#the lads are scheming i can tell you that much

[munchy-k]

making my 6794838th attempt to read qjj because I refuse to accept that my pea brain cannot comprehend the plot

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

routine vibe check: what’s the best starter pokemon and why are you right (pictures and long paragraphs of evidence welcomed and appreciated)

Gonna get a good grade in vibe check, normal to want and inevitable to achieve because I have objectively correct Pokemon opinions and will block naysayers

OKAY LET'S GO

I decided to do, like, a top 5 list or something, because I'm bad at picking a single favourite of stuff. And then even that overwhelmed me, so I found one of those tier ranking list sites and produced this:

It was done in less than a minute, so if I wanted to get really picky, I don't know if I would be fully wedded to it (not sure if maybe Sceptile should be one higher) BUT it did help to highlight the important ones.

So!

5. Bulbasaur

It's. Just. So. Nice.

Like you can find cooler, more beautiful, cuter, fancier... there's a whole bunch of ways for a Pokemon to be great. But you will never ever find a nicer Pokemon than Bulbasaur. It's so lovely. Look at it. Look at its face.

I can't put it higher, because the rest of the line is fairly bland in terms of development. It's good and logical and fun, don't get me wrong, but Ivysaur and Venusaur just look like bigger versions with More Flower and Less Cute rather than creatures in their own right. To be honest, if it weren't a starter requiring a three-stage evolution, you could do away with Ivysaur. Something I don't like about a lot of lazy three-step lines is that the middle step just looks like a transitional mid phase rather than a Proper Creacher, like they were artificially inflating the Pokemon number count. Meanwhile it took us until Paldea to get a Girafarig evo that would actually make the giraffe tall. Madness.

However my first ever Pokemon was a Bulbasaur I called Daffodil, and I have traded him forward onto every single successive generation since. He is, quite literally, my First Ever Pokemon. I love him desperately. I still have him. Not many people still have their First Ever Pokemon. But I do and I love him. So, Bulbasaur gets the fifth spot.

4. Snivy

Again, a victim of the Banal Transitional Middle Evo, but both Snivy and Serperior are incredible, and as Meatloaf took such pains to tell us, two out of three ain't bad.

But Snivy! It's so snooty! I was super lucky with mine, too, because I beat the 12.8% odds and got a female, and I loved her. Normally the initial baby starters are designed to be cute but Snivy has SO MUCH PERSONALITY, she's great. And the design of Serperior is utterly gorgeous. She keeps the expression, but rather than the Animal Crossing-style snooty-cute vibe of Snivy you get this thousand yard withering stare of an empress whose servant (you) has just turned up dripping mud in her throne room and asked her for money. Her green and gold colour scheme is exquisite. Her filigree design, including her high collar, give off the air of wealth and sophistication befitting her immaculate pedigree. And all this! In a simple snake. Incredible design work, 10 out of 10, no notes.

Begone, you miserable peasant. Have him boiled.

3. Torchic

Now I'll be real with you, lads, but Pokemon design hit its stride with Hoenn and then got better.

It's partly a fashion thing, of course - you look at some of the Kanto designs and they are remarkably 90s, because that's when the franchise launched. Others are clearly a product of what the 1990's were capable of producing in pixels on an already over-stretched cartridge medium. Like we like to clown on Red and Green/Blue now, but my god, those game designers performed a miracle with Pokemon. Every single square inch of space was used to make that game, and complex designs weren't going to cut it.

(With that said, there is still no excuse for Dragonite.)

And then Johto came about and its Pokedex sucks ass. It's mostly new evolutions for existing Kanto stars, useless babies to inflate the dex number, or poorly thought out single-evos like the inexplicably short Girafarig and the unacceptably dreary Dunsparce (our greatest thanks to Paldea for fixing both of those).

BUT THEN CAME HOENN (trumpets intensify)

And we get habitats! Biomes! A different regional climate, gifting us a brand new area of Pokecology! And therefore a brand new flush of creativity in Pokemon design across the board; less dated, and more inclined to be unique rather than a rehash of Kantonian stuff.

Which brings me nicely to this lad:

Now, I mean. Just look at him. Fucking hell. Cute starter stage, check. LOOK AT HIM FACE

AND THEN he became, at the time, a brand-new unique typing: Fire/Fighting. I realise that is now the norm for like, half of the Fire starters, but that's because of Torchic, actually. He was super popular. In fact if you ever play Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald and you do what my husband and I like to call a Mynci Dave run (use one Pokemon almost exclusively, meaning it gets all the experience points and therefore over-levels to a terrifying degree, allowing you to sweep the game; so named after the noble Primeape we first did this with, Mynci Dave), Torchic is the PERFECT Pokemon to choose, because almost everything is weak to either Fire or Fighting in that region.

Anyway, Combusken is, again, kind of mid (although props for the inverted colour scheme and the fact that it actually does look like a teenager.) But Blaziken, on the other hand... Blaziken is a six foot ninja chicken with wings for hair whose Pokedex entry describes it as able to leap tall peaks in a single bound, a feat it achieves after strengthening its legs by hoofing Geodudes down mountains like they're fucking footballs

Also an impressive bulge.

My first was called Gilgamesh, and he was fucking great. For a long time, this mad lad was my actual favourite Pokemon, not just starter. Brilliant. Love him. Five stars out of three. King.

2. Fuecoco

It would probably surprise you to know I've not actually used one. I chose Sprigatito, and I do really like Meowscarada, actually. But pretty anthro cat boys have been done in Pokemon quite a bit at this point; cats, dogs and rabbits are over-represented in terms of Poke-taxa. Possibly this is another reason for a toad, a snake and a chicken being 5, 4 and 3 so far (ooh, basilisk ingredients, I've just realised.) They're new and unusual! I like an Eeveelution as much as the next person, but they're a whole family of cat-dog-rabbits, like.

However.

Nintendo has tried its hand at Pokecrocodilians three times (Feraligatr, Krookodile, Skeledirge), and they have gotten so much better at design each time that the three of them are basically a scale proxy for ongoing design improvement. Look, I've made a diagram:

EXCEPT

(Strap in)

This one is that rare thing: a three step line that deserves to be a three step line. Let's talk Fuecoco first:

SO CUTE. It's charming, it's charismatic, it's adorable.

It also has hints of its evolutionary end goal, but not like an undeveloped middle evo. It likes singing. The white face hints at the eventual calavera, and it looks a bit like a lil chilli pepper - a ghost pepper, probably in reference to the eventual Fire/Ghost typing. But the colours and shape right now also look a bit reminiscent of a babygro, because this thing is a cute starter. Lookit them teefs. That tuft. Its lovely smile. Beautiful.

And then, at the point you expect it to turn into just the awkward teenage version of the adult, instead we get Crocator:

Oh boy. Oh there's so much to say. Okay okay:

The region it's from is based on Spain, but this thing is incorporating Hispanic elements from across the board. It's a mariachi in a sombrero, except the sombrero also looks kind of like a ring of Mexican marigolds and kind of like a Catalonian Easter cake called Mona de Pascua that has an egg (or egg-shaped confectionary) in the middle. Body shape and markings look kind of like a piñata. The white face is now on its way to a calavera, with the cheek and nostril markings more defined. And it sings, with its open mouth (also how crocodiles release heat, appropriate for a Fire type) and signified by the mariachi theme.

THAT IS A LOT.

And then it becomes Skeledirge. A Fire/Ghost crocodile.

Now the obvious design here is the calavera and the  Día de Muertos theming, which is part of it. But there are also many examples of crocodile figures in Spanish folkloric ghost stories: the Catalonian Cocollona, the Lizard of Magdalena from Jaén, or the Drac de Na Coca, or even the Cuca - that one is Portuguese, but turns up in both Brasil and the Iberian Peninsula including in parts of Spain. It's got a Gaudi vibe (like Barcelona). It's got an alebrije vibe (like Mexico).

And the bird! Nile crocs have a cleaning symbiosis with Egyptian plovers; it also sits at the tip of the snout where male gharials have a sort of bulbous bit to help them make sounds (the singing thing).

But this is what the bird does when Skeledirge uses Torch Song:

It becomes a microphone, then grows in size and attacks the opponent in Phoenix form. Phoenix: Fire/Ghost. Resurrected from the ashes.

Quite simply, your fave could never.

5. Rowlet

My god. (My god)

gasp

Look at this lovely creacher. He is so round and so soft and so lovely. He looks like that baby Yoda meme. He looks like that cat that someone's landlord said they would make an exception for because he looks very polite. Look!!! At his lil bow tie!!! He is a smartly dressed young man and he is kind and he is... well, a bit vacant behind the eyes. A himbo, if you will. But he is all the better for that. What a lovely owl.

He looks a little like a barn owl, perhaps, and those were imported to Hawai'i, where Rowlet is from. But I think he looks a little like a Pueo owl, and given that he will eventually be a Ghost type, that seems right - pueos are one of the physical forms assumed by ʻaumākua in Hawai'ian culture, as I understand it.

And then, hang onto your tits, lads, because this is another banger - THE MIDDLE EVOLUTION IS ITS OWN DESIGN!!! (confetti cannons)

I said earlier that boring middle evos are like just awkward teenagers of the adults. Here, I present to you, a very deliberate Awkward Teenager, in Dartrix:

IT'S A DANDY

I love him I love him I love him

He plays with his fringe and if you touch it without permission he has a tantrum. God, he's so charismatic. Also, that fringe further suggests the pueo - they have pronounced outer rims around their facial disks like that. Look at his bow tie and tail coat. So smart and handsome

This one is so good that it could be the final evo. This is actually my issue with the Delphox line - Braixen is amazing, and then it becomes the bland boredom of Delphox. Braixen should have been the final stop. Here, Dartrix is much the same - good enough to be a high-quality end goal.

Where they differ is that Decidueye is better again.

IT SHOOTS ARROWS MADE OF ITS OWN QUILLS

Also, fun fact - This line is the only starter to change secondary typing. Dartrix is part Flying; but on evolving a second time into Decidueye, it switches to Grass/Ghost. In this evolution, it's definitely mostly a pueo, so the ʻaumākua reference is IN, but actually barn owls also have their associations with the dead in various cultures.

The crown of feathers around its head are also reminiscent of an ayaigasa - a hat worn by Japanese samurai archers. And yet! AND YET!

It still has its lil bow tie look. Bigger now, more of a cravat; but there it is.

A perfect Pokemon, and a perfect evolutionary line. No notes.

Anyway, thank you for this chance to waste three and a half hours writing this essay

[gardenschedule]

Perceptions of Paul as calculating & John's paranoia

“McCartney’s mistake, which he now admits, was to seem invulnerable. […] And yet, he says, the contrast between himself and Lennon, so assiduously cultivated by journalists, was a fabrication. “I wasn’t brilliant at school. I was trouble, just like John. I got caned practically every day, and the only exam I ever passed was Spanish. John and I weren’t black and white, although people took John, for all his aggression, to be the good guy, because he showed his warts. I’ve only just realized, after all this time, that people like to see warts. It makes them sympathetic. I’d always though that, in order to be liked, you had to be unwarty.””

Living with The Beatles’ legacy, the smears that Lennon left behind… and the battle to win my babies back, The Times Newspaper, Monday January 4, 1982.

Paul was the easiest to talk to. He had such energy and such keenness and, unlike John, enjoyed being liked, at least most of the time. I don't see this as a criticism; John himself could be very cruel about Paul's puppy dog eagerness to please. The irony was, and still is, that John's awfulness to people, his rudeness and cruelty, made people like him more, whereas Paul's genuine niceness made many people suspicious, accusing him of being calculating. Paul does look ahead, seeing what might happen, working out the effect of certain actions, but he often ends up tying himself in knots, not necessarily getting what he thought he wanted. I think there is some insecurity in Paul's nature, which makes him try so hard, work so hard. It also means he can be easily hurt by criticism, which was something that just washed over John.

Hunter Davies, Western Mail: The Beatles. (April 9th, 2004)

Even Paul’s immaculate manners could not thaw her. ‘Oh, yes, he was well-mannered–too well-mannered. He was what we call in Liverpool “talking posh” and I thought he was taking the mickey out of me. I thought “He’s a snake-charmer all right,” John’s little friend, Mr Charming. I wasn’t falling for it. After he’d gone, I said to John, “What are you doing with him? He’s younger than you… and he’s from Speke!”’ After that, when Paul appeared, she would always tell John sarcastically that his ‘little friend’ was here. ‘I used to tease John by saying “chalk and cheese”, meaning how different they were,’ she remembered, ‘and John would start hurling himself around the room like a wild dervish shouting “Chalkandcheese! Chalkandcheese!” with this stupid grin on his face.’

Philip Norman, Paul McCartney: The Life. (2016)

“He always suspected me. He accused me of scheming to buy over Northern Songs without telling him. I was thinking of something to invest in, and Peter Brown said what about Northern Songs, invest in yourself, so I bought a few shares, about 1,000 I think. John went mad, suspecting some plot. Then he bought some himself. He was always thinking I was cunning and devious. That’s my reputation, someone who’s charming, but a clever lad. “It happened the other day at Ringo’s wedding. I was saying to Cilia [Black] that I liked Bobby [her husband]. That’s all I said. Bobby’s a nice bloke. Ah, but what do you REALLY think Paul? You don’t mean that, do you, you’re getting at something? I was being absolutely straight. But she couldn’t believe it. No one ever does. They think I’m calculating all the time.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

In the wake of his death you didn’t tour for most of the ‘80s. People suggested that you were scared to go on the road. Was that true? No. People speculate about anything. They always credit me with motives I haven’t even dreamed of. It’s interesting, the way they sort of perceive my life and analyse it for me. In that case, I never thought about touring much. People used to say, “Oh, it’s 10 years since you’ve toured.” I’d go, “Is it? Y’know, I’m not counting.” That’s all that was, really. I don’t know why. Maybe I didn’t fancy it.

The Q Interview, 2007

Astrid in Germany was always a bit suspicious of Paul at first, though his relationship with Stu was also bound up in this. 'It used to frighten me that someone could be so nice all the time. Which is silly. It's ridiculous to feel at home with nasty people, just because you feel that at least you know where you are with them. It's silly to be wary of nice people.'

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

Paul is the easiest to get to know for an outsider, but in the end he is the hardest to get to know. There is a feeling that he is holding things back, that he is one jump ahead, aware of the impression he is giving. He is self-conscious, which the others are not. John doesn't care, either way, what people think. Ringo is too adult to think about such things, and George in many ways isn't conscious. He is above it all.

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

Paul today is still the public Beatle, giving interviews at fairly regular intervals, being open and honest about himself and his past, his worries and his pleasures. Naturally, as ever, there are people who suspect his motives, putting him down for being too charming. Paul may be a bit of an actor, acting the part of Paul McCartney, the charming superstar, still loved by every mum, which can make him sound rather prissy at times, but I believe he does tell the truth about himself.

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

“My problem is to me, I come over as this very together guy, always got his finger on top of everything: the man with no problems. School – a doddle, got all the exams. This is the sort of image of me. Actually, I had murder getting through exams, like I was saying about being on tour during my GCEs. I was like the kid who was getting the cane. Just like John was, but he [Phillip Norman] makes me the very shrewd, always-going-to-succeed guy, and John is the kind of cute, working-class hero. In actual fact though, John was just as shrewd and ambitious as I was. What does me in is he adds to this image I’ve got; I resent that, because I know I’m not that, and I know I’ve never been that.

Paul McCartney’s thoughts from 1983 on Phillip Norman’s ‘Shout!’

The funny thing is, when Apple [started], everything was laid out on the table, it’s like a Monopoly game. We saw who had what. I suddenly had more Northern Song shares than anybody, and it was like, oops, sorry. John was like, “You bastard, you’ve been buying behind my back.” John saw everything like a Harold Robbins movie, you know, which it was. He’s not incorrect. I couldn’t get over the fact that we were really involved in all this. I think to this day, he’ll not understand. I don’t think he would accept right now, my naïveté in it. I think he still suspects me of trying to take over Apple. He still suspects that when I offered the Eastmans as [managers] instead of Allen Klein, he naturally assumed that I would be taken care of better than the others, and that the Eastmans could never be moral enough to be equal in their judgment and do the Beatles’ thing rather than Paul’s thing. I think they still suspect to this day.

