#to very undercurrent of looking out for and mentor

[pigtailedgirl]

Ray Vecchio & Harding Welsh

[padmestrilogy]

one star war viewing experience that i think has been totally 100% lost to time / cultural dominance: obi-wan being a mysterious and lowkey dubious figure in a new hope. he’s introduced doing this absolutely terrifying screech (which he never does again? before or since?), in a cloak with his face covered (classic villain coding, also very close to the emperor’s exact look) and this comes after a build up of him being some “old wizard” luke is told is dead, that he shouldn’t be going to see at all—and his dialogue only raises more questions than answers. a big part of it is alec guinness’ expert ptsd performance, of course, but there’s such a real strangeness to obi-wan’s debut. he’s a mentor, but he’s also a hardened warrior, also a deliverer of some incredibly ominous lines, also a disembodied voice, an undead, unkillable entity. i don’t think it was some accident that the “fake twist” used to hide the real twist in empire was that obi-wan killed luke’s father, is all i’m saying really. i think there’s an undercurrent in anh that, as the jedi/obi-wan/star war grew in popular culture and the light side/dark side lore got more ironed out, isn’t really accessible now. but it’s fun

[pjo-tvs-version]

So I I’ve been thinking about Percy’s relationship with masculinity, him being a male demigod and his relationship with male gods and the men in his life, how that can affect him, how he feels about it, Ect.

I wanted to ask what your thoughts are on with Percy and women, and the women in his life. Cause honestly while Percy’s relationship with older male figures in his life is complicated, some being abusive, neglectful, murderous, Ect.

The exception being Paul, but he’s limited in what he can help and guide Percy with.

Most of the guys he’s friends with have their own lives and complicated consistency in his life.

His relationship with the women is his life can take a different tone. Percy loves his mother but was always kind of afraid of not being worthy of her love or thinking she doesn’t want him around before he finds out the truth.

Then there’s Annabeth, Clarrise, Thalia, Rachel, Reyna, and Calypso. All very different relationships, but there’s always this subtle undercurrent of Percy wanting in some way or form their approval or acceptance.

With Thalia and Clarrise it’s more combative and aggressive but you see him despite their strained relationship try and make peace.

Then there’s his relationship with the Goddesses Athena, Hestia, and Artemis. Lots of times Percy is on guard or inherently suspicious of gods, and with Artemis and Athena that’s true too, but he seems to take special not of when they approve or disapprove of him.

All this is to say while has a more strained relationship with masculinity and men, Perhaps he has the opposite problem with women. A need to seek their validation or approval.

Obviously it’s not overt, if a goddess or older demigod woman hates or wanted him dead he’s gonna meet fire with fire, but I do think he has a unconscious habit or need for that.

What do you think?

I apologise for answering this ask after such a huge delay. The thing is that life goes on and I really wanted to think before answering this.

Okay, seriously, this whole take on Percy's relationships is chef's kiss. You've dug into something really core about his character arc, especially that whole dynamic between the guys and girls in his life and how he navigates seeking... well, something from them. Let's unpack that vibe a bit more, going deeper.

First up, let's talk about the male figures in Percy's orbit, because honestly? It's kind of a mess a lot of the time. When you look at the powerful dudes, especially the gods, the pattern is pretty stark. You've got Poseidon, his dad, who clearly loves him but is also super distant, bound by ancient laws, and often feels more like a powerful, occasionally helpful, enigma than a present father figure. Then there's Zeus, who basically radiates suspicion and hostility towards Percy from day one. Hades starts off firmly in the antagonist camp, representing death and grudges. Ares is just a straight-up bully, embodying the worst kind of aggressive power. Even figures like Hephaestus are more gruff and preoccupied than supportive. And Apollo? He’s a whole chaotic vibe unto himself. The overwhelming energy Percy gets from these divine masculine figures is that power is dangerous, conditional, neglectful, or outright hostile. Trust isn't freely given; it's barely earned and easily broken. This is reinforced by the sheer number of male monsters and antagonists he has to face, from Luke's betrayal to Kronos's manipulation to Gabe's abusive behaviour back home.

