bachelor in New York?”

He chuckles, the sound low and a little self-deprecating. “No one special,” he admits, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Turns out, being a genius billionaire superhero doesn’t exactly make for a stable love life.”

“Shocking,” you tease, and he laughs again, the tension between you dissolving once more.

The two of you talk until the light outside begins to fade, the soft glow of the coffee shop’s string lights casting warm shadows over your faces. When you finally glance at the time, you’re surprised at how late it’s gotten.

“I should probably let you go,” you say reluctantly, though you don’t actually want to leave. “I’m sure you’ve got a million things to do.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing that can’t wait. But if you’re in a rush, I won’t keep you.”

You both stand, the air between you suddenly charged with an unspoken tension. As you reach for your coat, Tony clears his throat, his tone shifting to something lighter. “Hey, before you go… can I, uh, get your number?”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips twitching in amusement. “Are you serious?”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “It’s just… you know, for old times’ sake. In case I need to call and complain about overpriced Christmas ornaments or something.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you pull your phone from your bag. “Fine. Give me your phone.”

He hands it over with a grin, and you quickly type in your number before handing it back. He glances at the screen as if to make sure it’s real, then pockets the phone with a satisfied smirk.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice softening. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“Me too,” you admit, your cheeks warming despite the cold.

You step outside together, the air sharp and cold against your skin. Snow has started falling again, the flakes catching in the glow of the streetlights. For a moment, neither of you moves, the world around you quiet and still.

“Well,” you say finally, pulling your scarf tighter. “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice filled with a quiet kind of hope. “I’ll see you around.”

And as you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze lingering long after you’ve disappeared into the snowy night.

That evening, you’re lying in bed, bundled under layers of soft blankets as the city hums faintly outside your window. It’s a kind of stillness you haven’t felt in years—a quiet moment in a place that never really stops moving. Your phone is in your hand, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark room. You’re scrolling aimlessly, flipping through pictures of friends you haven’t seen in months, ads for holiday sales, and the occasional post about how magical Christmas in New York is.

Your thoughts drift back to the coffee shop, to Tony. The way his smile had felt like both a memory and something entirely new. You’d been nervous to see him again, worried that the years would’ve changed him into someone unrecognizable. But he was still Tony—sharp, witty, and magnetic in a way that made it impossible not to be drawn to him. And yet, there was something else there, too. A softness you didn’t expect.

You let out a sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to process the strange, bittersweet day. Just as you’re about to set your phone down, it vibrates in your hand, the screen lighting up with a text from an unknown number. Your heart skips a beat as you unlock it, curiosity bubbling up.

Unknown Number Hey. Hope I didn’t screw this up already. It’s Tony, by the way. In case you know five other genius billionaire playboys who might randomly text you.

A laugh slips out before you can stop it, and you type back quickly.

You Hey, Tony. Took you long enough to text. I was starting to think you just wanted my number for your contacts collection.

The response comes almost instantly.

Tony What can I say? I like to keep people guessing. Besides, had to wait until I was sure I wouldn’t come across as desperate. How’s your evening?

You pause for a moment, then reply.

You Quiet. Just scrolling through my phone and pretending I’m tired enough to sleep.

Tony Exciting stuff. Let me guess—scrolling through pictures of old friends and feeling nostalgic? Or online shopping?

You Wow, you know me too well.

Tony Well, I did spend a good portion of my youth trying to figure you out. Some of it must’ve stuck.

The words send a ripple of warmth through you, and for a moment, you just stare at the screen. It’s strange, this feeling of slipping back into a rhythm with him. Familiar and unsettling all at once.

You Okay, your turn. What’s your evening like? Saving the world? Inventing something mind-blowing?

Tony Tempting, but no. I’m sitting in the workshop pretending I’m working while Dum-E tries to build a snowman out of scrap metal.

You Dum-E? Your robot is into holiday crafts?

Tony He’s been into crafts ever since I taught him to use a glue gun. Worst mistake of my life. Anyway, speaking of holiday cheer…

The ellipsis hangs there for a moment, and you wait, your fingers hovering over the screen, wondering where this is going.

Tony What are you doing on Christmas?