The point I was trying to illustrate is that it wasn’t so much John being a bastard as it was his being suspicious towards me, always being suspicious towards me. There was Northern Song shares. And I swear on any holy book you want, I know he won’t believe it, but I know for sure that I didn’t buy them with the view to— If I was really trying to do it, I could have bought an awful lot more. So it does hurt a little bit that there’s someone who still thinks, like, I’m out to get them, or that I always was. That’s one of the nice things about it— It’s a pity [I never said to John, “Fuck off, I’m not trying to do it”—and never was]. But he knows I was kind of— We were behind the scenes, and we did a few little [things] that we had to do, and our ambitions, and it was never a kind of terrifying skeletons in the closet. It was always just normal—but, uh, they …

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

SG: Were the other Beatles anti-Linda? PMcC: Uh, yeah. I should think so. Like we were anti-Yoko. But you know John and Yoko, you can see it now, the way to get their friendship is to do everything the way they require it. To do anything else is how to not get their friendship. This is still how it is with John and Yoko. I know that if I absolutely lie down on the ground and just do everything like they say and laugh at all their jokes and don’t expect my jokes to ever get laughed at, and don’t expect any of my opinions ever to carry any weight whatsoever, if I’m willing to do all that, then we can be friends. But if I have an opinion that differs from theirs, then I’m a sort of an enemy. And naturally, paint myself a villain with a big mustache on, because to the ends of the earth, that’s how they both see me. They’re very suspicious people [John and Yoko], and one of the things that hurt me out of the whole affair, was that we’d come all that way together, and out of either a fault in my character, or out of lack of understanding in their character, I’d still never managed to impress upon them that I wasn’t trying to screw them. I don’t think that I have to this day.

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

I was never out to screw him, never. He could be a maneuvering swine, which no one ever realized. Now since the death he’s became Martin Luther Lennon. But that really wasn’t him either. He wasn’t some sort of holy saint. He was still really a debunker. “For ten years together he took my songs apart. He was paranoiac about my songs. We have great screaming sessions about them.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

SALEWICZ: Oh, he was presumably very paranoid. PAUL: I think so. I mean, he warned me off Yoko once. You know, “Look, this is my chick!” ’Cause he knew my reputation. I mean, we knew each other rather well. And um, I felt… I just said, ���Yeah, no problem.” But I did sort of feel he ought to have known I wouldn’t, but. You know, he was going through “I’m just a jealous guy”. He was a paranoid guy. And he was into drugs. Heavy.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London)

Miles says, “I think Jane was always a bit irritated by John. Because he was so acerbic and difficult to get on with. And paranoid. He didn’t make life easy. I suppose it’s a sort of rapier wit, but it was usually just plain ordinary rudeness. There was nothing special about it.”

Paul McCartney profile for FAME Magazine (March 1990)

“They [Lennon & McCartney] saw each other again in 1977. The Lennons and McCartneys ate dinner together at Le Cirque, Paul’s favourite French restaurant in New York. John regretted going; it was a loathsome night. Paul and Linda blathered on and on about how perfect their lives were, how they had everything they’d ever wanted, and how they were as happy as they’d ever been. Something very paranoid suddenly occurred to John. Maybe Lorraine Boyle was spying on him for the McCartneys! He woke up the next morning still feeling disturbed; he consulted the Oracle. Swan assured him that Paul and Linda were frustrated and unsatisfied. Their marriage was in trouble, he said, predicting it would break up within the year. Lately Swan’s visions had been astonishingly accurate. Relieved, John began composing a song—a little ditty, really, that would never be released—in praise of the Oracle’s powers. But he still couldn’t understand why Paul and Linda had been together for as long as they had. There appeared to be a psychic connection between John and Paul. Every time McCartney was in town, John would hear Paul’s music in his head.”

Robert Rosen, Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon, (2000)

JOHN: […..] And he’s (Jagger) goin’ on about “he never calls. Do you think he ever calls? He never calls me. And he keeps changing his phone number all the time… And he’s hiding behind the kid.” I was hurt by it! You know… The fact that… A, I never call anybody. It’s not pride, it’s just that I never, ever have. REPORTER: Why? JOHN: I never call the other Beatles, I never call anybody. They always call me. REPORTER: Why? JOHN: Cos I’m self-involved! I’m paranoid, too. I don’t like phones… There’s nobody on this earth ever got a call from me that isn’t related, probably. Or a very old friend…

Sept 1980 – John

“Yoko was an extremist and was even more intense than John taking any idea or comment of his to the limit. If, for example, he complained about any of his fellow Beatles she would hint that that Beatle had always been an enemy implying that John should never deal with that person again. Her extreme positions fascinated John and help him take his mind off himself but when she became self-involved and paranoid herself -her paranoia usually dealt with her career, her fame and the fact that even though she had always been famous everyone conspired to keep her from getting even more famous- he had no place to turn. His insecurity about his solo career, his childhood, his relationships with the other Beatles, the way the public perceived Yoko overwhelmed him and he became more and more involved with drugs.”

May Pang, Loving John (1984)

John was lucky. He got all his hurt out. I’m a different sort of a personality. There’s still a lot inside me that’s trying to work it out. And that’s why it’s good to see that wedding-funeral bit, because I started to think, ‘Wait a minute, this is someone who’s going over the top. This is paranoia manifesting itself.’ And so my feeling is just like it was at the time, which is like, He’s my buddy, I don’t really want to do anything to hurt him, or his memory, or anything. I don’t want to hurt Yoko. But, at the same time, it doesn’t mean that I understand what went down.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)

Some three year later, during the making of Abbey Road, Lennon installed a twin bed in the studio so that Yoko, recuperating from a car crash, could survey proceedings and pass comment though a mike he had suspended over her. The other Beatles positioned themselves around the room as best they could. Yoko would later tell Paul that if, for any reason, he’d seemed to be standing too close to her, all hell would break loose when John got her home. Lennon, she said, was ‘very paranoid’ like that.

McCartney by Chris Sandford

But we were actually quite supportive. Not supportive enough, you know; it would have been nice to have been really supportive because then we could look back and say, “Weren’t we really terrific?” But looking back on it, I think we were okay. We were never really that mean to them. But I think a lot of the time John suspected meanness where it wasn’t really there.

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Chris Salewicz for Musician: Tug of war – Paul McCartney wants to lay his demons to rest. (October, 1986)

I just read about this thing that’s going on sale at Sotheby’s – this Apple booklet with John’s comments in the margins in his own handwriting. It is so bitter. Like, there’s a picture of Paul and Linda’s wedding – and John’s crossed out “wedding” and written in “funeral.” I think it starts to tell there. Another caption says, “Paul goes to Hollywood” – and then he’s apparently written in the margin, “To cut Yoko and John out of the film.” He often thought that we were tryin’ to cut Yoko out of things, to cut her out of Let It Be. I suppose we were, in some degree; because she wasn’t in the Beatles, and it was a Beatles film, and it wasn’t absolutely necessary to have long footage of her in there. She certainly was in there, but obviously they felt she should be in there a little more. I bent over backward trying to see John’s point of view. I still bend over backward trying to not malign him.”

Paul McCartney, Rolling Stone, September 11th, 1986

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

Why don't you just give in? Pt.2

Fem reader

Pt.1

You

He's looking skinny, or as skinny as a man who's resembled a brick shithouse for the last two decades can be, less toned I suppose more lean. I watch as he turns away, the t-shirt he's wearing allowing for more creases, bagginess. He's forgone his mask, not that he needs it. He needs a shave instead, he almost resembles his Captain with that growth. His dirty blonde hair now sun bleached in parts and his tan somewhat deeper.

You know you want to run your fingers through it, feel the short hairs against the pads of your fingers as your hand moves against the grain. The last time you did that his hands were- My thoughts are both rudely and thankfully interrupted.

“Ohhh blimey you see the lads? Who's that with the scraggly face? The tall one?” I hear Laura beside me. Instantly the table I'm seated at falls into hushed gossip, as they always do when they see the task force. The SAS lads are a common sight around here, but the more specialist unit within it still garners mystique, enthusiastic and borderline obsessive gossip whenever they grace us with their presence.

“Ghost… you really don't recognise him without that rag on his face?” I murmur as I look down and bring my mug of coffee to my lips. Ghost... I still hate that callsign. Nickname. The lore. I mean I know how fucking vicious and brutal he can be. It's not learnt or adaptive behaviour since joining the military. As usual the table descends into the usual gossip, the girls wanting to follow them to the pub they'll inevitably end up at later on. Such is the routine when they land back on home turf, especially since they've clearly been gone a while. Eat, drink, fuck, repeat.

I zone out, leaving the others to continue their usual shite when they talk about the lads. Finishing up, I stand with my tray and head to the tray return carts, Laura shouts and tells me I will be joining them tonight and that it's final. Fuckin’ a! Wherever the lads will be, so will we, the sodding groupies they are. Though it won't take much to be out the way, they're only headed to a pub. No need to dress to impress.

Walking away from my table I steel myself, walking past Riley and his lot. I resist the urge to gob in his food, as usual. I would have done it years ago, but I've risen above that version of myself. I do however afford a quick glance down and I'm met with ochre orbs, his ochre eyes. This time I yield and look away, not wanting to walk into someone with a tray full leftover dinner.

Later I find myself freshly showered, the weather keeps flip-flopping so I decide on shorts with a tank and a hoodie with my favourite trainers. It's still warm and humid enough to warrant the summer gear, but as August stretches through to September there's a chill in the air. I look at myself in the mirror, my hair tousled and low key smokey eyes. I almost feel like I should scrub the makeup off, I'm in my mid thirties, why am I dressing like I'm fifteen years younger.

We all bundle in the taxi for fifteen minutes it takes for us to get to the town centre in Hereford. I listen as the others plan and scheme where the lads are, I give the usual non committal noises they'd expect but eventually I put my proverbial foot down. “Look, I don't want to spend all night with you lot drooling over them. We'll get pre-drinks at The Queen's Arms, some of you will get a quickie I'm sure, and then we should go somewhere better to spend our time.”

I'm met with eye rolls and smirks, it's no secret I'm not enthralled by the lads on the task force, and even under duress when plied with copious drinks I've still not spilt the beans. Finally the taxi pulls over and we hop out, the fare being prepaid since it was a group booking. I stay behind to organise a return journey later before following the girls into the pub. We're met with a wall of sound, almost raucous, as we filter in and find a table. I see Riley actually enjoying himself around the pool table for once.

Pt.3

[mothiir]

Would you consider Russ content? Either Emps wife snatching or just more generally?

🍀

yes absolutely! not in a fic-writing mood at the moment so here are some headcanons:

russ’s sexual mores are very fenris -culturally specific which is to say viking-influenced which is to say no he isn’t gay, he tops all the time, therefore not gay

that aside: he comes from a society that takes things like marriage very seriously — the men will go out and fight and hunt, and the women politick and strategise, so if you wed it needs to be a strong, canny, clever woman who will mind your thralls in your absence and cast a few spells to grant you luck which is absolutely. not the same. thing. as psykers.

so for all his brash barbarian reputation — sometimes earned, sometimes feigned — when it comes to settling down (as much as he can settle down) he’d seek out a woman who is strong enough to manage him and his household, and clever enough to scheme and plot when needed.

acquiring this woman could be….problematic. look, leman russ is generally a decent sort, and he likes dogs which makes him okay in my book, but he is also a space viking who is known as Big E’s executioner. what i am saying is that he would not see anything wrong with burning a troublesome planet to the ground, putting most of the men to the sword, and absconding with the woman who tried to put a knife in his eye after he tore her husband in half. or he’d take the one shaking captive who mustered up the strength to spit blood on his boots like “ooh this one has spirit! mine now!”

outside of marriage, however, his tastes are a little more lax: he will happily bed a pretty lass or lad between (or after, or during) battles, with no expectation that anything comes of it. if he’s obtained a wife, he would probably stop the casual shagging, but he may come back from a campaign with a woman over his shoulder, looking somewhat sheepish, and explain that okay she’s not exactly a thrall but how do you feel about another wife —

you could tell him to put the poor girl back where he found her — but honestly your best bet is probably forming an alliance with her. leman russ is a terrifying force of nature, but he’s weak to his women, like most so-called alpha wolves. he may go out to fight in the emperor’s crusades, but you wear the keys to his home around your waist — and you hold his lead in your hand.

[aphelea]

a merry war (tiertice)

my fic for @keeper-big-bang-2024!!

check out the absolutely incredible art by @purplesoup-lad-le and @kingkrakie: here and here or read on ao3 here

Summary:

Sick of Tiergan and Prentice's rivalry, fiancées Della and Livvy—alongside Lord Bronte and Lord Fintan Pyren—create a scheme to convince each one that the other is in love with them. Meanwhile, Lady Gisela and her unmemorable sidekick are plotting to throw Eternalia into complete and utter chaos—but will Sophie and her friends be able to thwart them before they can ruin Della and Livvy's wedding? or: A Tiertice Much Ado About Nothing AU.

-

Tiergan knows the second the messenger arrives that he isn’t bringing good news. It’s not through any body language of the man himself, no—Tiergan has simply noticed a pattern with messages that arrive in his presence. He’s a bad-luck charm, of sorts. (Though Bronte would scold him if he heard him say that.)

In this case, the messenger arrives to him, Livvy, and Bronte eating dinner in the dining hall—Livvy, reading over a letter she had received that evening and Tiergan, pretending to be nose-deep in a novel. In reality, he’s attempting to read Livvy’s letter over her shoulder (for, although she won’t admit the identity of her “secret daily admirer,” Tiergan has his suspicions which he would have liked to have confirmed. Much to his chagrin, however, Livvy is one of only two people in the world who knows how to hide from his snooping.)

“My lord,” the messenger says, covered in dirt and grime and dripping like a wet dog all over the marble floors. 

Bronte, to his credit, maintains his composure, though his lips do twist into a slight scowl. “Yes?” 

The messenger procures a short note with ripped edges from his sack and leaves it on the table. “A message from the war camp, sir.” 

“Do they return?” Livvy says, scrambling up from her seat. “When? With whom? For how long?”

The messenger seems vaguely uncomfortable at the barrage of questions, but is thankfully saved by Bronte, who simply states, “Well. I suppose we should prepare some rooms, then.” He frowns, for a moment, then asks, “How many, exactly? Fintan has been frustratingly vague, as always.”

“It’s…rather up in the air, at the moment,” he replies, gaze flitting back and forth across the room. “There will likely be some extra guests coming along. Strangers to Eternalia, I believe.” 

And Tiergan suddenly feels the urge to bang his head against the table. 

Many times. 

Enough times, perhaps, to suffer a head injury that would send him to a physician far, far, away—conveniently for the duration of their guests’ stay. But alas, he cannot, and so he remains seated in silent suffering.   

There are indeed plenty of men at the border of Ravagog, protecting from the ever-present forces of King Dimitar. But few would, so soon after a victory, venture so far out of the way as Eternalia. A few containing Lord Fintan Pyren—whose inexplicable connection to the city leads him to visit Bronte at every possible occasion—and those who find themselves otherwise drawn to the young masters of Eternalia.

Drawn, theoretically, to a years-long effort to annoy Tiergan till his heart stops. 

“Tell me,” Tiergan cuts into the messenger’s speech on poor weather conditions, “is he coming back from the wars, or no?” He spits out the pronoun like spoiled food, and he frowns much the same. 

The messenger furrows his eyebrows. “Who?”

“The Keeper, as he insists on calling himself.” Truth be told, the name isn’t any more ridiculous than Granite, but Tiergan needs something to pick on. 

Bronte huffs and readjusts his cloak. “Who on Earth are you talking about?”

“He’s talking about Prentice,” Livvy replies with an amused grin. “Prentice Endal, and their little rivalry.”

Bronte purses his lips. “Right, of course. How could I forget? You two scare away all the animals in this city with your shouting.”

“His shouting. I’m perfectly rational,” Tiergan protests, and turns back to the messenger. “Now, is he coming, or not?”

The messenger glances between them, clearly alarmed by Tiergan’s sudden displeasure.

Livvy laughs. “He’s hardly serious. They’ve got some merry war going on between them, but they like each other all the same.”

Tiergan huffs, but says nothing. 

“Well,” the messenger says, apparently choosing not to press the subject, “yes, Sir Endal is coming along with Lord Pyren and Lady Vacker, I believe.”