Sure, there are exceptions, but they often highlight the rule or exist outside the main power structures of his demigod life. Chiron is an incredible mentor, wise and caring, but he's not human, occupying a different space. Paul Blofis is a gift – a stable, loving, supportive human stepfather, and a genuinely positive male role model. But his influence is largely anchored in the mortal world, separate from the godly drama and life-or-death quests. Then you have his peers like Grover, his absolute best friend, but their relationship is built on mutual support and shared chaos, not mentorship or authority. Jason Grace offers a parallel, another leader and son of the Big Three, but again, it’s a relationship between equals navigating immense pressure. So the overall message flashing in neon lights for Percy? Powerful dudes are often dangerous, unreliable, or just plain absent when you need them.

But then you look at the women in his life, and it's like stepping into a whole different universe, even with all its own complexities. It starts, obviously, with Sally Jackson, the absolute queen. She is Percy's bedrock, his moral compass, the reason he keeps fighting. His initial fear in this new world isn't just about monsters; it's about protecting her and understanding the massive secret she carried for his sake. That drive not to disappoint her isn't just seeking approval; it's rooted in profound love and respect for her sacrifices and unwavering belief in him. She's his rock, his 'why,' and letting her down feels unthinkable, like failing everything that truly matters.

Then there's Annabeth Chase, and let's be real, Percabeth is foundational. Initially, yeah, maybe Percy is looking for her approval. She's smart, experienced, knows this world inside and out, and maybe seems a little intimidatingly capable to a newbie like him. But that dynamic evolves so quickly into this deep, powerful partnership built on mutual respect and absolute reliance. He doesn't just want her approval anymore; he needs her insight because he genuinely believes in her strategic mind and trusts her judgment implicitly, often more than his own. They become this incredible team, equals who cover each other's weaknesses and amplify each other's strengths. He values her opinion not just for validation, but because he knows it's valuable.

It plays out differently with other powerful young women like Clarisse and Thalia. With them, the dynamic is initially pure rivalry. What Percy seeks isn't warm affection, but their respect as a capable warrior, someone who belongs on the battlefield alongside them. He wants them to acknowledge his strength and competence, especially Thalia, who shares that unique, heavy burden of being a child of the Big Three. Making peace often starts pragmatically – they need to work together to survive – but it grows into a genuine if sometimes grudging, respect for each other's power. He respects their strength and wants that respect mirrored back. Later, encountering Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, the Praetor of Camp Jupiter, brings another dimension. Here, Percy needs her trust and acceptance primarily as an ambassador and potential ally. Gaining her approval is crucial for bridging the gap between the Greek and Roman camps; it’s about proving his worthiness and reliability to a strong leader representing a whole different culture. It's strategic respect he's fighting for.

Even his interactions with goddesses carry this undercurrent, though warped by their immense power. Athena's disapproval is a huge deal, partly because she's Annabeth's mom (talk about scary MIL vibes!), but also because she represents wisdom itself judging him. He desperately wants, if not her blessing, at least her tolerance. With Artemis, a figure of immense power and independence whom he respects deeply, gaining her respect feels like a validation of his honour, especially after his interactions with Zoë and Thalia. Her disapproval would signify a major moral failing in his eyes. And then there's Hestia, the quietest goddess, representing home and hope. Percy treats her with innate kindness, and her gentle, often silent, approval feels like a profound confirmation of his core decency, something fundamental he strives to maintain amidst all the fighting and godly politics. It just hits differently.

So yeah, is Percy seeking approval or acceptance from these female figures? Definitely. But it's not some generic neediness; it's nuanced. With Sally and Annabeth, it's woven into love, loyalty, and deep personal connection. With Clarisse, Thalia, and Reyna, it’s about earning respect as an equal, a capable fighter, or a trustworthy leader. With the goddesses, it’s often about proving his honour, his worthiness, or his strategic value against the backdrop of immense power and ancient biases.