Your brow furrows as you read the text. Christmas? You’re about to type something vague about not having plans when another message pops up.

Tony Before you say you’re busy or it’d be weird, hear me out. I’m having a party. Nothing too crazy—just some friends, a lot of food, good music. You should come.

Your first instinct is to hesitate. Spending Christmas with Tony? It sounds… complicated. And risky. Too much like stepping into a world you’ve worked hard to keep at arm’s length.

You I don’t know, Tony. It might be a little…

You don’t finish the sentence, but he seems to understand anyway. His next message comes fast, as if he’s already anticipated your reaction.

Tony Awkward? Intense? Weird? Yeah, maybe. But it’s not just the two of us. Lots of people. A proper party, I promise. Consider it a chance to mingle with people who probably have weirder lives than yours.

Your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself. You can almost hear his voice in the words, the playful tone that somehow manages to coax you into considering things you wouldn’t otherwise.

You Lots of people, huh? Not just a sneaky excuse to lure me into some one-on-one reunion?

Tony If I wanted one-on-one, I’d just invite you to dinner. But no, this is legit. There will be other people, music, fancy hors d’oeuvres, the works.

You stare at the screen, weighing your options. A part of you knows this is a bad idea—that being around Tony, especially during the holidays, could stir up feelings you’ve tried to bury for years. But another part of you—the part that remembers the way his eyes lit up when he saw you earlier—can’t help but want to say yes.

You Okay. I’ll come.

His reply is almost instant, and you can practically see the grin behind the words.

Tony Good choice. I promise it’ll be worth it. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.

For a moment, you don’t respond, letting the conversation linger there as you try to process what you’ve just agreed to. Then, finally, you type one last message.

You Goodnight, Tony.

Tony Night, Y/N. Sweet dreams.

You set your phone on the nightstand, your chest feeling oddly tight. The room is quiet again, but your thoughts are anything but. You roll onto your side, pulling the blankets closer as you stare at the faint glow of the city lights filtering through your curtains.

What have you gotten yourself into?

The next morning, you wake up to another text from Tony, this time with the details for the party. It’s set for Christmas at his penthouse—a place you’ve only seen in magazines and on television, its sleek, modern lines standing in sharp contrast to the traditional warmth of the holiday season.

For the rest of the day, you try not to think about it too much, but it’s impossible to push the thought of him out of your mind. Every time you catch sight of your phone, you half expect another message from him, something teasing or clever to remind you that he’s still there, waiting on the edge of your thoughts.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re already second-guessing your decision. But a part of you knows you won’t back out. Not now. Not after the way his voice sounded in that coffee shop, like seeing you again was something he didn’t even realize he’d been hoping for.

And maybe you’ve been hoping for it too.

The snow crunches faintly beneath your boots as you step out of the cab, pulling your coat tighter against the biting Christmas night air. Tony’s penthouse looms above you, a sleek, towering testament to his larger-than-life personality, its sharp edges softened by the glow of festive lights from the surrounding buildings. You clutch your purse in one hand, the other tightening around the strap of your coat as you take a deep breath.

You’ve spent hours deciding what to wear, second-guessing every choice. Eventually, you settled on a deep green dress that flows like water when you move, its simplicity understated yet elegant. It feels festive without being too much, but standing here now, you wonder if you’ve overdone it—or maybe underdone it. You remind yourself this is just a party. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet your pulse quickens as you step inside the lobby and take the elevator up, the mirrored walls reflecting back the nervous anticipation in your eyes. When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, you’re greeted by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the New York skyline, a breathtaking view that momentarily makes you forget where you are.

You cross the polished floor to the massive front door, hesitating for a second before knocking. The sound echoes faintly, and you clutch your coat tighter, waiting.

The door swings open a moment later, and there he is—Tony Stark, leaning casually against the frame, a glass of something amber in his hand and a soft, almost shy smile playing on his lips. He’s wearing a dark suit, tailored to perfection, with no tie and the top buttons of his shirt undone, giving him an air of effortless charm that feels so quintessentially him.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, stepping over the threshold and glancing around. The penthouse is warm and inviting, filled with soft golden light and the faint sound of jazz playing somewhere in the background.