“Wonderful,” Tiergan replies as Livvy grins widely.

Bronte, ever out of the loop, asks, “Lady Vacker?”

Discreetly, Tiergan flips Livvy’s letter over, hiding its contents, as Livvy hastily responds, “An old friend. She visited often, before…” She doesn’t finish her statement, but it is understood all the same. The days before Tiergan and Livvy had company in their studies and daily lives; the days before the Black Swan and Ravagog had been real, concrete forces. When Granite and Physic had existed in secret before their disappearances, never to emerge from their training. 

Bronte’s gaze shifts to Tiergan, eyebrows raised, but Tiergan only shakes his head. He has no way to accurately explain Della and Livvy’s relationship in simple terms; it would probably take a few days, an accompanying slideshow, and primary source evidence to even get the main points across. 

“We should begin preparing for our guests soon,” Tiergan says, before Livvy can admit anything too incriminating. 

Bronte seems far from keen on letting the subject drop, but he allows it anyway. “Yes, we should. Do try and spend some time with our younger guests while they’re here; I’d hate to bore them after all they’ve been through.”

“Of course,” Tiergan agrees, grimacing internally. “I’m sure that won’t be difficult.”

-

They arrive too soon, too early, and too many. 

Or, rather, two too many. 

It’s barely sunrise when the horses arrive, led of course by Fintan Pyren himself, dressed in a long, muddy blue jacket with red embellishments. Not too far behind him are, unfortunately, Prentice and Della, equally as dirty. And hidden in the back are two strangers Tiergan has never seen in his life. 

It appears that Bronte has, however, as he gives Fintan such an awful glare the moment he dismounts that Tiergan is surprised the man doesn’t burst into flames immediately. Tiergan, still exhausted from having been dragged out of bed mere minutes before, elects to hide behind Livvy to avoid any conversation. As fascinating as it would be to uncover another piece of Bronte’s shrouded backstory, it’s not worth the potential other complications that may arise. 

Alas, even Tiergan cannot always get what he desires. 

“Lord Bronte!” Prentice shouts, jumping forward and wrapping an arm around Fintan’s shoulders. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“Good grief,” Tiergan mutters under his breath. Livvy turns to offer him a smirk, and gets an elbow to the stomach in response. 

Bronte only nods. “Sir Endal. I’m glad to see you return safe and unharmed.” 

“That’s entirely against his own will, I assure you,” Fintan replies, gently removing the arm around him. 

“It’s true,” Della adds, sliding gracefully off her horse. “The ogres never feared his traps so much as they feared his ability to get us all killed in the process.”

Tiergan barely manages to suppress a snicker, but Della notices anyway, her eyes shifting toward his hiding spot in the shadows. Thankfully, however, she’s more captivated by Livvy standing in front of him, a blush dusting her cheeks. 

“Lady Vacker,” Livvy says, stepping forward to take her hand. “You look beautiful today.”

From Tiergan’s perspective, that’s a blatant lie—she’s covered in mud head-to-toe with a rain-soaked frizzy braid falling apart over her shoulder. But perhaps Livvy sees none of that. 

“Not as beautiful as you, milady,” Della replies, bringing her hand to her lips. And, as Tiergan had expected, it takes mere minutes for Livvy to take Della’s arm and remove her from the group under the guise of a “tour of the property.” The very property that Della has already seen more of that its actual lord has.  

“So…” Prentice begins, as they all watch the two leave. “They’re married?”

“No,” Bronte says. 

“Not yet,” Fintan says. 

Might as well be, Tiergan thinks. 

Prentice raises an eyebrow. “Hm. A strange choice. Certainly not one I’d make.”

“And you’re the model for respectable choices, now?” Tiergan can’t help but cut in. He’d hoped to spend his morning silent, but there’s only so much of Prentice’s nonsense that he can bear before he has to retaliate. After all, who else will?

Prentice smirks as Tiergan emerges from the shadows, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Well, if it isn’t the Lord of Disdain himself. Still living, shockingly.” 

Tiergan scoffs. “My disdain cannot die as long as I can picture your face in great detail.”

“Am I really so memorable? I hear it often, though usually under different circumstances.”

“Yes, well, I imagine audiences rarely forget their favorite fools.” 

Prentice rolls his eyes. “Such a pleasure, as always. It’s a wonder your face isn’t marred from all the punches you must be receiving.”

“I’d wonder the same, but truly even punches could not make your face worse than its current state.” 

“How is it,” Prentice asks, stepping forward, “that love could possibly be enough for my dear friend to look past the horror of you as a brother-in-law?” 

“Ha!” Tiergan replies, matching him. “It’s the folly of love, that everything should seem so rosy and sweet when it is all a waste of time. Though I would think you to be the expert, having experienced it tens of times over.” 

“If that were all love, then I would truly be a fool. No, I find myself with a hard heart, with no particular care for wasting my time, as it were.” 

Tiergan scoffs. “And thank God for that—you save a whole host of clowns from having to squander more than a day by your side. But in that respect, at least, we have similar thoughts. I’d rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.” 

“I seem to be interrupting something,” an unfamiliar voice says, snapping Tiergan out of his and Prentice’s shared universe. They both spin around to see Bronte and Fintan—who have clearly held some whispered exchange—and the two unfamiliar strangers that had arrived alongside the soldiers. One is a woman, dressed in a long, purple gown under a silver cloak, completely spotless. A variety of gems are pinned to her hair, though they seem to have seen better days. Beside her is a boy, not much older than Tiergan, wearing a matching outfit to Prentice if not far looser and far dirtier. His hair is blonde and overgrown, covering his eyes and leaving his face entirely unmemorable. 

“Good morning,” Tiergan greets, in an effort to revive some semblance of politeness. The woman only tilts her head and stares at him. 

“Lady Gisela,” Fintan hurries to say, gesturing to her. “This is Sir Tiergan.” 

Tiergan winces at the title, and Prentice raises an eyebrow, but neither corrects him. He nods to the woman, unsure how to approach the boy, who watches in rapt silence. 

Lady Gisela apparently notes his discomfort, as she says, “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s rather shy.” 

Tiergan doubts that that’s the case, but he’s hardly going to challenge her. In a few days, at best, she’ll leave, and hopefully take the nuisance that is the Keeper along with her. (Although, Tiergan can’t help but admit that he is a little bit excited to return to their battle of wits. Few people here are confident enough to confront him or clever enough to match him.) 

“Well,” Bronte says, clearly scowling, “hopefully he’ll feel more comfortable speaking once you are all safely inside your rooms. Which happen to be ready for your use. If you would be so kind as to follow these kind attendants over here…” He practically shoves Fintan toward them, and glares holes into Lady Gisela’s back as she walks away. Only Prentice lingers, just for a moment, mere centimeters away from Tiergan’s face. 

He leans in and asks, “Does your sister truly love Della?”

Tiergan raises an eyebrow. “For better or for worse, yes.” 

Prentice’s gaze flicks to the attendants and back. “I worry it will be for the worse.” 

“Then it will be our duty to prevent that.”

“I suppose.” He leans back, expression still wary. “You know, you’re still much the same man as you were before, Tiergan.” 

Tiergan laughs. “And you are frustratingly different.”  

“Such is my charm,” Prentice responds with a smirk. And then he is gone, disappeared to the side of Lord Pyren once more. 

Tiergan, for the first time, does not know what to think. 

-

Inevitably, Lady Gisela formulates a dastardly plan of escape a mere one hour into their stay at Eternalia. 

Ruy is not surprised; he has learned to assume that his boss is ten steps ahead of him at any given moment—though with this particularly humiliating prison, he had expected their grand scheme to take some more time. It does, at the very least, take a large amount of complaining. 

“He brings me here like a guest,” Gisela spits, “but I am leashed! We are leashed, and it is obvious to any person who sees us. Again, I am treated like a second to him. He leads the army that I created, that I built with my bare hands and he throws me away like I am nothing. What right does he have, to be shocked that I would switch my loyalty to the only side who values my genius? What right?” 

“They’ll never set us free, now,” Ruy agrees. “We’ll be zoo animals forever.” 

At this, Gisela laughs, in that perfectly calculated way that always sends shivers down his spine. “Only as long as the zoo can stay in business.”

Ruy stares at her blankly. “...Right,” he agrees, having learned not to question her too much. 

Gisela rolls her eyes. “We can tear this city apart from the inside.” 

“Of course,” Ruy agrees, still confused. “So…how, exactly?”

She smiles wickedly. “Well, Fintan has kindly delivered us two wonderfully easy targets. It’s come to my attention that the young masters of Eternalia hold a rather secret career beyond their familial duties. And with Fintan’s soldier being so ridiculously in love with the girl despite barely knowing her, it shouldn’t be hard to plant the first seed of doubt. Doubt, perhaps, that Eternalia isn’t quite as loyal as it seems.”

Ruy hums. “And if Fintan believes that Lord Bronte has been harboring a traitor all this time, their relationship will be destroyed. The elven army at Ravagog will crumble.”

“Thus allowing Dimitar a clear path to victory. And me, a clear path to take everything afterward,” Gisela finishes. “It is simple, and it is very little work on our part. It all relies on their own constant panic.” 

It’s so classically Gisela that Ruy can only grin. “Perfect.” 

-

Sophie hadn’t been meaning to eavesdrop. But she can’t help it if, in the process of delivering luggage to the guests, she stumbles upon a fascinating conversation. All she can really gather is that the two strange guests believe that a traitor is residing in the heart of Eternalia—but it’s enough to spring her into action. 

“Guys!” she calls, running to her shared quarters. “Get in here. I have a mystery for us to solve.”

-

The wedding is set the following day, although Bronte is still rather confused on how it all came about. 

“I’ve been in love with her since the day we met,” Della says, holding Livvy’s hand where they sit next to each other on a couch in Bronte’s office. Bronte and Fintan share the couch opposite, and Bronte is getting rather sick of Fintan’s laughing at his apparent lack of knowledge. 

“Nearly four years have passed since then,” Bronte states. “Why on Earth do you want to be married now?” 

“The war is, for all intents and purposes, over,” Livvy responds. “Della is safe. I would be safe, as her wife, as she is no longer a spy. And, of course, I have no association with the war myself. None at all.” She chuckles awkwardly, then tries to hide it behind her hand. 

Fintan sighs. “Bronte, I hardly see the problem,” he says. “They want to be married, so let them. I’d say their lives could have had far worse outcomes.”

For Fintan, it’s high praise—and Bronte is suddenly inclined to agree. If Fintan is truly unbothered, why should he mind? Livvy and Della are good for one another; they match each others’ attitudes and energies, and speak every word amongst them with pure devotion. Where Bronte himself was not afforded the luxury of happiness with his lover in his youth, he cannot possibly deny it to the girl he has come to see as his daughter. That is not a curse he is willing to continue. 

“You have my approval, if you ever truly needed it,” he finally says. “And if you wish to hold the wedding here, in Eternalia, you may.” 

Livvy and Della are beaming, with all the hope of young lovers. Bronte remembers that all too well. “Thank you,” Della says. “We wanted to hold the wedding soon, if you’ll allow it. Next week, actually. In order to minimize the chances of disaster occuring before it can take place.”

It is a smart move, Bronte has to admit, although he is entirely unprepared for the stress of planning a wedding. “Alright,” he agrees, “I’ll notify the staff. Although I imagine you’ll want to tell your brother first.”

It’s as if the tension in the room doubles at the mention of Tiergan. 

“Good grief,” Della says. “I’m far from enthusiastic to hear Prentice and Tiergan’s next discussion over this.” 

Livvy shakes her head. “It’s been a day, and I’m already sick of their nonsense. If they ruin the wedding with their antics, I may just have to exile them until they can find some semblance of optimism in their hearts.”

“In that way,” Bronte muses, “they are rather well-suited for one another. They see the same insignificance in everything but themselves, and each other. What a peculiar kind of hatred.” 

At this, Livvy’s eyes light up. “Perhaps that is our goal, then. Show them that they are, indeed, the only existing well-suited people for one another. That their hatred is so peculiar because it isn’t hatred at all.”

Fintan gapes. “You aren’t serious.” 

“But I am,” Livvy counters, the telltale lilt of mischief in her voice. “Would it not help our cause if the two guns ceased their constant fire?”

“And they respect only each other,” Della adds. “If each were to discover that the other had succumbed to that dastardly feeling of love, well, then, would they not be convinced to give it a try?” 

Bronte understands very quickly why they choose each other as partners in life. 

“If this works,” Bronte says, “it will be a blessing for the world. Complete silence, for the first time since their friendship, of sorts, began.”

Fintan snorts. “That is, if they do not kill each other within the first week of marriage.”  

Livvy shrugs. “Either way, our goals are achieved, are they not?” 

-

As Prentice trudges through mud to the stables, he contemplates his best friend’s sudden shift from battle-hardened, cold spy to a loving, carefree, wife. It’s something he had never expected to see out of Della. Of course, he’d known that she loved someone, having watched her write and receive letters nightly, but he had never imagined the relationship to be this serious. 

Personally, he can’t comprehend why she would be ready to bind herself to something so soon after being free of the Black Swan. Especially something so volatile as marriage. 

He’s halfway through the courtyard when he hears familiar, hushed voices from a bench nearby. The lovebird herself, it seems, alongside their host and Lord Pyren. Out of sheer curiosity (and maybe a bit of nosiness), he stops behind a tree and pretends to examine his hair in the reflection of his blade. 

“The trouble,” Della says, “will be finding a gift in time for the wedding. I have ventured into the city a few times, but nothing measures up to my standards for Livvy.”

“Such is the trouble with love,” Bronte replies, though he sounds rather pained. 

Fintan adds, “Indeed. In my youth I wasted half my money and half my time searching for adequate gifts for my lovers. Alas, they were rather particular themselves.” 

The response is a sound rather resembling a choking bird, though Prentice cannot see who made it. How strange, he thinks, as he has never known Fintan to be in love. Perhaps that had been another casualty of the war. 

“Right,” Della continues, after an awkward pause. “Well, I count it a blessing that I am not in the most difficult situation possible. I can’t imagine the difficulty Tiergan faces, what with Prentice’s luxurious tastes.”

What?

Prentice’s brain short-circuits. 

“So it’s true?” Bronte asks. “Tiergan is truly in love with the boy?”

Fintan chuckles. “I had thought them both to be sworn off of love forever.”

Yes, Prentice had thought so as well. That had been the sole opinion he had believed them to agree upon, but it seems even Tiergan has switched his loyalties now.

“Apparently not,” Della replies. “But it’s a pity that he’s chosen Prentice, of all people, as the object of his affections. The poor boy, in love with someone who cannot see anything beyond his own greatness. A true tragedy, if I have ever seen one.”

Prentice forgets to hide his scoff, but thankfully, they don’t seem to notice. What nonsense! 

“I love Prentice, I truly do,” Della continues, “but it’s a blessing to all that he’s so opposed to love. For all of his talents, he’s not at all suited to romance. No smart person would stay in love with him for longer than a week before realizing that the effort is worthless.” 

Entirely untrue, Prentice thinks. He rather likes to believe that his opposition to love is a choice—he could love, if he wanted to, and he would be damn good at it if he did. In fact, he had been in love, once before, and though external circumstances had clearly soured that relationship, he’s fairly certain he could have been the perfect husband. No, it’s a choice, now, to stay out of love, no reflection of his talents. After all, he is the greatest Keeper the Black Swan has ever known. Nothing is truly beyond him. 

And if Della, Bronte, and Fintan are convinced he cannot satisfy Tiergan, then so be it. Prentice will prove them wrong, as he always has. 

Tiergan will find loving him the most enjoyable experience of his life, Prentice is assured of it. 

-

Prentice is acting like an idiot, which really shouldn’t be surprising to Tiergan. 

“Hi,” he greets at breakfast, sitting down right beside Tiergan with a pastry in hand. “How are you?”

“I was better before you arrived,” Tiergan quips, expecting another clever remark in response. But when he looks up from his tea, Prentice is simply watching him, silent, with an absurd, giddy smile. “Good grief,” he says, “are you sick?”

“Are you?” Prentice counters, which…is complete nonsense. Both entirely out-of-character for the man and completely fitting. 

Tiergan rolls his eyes. “I’m perfectly well, thanks.”