And honestly, this whole pattern makes SO much sense when you remember the male side of the equation. With positive, powerful male role models being so scarce, unreliable, or downright dangerous in his world, it feels natural that Percy gravitates towards seeking stability, wisdom, reliable strength, and moral guidance from the women around him. He learns through experience where he can find trustworthy anchors, sharp minds, and dependable allies in his chaotic life, and surprise! It's often with the formidable women he knows.

The amazing thing is, that this doesn't make him weak or lesser. It actually shapes Percy into a kind of hero and a kind of man that's... genuinely good. He learns to value partnership, to respect female strength and intelligence intrinsically, not as an exception but as a norm. He isn't afraid to rely on others, to show vulnerability, or to admit when someone else (often Annabeth) has the better plan. It’s a stark contrast to the often toxic, distant, or power-obsessed masculinity displayed by many of the gods and monsters he encounters. He's not threatened by strong women; he partners with them. That's a strength, not a weakness.

So to wrap it all up, your observation is spot on. Percy's constant navigation of approval, respect, and acceptance from the major female figures in his life feels absolutely connected to the often negative, unreliable, or dangerous landscape of the male figures he encounters. He finds his strength, his counsel, and his most reliable partnerships there, shaping him into the loyal, respectful, and ultimately heroic figure he becomes. And honestly? It’s one of the best parts of his story and his character.

Also I truly am sorry for how late I am to post this @darkmist111

Edit: This comment by @intellectual-punk has to be shown up here too because every single word of it is 💯💯💯

[lxmelle]

Geto Complex / Suguru Complex

Reposting from my Twt 😅 I need to stop blabbing in different places.

Out of the numerous things Gojo could have developed a complex about (like almost dying, feeling alienated/sheltered, etc.), it was that he “couldn’t stop” Geto from defecting.

This is interesting. He did not blame Geto or anyone / anything else. We know he was a “resigned person” who could accept things rationally / objectively, but Geto’s defection really hit him harder than anything ever did in his entire life.

While he could accept his departure & even the necessity of his death, Gojo carried this relationship in the pocket of his heart like the one & only treasured photograph within a precious locket. Geto’s pain was his own. He guarded it very, very well. In fact I’d even call him a bit of a guard dog where he just didn’t let anyone into that space. At all.

This is also why I respect him as a teacher. Some lines you just don’t cross professionally. His students were his students. The relationship chart thankfully depicts that too. It doesn’t cheapen the quality of their student-mentor relationship: it strengthens it. Gojo would never lay his hands on the youth that he was determined to protect, after all.

He took onboard a lot from Geto. These boundaries and respect were birthed from the things he experienced with Geto. But! Some things were just natural to Gojo.

As much as he said he hated righteousness and the expectations that came along with the burden of “the strong” - Gojo actually practice it. From a young age, going on missions and doing what was loosely expected of him, within the parameters of the jujutsu tradition. He just… didn’t imbue it with too much emotion - because, again, Geto was the subjective (compassionate and emotional / philosophical) type and Gojo was the objective (rational and pragmatic / straightforward) type.

It seems aligned with his character shown in HI where Gojo took on the “blame” when things went wrong too, shielding Geto when he apologised & made plans to proceed with their mission (this is how they balanced each other out when their relationship was healthy) - staying focused and generally being reliable, dependable, and offering an aura of security to Geto.

The subtle undercurrent that likely facilitated the Geto complex was that, young Gojo had this attitude where he also readily accepted that “things are just mine if I want”. He was powerful. Never experienced insecurity or poverty. He was a genius. He never had close relationships, so he never knew loss. He never particularly wanted anything and people came and went easily. Nobody really mattered.

But nobody could hold a candle to Geto Suguru. Gojo didn’t realise that there were some things that he needed to look after.

So with this attitude he didn’t imagine he needed to treasure Geto after enlightening, so I think he realised that too late. He didn’t realise he was thinking arrogantly. He just had no idea he took anything for granted. He was born to just be strong. Everyone treated him that way.