And empty.

Your steps falter as you realize there’s no hum of conversation, no laughter, no clinking glasses or distant chatter of guests. The space is completely silent, save for the music.

“Tony…” You turn back to him, narrowing your eyes. “Where is everyone?”

He looks at you for a moment, then shrugs, his smile turning slightly sheepish. “Okay, so, full disclosure: there’s no party.”

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up, disbelief mingling with suspicion. “You said—”

“I know what I said.” He cuts you off gently, raising a hand. “But if I’d told you it was just going to be the two of us, you wouldn’t have come. And I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

You blink, trying to process his words, unsure whether to feel flattered or annoyed. “So you lied to me?”

“Technically, yes.” He winces, but his tone is light, almost teasing. “But can you really blame me? I mean, would you have said yes if I’d told you the truth?”

You open your mouth, ready to retort, but the answer dies in your throat because he’s right. You wouldn’t have said yes.

Instead, you sigh, slipping your coat off and handing it to him when he holds out his hand. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” His grin widens, and he gestures for you to follow him.

As you step further into the penthouse, your initial irritation begins to ebb, replaced by a quiet sense of wonder. The space is decorated beautifully, but not in a flashy, over-the-top way. There’s a massive Christmas tree near the windows, its branches adorned with delicate white lights and ornaments in muted gold and silver tones. A fire crackles in the sleek modern fireplace, filling the room with a cozy warmth. The scent of pine and something faintly sweet—maybe cinnamon—lingers in the air.

It’s not what you expected.

It’s… perfect.

“Wow,” you murmur, glancing around. “This is… not what I thought it would be.”

“Good or bad?” he asks, watching you carefully as he sets your coat on a nearby chair.

“Good,” you admit, your voice soft. “Really good.”

You walk toward the tree, letting your fingers brush lightly over the soft needles of the branches. It feels almost surreal, being here like this, the quiet intimacy of the space at odds with everything you know about Tony Stark.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says, breaking the silence. “Because I may or may not have gone overboard with the food.”

You turn back to him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You? Overboard? Never.”

He laughs, gesturing for you to follow him into the dining area. The table is set for two, covered in a crisp white cloth and adorned with simple, elegant decorations—a few candles, a small vase of red and white flowers, and plates of food that look like they belong in a five-star restaurant.

“Tony…” You glance at him, your brows furrowing slightly. “Did you do all this?”

He shrugs, leaning against the edge of the table with that same boyish grin that used to drive you crazy. “Well, I had some help. But yeah. It’s Christmas, Y/N. I figured, if you’re going to spend it with me, I should at least make it special.”

There’s something in his tone, something unguarded, that makes your chest tighten. You glance around the room again, taking in the details—the understated decorations, the carefully chosen music, the food that looks suspiciously like some of your old favorites.

It hits you then.

This isn’t just a random attempt at holiday cheer. Everything about this night feels… familiar. Comfortable. Like he’s gone out of his way to make it something you’d like.

But you push the thought aside.

“Wow,” you say finally, sitting down at the table. “I’m impressed. You actually know how to do Christmas.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He sits across from you, pouring a glass of wine and sliding it across the table. “I’m a man of many talents.”

The evening unfolds slowly, the tension between you easing with every passing moment. The food is incredible—some dishes you recognize from years ago, others entirely new—and the conversation flows easily, the years you spent apart slipping away like they were never there.

At some point, you stop caring about the fact that he lied to get you here. Instead, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the laughter, the way his eyes light up when he teases you about how much you’re enjoying the dessert.

It’s only later, when the plates are cleared and the fire has burned down to embers, that you realize how much the night has meant to you. Tony pours you another glass of wine and sits back, his expression softer now, his usual bravado dimmed by something quieter, something real.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, his voice low.

“So am I,” you admit, surprising yourself with the honesty of your words.

The fire in the penthouse burns low now, the soft glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. The two of you sit on the couch, side by side but not quite touching, a bottle of wine nearly empty on the coffee table. The jazz music from earlier has faded into silence, leaving only the occasional crackle of the fire and the quiet murmur of your voices.