“Indeed you are.” Now Tiergan has no choice but to gape at him, waiting for another, explanatory phrase to arrive. It does not. 

Tiergan stands abruptly, slamming his mug to the table. “It’s too early for this,” he mutters, storming out of the room to confused murmurs from the others seated at the table. He swears he hears Bronte giggle as he leaves, but that would be impossible. 

As he hurries up the staircase toward his bedroom, however, Tiergan finds himself in the company of furious whispers, coming from Livvy’s bedroom door, left slightly ajar. It’s rather odd; she tends to value her privacy, especially now as curiosity about the wedding grows. But as he approaches stealthily, Tiergan realizes that it isn’t Della inside with her. 

“Cyrah,” Livvy says, “I’m truly glad you’re able to visit, even if you’re unable to attend the wedding. You know how much it means to Della and I, I’m sure.” 

Tiergan furrows his eyebrows. Since when has Cyrah been in Eternalia? Although the three of them had been childhood friends, years ago, Cyrah had left to travel the world immediately after they had finished their schooling. She does visit, from time to time, but rarely with so little notice. 

“Well, of course I’m here for you,” Cyrah replies, “but I have to say I was mostly captivated by the other contents of your letter.”

Livvy laughs. “It’s certainly the most fascinating piece of gossip to reach Eternalia in many years.”

“I’ll say. The possibility of seeing our Tiergan married is absurd. And to Prentice Endal, no less.”

Tiergan tries his best to choke quietly. He fails. 

There is a terrifying pause before they continue that leads Tiergan to believe that they’ve noticed his presence, but thankfully, Livvy carries on without remark. 

 “It’s truly a tragedy,” she says, with a slight laugh, “that Prentice has set his sights on Tiergan. I almost feel bad for him; it’s a hopeless endeavor.” Cyrah hums in agreement. “Yes, but I doubt Tiergan will ever notice. The poor boy’s entirely clueless.”

Livvy snorts. “That, and he’s entirely incapable of being kind to anyone beyond us. His first reaction is always to bite without thinking, to shoot to kill before questioning himself. Prentice has done well to match his strikes so far, but there is only so long that he can hide his affections.”

“Ah, unrequited love,” Cyrah sighs. “Well, I imagine he’ll come to his senses soon enough. He’ll find someone less bitter about life.”

“One can only hope.” 

Tiergan is left absolutely reeling. He gapes at her door for at least a minute, unsure what to believe. But it does make sense, he has to admit. Prentice’s…affections would certainly explain his odd behavior that morning, and his offense at Tiergan’s immediate snarky greeting. But why would Prentice be so foolish as to love Tiergan, of all people? Livvy is correct on the count that Tiergan has done nothing but snap at the man. There had been a time, years ago, when Tiergan would have understood such a development of emotions, but now it seems entirely ridiculous. 

Perhaps, Tiergan thinks, he could stand to be a bit kinder to Prentice, for once. If only to give him a bit of relief. 

When he returns to the dining hall later that day for lunch, he pointedly seats himself beside Prentice, who looks both utterly perplexed and overjoyed. “Good morning,” Tiergan greets, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth. 

“It’s afternoon,” Prentice replies, and Tiergan raises an eyebrow. “But good morning to you, as well.”

Tiergan pretends not to notice the laughs that Della, Livvy, and Cyrah hide behind their napkins. If they believe him to be too bitter to love Prentice, then so be it. He will prove them wrong, as he always does. 

Prentice will stay in love with him, if Tiergan has any say in the matter. 

-

“It has been done,” Ruy announces as he steps into Gisela’s chambers. “The cache has been planted.” He sweeps some dust off his jacket, seating himself on the couch beside her desk. 

Gisela nods. “Good,” she says. “Now, we wait.” 

-

From their hiding spot beneath Gisela’s window, Tam, Linh, Marella, Keefe, and Sophie share a wary glance. “These are the people who are trying to catch a traitor?” Linh whispers. “They’re kinda… weird.”

“I feel like we should be concerned,” Tam notes. 

Sophie shrugs. “Bronte wouldn’t have let them in if he thought they were trouble. I think.”

“Yeah, but these two seem weirder than the others,” Marella says. “Have you seen how quiet they are all the time? I thought they were just dealing with war stuff or whatever, but this is, like, extra weird. Plus, what’s with that whole scheme thing you were telling us about earlier?”

Sophie pauses. “I don’t know. I thought they were talking about Lady Vacker being a traitor, but now that she’s marrying Livvy, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Livvy wouldn’t marry a traitor,” Linh agrees. “I mean, she wouldn’t marry anyone without checking their entire life history first, I think.” 

“But then why would these guys want people to think that Lady Vacker is a traitor?” Marella asks. “That’s stupid. It would ruin the wedding.”

Tam sucks in a breath, prompting them all to turn to him. “That’s exactly why,” he says, eyes wide with realization. “They want everything to be chaos here. That’s what he’s talking about—Bronte’s cache! Something only Livvy, Fintan, and Tiergan know the location of. It’s basically a safe containing classified war documents and plans of Eternalia. They’re not framing Lady Vacker, they’re framing Livvy! And if they act like she’s stealing the cache…”

Sophie pales. “Then everything goes to hell.” 

“Random question,” Keefe cuts in, “but do you think I’d be fired if I didn’t deliver someone’s mail?”

They all stare at him. 

“Like, intentionally,” he adds. “Kind of like stealing it. But not really. Just really, really, slow delivery.” 

Marella snorts. “I mean, I’m all for it, but why?”

Keefe leans over and pulls out a sealed letter from his coat pocket. “Here. A letter from Lady Gisela to some guy at the warfront. Seemed kind of suspicious, so I kept it.” He hands it to Sophie, who handles it as gently as possible. 

“Should we…” she asks, almost afraid to suggest the possibility. 

“Read it?” Tam asks. “Yeah, obviously.” He takes the letter from Sophie and inspects it, tracing over the nearly illegible name on the front. “But not here. We need to get inside and warn someone before it’s too late.” 

“But we can’t do that without proof,” Linh says. “And right now our only proof comes from things we’ve done that are completely illegal.”

Marella sighs. “I guess we’ll have to hope that the letter says something interesting, then.” 

And with that, they slip away from their nook, panic setting in. 

-

In the middle of the night, Della is woken violently by a frantic Fintan shaking her, and Prentice at the foot of her bed. “Good morning?” she asks, pushing Fintan’s arm away from her. 

“No time, Della,” Fintan says, stepping back, “this is an urgent matter.”

“What could honestly be urgent enough to drag me out of bed the night before my wedding?” She’s both thankful and annoyed that she and Livvy had been given separate rooms, now—at least Livvy can get her beauty sleep while Della deals with her friends’ nonsense. 

“Your fiancée,” Prentice states simply, and Della raises an eyebrow. 

“Is this some kind of wedding ritual?” 

Fintan scoffs. “Perhaps for her it is.”

“You should see for yourself,” Prentice says, and it’s his unsettling calm that ultimately drags Della out of her bed, suddenly shaken. 

“Where is Lord Bronte?” she asks as they tiptoe down the dark hallway. “What is happening?”

Fintan shakes his head. “I haven’t spoken to him just yet. I worry that he, too, may be involved.”

Della furrows her eyebrows. “Involved in what, exactly?”

A heavy silence lingers, for a moment, before Prentice says, “Treason.” 

Treason. “You believe Livvy to be a traitor.”

“I know for certain,” Fintan replies, voice grim. “I trust Gisela’s judgment on very few matters, but in this case, the proof is indisputable.” 

Della feels her own heartbeat, now, racing out of her chest. “What proof does she have?”

“A stolen cache,” Prentice says. “Classified papers, attempted to be mailed. Some of it being…” His voice cracks, something close to tears welling in his eyes, and he looks away. “Some of it being details of your involvement in the war and prior.”

And Della freezes in her tracks. No, she thinks. Livvy wouldn’t. I know she wouldn’t. But after nearly two years apart, how can Della truly claim to know her at all?

They reach Gisela’s chambers, where Della is handed a series of papers and testimony from both Ruy and Gisela of Livvy’s betrayal. Ruy has brought a friend, as well, a young servant named Rayni, who describes her own witnessing of Livvy’s theft of the cache. It’s all entirely sickening, and Della has to dig her nails into Prentice’s arm in order to keep herself from vomiting. Her head is swimming. She cannot breathe. 

“But what can we do?” she manages to ask, after everything is presented. “What can I do?” 

Prentice and Fintan share a hard look. “There is no choice,” Fintan says, with a deep sigh. “We must end the wedding, before it is too late.”

-

 On the morning of the wedding, Tiergan is all alone—Prentice is, oddly, nowhere to be seen, and Tiergan’s almost disappointed at the lack of a witty morning greeting. He’d been hoping to have someone interesting to speak with during the wedding preparations, seeing as everyone else is more concerned with assembling the brides’ gowns and hair. Tiergan and Prentice, of course, had been banned days ago from assisting directly with the wedding preparations, as, according to Della, they’re “far too clumsy to be trusted, alone or together.” 

Strangely, however, Tiergan hasn’t seen any of their guests the entire day. He almost goes to check Prentice’s bedroom, but decides that he hasn’t quite reached that level of desperation yet. And, of course, he wouldn’t want to give Prentice the impression that he returns his feelings. Absolutely not. 

He’s almost worked himself into a panic by the time he walks into the marriage hall, worried that perhaps Della has abandoned the wedding entirely. Thankfully, she waits at the podium up front, looking strangely pensive—though he has to admit, she is dressed nicely. 

Tiergan scans the rows for Prentice, but he is still, oddly, nowhere to be found. 

“Sit,” Bronte suddenly tells him, holding a glass of wine. “Livvy will arrive soon.”

“Where is Prentice?” Tiergan asks, and Bronte raises an eyebrow. 

“He and Fintan have yet to arrive,” Bronte replies. “Hardly surprising. Fintan may take years before he is fully satisfied with his appearance.”

Tiergan can’t say the same about Prentice, although he concedes that the man hardly needs to spend time to look nice. Prentice is naturally infuriatingly beautiful, even after sleeping in the dirt or riding for hours through a rainstorm. He could be covered in sewage and that damned smirk would still make him appear heavenly. Tiergan despises that. 

The music begins a half-hour later, and every seat except for the other front row across the aisle from Tiergan is full. Livvy strides down the aisle, her gem-studded dress flowing majestically behind her, and Della turns ever so slightly. Tiergan wipes away the tear in his eyes, and he can see Bronte doing the same. He wonders, still, where Prentice is, but decides that he trusts him enough to see to his own whereabouts. 

“Hi,” he hears Livvy whisper to Della upon reaching her. “You look beautiful.”

Della’s gaze is trained to the floor. “Thank you,” she murmurs. There is something odd about her voice, Tiergan thinks, but he cannot determine what emotion it is. Perhaps this is love; he can’t say he’s ever seen the feeling through long enough to reach this point. He wouldn’t understand. 

An old man steps up to begin the ceremony, but he says nothing. He only stands between the two women, biting his lip and staring at the grand doors at the end of the hall. 

“Good afternoon,” he begins, and his voice is so shaky Tiergan worries he may cry. “We are here—”

The doors slam open, and with it a scream: “End this nonsense!”

Tiergan jumps up, hand shifting to his blade, but Livvy beats him to the chase. She holds out a knife, hopping off the podium where Della remains, frozen. 

But the man who emerges from the hallway is neither intruder nor ogre.

“Fintan!” Bronte barks, moving to stand beside Livvy. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lord Fintan Pyren struts down the aisle; behind him, Prentice, Lady Gisela, and the blond boy march silently. Tiergan suddenly finds himself nauseous. What does the fool think he’s doing?

“Bronte, my dear friend,” Fintan exclaims dramatically, “you truly believe that Lady Vacker is deserving of this girl?” 

Bronte scowls, but stands his ground even as Fintan stalks closer. “Wholeheartedly.”

Fintan scoffs. “Then you are either foolish or a liar, and neither is worth my time.”

“I don’t understand,” Livvy says, glancing between Fintan and Della, who still has not moved. She only stares at the floor, tears welling in her eyes. 

Fintan spins to her, a fire growing in his glare. “Don’t you, Miss Sonden? I’m inclined to believe that a spy will always deal in lies. After all, you’ve built a marriage out of them.”

Some of the guests gasp, while most look on in complete horror. 

Tiergan steps forward. “Do not insult her,” he spits.

“These are only facts,” Fintan replies. “Is it not true that she has been a spy for the Black Swan since she was a teenager? Is it not true that she has files on nearly every person who passes through Eternalia? Is it not true that she accesses highly classified files on the daily, without the knowledge of any other member of the war effort?”

Livvy stumbles, and Tiergan rushes to catch her before she trips on her own gown. “I…That is not…” 

But she cannot deny it, Tiergan knows. Though he wonders what on Earth leads Fintan to mention this now, when Della has done far worse in her equally long lifetime. 

Fintan presses forward. “And is it not true that you initiated a relationship with Lady Vacker for the sole purposes of obtaining her incredibly classified records and sending them to King Dimitar himself?”

What?

Tiergan grips Livvy’s hand tighter to avoid doing anything he might regret. He meets Prentice’s eyes, from across the room, and is surprised to find some sort of sympathy. Prentice, unlike the two who flank him, seems strangely unsure of his position now. 

“Have you lost your mind?” Bronte shouts.

“Have you?” Fintan replies. “You harbor a traitor in your midst, and you protect her!” 

Bronte scoffs. “And where, exactly, is your proof for such a preposterous claim?”

Fintan pulls out a small, metal container from inside his cloak, and holds it out in front of him. “This was found in her room, its contents strewn openly across her desk.”

Bronte sucks in a breath, and Tiergan suddenly understands what this is. A cache. Not only that—Bronte’s cache. 

He turns to Livvy, unsure what to think. He knows, as he has always known, that Livvy is loyal. This must be something different. This must be some misunderstanding, he has to believe that.

He looks back at Della, waiting in vain for an explanation he knows will not come. 

Della meets his eyes, and then meets Livvy’s teary gaze with one of her own. “This shame will haunt you, Livvy. I hope you will never be free from your guilt,” she states, her voice tinged with disgust.

“I…I don’t understand,” Livvy repeats, her voice weak, and Tiergan’s heart breaks. He holds her tighter, stepping away from the scene. 

Bronte turns around, and Tiergan can sense his disappointment. He believes Lord Pyren. Of course, it is to be expected, but Tiergan cannot help but feel betrayal. Once again, it is he and Livvy against the world. 

“This is madness,” Tiergan spits, staring right into Prentice’s eyes where he stands, silent. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.” 

Then he drops Livvy’s hand and storms out of the hall, anger blazing. 

-

Perhaps following Tiergan out of the hall is a mistake, but Prentice chooses not to dwell on that. 

It takes nearly half an hour to find him, given Tiergan’s far better knowledge of the building. Prentice keeps his ears open to the sound of screaming, or glass shattering, but none come—instead, he stumbles upon a grand balcony with its door ajar, accompanied by the noise of muffled tears. 

“Tiergan,” Prentice asks gently as he slips onto the balcony, “have you wept all this while?” 

From where he sits upon a bench, staring out at the vast blue sea, Tiergan sniffles and replies, “And I will weep a while longer.” 

Prentice stares at him, unsure how to respond. He watches as another tear graces Tiergan’s cheek and onto his jacket, disappearing into the deep blue fabric. “That is…unfortunate,” he tries, and Tiergan snorts. 

“Luckily, I do not weep for you,” he says. He looks up at Prentice with an uncharacteristic despair in his eyes, something so entirely hopeless that Prentice steps forward and rests a hand on his shoulder in some strange desire to share his sorrow. 

“I am sorry about your sister,” Prentice says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can think. “I mean it. I am trained to follow Fintan’s every order, yes, but I also let my fear get the best of me. I should have trusted you, Tiergan. I know that now.”

Tiergan only stares at him, silent, for a long while. Finally, he says, “I have run out of ideas to help her, myself. I suppose, now, I must seek a friend who can right this mess.” 

Prentice frowns. “Is there a way to show such friendship?”

Tiergan sighs. “There is a way, but no such friend. I worry there is no person in the world who is willing to see it through.” 