Except: Geto Suguru.

That’s why he had a Geto complex... he blamed himself (like always) but it was a painful lesson he experienced for the first time -

To want something he cannot have.

To want to save someone who didn’t want to be saved.

To want to be with someone who didn’t want him to come along.

To love someone who did not want to be loved.

To learn something only for it to be too late.

To be strong, yet, not strong enough.

So what else could Gojo Satoru do with his love, but to love and respect Geto from afar, living in a way that would make Geto proud…

Isn’t that profound?

To let someone change you so much because that is all that is left of them- so he treasured him like that...

And perhaps, also important, is that Gojo recognised that what he had received (and was receiving even when being left behind) was love.

So, really… the pure love between them was also undeniably shared.

If Gojo had a Geto complex, I’m certain Geto had a Gojo complex of some kind where he never forgave himself, wore the kesa with his best friend’s name on it & brainwashed himself with “love to the strong” & “weak & foolish deserve to be punished by death” (these were the wall scrolls in jjk 0).

[justcallme-ange]

still talking about other au versions of characters, what would you say the difference between each version of rivals duo is that most people don't pick up on right away? the more subtle differences between them. - loyal

In the ChildhoodFriendsAU the Rivals are a lot closer than any of the other AUs I have. While Phil and Techno have a ton of synergy between the two - being mentor and mentee, Techno and Dream are on a different level. Maybe it was surviving for so long together without a common language, or just growing up together, but they're basically seamless when they're together. Like you know sibling telepathy where just a quick glance back and forth speaks entire conversations? In fighting it's almost like there's no opening to attack, where Dream ends Techno begins and vice versa. Basically when you see them walking and talking they're totally in sync.

In AccidentalHumanAU, the rivals are close, but it's a moment in their relationship where it feels very one sided? They're good friends and Dream cares a lot about Techno, but there's a lot of guilt associated with the situation which Dream ends up taking out on himself. He feels responsible and therefor kind of shuts down for a time. I do draw them having shenanigans, and it's kind of light hearted. But in the background there's this undercurrent of almost desperation, Dream feels like he's betrayed Techno, and is just waiting for the shoe to drop. And Techno's trying to navigate this new situation while also trying to bridge the gap that Dream is unintentionally creating. It looks like regular rivals, but there's a distance between the two that you can't see but can feel.

I hope this makes sense and I interpreted your question right? ^^; @simplepotatofarmer

[losttranslator]

king schultz is such an interesting character hmmmmm. he starts off believing himself to be a principled man who "despises slavery," as he tells django, but really he's not at all above using it to his advantage by keeping django enslaved for a bit, he's patronizing, and he's ultimately naive (in the opening scene he gives a very startled look when he sees django's back).

he enjoys being django's benefactor and teacher because rescuing this uneducated "kid" makes him feel good about himself, but even with that undercurrent of selfishness and self-importance he's still fairly well-meaning.

his attitude first shifts when he hears about broomhilda and sees django's determination to save her.

he goes "wait wait wait, let me get this straight: your slave wife speaks german and her name is broomhilda von schaft??" like up until that point the idea that someone sharing his language and culture could ever be enslaved was totally alien to him. it just doesn't compute, girls with german names aren't owned, and germans don't own people and name them. those realities shatter the neat dividing lines that allowed him to see slavery as disgusting without losing sleep over it so far. he gets another one of those realizations when he (still a bit paternalistically) tells django the story of sigfried rescuing broomhilda.

when told how sigfried scaled the mountain, slew the dragon and walked through hellfire "because broomhilda is worth it," django goes "i know how he feels," and schultz says softly "i think i'm just starting to realize that."

up to that point he - unconsciously - didn't see django as possessing the same internality as a free man. but here django is showing that not only does he have the same passions and emotions as any other man, he also has the same motivations, the same identity as the great german legend sigfried.

treating django as an equal made king believe he saw django as an equal, and in that moment he realizes he hadn't up to that point. this "kid" is a fellow person.