You’ve been talking for hours—about everything and nothing. The way the city has changed since you left. The kind of tech he’s been working on. The new hobbies you’ve picked up, the old ones you’ve let slip. It’s easy, the rhythm of your conversation, the laughter and teasing slipping in naturally, like no time has passed. But as night falls, the mood shifts, turning softer, tinged with something neither of you is willing to name.

Tony leans back, one arm draped across the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing your shoulder. His gaze lingers on you, warm and thoughtful, and then he speaks, his voice quieter now, almost wistful.

“Do you remember that time we got caught in the rain?”

You blink, startled by the sudden shift in the conversation. “Caught in the rain?”

“Yeah.” He smiles faintly. “We’d gone to that outdoor concert—you wore that sundress, the one with the little flowers on it. You were so mad at me for dragging you out there in the first place.”

A laugh escapes you, unbidden. “That’s because you said it was going to be a ‘relaxing evening.’ You forgot to mention the part where we’d be standing in a muddy field with about a thousand drunk strangers.”

“Hey, it was a great concert,” he counters, feigning indignation. “But then the sky opened up, and it started pouring.”

You shake your head, the memory coming back to you in vivid flashes—the cold sting of the rain, the way the crowd scattered, the ridiculousness of it all. “I was so mad. I wanted to leave, but you—”

“—grabbed your hand and dragged you into the middle of it,” he finishes, a hint of mischief in his voice. “You were furious at first. But then you started laughing. Do you remember that?”

You do. You remember the way the rain plastered your hair to your face, the way Tony had spun you around in the mud, completely unbothered by the downpour. You remember the way he’d looked at you, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite name then but you understand all too well now.

“I couldn’t help it,” you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were so ridiculous, dancing around like that.”

“I was trying to impress you,” he says, his voice light but his eyes serious. “Always trying to impress you.”

The weight of his words settles between you, and for a moment, the air feels heavier, charged with something unspoken. You glance down at your hands, your fingers toying with the stem of your wineglass, and then you look back at him.

“What about you?” you ask softly. “Do you ever think about it? About… us?”

“Are you kidding?” He leans forward now, his eyes locked on yours. “I think about it all the time. About you. About everything we had.”

His words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you can’t speak. The vulnerability in his voice, the raw honesty, is almost too much.

“Tony…”

“I screwed it up,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I know I did. I let you walk away, and I’ve regretted it ever since. But God, Y/N, we were good together, weren’t we? Even when we were fighting, even when we were driving each other crazy—we were good.”

You nod, your throat tight. “We were.”

The silence stretches again, and then he laughs softly, the sound tinged with both fondness and sadness. “Do you remember that time we tried to cook dinner together?”

You laugh, the memory bursting out of you unbidden. “Oh God. The lasagna.”

“I still don’t know how we managed to set the fire alarm off three times,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean, who burns noodles? Isn’t that supposed to be impossible?”

“It’s not impossible if you’re you,” you tease, and he grins, that boyish, heart-stopping grin that you’ve never quite been able to forget.

“Fair point,” he concedes. “But hey, it wasn’t a total disaster. We ended up eating cereal on the kitchen floor, and you still called it a ‘memorable evening.’”

“Because it was,” you say, your voice softer now. “Not because of the food, but because of you.”

The words hang there, heavy and unguarded, and you can see the way they hit him, the way his expression shifts, the teasing replaced by something deeper.

“And then there was that weekend in the cabin,” he says after a moment, his voice dropping lower. “Just the two of us. No distractions. No one else.”

Heat rises to your cheeks as the memory floods back—the way he’d looked at you that weekend, the way he’d touched you, the way you’d both let yourselves forget the rest of the world existed.

“Tony…” you begin, but your voice falters as his gaze locks onto yours, dark and searching.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every damn day.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as the distance between you seems to shrink without either of you moving. His hand brushes yours, tentative at first, and then firmer when you don’t pull away.

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

You shake your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, Tony. We didn’t have a choice.”

“Maybe not then,” he says, his thumb stroking lightly over your knuckles. “But now… now, I don’t want to waste another second.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s as desperate as it is tender. You freeze for a heartbeat, the shock of it coursing through you—and then you’re kissing him back, your hands tangling in his hair as you pour years of longing and unspoken words into that single moment.