He turns to meet Prentice’s eyes, and for a long moment, they hold each other’s gazes, locked in a cycle of desperation and something distinctively different. From this distance, Prentice sees how much of a mess Tiergan truly is—his blonde hair has nearly all fallen out of its intricate style, and his eyeliner is smudged over his cheeks. His lips, too, have been bitten raw, an old habit of his that Prentice has not seen in years. 

He remembers, instinctually, that feeling of rough lips on his own—a feeling he has not allowed himself to dwell upon for what seems like a lifetime. 

“Tiergan,” Prentice begins, forcing himself to look away. He cannot bear to witness the consequences of his own confession, even with the knowledge of Tiergan’s own feelings. “You must be aware…I do love nothing in this world so well as you.” 

He waits expectantly for an exclamation of reciprocation, but none arrives, and the silence forces him to turn back around and meet Tiergan’s indecipherable expression. “Is that so strange?” Prentice adds, hoping he hasn’t shocked the man speechless.

“Perhaps it is,” Tiergan replies, not meeting his eyes. “Though, perhaps… perhaps it would be stranger for me to admit that I love nothing so well as you.” He stands up abruptly, and begins pacing with such a strange fervor that Prentice almost misses half of his words. “If that were true, I mean. But of course it is, I do not lie. Still, you mustn’t believe me! I confess nothing; I confess nothing at all, do not mistake me…but I deny nothing all the same. I can neither confess to nor deny nor admit to my feelings—these feelings that may or may not exist. For you.”

 Prentice raises an eyebrow. “So you love me, then.” 

“That is not what I said,” Tiergan huffs, but steps closer to him all the same. 

“You said you could not deny that you love me,” Prentice counters. “That would imply that you do.”

Tiergan moves forward, stopping mere inches away from Prentice. “And yet, I recall saying that I could not confirm it, either.” 

 “And yet,” Prentice mimics, “I am entirely certain of your feelings. I would stake my life on it, even.” 

Tiergan scoffs. “Then you should count your days, soldier.”

Prentice steps ever-so-slightly closer, until he can feel Tiergan’s breath, cool on his cheeks. “Strangely, I don’t find myself worrying.” 

Tiergan kisses him softly; it is light and quick and perhaps salty with dried tears, or perhaps sweet with familiarity, or bitter with the revival of old memories. It is every emotion Prentice has felt since the day he first met Tiergan wrapped up in a moment; it is their short-lived civility, their years-long personal war, their shared fears of the war destroying them, inside and out. 

When they separate, they are both speechless. 

“I…” Tiergan begins, but trails off, unable to formulate a word. 

Prentice grins. “Is this an admission that the great Granite himself, master of wit, has run out of protests?”

Tiergan laughs. “Or, perhaps,” he says, taking Prentice’s hand in his, “it is an admission that I love you with so much of my heart that there is none left to protest.” 

Prentice takes his other hand and falls to a knee, looking up at Tiergan for the first time. “Tiergan, my love, tell me what you wish me to do for Livvy, anything, and I will do it. I swear.” It is more an oath of love, than anything; he does not know what he is expecting in response, but it is certainly not the answer that comes without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Kill Della.”  

Prentice cannot help it; he scrambles backward, dropping Tiergan’s hands like hot coal. “What?”

Tiergan shakes his head. “It is simple. You asked; I gave my answer.”

“I cannot betray my friend!” Prentice protests. “Just as I cannot betray you, Tiergan. Ask  me for anything else, I beg of you.”

Tiergan turns away. “There is no other option. We can claim Livvy’s innocence, but we have no sufficient evidence to counter theirs. If you duel Della, you show that you are willing to risk your life for Livvy’s honor. And your word is far more prestigious than mine, what with the fame you carry from the war, still.”

“Tiergan. I cannot.”

He scoffs. “I see. You love me, but you will not fight my enemy.”

Prentice strides forward, taking Tiergan’s hand once again. “Is Della truly your enemy? Is she truly who you wish to fight?”

Tiergan whips around to face him, a cold determination in his gaze. “She has scorned my sister so greatly that she likely cannot leave her rooms ever again! She dishonors my family and our very name. She is so consumed by fear that she will let it destroy the happiness she has fought for herself. Yes, indeed, Della is my enemy. Because I trust Livvy over the world, and I cannot stand to watch her be slandered.”

“And I trust you,” Prentice says. “I trust you over the world; I would fight for you through hell and back, through the roughest waters and the strongest storms, through the apocalypse and beyond. And so, Tiergan, if you are sure…” He takes a deep breath, unsure what to think about the very words he is about to say. “I will fulfill your request. Della shall face our wrath.” 

He squeezes Tiergan’s hand just once, a familiar assurance, before marching away with a new focus. If this is love’s folly, he thinks, then he will die for it willingly—a strange realization, but a welcome one. 

When he finds Della, she is in her room with Fintan, furiously gathering her possessions.  

Fintan notices him first. “Prentice, finally. We must devise a plan for dealing with this treason. I worry the girl here is not the only criminal.” He spits girl as if it is a dirty word, as if Livvy’s name cannot dare to be mentioned in good company. 

“So you believe it?” is all Prentice says in response. 

Della laughs, with no humor behind it, only tears. “What is there to believe? There is evidence, and that evidence points to everything I should have expected from the beginning. I am surprised, though I shouldn’t be. I cannot be.”

“You are quick to fear and quicker to discard,” Prentice says, stepping away from her. “Characteristics of a spy, not a lover.”

Della raises an eyebrow. “And you understand the characteristics of a lover?”

“More than you, it seems,” he replies. “If you will not fight for Livvy, then I will take your place.”

Fintan scoffs, and Della’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious,” she says, hand moving to her blade. 

Prentice holds her gaze. “I’ll see you at dawn tomorrow.”

-

News travels quickly among servants, most especially when Marella is involved. It takes only a few hours for every detail of the wedding disaster to reach each corner of the grounds; Sophie, Keefe, Tam, and Linh are lounging in the warm sun when Marella finds them with the story, excitement in her eyes. 

“The letter!” Sophie suddenly exclaims, remembering yesterday’s chaos. “We never showed anyone the letter, guys.”

Keefe pales. “Oh, shit.”

Tam pulls the paper out from his pocket, skimming it quickly. “Oh, shit,” he agrees. “Yeah, this makes more sense now.”

Although they had read the letter the day before, it hadn’t made much sense. It detailed some plan of Lady Gisela’s, but none of them had been able to decipher quite what the plan was. And when a day had passed without incident, showing the letter to anyone hadn’t seemed like a priority. (Especially since they could all get fired easily for the stunts they’d pulled.) 

 “We need to find Lord Bronte,” Linh said, reading over Tam’s shoulder. “We can prove Livvy’s innocence with this!”

Marella nods. “He’s still in the wedding hall, I just passed him. I’m pretty sure Gisela and that blond kid ran, though. Everyone I asked says they haven’t seen them since the wedding this morning.”

“Where’s Livvy?” Sophie asks. 

Marella shrugs. “There’s different stories going around right now. Most common one is that they threw her in a cell, for now. No clue what they’ll do after that.”

Tam jumps to his feet. “Then we need to show Bronte this letter, now. Before it’s too late for her.”

Linh hands him the letter again. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

-

“What is the meaning of this?” Fintan asks as he strides into the meeting hall. Beside him is only Della; Tiergan can’t help but feel a smug satisfaction at the strength of his own numbers. He and Prentice stand with Bronte, and Livvy sits on the stairs in front of them. A group of teenagers also stands with them, who—as Tiergan is told, at least—hold the key to proving Livvy’s innocence. 

He watches Della’s steps falter as she notices the exhaustion on Livvy’s face. Good. Her guilt is deserved. 

“Who are these children?” Fintan asks, scowling at the servants. “What more could you possibly have to say, Bronte?” 

Bronte sighs. “Cease your incessant questioning, Fintan, and listen for once in your life. It seems I am not the one who has been betrayed.” 

Fintan stops in his tracks. “What are you suggesting?”

Bronte motions for one of the children to hand Fintan the letter they’ve been holding. Fintan takes it reluctantly, and they all watch with bated breath as he and Della read through it carefully.  

After just a few seconds, Della pales, and steps back with a hand over her mouth. “No,” she says, her voice weak. 

Even Fintan seems strangely haunted as he looks up from the paper. “Gisela,” he spits, crumpling the paper in one hand. “Of course she would lie. Had I realized she was so deeply involved with the ogres, I wouldn’t have brought her here, I wouldn’t have—” He gestures wildly around the room, while Della remains frozen still. 

“Livvy,” she cries, after a long moment. “My love. I cannot apologize enough.”

“No,” Livvy agrees, “you cannot.” 

Prentice steps forward, taking Tiergan’s hand in his own. “Della, I did not lie to you in my challenge. I am no hypocrite; I know that I, too, was deceived by Gisela’s tricks and lies. But her schemes worked only because they capitalized on our fears. She knew that Ravagog lives within us, even here, hours away.”

Della looks away, blinking away tears. “I have not lived a day without fear in years. I was a fool to believe I could return to life in Eternalia without complication.”

“We were all foolish,” Livvy says, moving to stand. “Had I been more open about my involvement in the war…”

“There are many things we could have done,” Bronte says, stepping down in front of Fintan. “But it is Gisela who is the fool. She runs to Ravagog, unaware that Dimitar has received none of her correspondence. I sent guards to her the moment I learned of her betrayal. She will not survive long, on her own.” 

Fintan nods. “I will write my men as well. She will know no peace anymore.” He and Bronte share an indecipherable stare, silent for an awkwardly long amount of time. 

Tiergan squeezes Prentice’s hand. “Well. I am glad, at least, that no secrets remain. Certainly, it’s a weight off of my shoulders.” 

He doesn’t expect his statement to increase the tension in the room tenfold. 

Della, Bronte, Livvy, and Fintan suddenly all turn to look at each other, a variety of awkward chuckles, pale faces, and wide eyes between them. They seem to communicate telepathically, almost, and Tiergan turns to Prentice with raised eyebrows—but he only shrugs. 

“About that,” Livvy says, after a long moment. “There is…something else.”

Her voice is so serious that Tiergan has to laugh. “Livvy, there is no secret of yours that I do not already know. Although I appreciate your valiant efforts at keeping Prentice’s feelings a secret from me, you failed tremendously.”

He turns to Prentice, expecting a sheepish expression, but is met with complete and utter shock. “My feelings?” Prentice asks, incredulous. “You fell in love with me! Lord Pyren said as much—”

The realization hits them both at the exact same time. 

Tiergan turns, very, very slowly, to Livvy, well aware that his glare is practically murderous. “Livvy,” he says, “explain. Now.” 

Livvy runs behind Della, which Tiergan supposes is deserved after the fiasco of the morning.

   “Well,” Della responds, clearly uneasy, “it doesn’t quite matter anymore, now that you two are clearly in love.” 

“I am not in love with him!” Prentice protests, and Tiergan scoffs. 

“The feeling is very much mutual,” he spits, dropping their joined hands. He glares at Fintan and Bronte, who watch them with barely concealed amusement. 

Prentice whirls to face him. “You confessed only hours ago the exact opposite.”

“As did you, if I recall correctly.”

Prentice huffs. “Well, perhaps I lied.”

Tiergan crosses his arms. “Perhaps I lied.” 

Prentice moves to add another childish retort, but is cut off by one of the teenagers clearing their throat loudly. 

“Um,” the blond one says, shrinking as all eyes in the room land on him. “Well, um, I kind of have proof to the contrary. You know.” He holds up two slips of paper in his hands—one of which is, unfortunately, far too familiar to Tiergan. 

The girl beside the blond boy elbows him in the side. “Keefe!” she scolds. “You can’t keep stealing stuff.”

“I don’t know,” says a boy with bangs, “it’s kind of working out for him, isn’t it?”

Livvy runs over with barely-concealed glee and takes the paper out of the boy’s hands. “Well, well, well,” she begins, her grin growing wider as she skims through them. “Let’s see here—”

“No!” Tiergan and Prentice both shout. 

“Dear Tiergan,” Livvy reads aloud, and Prentice buries his head in his hands, “you are the king of every sunset and the queen of every sunrise, the stars themselves personified into one, ever-gleaming halo of a person.” 

“A true poet,” Fintan notes, and Tiergan can only stare at the man beside him. He cannot truly believe that, Tiergan thinks. There is no part of Tiergan that could be deserving of his words. 

“And,” Livvy continues, and Tiergan’s blood runs cold, “My dear Prentice, I will love you forever, even when I am only a memory. I will love you with every part of me that has ever known love. I swear by it.” Livvy raises an eyebrow at him, but Tiergan does not notice. He is too concerned with Prentice, once beside him and now striding toward him at an incredible pace. Tiergan braces for an impact of some sort, but it doesn’t come. 

Instead, Prentice stops mere inches away from him and takes his hands gently. “My dear Lord of Disdain,” he says—softly, beautifully. 

And then Prentice kisses him, and a shaky peace settles on Eternalia once again. 

-

[sideroachblog]

Kinktober Day 6: Body Worship

I forgot to post this yesterday!! Oops. Hopefully I'll get Day 7 posted today, too.

Thanks to @nonsenseafterdark for the prompt list!!

Words: 1,885

Summary: Price needs a confidence booster. Roach is happy to help. No actual smut, I didn't get that far 😅 but the build-up is there.

TWs: The Captain is a dirty old bastard (he's not that old). No real TWs for once, surprisingly. Don't get used to that.