he still slips up into paternalism/mentoring django because of how he feels and not fully because of django himself quite often, but he's at least making progress

but where it gets ever more interesting is in how the dynamic reverses once they get into django's world. where before king was the one teaching django about killing bad guys, urging django to be more ruthless and even mocking him for being too soft, now django's the jaded one teaching this soft-hearted, not-cut-out-for-this-world white man about the reality of evil. it's not "killing people and selling their corpses for cash," it's slavery, and it's worse.

and now that king is starting to see slaves as people and not "poor devils", he just can't cope. I really disagree with the take that king shooting candie was a selfish white savior act done to satisfy his own ego, i think it was more of a trauma response.

king tried to play it too smart with the elaborate mandingo fights charade when buying broomhilda as a "comfort girl" through a proxy would probably have worked better because he's playing it like one of his bounty hunting cons, because he doesn't actually know the world of slavery. the hefty reality check of being roundly outsmarted, his first taste of real helplessness in the face of danger and injustice, plus what he sees in candyland, especially d'artagnan getting mauled by the dogs (yet another european-named person) and broomhilda's back, opens his eyes to a vast darkness he just can't deal with and in the end he snaps.

because ultimately he was the uneducated, impulsive, too gentle nature, not the "kid."

[nestadevries]

Chapter 19 | The Leash of Love

Notes: Aes Sedai's drama, smut, and comfort. - around 6k words

The Tower’s grand hall was heavy with tension and whispers. Morning light streamed through the tall windows, but even the sun couldn't warm the undercurrent of unease. Something dark was stirring, whispered rumors of Sisters disappearing, of oaths broken in secret halls, though no one dared speak the words aloud. 

The Sitters sat arrayed in a great circle, each Ajah's colors displayed proudly. Liandrin was among them, seated stiffly, the crimson of the Red Ajah, a bold slash against the muted grays of the stone chamber. Her dress was a striking deep red, threaded with thin black lines that coiled like subtle vines along the sleeves. The design both elegant and menacing, if one looked closely.

Her golden hair was gathered into a high, intricate twist atop her head, not a strand out of place, emphasizing the proud, severe line of her neck and jaw. Beneath the sweeping folds of her dress, she wore boots with the highest heels she owned, the soft gleam of black leather catching the light when she shifted.

Liandrin’s face was a portrait of serenity, every expression carefully schooled into stillness, but the set of her shoulders and the faint gleam in her eyes spoke volumes, as if she was ready for war if need be.

At the center of the gathering, Siuan Sanche sat upon the Amyrlin Seat, her stole marking the seven Ajahs draped regally across her shoulders. Her face was carved from stone, revealing nothing of her thoughts, arms resting lightly yet firmly on the carved arms of her throne.

Meanwhile Leane Sedai stood just behind, the Keeper’s staff in hand. Her gaze flicked often to Liandrin, narrowing slightly, as if expecting the Red to erupt into chaos at any moment. And among the Blues, Moiraine Sedai had taken her place once more, newly returned to the Tower. Though she said little, her presence was palpable, a silent endorsement that carried weight even in the charged stillness of the Hall.

At first, the conversation danced carefully around larger political concerns, murmurings of unrest in Cairhien, strange activities reported in the Borderlands. Sisters traded formal remarks about strengthening alliances, and the need for vigilance.

But beneath the formalities and diplomatic smiles, dark whispers clung to the stone walls. A couple of novices simply disappeared between lesson, Sisters who returned from missions changed, hollow-eyed and strange, wards shattered without warning.

No one dared to say the words, not openly, not in this gathering. But the fear was there and it showed in the quick glances. An ancient rot was blooming inside the Tower, and not even the Amyrlin Seat could deny it any longer. And still, no one said it aloud. The true enemy was still unspoken, hidden in careful phrases and tightened smiles. But every woman in the chamber knew that the Tower was under siege. Not from outside, but from within.