The world falls away as the kiss deepens, his hands sliding up your arms to cup your face, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you might disappear. You shift, your body pressing against his as his fingers trail down your back, igniting sparks wherever they touch.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together as you cling to each other.

“Are you sure about this?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he says, his voice firm.

He stands, pulling you to your feet, and then he’s guiding you toward the bedroom, his hands never leaving yours. The door closes softly behind you, and then the night dissolves into a blur of heat and urgency and the kind of passion you thought you’d lost forever.

Tony is everywhere—his lips tracing a path down your neck, his hands exploring every inch of your skin, his voice low and breathless in your ear as he murmurs your name like a prayer. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel as he worships you with a fervor that makes your heart ache.

He takes his time, his touch reverent as if he’s memorizing you all over again, rediscovering the parts of you he thought he’d lost. And when he finally claims you, it’s like coming home—familiar and electric all at once, your bodies moving together in perfect sync.

The night stretches on, a tangle of limbs and whispered words and stolen kisses, until you’re both spent, lying tangled together in the soft glow of the city lights streaming through the window.

As you drift off to sleep in his arms, his hand resting over your heart, you can’t help but think that maybe, this is the start of something new. Something worth holding on to.

The first thing you feel when you wake up is warmth. Tony’s body is curled around yours, his arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling against your back in a slow, steady rhythm. The faint scent of his cologne lingers on the sheets, mixing with the hint of sleep-warmed skin. For a moment, you lie there with your eyes closed, letting the quiet contentment settle over you like a blanket.

When you shift slightly, his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

You smile, turning your head to glance back at him. “Morning.”

His eyes blink open, soft and warm in the morning light filtering through the windows. A lazy grin spreads across his face as he looks at you, his hair delightfully tousled and his expression free of his usual quick-witted guard.

“Sleep well?” he asks, his hand brushing the curve of your hip beneath the sheets.

“Better than I have in years,” you admit, your voice soft.

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin. “Because I plan to make sure you wake up like this every morning from now on.”

You laugh, a light, teasing sound. “Confident, are we?”

“Always,” he says, his grin widening as he shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.

The morning stretches lazily between you, filled with quiet laughter and gentle touches. His hand traces idle patterns along your back as he tells you about the ridiculous amount of effort he put into planning last night, and you tease him for going all out while secretly marveling at the thoughtfulness behind it all.

“You really thought wine and a Christmas tree would win me over?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

He smirks, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe a little.”

His fingers brush your cheek, guiding your gaze back to his. “You’re impossible,” you say, your voice softening.

“And you love it,” he counters, his grin turning mischievous.

Before you can respond, he leans down and captures your lips in a kiss—slow and sweet, yet with a simmering heat that has your heart racing. You melt into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the warmth of the morning light.

Much later, when the morning is well underway and the coffee you promised to make has been forgotten entirely, you find yourselves curled up on the couch again, his arm slung over your shoulders as you lean against him. The city hums faintly beyond the windows, but inside, the world feels still, as if time itself has paused just for the two of you.

It’s Tony who breaks the silence, his voice softer than usual. “So… last night. This morning.”

You glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want this to be just a one-night thing, Y/N. I don’t want to go back to pretending I don’t need you in my life. Because the truth is, I do. I always have.”

His words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your chest tightening with the weight of everything you’ve both left unsaid for so long.

“Tony…”

He shifts, turning to face you more fully. “I know it won’t be easy,” he says, his voice steady now. “We’ve both got our lives, our responsibilities. But I’m not letting anything—or anyone—get in the way this time. No moving, no excuses. Just us.”

Your throat tightens, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. “You mean that?”

“With everything I’ve got,” he says without hesitation.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his as you search his face, looking for any hint of doubt. But there’s none. Only raw, unguarded honesty.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” you say, your voice trembling. “Not ever.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Stay. Be with me. For real this time. No running. No hiding. Just us.”

The sheer simplicity of his words, the certainty behind them, leaves you breathless. You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it away, his touch impossibly gentle.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, one that lights up his entire expression. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid you might change your mind.

“You won’t regret this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple.