Price glared at the small glass case on his desk. It held a Newton’s cradle made to look like billiard balls, although Price wasn’t a physics scholar nor a pool fan. It was something his father gave him for Christmas last year without putting much thought into it. However, that rabbithole went unexplored at the moment as his attention rested on his own reflection.

~~~

Price looked more and more like his dad every day. Pushing forty wasn’t old by any means. That sentiment didn’t stick now after the last remnants of his youth slipped through his fingers when he wasn’t watching, his full, brown beard sprouting gray patches on his chin.

There were larger problems at stake. Lamenting the passage of time did no one any good. He should feel lucky to have had all these years, considering the many perilous escapades he roped himself into, but it was hard when it earned him bad memories nearly as deep as his stress lines. Price sighed, running a hand through his hair. Christ, was it starting to thin?

Someone cleared their throat standing at his desk and startled him.

Roach stood there like an apprehensive stray, gaiter down around his neck, all his other gear in the armory. A little over a decade younger than Price. Not quite pushing thirty, probably unaware of how fast the birthdays ran by. He had a full head of rich chestnut hair (his crew cut grew out a smidge too far), big brown eyes without a dark circle in sight, high cheekbones his flesh hadn’t begun to sag from yet. Not a boyish face per se, considering the sharp, scruffy jawline it sported and the myriad of scars obtained on missions. Youthful but not young.

Quite the lady-killer, in Price’s opinion; perhaps a bit of a captain-killer as well. Sure, call it unethical to have little crushes on sergeants, but don’t fault a man for preferring trained dogs that come when called and still have the energy for tricks.

Price shook himself out of it before he thought too hard about scratching Roach behind the ears as the man sat in his lap. “Jesus Christ. Would it kill you to knock?”

“I did. You didn’t respond but the door was cracked.”

“Still. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Roach grinned. His teeth were crooked and one of his front incisors had been knocked out on their last mission. “I know, you’re getting up there, huh? When do you have to go for your first colonoscopy?”

Price groaned, dropping his head into his hands to rub his tired eyes. “Not for at least five years.”

Might as well be a minute in the grand scheme of things.

“Everything okay?” Roach asked.

“Aye, lad. Peachy. What can I do for you?”

“Got a leave request for the holidays. I want to spend ‘em with my parents.”

He reached over the desk for the papers then leaned back in his chair, boots on the desk. “What, no girlfriend to spend them with?”

The man laughed, rubbing his upper arm awkwardly.

Price raised an eyebrow. “Or, uh, no… boyfriend? To spend them with? Which would be no problem, if you did.”

His face flushed. Price liked the sight.

“I’m not seeing anyone, at the moment. Being in the S.A.S. makes dating tough. My mum's gonna make dinner.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re not heading over early to help?” Price scolded.

“I’ve only requested Christmas and the day after off… I’ll help clean up!”

“Damn right you will,” Price said, sliding the papers back across the desk. “Add Christmas Eve so you can be a good boy and help your old lady. Then I’ll approve.”

Roach nodded. Price expected him to leave but, to the Captain’s surprise, he flopped down in a chair.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to, Sergeant?”

“Lunchtime. I’ll bring you chow if you pretend I’m not lollygagging.”

Price was hungry, and his sciatica had been acting up again—it shot pain down his right leg for a few minutes whenever he stood up or sat down. “Deal,” he agreed without much deliberation. Plus, it meant the eye candy stuck around a little longer.

Roach put his arms behind his head and leaned back. He carried his strength in more of a swimmer’s build rather than bulking as much as Ghost or Soap. Definitely strong, though. Well defined muscles flexed below his shirt as he stretched. Price sighed again—he’d lost much of his own definition over the years despite being just as strong. And the aches only ever got worse.

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, Sanderson. Having a mid-life crisis, is all.”

He flashed that gap-toothed grin. “Hey, you’re not that old!”

“I’m no spring chicken.”

“Okay, well. When you talk like that I can only assume you were born in the fifties.”

Price rolled his eyes. “Way to hit a man while he’s down.”

Roach laughed.

Price didn’t. He thinned his lips, opened his mouth to start speaking once or twice, pressed his fingertips together. Finally, he asked, “Do I act old?”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad! It’s fine, really.”

“Hasn’t felt fine lately. I’m greying. Gonna be balding soon, I bet. Got crows feet, smile lines, droopy skin… I’m not the heartthrob I used to be. Enjoy it while it lasts, lad.”

Roach leaned forward. “Hey, don’t be like that! Think of it this way: you’re a DILF now. Once the D turns into more of a G, you’ll just be in your silver fox era.”

“What’s a DILF?”

Roach grimaced. “I was hoping you knew what that meant already.”

Price totally did. GILF, too. But he wanted to see Roach squirm, so he tilted his head in a curious ruse.

“You know what a MILF is, right?”

He nodded.

“So you can guess what the D stands for, right?”

“Are you calling me a ‘dad you’d like to fuck?’”

He took sick joy in the way Roach covered his eyes, immediately pink from his clavicle to the tips of his ears.

Roach said, “It’s—It’s a figure of speech, Sir.”

“I get it, I get it, I’m messing around.”

Price half expected the Sergeant to leave for lunch now that he was mortified. He didn’t. Price’s stomach growled; maybe he could speed this along.

“What makes me a ‘dad you’d like to fuck?’”

“Quit saying that!”

He just laughed.

Surprisingly, Roach kept talking, sweet-talking, even. “Uh, I guess it’s the salt and pepper that does it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And the way you carry yourself. You’re strong and confident ‘cause you’re experienced. Well-seasoned. It implies you've been around the block once or twice, if you catch my drift.” Roach’s face only got pinker.

“So you like a man more experienced than you?”

“Captain!”

Price had to backpedal. “Just joking! Nothing wrong if you do. Or don’t.” He chuckled and sighed. “Don’t mind me, I’m a dirty old bastard. Go get lunch, and change that leave request.”

“R-right.”

Roach was out the door before Price could change his mind. Maybe he sped things up too fast.

‘Been around the block once or twice.’

‘Experienced.’

Sounded like Roach wanted to be collared, leashed, and taken for a walk.

…

About ten minutes later the Sergeant returned carrying two meals, again scaring the piss out of Price when he tossed the metal tray onto the desk and a jacket potato threatened to jump out of its designated cubby.

“Christ alive! You didn’t knock this time, either—!”

“Yes, I did! Sir!”

“No, you didn’t! At least I know you’re not a bloody vampire.”

“But I do bite.”

“Great,” Price said sarcastically. “I’ll send in an purchase request for a muzzle, then. Go on, sit.”

He enjoyed the scarlet red Roach immediately turned.

“What had you distracted this time, Captain?”

Being too old to die young anymore. Dying old and ugly and alone.

“Nothing,” Price answered. “Not a thing.”

“Still feeling old?”

“Yup. And It’s getting worse by the second. You’ll be in my shoes, one day. If you’re lucky. You’ll prune up, lose that pretty face, hunch over like a question mark. All your hair will fall out. I bet yours will start from the crown of your head rather than recede; you’ll look like a monk.”

“Don’t be so negative. It’s natural. It’s maturity. Like wine!”

Price smirked. “I don’t believe it. Don’t flatter me, kid, that’s how you become a kiss-ass. I already peaked around your age. It’s all downhill from here; been going downhill for a while.”

Roach clicked his tongue. “It’s not kissing ass if you’re the one turning away from my compliments and pulling your pants down. I can’t help if you won’t listen.”

“I’m not an auditory learner.”

“Ha-ha. You’re a physical one, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“Said it yourself. Dirty old bastard.”

He laughed. His mouth moved before his brain could filter it. “Well, if you teach me why I’m a DILF, I’ll share what I’ve learned on my adventures.”

Roach’s mouth gaped and his eyes went wide. Price nearly saw the discharge notice flying at him—then the Sergeant crossed his legs to hide a boner. Price would be lying if he claimed that didn’t make him hard as a rock.

He paused. Cocked an eyebrow. “Are we pretending I didn’t see that, Sanderson?”

Roach wouldn’t look his way.

“You’re not in trouble. Lock the door, I’ll show you a thing or two. Or leave and there’s no harm done, aye?”

Roach’s brows furrowed. He looked at his Captain, then the door, then his lunch, then repeated the circuit. “Can we eat first? I’m starving.”

He smiled. “Brilliant idea.”

…

And so they ended up locked in Price’s dark office together, the Captain in his chair as Roach straddled his lap.

“You’re so sexy,” Roach said, feeling Price’s trapezius muscles, digging in to release tension. His fingers slipped under the man’s shirt collar. “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

Price moaned. He couldn’t help it, gripping Roach by the hips as the Sergeant trailed kisses up his stubbly neck. Next thing he knew his shirt was untucked and Roach took warm handfuls of his hairy tummy.

“Not as… toned as it used to be,” Price said sheepishly, eyes closed for reasons he couldn’t explain. It felt more comfortable that way.

“I love it. It’s perfect. And I can still feel the muscles underneath—you’re just as strong.”

“Yeah, yeah. Butter me up. It won’t get you anywhere special.”

Roach pulled away. Price leaned forward to chase kisses now withheld, peaking one eye open when an arm across his chest pinned him in place.

“Something wrong, Sanderson?”

The man stared down his nose at Price. “How long’s it been since anyone’s given you any appreciation?” He asked.

“Huh? Oh…” Price tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Can’t remember, so I reckon it’s been a while. Once you’re in my position you’re in charge of dishing it out to keep moral high.”

Roach hummed. “I mean in your love life.”

“The well’s run dry since I've been a Captain. Always been more of a giver, though.”

“Let me change that.”

[silent-raven13]

Miles' work husband

Hobby casually walking with Pavtri and Gwen, the three finished a mission from a world filled with fairies. So they were covered in pixie dust that got Gwen sniffing like crazy. "AH-CHOO! Ugh, man! This is worse than pollen!" She sniffs feeling terrible.

"Oh no, you need some allergy medication?" Pavtri asked with worry, "Maybe we should go to Med-Bay and get some pills."

"AH-CHOO!" Gwen sneezed next to Hobie. Luckily they were all wearing all their Spidey mask, which was bad for Gwen. All her snot and spit went her mask making Pavtri give a disgusted look.

Hobie gave a stank expression under his mask. YUCK! "Aye, you good, Gwendy?"

Gwen groans, "UGH! This is so gross. I'm going to Med-Bay. I need some allergy pills!" She remove her masks showing her upper lip being wet.

"Maybe go to the bathroom first, because that looks really nasty." Pavtri hums at her trying to be kind.

"Yeah, I should." She cover her lower face feeling grossed out and embarrassed about it. "God, I wish Kaine was here! At least, I know he would warned me about that place!"

"Oh yeah, he has a cute fanny pack now!" Pavtri giggles.

Hobie's arched his left eyebrow being curious about this new Spider-man. "Kaine?"

"Oh, he's recently new to HQ- um, I'll go wash up. Pav, give Hobie the TEA and DON'T TELL HIM ABOUT WHAT THE PEEPS ARE SAYING ABOUT HIM AND... mm-mmm!" Gwen left at that, she rushes through the restroom.

"OHHHHH! OKAY!" Pavtri nodded at this being excited about sharing some sweet gossip.

Hobie being a laid back person, he never cared about other people business or their own drama in Spider Society. Also, Pavtri always keeps the punker well informed about everything going on HQ. The bubbly guy is an encyclopedia of every Spider-men and their drama. He can tell which Spider-man ate a blueberry muffin at the cafeteria at twelve in the afternoon.

"So," Pavtri's voice broke Hobie's train of thought. The punker finally looks at his friend with interest. "Kaine Parker is a clone of Peter Parker! He was one of the first clones before Ben Riley, and he's so nice! I mean, really really nice!"

"Okay? How does he look?"

"His suit is sort of like Miles' color scheme, black and red. Mostly red." Pavtri said, "As his face? Hmm, I dunno know how he looks. I heard he had a defect so part of his face is disfigured and he's very self conscious about it."

"Ah, poor lad." Hobie simply said.

"Yeah! He's a sweet guy! You should meet him! He's into a lot of nerd stuff like Lord of the Rings, Star trek or Starwars." Pavtri happily ramble, "And he's so awkward, too. I'm glad he got Miles to help him out on missions."

"Miles know him?" Hobie casually asked, he wasn't jealous... yet. He learned to not get his insecurities get the best of him.

"Yeah, they work on the same schedule, and they tend to always team up. I'm surprised you haven't seen him! He's always around here hanging out, and helping as much as he can."

"Sounds like a nice mate."

"Oh yeah!" Pavtri kept talking without thinking about what he was going to say, "Everyone knows him, so you gotta meet him. Him and Miles also does this funny handshake every time they meet."

"So they're friends?" Hobie asked, his magazine body turning into a muted yellow being curious about this. He's okay, no jealousy here.

"Huh uh, everyone thinks they are funny together, even on missions they get each other." The wavy haired Spider-man giggles at the memories, "It's no wonder they called each other work husbands-OPP!." He quickly slap his mouth shut by his own words leaving him out.

"What?" Hobie's whole body turned into a dark grey mixed with red alerted fonts.

"NOTHING!" Pavtri quickly meep.

"Pav, mate...'" Hobie creepily sway himself like a snake to meet his friend's eyes, "What did you say?"

Pavtri nervously stood holding his breath, damn he sometimes wish he sew his mouth shut. Hobie always reacts like this. Oh why he couldn't keep quiet!

Without a second heartbeat Gwen came to the rescue, she came with paper towels wiping her wet hands from using the restroom. Her face refreshed and clean from snot, "Gwen! Oh thank Brahma!" Pavtri quickly hides behind her with a small whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Wha?" Her blue eyes look back and forth between her friend, "PAV, you didn't!" She hissed as she noticed Hobie turning red with black fonts flashing through him.

"I'm sorry! I didn't-" Hobie cut them arguing, "Gwendy, what is going on?"

"Uhhh.... nothing, heh?" Gwen stood nervously with Pavtri hugging her.

"Gwen. Pavtri." A warning sound from their Hobie which they never heard his voice deep and it was rare for him to use their names! "What. Is. Going. On?" His dark eyes on them.

"Uhhhhh...." Gwen looks down the floor to the open space of the hallway, "promise you won't get mad?"

"Mm...." He saw them waiting for him to make the promise. "Fine. I promise." His black and red colors on his were showing more seeing he was frustrated.

Gwen and Pavtri look at each other then decided to tell him. "Okay, so Kaine and Miles been on missions and hanging out for a while...."

"I heard." Hobie crosses his arms across his chest feeling upset.

"So everyone that worked with them since they are friends... they like to say they are each other work husbands... heh." Gwen slowly said.

"Work husbands? And what is that?" Hobie scowls a bit already having a foul mood.

"It's like having a husband, but at work! They just work so well on missions, Hobie. Everyone makes fun of them being so sync- there's nothing wrong with having a bit fun! Hobie, we swear him and Miles are-" Gwen saw Hobie walking off already jealous. "Ah, shit! Pav, I told you to stay quiet about this!" She walks to follow Hobie before the punker does anything ridiculous.

"I'm sorry! But what did you expect! I'm always talking!" Pav defend himself. He follows her with a panic in his mind. "You don't think he'll get upset!"

"Gawd, I hope not!" She said out loud as they follow Hobie.

Hobie follows his watch where he sync with his beloved Sunflower. The moment he got to a room where a lot of Spider-heroes appeared from their portals, he saw Miles coming out of the portal with a Spider-man wearing red and black.

"Wow, man. That was such an awesome world! I didn't know we had to learn magic!" Miles laughs along side the Spider-man.

"Right! The fight with the orcs! I never thought it would be so much fun!" Kaine laughs along being taller than Miles, possibly the same height as Hobie, but with more muscle. The guy accidentally tripped, "OPP!"

"I gotcha man!" Miles quickly caught Kaine in his arms and they were laughing. The two were being goofy. Hobie felt a wave of jealousy seeing his Sunflower smiling with that perfect smile from a Spider-man. No, only he gets to make him smile.

"Haha, thanks man!" Kaine gave him a side hug. "I can't wait for next week."

Next week? Hobie tilted his head being confused.

"Oh yeah, Ganke so want a rematch." Miles giggles.

Kaine was about to speak until, he noticed the famous Spider Punk appearing behind the Miles with one hand around Miles' waist being protective. "Hobie!" Miles turns to be startled by his man.

"Hello, luv!" Hobie pulls Miles close to him, then his eyes stare over to Kaine, "Who's this?"

"OH this is Kaine!" Miles introduce him.

Kaine nodded with his hand sticking out, "Hi, Kaine Parker! Earth 617! I'm sort of a clone of Peter Parker, but in my world he actually died by some complicated stuff and I got to take over.... it's a whole thing!"

"Huh..." The tall punker sounded like he's listening but his eyes would go back to his partner. This time he slouches on Miles making him stumble a bit by his weight.

"Ohfff, baby! You gotta warn me next time! I almost fell." Miles found his stance and stood while holding on to his partners' weight.

Kaine's brow bone arched showing from his mask, "He's a cuddler?" He stood amazing on Hobie's body changing into a soft pink with hearts all over. It's very fascinating to watch. Kaine had more a dark harsh lines like an intense ink comic book style.

"Yeah, always!" Miles giggles as Hobie acted like a toddler wanting his parent to pay attention to him. He rubs his cheek against Miles' soft baby cheeks, he's like a cat. "Bae, I'm talking."

Hobie quickly hugs him being jealous. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kaine!" Miles chuckles nervously, "Hobie is always like this."

"Nah, your good! I didn't know the famous Spider Punk was this friendly." Kaine chuckles.

"Hey, you two!" A Spider-woman with duo chrome of green and yellow metallic spider suit with a black spider printed on the middle of her chest. This one had a high pony tail with long brown hair.

Hobie turns his head looking confused, "Who's this, luv?" He asked.

"Oh this is Kitty Pryde! She's a Spider-woman on Earth XM129, she got sweet super powers like me!" Miles said happily.

"Hahaha, I go through solid objects." She took off her mask to reveal her face. Kitty had such a pretty face almost like angelic doll with brown eyes and soft pink lips with small nose. "Spider Punk?"

"I don't believe in labels."

"Ahh, gotcha." Kitty heard Spider Punk is a pro activist at heart, always going against the government, the system. Not surprised of this introduction. Then she turned to Kaine, "So Kaine, how was your hubby in the magical world?"

"Hubby?" Hobie's head pop up from his cuddle with his boyfriend, he's full on alert. His body turning grey with a flash of yellow.

Miles placed his hand on his boyfriend's chest, "Relax, bae. It's a funny nickname everyone says about me and Kaine."

"Ohh, are you jealous?" Kitty watches at Hobie's body with amusement, "Don't worry it's all a joke. Miles and Kaine are work hubbies."

"Work hubbies?" Hobie turns his head at Miles, then places his hands on his lover's shoulders, "No, this is MY boyfriend, mates!"

Miles rolled his eyes, "Hobie! It's all a joke-" His boyfriend buries his head into his chest, "No, you're my boyfriend, luv!"

Kaine held his hands up in defense, "We get it, but it's everyone that likes to joke about it. Don't worry I'm a taken man!"

Kitty giggles having her arms wrapping around Kaine's right arm, "Hehe, he's not listening, bae."

Hobie already acting like a child about this, "Luv, I thought you and I were supposed to be together forever!"

"We are! Baby, we're just friends that work well on- WHOA! Hobie, put me down!" Miles never felt so embarrassed being picked up like a bride.

Hobie nuzzles his partner's cheeks again, "This is better, Sunflower!" He protectively carry his boyfriend. "Ain't I make a better work husband for you."

Miles let out a loud sigh, "Yeah..." No use now! His boyfriend is already jealous.

"I love you, Sunflower!" Hobie planted kisses on his cheeks.

Kitty giggles, "Awe, so cute! Hobie, you know Miles and Kaine put their names as Hubby 1 and 2 on our logs!" A log where many Spider-heroes sign up to partner up or go in groups for missions.

"AH!" Hobie stood in shock before he whines, "SUNFLOWER!"

"DON'T ENCOURAGE HIM, KITTY!" Miles shouted, "Ahh, Hobie!" His boyfriend began telling him how much he loves him and snuggling him. A whole rant about he never felt so betray!

"Kitty, you know you did that with Gwen!" Kaine said to his girlfriend.

"Hehehe, I know. It's just I heard Hobie gets all cute with his boo when a man comes into Mimi's life." Kitty giggles as she watches the two. Pavtri's blog on Spider So-City was never wrong. They are a cute couple.

[trilobitepunch]

What are some of your favorite character relationships/dynamics in TMNT, and why? Is there anything that you particularly like seeing explored with them in fan works (art, writing, comics, etc)?

Awww I gotta get my brain into answer-questions-mode...

Le's see....

What I really love is the exploration of family bonds, especially in the last two show iterations for 2012 and 2018. The original 198something one didn't really seem to dip too much into it, from what I remember, anyway, and only in hindsight do I realize they didn't really seem very teenagerish either, or at least that aspect just seemed lost to me. It's been a bajillion years and I know I never watched its entirety. Not even touching the comics realm- no idea what's going on there.

I completely missed 2003, but 2012's version was the first one that made it clear that they were- aside from being mutants trained as ninja in the sewers by a rat father- teenagers who loved each other but also could be annoyed at each other and mad at each other, tease and fight but still remember who they are to each other by the end of things. I'll tell you now, I've never been a big romance-oriented person and I don't think those relationships in that show really added much to anything. Funny at times, amusing, yes, but that seemed to be about it. Friendship bonds can be just as strong and meaningful!

Where 2012 dipped into relations between the brothers, 2018 pushed it further. The lads were mostly on their own due to a negligent father, although this new aspect of Splinter was refreshing and I love the idea of all of them basically trying to find their way around things and this nebulous duty bound to their family. I love that April's become more of a big sister to them and still shares some bond even with Splinter, similar to 2012's for the whole master and student angle. I think her relationship with Donnie is a fun one, her go-to for technical issues, for hanging out and homework checks, but she's not afraid to speak her mind and set the boy right when his brain is working too much.

The layers and directions they take with each character just makes it a fun mix when they throw everything together. I love that they don't even outright hate the villains and some of the villains don't even know why they hate the turtles but hey! We'll fight 'em just cuz! Ahaha, these poor kids. I do have to add that I'm also glad that no one's overly lamented about the fact that they've been mutated in this show except for poor Splinter at first, but all the villains basically kinda vibe with it like 'oh, I guess this is how my life is now /shrug'.

I like Raph's self-instated role as the oldest to be the protector, and how he especially looks after Donnie when things get sweaty. Or tries to, anyway, look- his heart's in the right place, even if half the time he ends up smashing his squishy brother by accident. I like the competition that goes on between Mikey and Leo, whether it's just at who's better or who's right, it's a fun dynamic. Of course I love Leo and Donnie antics too, and even though there aren't too many, the implications that they have dove into many a hair-brained scheme is just too funny. ...just going to go through all of them I guess. I'M SORRY, THIS GOT SO LONG AGH Right, Mikey and Donnie, a classic team-up, I love that they support each other so much, and the chaos they can get up to. Even funnier, I love that they actually succeed most of the time. And then Mikey and Raph's little bro vs oldest bro dynamic, which is in a way the same as Leo and Raph in that they can see eye-to-eye and get along, but when they clash, they clash hard. Classic.

...sorry I'm still not done, one more section...!!

When it comes to fanworks, I just like to see more of what was set up in the shows and the movie, but I also like being pleasantly surprised by wild and creative takes now and then. It's like... the reason I RP a character is to get more story, to see how so-and-so goes through and deals with this situation or another, the friends and enemies they might make in a different setting or opportunity. Fanart has glimpses of such things, fanfics and comics explore them in depth. Y'all are amazing, for the record, just saying.

OKAY SHUTTING UP NOW, here's my term paper *hits submit*

[dragonjesterwrites]

Animatronic Hug Rating Chart 🫂✨️

Happy Valentine's Day! 🩷 Actually wanted to write this awhile back but I wanted to finish some of the requests in my inbox first. Can be read as platonic or romantic! Also only did the Funtimes, Mediocre Melodies, and Glamrocks + Sun/Moon + DJMM to keep it short, but feel free to request any others!