It was Serenna Sedai of the Green Ajah who changed the topic of conversation. "And yet, how can we speak of strength and vigilance, when some among us confuse their duties with personal indulgence?" She said, rising gracefully to her feet, the green fringe of her shawl shimmering.

The air sharpened immediately, snapping from muted discussion into something far more dangerous.

"You speak boldly, Sister." Alanna said coolly from the Greens, rising as well, "But you have yet to name the crime."

Serenna smiled, a thin, brittle thing that never touched her eyes. "I speak of Sister Liandrin and the girl she has entangled herself with."

Several Sisters stirred at that. A ripple of discomfort passed through the chamber.

"You’ve blurred the lines between mentor and mistress, Liandrin." Serenna continued, voice tightening. "The Tower will not tolerate such indulgence. Such possessiveness threatens the very balance we swear to uphold."

Liandrin’s fingers tapped against her knee. A barely noticeable crack in her stillness, but for those who watched closely, it was enough. Inside her chest, fear lanced through the anger. Not fear for herself, that had been burned out of her long ago, but fear for Nesta. If the Hall turned against them, if they decided Nesta needed to be punished for her own choices, they would not hesitate. They would strip her down, break her spirit, and chain her to their will. It was what the Tower always did to those it couldn't control. And Liandrin knew it, because once, they had tried to do the same to her.

She forced her fingers to still. Her face remained unreadable, the careful mask she had worn for years in the Tower. Beautiful, composed, and untouchable, but beneath her outer shell, a single thought burned, They will not take her from me.

They could strip her of titles, strip her of honor, even strip her of power and still she would not yield Nesta to them. She was the only thing that mattered to her now. Not rank, not tradition, and not the Tower’s empty approval. Only the girl, who had looked at her not with fear, but with love.

"It is corruption. Power used to bind, not to guide. How long until others follow her example, tearing the Tower into pieces over personal loyalties?" Alanna said sharply, anger flashing in her voice.

Tension crackled through the air, and when Alanna straightened in fury, Moiraine nodded with approval, a silent message of solidarity for support.

Siuan, seated upon the Amyrlin’s throne at the center of the hall, said nothing. Her silence wasn't neutrality. It was a blade held carefully in reserve, poised and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"You think yourself above the Tower?" Leane accused, her voice rising an octave, shrill against the stone walls.

Liandrin rose then, unfolding from her chair like a predator stalking forward into the open. Every motion was precise, controlled, the movement of a woman who knew exactly how dangerous she had become.

"No, I simply speak as someone who was the only one to keep her safe." Liandrin said.

Her eyes, glacial and furious swept the circle of Sitters, daring them to meet her gaze. "When others treated her like a weapon to be hidden away. When others would have gladly broken her because she didn't fit neatly into their mold, I was the only one who taught her and took care of her."

For a long heartbeat, no one breathed. Some faces turned away in shame. While others stiffened, brittle with resentment.

"You mistake your affection for authority, she is not yours to claim." Serenna snapped.

Liandrin smiled slowly. That kind of smile that promised ruin. "I will not apologize for protecting what is mine." she claimed.

A gasp broke from one of the Sisters, the circle fractured into sudden noise of accusations and protests. Sharp warnings shouted half over one another, but Liandrin heard none of it. She only turned on her heel and stalked from the hall, the sharp click of her boots echoed like a challenge through the stunned silence she left behind. But no one moved to stop her.

Her heart still beat with cold fury, but beneath the surface, a storm was brewing. The Tower's judgment was coming, she knew it. They would try to tear her down, break her apart, force her to bend. But it wasn’t just her position in the Tower she was defending. It wasn’t even the angry accusations thrown at her, but the radiant, stubborn woman who had somehow burrowed herself into her heart.

What had she just done?

She had made herself vulnerable. She had exposed a part of herself that she hadn’t even realized she was capable of. 

-

Nesta stirred, half-asleep, the heavy scent of sweetbread and roasted meat still clinging to her senses. She hadn’t meant to doze off on Liandrin’s bed this afternoon, but the Tower was stifling after lunch.