“I know I won’t,” you reply, your voice muffled against his chest.

It’s sometime later, after more laughter and kisses and whispered promises, that the air between you shifts again, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something more urgent.

Tony’s fingers trail down your arm, his touch light as a feather but enough to send a shiver down your spine. He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you into his lap.

“You know,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and teasing, “I don’t think we ever properly celebrated our reunion.”

You laugh softly, your fingers tangling in his hair. “And what exactly do you suggest?”

He grins, that familiar spark of mischief in his eyes as his hands slide up your back. “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.”

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again, his lips moving with a fervor that leaves you breathless. The world narrows down to the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he pulls you closer as if he can’t get enough of you.

He stands, lifting you effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist, his lips never leaving yours as he carries you back toward the bedroom.

The morning gives way to a blur of heat and passion, of whispered words and tangled sheets and the kind of closeness you’ve both been craving for far too long. Tony is everywhere—his hands, his lips, the low, gravelly sound of your name on his tongue sending shivers through you.

When it’s over, you lie tangled together once more, the morning sun streaming through the windows as you catch your breath. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, and you can’t help but smile, your heart full in a way it hasn’t been in years.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

You glance up at him, your fingers brushing lightly over his cheek. “So did I.”

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’ve found your way back home. And this time, you’re never letting go.

[starry-bi-sky]

Names, Marbles, and Fae-vors - More Lore on my Changeling Danny Au

In my last post I talked about the Infinite Realms and the three different planes existing inside it - the Long Far, Home to the Ancients and Celestial Beings. The Fey Wilds, Home of the Fey and other such Mythological Constructs. And the Ghost Zone, Home to the Mortal Spirits. - as well as three of the different ways beings inside the Infinite Realms can travel between planes; the Lake Portals, the Cave Tunnels, and the Starflare Currents. The Lake Portals and the Cave Tunnels don't have an official term for them yet, but I'll come up with something :).

In this post we'll be talking about some of the abilities of the fey! Specifically the things they're most popularly known for: their name stealing and etiquette thing.

For those who are not as well-versed in Fey Lore, or need a refresher, (and because I just want to yap infodump), one of the first rules you learn when interacting with the Fey is that you never, ever, say "thank you" or "I'm sorry" to them! Which is crazy, because they're really big on etiquette and being polite to each other, which is why one of their epithets is "the Good Neighbor/s". So why should you not say two phrases most commonly used when being polite to someone?

There are two big reasons for this, and the reason I'll be focusing on for this au is because, to the Fey, saying "Thank You" is acknowledgement of a debt that's owed to them. It turns the action or gift into something transactional, and results in a verbal contract that the receiver must then repay later down the line -- and whatever point in time, and with whatever the Fey they are indebted to sees fit. Whether that be food, valuables, or your firstborn child.

The other big reason is because some Fey just think it's rude, and view "thank you" as something that dilutes their act of kindness, and/or implies that they are there to serve you. One of the best summarizations I've seen for fey is that they're bros; they're doing this because they think you're friends -- or something similar to the sort. It's deeply insulting to do all these nice things for a friend, only for that friend to reveal that they don't view you the same way at all.

It's for similar reasons that you also shouldn't say, "I'm sorry" either, except instead of repaying a gift, you are now making reparations for a wrong you have done. A misdeed must be repaid in full, now how are you going to make it up to them? And also because well, I imagine that if saying "thank you" is seen as rude, "I'm sorry" is the exact same way because it dilutes the act.

If you're in a situation where you must say "thank you" or "i'm sorry" there are ways to get around it. "I'm grateful", "you're too kind", "I apologize", or "I feel regret" are just some examples I saw used.

NOW! How is this used in my Changeling AU? The Fey work by these same rules, the only difference is that I've added a physical aspect to it! If Fey are capable of stealing the abstract and turning the incorporeal corporeal, then lets run with it!

"Thank Yous" and "I'm Sorrys" are debts, and Fey can magically bound you into a verbal contract with that alone. However, it's not uncommon -- and actually pretty standard -- for Fey to weave the excess magic of that debt into something physical. They create these delicate-looking, iridescent threads that they then weave into their hair for decoration. And in some areas of the Fey Wilds, use it as a way to show off wealth and/or their own wit.