~~~~~

Funtimes:

Funtime Freddy: Fully embraces the concept of bear hugging, might crush you accidentally lmao, and has a hard time knowing when to let go. Other than that, very solid hugs, will pick you up off the floor into an all encompassing embrace while laughing in delight (7/10)

BonBon: Likes to give hugs, hard for him though because he's only like, a foot tall (short king) and attached to Freddy most of the time. But he does his best! (8/10)

Funtime Foxy: Actually pretty touch averse, much prefers to interact with others from the stage, but if you're upset and want a hug, they'll do their best. An awkward and probably short hug, but a well-intentioned one. (4/10)

Circus Baby: Will probably not realize you want a hug at first (too busy scheming lmao), but she'll give you one! Like Freddy, very solid, just straight up picks you off the floor and holds you tight. A bit odd, but comforting. (6/10)

Ballora: She keeps her eyes closed 99% of the time, so she might accidentally bump into you as she reaches out for you, but otherwise a pretty good hugger. Gentle, but firm enough that you feel comforted. (8/10)

Funtime Chica: Cross between a motherly hug and an excitable one; will pick you up and squeeze you tight, but not so tight that you're at risk of being crushed. Might forget to end the hug and start talking though, just kind of carries you around. Congrats, you're now her emotional support human 👍 get lovingly kidnapped nerd (7/10)

~~~~~

Mediocre Melodies:

Happy Frog: Honestly a fantastic hugger. Very solid, loves hugs tbh. Whether you need a comfort hug, a shoulder to cry on, a congratulations hug, or you're a hugger yourself, she's got you (10/10)

Mr. Hippo: Won't initiate, he's more a talker than a touchy person, but will happily give you a hug if asked. Gentle, very safe. He will absolutely take it as permission to start telling you stories, though (9/10)

Orville: Also won't initiate, though its more because he's a bit shy and very excited to give hugs (he's a wee bit touch-starved), doesn't want to hurt you accidentally with his enthusiasm. Shame because he's a very good hugger, very warm and solid hug (9/10)

Pigpatch: Honestly not a huge hug person, but will give you a side-hug if you ask. More likely to just pat you on the back lol (2/10)

Nedd Bear: Big goofy lad, will absolutely give you a hug. Won't pick you up but will bear-hug you regardless, squeeze you tight- maybe a little too tight though, you might have to remind him you have organs and bones you'd like to keep intact lmao (5/10)

~~~~~

Glamrocks, Sun/Moon, + DJMM:

Glamrock Freddy: Very good, comforting hugs. If you're significantly shorter than him he'll kneel down and hug you. Very gentle if you need, very firm if you need, and always asks first. (11/10)

Glamrock Chica: Pretty decent hugger! Probably has pizza grease on her hands though. Will pick you up and swing you about if she's excited enough. (6/10)

Glamrock Bonnie: Always excited to give hugs! Will pick you up and squeeze you tight, forgets his own strength sometimes. But his ears twitch and his lil bunny tail wags when he hugs you, so you can excuse your spine being turned to dust (6/10)

Monty: Surprised and secretly delighted to get offered/be asked for a hug. A little unsure at first, but ends up giving a very enthusiastic hug, RIP your bones and organs (7/10)

Roxy: Might roll her eyes and call you sappy, but actually bawling inside because she can't remember the last time someone wasn't too intimidated to offer/ask for a hug from her. Puts everything into that hug, and doesn't let go (7/10)

Sun: Will pick you up and spin you around if he's in a good mood, if he's in a bad one you're being kidnapped and dragged off to the blanket fort for emergency cuddles. Ditto if you're in a bad mood. Lanky but still a good hugger, very clingy though, won't let you go until you ask, and even then he'll whine and droop like a dying flower. Sun is a master of emotional manipulation (6/10)

Moon: The most gentle hug you've ever received in your life. Very soothing and calming, you feel very safe. But watch out! Sometimes he'll "fall asleep" (a lie; you can tell because he's started giggling) so he can hug you longer. And then he "sleep-uses the cable" to "sleep-kidnap" you and before you know it, you've been blanket-burrito'd and laid down in the pillow fort in their room, with him still hugging you. Can't complain though, literally the comfiest you've ever be... zzz (7/10)

DJMM: Okay, so he can't actually hug, but he does his best 😭 very gentle and inviting, opens one of his hands and sets it down so you can climb in, will carefully enclose you (or let you hug his finger if you're claustrophobic) and if you're cool with it, he'll let you splay yourself out on his back and hug him like that. Gentle giant, loves hugs, cursed with being an absolute unit though (9/10)

[druidx]

A Prelude in Orange

Universe: Titan Fighting Fantasy CW: Alcohol Notes: This is written from Farren's POV because I fancied giving it a go. Y'all can judge how well I did. Tagging: @aquadestinyswriting @jacqueswriteblrlibrary & @hannah-heartstrings

The pub is warm, filled with the golden light of high-class oil lamps. I ease myself back into the soft and worn cushions of our booth after coming back from the bar, swirling the cheap brandy in my glass. Across the dark oak table, sticky with the spills of many nights, Bug's fidgeting. You know, I don't even think she knows she does it. That little tap-tap-tap of a finger against the glass. Means she's antsy about something. If I thought it'd do any good, I'd tell her to relax. But it don't. If anything, it makes whatever she's ansting about worse, cuz then it's on her mind instead of at the back of it. 'S always best to let her chew and say whatever's bothering her when she's ready.

The weather's on the turn, right now. It's been a damp day; nothing heavy, just that messy shit that soaks you through if you ain't wearing an oilcloth. There's bound to be a nip in the air when we leave. Fortunately I've already got a few beers sloshing in me, but the chaser's my jacket for the road. Not that Bug looks like she's in any mood to move on right now. Whatever's caught her, got her well and truly mired.

I cast my eye around the taproom. The Skiving Scholar's an academic's bar, foremost, and got co-opted by us coppers at the Eighth only later. Means that mostly it's a safe spot to relax away from the office. Yeah, sure, sometimes the scholars get into a bout of fisticuffs over some arcane bullshit, but it ain't often that some stupid swarf makes the mistake of tryna start something in here. Still, I look over the crowd, just to make sure it's not one of the patrons that's got my Elo chewing the mental cud.

"Brek?" she says. I turn my attention back. She's glaring at her drink, hardly touched. "Yeah?" "You have brothers, yes?" What a question, huh. "Four of 'em, for my sins." "Did any of them ever…" She rolls her hand, searching for her words. She thinks a lot, does my li'l partner. Wants to make sure she's concise and accurate and says the right thing at the right time. A proper little diplomat. But I can never make up my mind if she's just like that, or if it's a side effect of having to speak in something she ain't native to. "Have any of them ever gotten into trouble they can't handle?" I furrow my brow. "Like a fight?" I can't see what she's driving at. "No. Something worse." She's fidgeting again. Won't meet my eye, passing her tankard back and forth between her hands. Cuthbert brace me, is all I can think. It's gotta be Ashbury. Wickerswitch is a good lad, knows his leaves from his bark, got a talent for woodling plant magic, same as their Mam. Ashbury on the other hand… Boy's got no lick of sense between his ears and it shows in all the get-rich-quick schemes his and his no-good mates conjure. I say, "Not much else to get into trouble with, out in the sticks where they are." The tankard stills. "Huh." Over by the fire, the scholars are devising what sounds like a drinking song in draconic. "What's eatin' ya, Bug?" I ask when she doesn't offer anything more. She gives a quick shake of the head. "Nothing. It's fine." She lies like a sieve, but, Don't push, I have to remind myself before the drink can force the issue. We've been partners a year at this point. Long enough for me to figure out when to push and when to let her come to me on her own. If this is a family matter, then it's definitely something I can't push.

Abruptly she chugs back her beer. "We've got an early tomorrow," she says, dropping the empty with a thud onto the table. "We should be getting back." "It ain't an early early. No one's gonna worry if we oversleep a bit." I say. Such a stickler, she is. But then, 's what got her landed with me in the first place. "Let me enjoy my drink, huh? We've got time." "Breakwood." Full name, unimpressed tone, head canted to the side with a frown. Yup, not the time to push. "Sure, alright." I knock back my brandy in two swigs and set the glass on the table. She's already on her feet and heading out. All I can do is trail after.

[footballfanficwriter]

Promises we made

Summary: They made promises to eachother

13 years ago:

"Jude?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we'll ever find love"

"Uhm I don't know, what Is love anyway"

"I don't know,but I think it's all about holding hands and hugging your boyfriend or girlfriend"

"But we do that all the time"

"Does that mean we're boyfriend and girlfriend"

"I don't know, maybe"

"But don't girlfriends and boyfriends like kiss eachother"

"Eww,that's gross"

"Yeah, love is gross, I don't think I want to have it"

"Me too"

"But my mom and dad hug and kiss eachother all the time,does that make them boyfriend and girlfriend"

"I don't know Jude, Maybe they are"

"I think they're married"

"I think I wanna get married instead of being someone's girlfriend"

"Isn't that the same thing as being someone's girlfriend"

"No being girlfriend and boyfriend means you have to kiss and hug your boyfriend or girlfriend and do all the yucky stuff"

"Then what does being married mean"

"You live with the person but you don't kiss them, you only hug them and live with them"

"Oh yeah that makes it easier to understand"

"Yeah, so I wanna get married"

"I promise that when we're older we'll get married,then I can become a football player and you can become an actress, and we'll live together and be happy"

"Yeah, then we can have as much candy as we want and no one would tell us to stop"

"But what about kids"

"Only boyfriends and girlfriends have kids"

"Oh yeah right"

"You didn't make a promise to me Y/n"

"Oh right, I promise to always be your best friend and always be there for you"

"Thank you, me as well I promise too"

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise"

10 years later:

Jude an I are at his house just sitting on the floor and talking about random stuff

"Am I really that hard to love"

"What do you mean?"

"I broke up with Isaac "

"Another one bites the dust"

"Stop"

"Why did you break up with him"

"He was too controlling for my liking"

"Good riddance,I never even liked the lad anyway"

"You never liked any of my boyfriends"

"That's because they were all pricks"

"No not all of them"

"Whatever, and to answer your question , no you are not hard to love"

"Well to help you feel beter, Roxy broke up with me"

"What for?"

"Something about not feeling it anymore"

"Oh well her loss"

"You know what we should do"

"What?"

"If all love in our lives fails us we should just get married to eachother"

"That's actually a good idea"

"See I'm clever as well"

"Whatever einstein"

"C'mon let's plan our wedding"

"It's not like we're actually gonna get married"

"Yeah but if it happens we need to be prepared"

He grabs his laptop and starts typing things

"Ok first order of business,the cake"

"Why the cake, why can't it be the wedding dress first"

"Fine, the wedding dress first"

"Ok I pick this one":

"That looks pretty, you're gonna look so pretty"

"Thank you"

"Ok now for the suit"

"Just wear a black suit"

"Oh right, what's next"

"The venue"

"What about that one"

"Yeah that's really beautiful"

"Next"

"The rings"

"Let's pick for eachother"

"Ok I pick this one for you"

"Then I pick this one for you"

"I'm not gonna lie I'm really enjoying doing this"

"Same"

"What's next then"

"The cake"

"Ok I'm in love with that one"

"I definitely agree"

"We need a reception as well"

"Which one should we go for"

"You can pick this one Jude"

"Ok, I pick this one"

"We forgot a color scheme"

"White and Gold"

"Ok"

"Is that all"

"The food"

"So a Buffett"

"Yeah, that way everybody can have how ever amount of food that they"

"Smart"

"Yeah I know I am"

"Whatever"

"JUDE BELLINGHAM HAS JUST SCORED THE THIRD GOAL OF THE MATCH, WHAT A LAD"

Present day:

"Bellingham, Bellingham, Bellingham,BELLINGHAM!"

The crowd goes wild as I sit there watching Jude celebrating with his teammates, he turns around and blows me an air kiss

I catch it and return it back to him

When the game ends the score is 5-0

I wait for Jude to do the post match interview and receive his player of the match award

When he's done we walk to the car

"I'll drive" I say

"Thank you, I'm proper knackered"

"I know"

"Can you believe we're getting married, this weekend

"I know it feels so surreal"

"What feels surreal is the fact that by this time Next week you'll already be MRS Bellingham, you'll be my wife"

"And you'll be my husband"

"I can't believe it"

"Me too"

Weekend:

The day is finally here I'm getting married to my bestfriend and the man I love

"Aww, look at how beautiful you look,you look so beautiful sweetheart"

"Thanks mom"

"Good God I'm gonna cry"

"No please don't"

She comes in for a hug and when she pulls back, she's got tears in her eyes"

"Mom please don't cry, it's not like I'm leaving you"

"You sort of are in a way" she says

"Ok places everybody, we're up in 5" the wedding planner says

"Let's get you married"

We make our way outside and start walking to where the ceremony is taking place

My bridesmaids make they're way down the aisle

When they're done it's my turn

I take a deep breath before walking

Please don't trip

Please don't trip

Please don't trip

Please don't trip

Then I see him,black crisp tuxedo that looks like second skin on him

He's smiling at me and I smile back at him

When I reach the end of the aisle he grabs my hand and guides me in front of him

"Hi" he whispers

"Hey" I whisper back

"You look beautiful"

"You look handsome"

"I can't believe we're doing this"

"We're crazy"

"Most definitely"

"Thank you everyone for being her today to bring together these two people in matrimony, I don't wanna wate your time so let's get into it the couple have decided to have their own vows , starting with y/n"

"Jude you are my best friend, you always have been, you've been there for me every single day, at first I saw you as my brother, which is weird now that I'm thinking about it , but the point is you've been my pillar, the person to push me when I was not up for the challenge , when I felt like my world was ending and when I felt alone, you showed me countless times that you were right there and if I fell you where always there to pick me up and tell me to try again, I love you more than words can ever Express and I promise to always love you"

"Alright now Jude"

"Y/n, many years ago I made a promise to, a promise nobody but us knew about, I promised that one day I'd marry you here I am now fulfilling that promise, I am so happy you are a person that exists in this universe, because there are thousands of people in this universe and if I'm gonna be marrying one I'm Glad it's you, I can't imagine my life without you or how it where I would be right now without you, but I know for a fact that I wouldn't be standing here making you my wife, I love you more than anything in this universe and I promise to always support you and love you"

"By the power vested in me"

" pronounce you Husband and wife, you may kiss the bride"

Jude doesn't waste another second to kiss me

When we pull away he smiles at me

"I can't believe we did that"

"Well believe it"

We walk down the aisle and take a few pictures before going to the reception

We enjoy with our friends, family and loved ones

And by the time 10 O'clock hits my feet are tired from all the dancing

So Jude decides we should go to bed

"What a day"

"Yeah you can say that again"

"MRS. Bellingham"

"That feels weird to hear"

"Stop ruining the moment, I'm trying to build up something"

"Oh, ok sorry, start from the beginning"

"Y/n"

"Sorry"

"Stop"

We end up laughing and he just pulls me in for a kiss, that slowly becomes heated by the moment

He pulls away and says

"I love you so much"

"And I love you more"

[immediatebreakfast]

This was just wow, I want to shake hands with Robert Louis Stevenson, and tell him how much I enjoyed this whole book to the end.

The last stop of Davie's adventure, a last victory for the lad that traveled in a circle, and one of the most impressive dialogue showdowns that I have ever read. Because it is that, a showdowns of words, cadence, and arguments like no other. Between Davie's constant friend the Highlander Alan Breck Stewart, and Davie's scheming uncle Ebenezer Balfour, the old man who kickstarted the kidnapping.

This whole chapter is like a masterpiece in dialogue. What to say, how to say, when to turn, how to direct the point in between arguments, Alan mocking Ebenezer's fake concern for Davie by using threats that we know he is capable of doing, Ebenezer deflecting and deflecting until he is backed into a corner where he has to admit what he did to Davie in order to keep the House of Shaws to himself.

It was magical to read, and Alan certainly didn't pull any punches in his almost melodramatic telling, and accusations against Ebenezer. This is why it works! The exclamation of the truth while omitting that Davie is looking makes it so delicious to read.

“And what is’t?” asked my uncle. “David,” says Alan. “What was that?” cried my uncle, in a mighty changed voice. “Shall I give ye the rest of the name, then?” said Alan. There was a pause; and then, “I’m thinking I’ll better let ye in,” says my uncle, doubtfully.

When the conversation turns to this, when you can feel how somehow these words can convey the tension going through the roof, you know it's going to to be good shit.

Both Davie, and the readers could feel how this was Alan's element. It's doesn't if it's a sword, a bottle, a bagpipe, or his voice Alan always marches foward with such confidence that one can't help but be left impressed by his handling. Even if Alan made Davie's life hell when he glambled away the money, this was the chance of him truly apologizing, by helping his friend recoger what was his by right.

Moreover, Ebenezer wasn't left behind in his own side of the conversation. The man really held his own against this stranger that suddenly called for his presence in the middle of the night. And yet he was no match for a man who doesn't care for empty threats when weapons could serve as arguments.

“Powder and your auld hands are but as the snail to the swallow against the bright steel in the hands of Alan,” said the other. “Before your jottering finger could find the trigger, the hilt would dirl on your breast-bane.

Then, the reveal that not only Davie is there alive, and well! But also that Mr. Rankeillor was listening to everything! And that Ebenezer has no other option than to give Davie what was promised less he ends without nothing to his name.

And then there is this last paragraph by Davie, which weights on his last thoughts of his experience:

Alan and Torrance and Rankeillor slept and snored on their hard beds; but for me who had lain out under heaven and upon dirt and stones, so many days and nights, and often with an empty belly, and in fear of death, this good change in my case unmanned me more than any of the former evil ones; and I lay till dawn, looking at the fire on the roof and planning the future.

Davie is finally resting! Not sleeping because who would be able to sleep after such victory, but resting his mind while thinking of the future, of what he will do now.

How many times in the novel had Davie thought about his future? Not something that could change in a second if he doesn't move, not the catching future of being captures by the Red Coats if he doesn't run through deadly heat and plains, the actual future that is seen since today through many years, when Davie is older, and maybe wiser.

After running, hiding, fainting, begging, screaming, enduring, and walking Davie is finally able to just think about not only what he will to do tomorrow, but what comes after tomorrow.

[clairelsonao3]

Themes and Tropes Tag

I was tagged by @tabswrites whose post is here! How did you know I go absolutely feral for anything having to do with tropes? Maybe the title of my blog? In any case, thank you! I'll even link you to the correct pages on TV Tropes for each one, because I have the official names for a lot of these memorized, and actually had a list of almost 100 going at one point and how they applied to my work; that's how obsessed I am. After all, you have to know the tropes before you can subvert them, right? (See #15).

RULES: Look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. What are five to ten fifteen narrative elements or tropes that continuously pop up in your work?

Everything in italics is courtesy of TV Tropes.

1. All Girls Want Bad Boys -  ...the Troubled, but Cute youth with a tragic past is a woobie needing comfort; he's tough enough to be a girl's protector, but vulnerable enough to need her as well... 

Usually applies to my male characters.

2. The Charmer - The Jack-the-Lad. Cocky, cheeky and devil-may-care, he's the type of guy you can't help but like, even as he's wrapping you around his little finger.

Usually also applies to my male characters.

3. The Determinator -There is no stopping the Determinator. They do not understand tact. They do not Know When to Fold 'Em, and it's a waste of time to tell them the odds. No one can reason with them.  No price is too great to pay for success, up to and including their own life.

Usually applies to my female characters, especially when they're rushing to help and/or save the:

6. Distressed Dude - Meet the Spear Counterpart of the Damsel in Distress. 

When the Bad Boy Charmer gets himself into trouble he can't charm his way out of, he becomes this. A lot of whump writing is this taken up to 11, and my own work is no exception. I also use Damsel in Distress, but not quite as often.

7. Uptown Girl - Our lovers are from different worlds — one wealthy, one not. 

My first novel and Good Slaves Never Break the Rules played this pretty much straight. In the case of The Adored (which actually references Gatsby) the wealthy character is actually the antagonist of sorts, and the MC is the "normal" middle-class girl who has to make her not-wealthy love interest see the light.

This is often a jumping-off point to explore larger, Gatsbyesque themes related to money, class, fame, wealth, and corruption (see also: Was it All Worth It/Rags to Riches), and after the characters have learned their lessons, usually ultimately leads us to:

8. Standard Hero Reward -- This relates to #7 and by definition it's a spoiler, so I'll say no more. (Sometimes it's played straight, sometimes lampshaded/subverted).

9. Xanatos Speed Chess -- Some characters have an amazing gift not only for making The Plan but for revising it whenever new circumstances arise. See also: Zany Scheme.

Or maybe I've just performed in too many musical comedies.

10. Unresolved (often also Belligerent) Sexual Tension - Two people are obviously attracted to each other, but some element of the story is keeping them apart. See also: Mutual Pining/Idiots in love/Will They or Won't They?

11. Dark and Troubled Past - Something terrible happened to a character; some tragic event in their past that shaped a fundamental level of their personality. Long after the event is over, it still has a powerful influence on the character's life.

Chances are if one my characters is important enough to have a past at all, there's probably something terrible in it.

12. Deadpan Snarker - A character prone to gnomic, sarcastic, sometimes bitter, occasionally whimsical asides.

My main characters MUST have a sense of humor, and it's usually this kind.

13. The Chessmaster -- Chessmasters tug at their strings of influence, patiently move their pieces into places that often seem harmless or pointless until the trap is closed.

I tend to often make my villains and/or antiheroes some variation of this, and no matter how evil they are, they almost always have a:

14. Freudian Excuse -- ...writers may keep the villain (especially The Sociopath) just as vile as before, but reveal that they have a reason for being that way. 

(Hint: It's usually their parents).

And finally, this brings us to the most important trope of all:

15. Lampshading -- ... the writers' trick of dealing with any element of the story that threatens the audience's Willing Suspension of Disbelief, whether a very implausible plot development or a particularly blatant use of a trope, by calling attention to it and simply moving on.

In other words, you can get away with using the same tropes over and over and over again, as long as you do it with a wink and a nod at the readers.

I could keep going on this forever, but instead, I'll gently tag:

@i-can-even-burn-salad @janec23 @mysticstarlightduck @rickie-the-storyteller @writingforjoy

[emotional-support-demoman]

Hi demo I'd like to say that I really like this blog, the vibes are nice and the support is much needed. Speaking of might as well dump some sad stuff on ya, so there's been a lot of competitions going on in my life recently and it's got me thinking "what did I ever achieve?" because a lot of people my age and younger all have things to show for their skills. Be it trophies from sports events or awards for good grades given by the school or anything really, I just don't have anything like that past some participation pats on the back or meaningless little awards i got as a toddler that won't help me in life whatsoever. I'm painfully slightly below average, B- grades, no afterschool sports to speak of, no creative work ever good enough to be awarded, hell the only competition i was ever good at in school was a second language English competition where i got second three times in a row which, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't mean anything. I never won anything significant, ever. I've won petty competitions against friends or classmates but that's about it really. And trust me I've tried so hard to win just once only to be kicked in the balls by someone slightly better or some stupid unlucky thing happening that I could not have predicted cucking me over at the last second. Even in school if i study my ass off and try my best to understand something i end up forgetting it at the most important moment. And even if I somehow manage to get 1st place or an all A report card or something hell I'll take anything at this point, I know my parents wouldn't care or do the same stuff that other people's families do with them when they achieve something big like they'd go to their favourite restaurant to celebrate or their family would tell them how proud of them they are but I know damn well that won't happen. So basically yeah this has been eating away at me for ages now and i don't have anyone to tell it to.

Thanks for listening and sorry for the long ask

- achievementless lad

It's ok lad it looks like ya got a lot on ya mind

Everyone has their own pace they work best at just cus some people are going at the speed of light doesn't mean that ya slow it's better to take ya time than to try and keep up with everyone else

And you should celebrate ever achievement ya get no matter how small it may seem it it was difficult for you to do before and now ya can do it THAT'S GREAT or ya best your friends in a game THAT'S GREAT!

You're working hard every day and that's amazing you clearly care about ya work but don't over work ya self lad it's ok to take brakes you got all the time in the world.

Also soldier told me to give ya this

Said it was for "amazing work in the stuff you do!"

You're doing great don't let anyone one or anything tell you otherwise lad you are amazing!

[underwater-i-will-go]

the full time whistle is blown. bottles scattered all around, disappointment written all over his face. he realises how alone he is with all this burden, so much responsibility to carry, yet, none at all.

is he happy he won't get blamed? or is he sad that his currently biggest rival might get blamed for not doing more? why is he everything that's on his mind. all the time.

aaron's feelings towards david haven't changed during these past few weeks. he went from being sceptical of mikel's decision to bring a new keeper into the team to realising he's actually a lovely lad to realising he might as well be slowly replaced. quietly. mikel sat him down and explained his decision to rotate keepers when the season had just begun - kind of like the match plan of pep. aaron wasn't happy with that decision but decided to play along, realistically, what could he do about it anyway? the media viewed all this as a very weird move from mikel - aaron was to be england's number one someday, so they said at least, he thought he didn't perform so badly last season, at least not bad enough to be blatantly replaced by a loan keeper. so mikel was meaning to rotate the squad - maybe play david whenever they were up against smaller clubs, aaron still being their undisputed number one. but as the season progressed, he realised that this wasn't the case. he had indeed been replaced. quietly. as if no one would notice. worst thing about it was that david performed on the same level as him, perhaps even better.

aaron couldn't help it but blame it on himself. his confidence was on an all time low. he trained with the others, putting on a happy face, waiting for his time to shine again. david was always around, he hated how much he liked him. he felt like he shouldn't. david was being genuine all the time, he could tell. he wasn't two faced, wasn't plotting, wasn't scheming. he was a goofball, a joker. someone who would always there for you, always knew how to see positives in things. but he was also naive, easily to manipulate. he was older than aaron, yet much more childlike, inexperienced. not in football, but in life. ben and martin joked about taking him to night out to get him laid, get him a girl, but david shied away, almost as if he was scared. the others kept joking about david being a virgin, but that was not the reason.

the looks david would give aaron sometimes were quite clear, even with language barriers, no words needed. "i think he's got a crush on ya" ben would say often. ben was bi himself, so he was likely not taking the piss here, no judgement whatsoever. aaron would laugh it off, not making anything of it. "well, he can try." but secretly he hated the idea of david taking a liking in him, as more than a friend. even if it was just a silly crush - aaron hated the idea of it. bloody hated it. david was not supposed to like him, aaron was not supposed to like david. that's not what rivals do - they don't develop feelings for the other, they don't yearn for the times they'd bump into each other during training, not the hug they'd give each other in front of thousands of fans after a match.

they don't fall in love. they don't. the talks were there, but they're just empty words. rumours would always arise, but luckily they were quickly overshadowed by declan's and kai's arrivals at the club. suddenly they were in everyone's mouth, david and aaron would only come second now, maybe even third. why did aaron bother that? why did he enjoy the attention the others would give him and david? the times martin would come to him and tell him the things he's supposedly heard, about how david apparently had a wank once and moaned aaron's name in the showers. how he immediately stopped when he suspected someone spying on him. or how embarrassed david would get whenever someone would jokingly say he's had a thing for aaron. these things happen all the time - players would hit it off and then move on. no shame in that, they're all pretty open about it.

but the attention went onto new players, overshadowing aaron and david, as if their supposed thing never existed. as if it never happened, it vanished as quickly as it came. and it didn't, it never existed. not to them, but to the others.