Ever heard of Fairy Hair? Yeah, same concept.

Debt Threads, as I am temporarily calling them, are thin and airy, and not that much thicker than gossamer. Since it's a debt that is intended to eventually be paid back, it's not practical -- nor is it seen as such -- to use the threads for anything more than temporary cosmetics. As a result, they're usually used for decorating the hair, but some crafty fey use their threads to decorate other appendages, or as form of makeup. Despite their dainty appearance, the threads are actually very sturdy and can only be unweaved by the Fey that created it.

You can, technically, take back your debt thread. However, the threads are made using excess magic of the debt, and not made of the magic of the debt itself, which is why it's so thin and airy. So if you do manage to get it, congrats! All you've got is some pretty string and a pissed off feyrie whose hair you probably just yanked out.

Danny's managed to accrue a few "debts" before he realizes he's a fey, mostly from his friends and sister -- although there are a few from his parents, and some from the other student body from when he was unknowingly and instinctually doing Fey Bullshit. As a result, he starts forcing Sam and Tucker and Jazz to stop thanking him for things, and typically makes them repay him through petty, menial stuff. Like getting him food, or buying him a small but relatively inexpensive trinket he's been eyeing for a while. Never usually anything super important - it's his own way of apologizing for indebting them to him in the first place.

As for his parents... well, he'll hold onto those debts for now. Having a way to magically get them off his back with no questions asked is a boon he's pretty willing to keep close to his chest, and no amount of persuasion will convince him otherwise. Sorry Jazz, Fey side wins out on this one. As for some of the students he's got, Danny manages to psych himself up and release some of them from their contracts without repayment -- even if it makes his bones itch.

AND NOW THE NAMES! You never give a Fey your name because they say everything literally. "Can I have your name?" is a literal question -- they are asking for your name, and thus ownership over you. The other thing is that Names have power, if a fey knows your Full Name they can make you do things for them -- however it goes both ways so you could do the same thing if you learn a Fey's name.

Knowing a Name and owning a Name are two different things, with owning a Name being, naturally, more dangerous as you are basically submitting yourself to permanent indentured servitude, among other things. Knowing a Name can be risky because it results in being more susceptible to fey charms, enchantments, and requests.

But! I digress! Just like how Thank Yous and I'm Sorrys can be turned into a physical object, so can Names! This is not obligatory, nor is it recommended to do often because unlike debt threads, these can be taken back, but it happens!

Names can be trapped in these little, colorful glass-like orbs -- marbles, they're marbles/pearls. They can be trapped in what are basically magic marbles, and just like debt threads, be used for decoration. They're more versatile though, and are used for different things since unlike debt threads, the pearls are meant to be permanent! They make beautiful jewelry, since the pearls come in various different colors depending on the person it once belonged to, and the intent behind its creation.

The marbles have a hard outer shell, with the cores having a fluid, shimmery appearance. Look up liquid core dice, and Name Marbles have a similar appearance, just more... ethereal, with different shades of the same color swirling inside. Not two pearls look the same, and even ones that have similar colors or appearances have subtle differences in them that are imperceptible to the mortal eye. Some pearls look like the deepest trenches of the ocean, blacks and dark blues swirling around each other as flecks of bioluminescence float inside. While others look like a lilac winter sunset, with hand-held purples bleeding into pink and gold.

Convincing Danny to return the Names he's gotten is harder than convincing him to absolve the debts. It takes a lot more psyching up on his part to actually do it, and more verbal coaxing and negotiating on his friends' part. Because on an instinctual fey level, those names are rightfully his. For all intents and purposes, he was given those names freely and without reservation, and so to be told that he has to return what were essentially gifts to him is... deeply distressing.

Lots of cognitive dissonance there. His human-raised brain and morals know why he needs to give them back, and he feels bad for owning them. But his new changeling-baby fey-brain is deeply upset at the prospect, and is a liittle bit stronger than the once-human part of him. He rapidly becomes overwhelmed when trying to convince himself to return the Names. He does, eventually, end up doing it, but he's unwillingly upset the whole time.