Her breathing slowed, and when she opened her eyes, she stood on a polished marble platform, surrounded by endless ocean. The sky stretched above her in bright shades of azure, dotted with wisps of clouds that glowed faintly in the light and the air was warm against her skin. Somewhere distant, waves broke against unseen rocks with a rhythmic hum.

Nesta stood in the center of it all, the soft breeze tugging at the edges of her red dress. It floated around her like a summer breeze. Light, silky fabric draped along her body, with a daring slit that revealed her leg with every step, graceful and bold. The neckline plunged into a deep V, baring her chest and collarbones to the warm air. Thin, delicate straps rested on her shoulders, giving the dress an effortless, almost wild elegance, as if she were born to command the sea around her.

A sudden breeze stirred, tugging at the hem of Nesta’s dress, pulling her gaze to the side. She turned and there stood Lanfear. But this was not the Lanfear she had grown used to, not the cold, cutting, invincible force she had come to expect. This Lanfear wore no armor of silver or cruelty. She was dressed simply in a flowing gown the color of moonlight, her hair unbound and stirring in the salt-kissed breeze.

For a long moment, they only looked at each other.

“You dream of battlefields, but you dream of peace, too.” 

Nesta swallowed, “Maybe I dream of a world that doesn’t hate what it doesn’t understand.” she said quietly. 

“They always hated women like us.” Lanfear said, her gaze distant. “Women who wanted more.”

She stepped closer, and the dream shifted with her. The ocean’s hush grew louder, the marble beneath them warmed to the touch. Her presence pulled at the very fabric of the dream, bending it toward her, as always.

“I asked for everything.” she continued. “Knowledge, power, love. I wanted the world itself, and they called me unnatural for it. They smiled to my face and plotted behind my back. Even he...” her throat bobbed in a swallow, “Even he feared what I could become.”

Nesta took a small, instinctive step forward, her dress whispering around her legs.

“You wanted so much.” Nesta said, but there was no judgment in her voice, only understanding. “And they wanted you small.”

Lanfear’s hand lifted slowly, almost like she didn’t realize she was moving, fingers reaching toward Nesta’s hair. But at the last second, she pulled away. Her hand curled into a fist at her side, as if the act of reaching had cost her something unbearable.

“You think I want to use you, Nesta? You’re wrong.” Lanfear said, bitter and soft at once. “I want to keep you. And that is far more dangerous.”

Nesta’s heart twisted painfully, her defenses crumbling like sand. "You don't know what you want, Lanfear." 

“You’d kneel for her, wouldn’t you?” The Forsaken stated, and there was no mockery in it now, only jealousy so sharp Nesta could almost feel the wound it left behind. “You’d give her everything. Yet I offer you eternity, and still, you hesitate.”

"I can't give you what you want." She answered firmly, though her heart twisted. "I’m hers and I will never betray that." Nesta paused, then added quietly, "But I feel your pain."

For a heartbeat, Lanfear simply watched the girl, her expression tinged with sadness, as if something inside her was quietly breaking. The air shifted, and with a subtle movement of her hand, she seemed to dissolve into the dream itself, her edges softening like the last wisps of a fading storm. In a voice so soft the wind nearly stole it away, she murmured, “She doesn’t deserve you.”

The pain in Lanfear’s voice was something Nesta hadn’t expected. She stood frozen, heart pounding in her chest, unable to look away as Lanfear was slowly fading away. She felt torn, as if caught between two worlds, two desires. But her loyalty to Liandrin remained unshaken, no matter how vulnerable Lanfear seemed in that moment.

The look in the Forsaken’s eyes, as she faded into the dream, was not the look of a conqueror, or a monster. It was the look of a woman who had once loved too much, and had been broken for it.

-

The afternoon sunlight poured through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the well-kept garden. The scent of blooming flowers lingered in the air, and the soft murmur of the fountain added to the serenity of the place.

As Nesta passed near the hedges, she caught the faint rustle of voices, two Aes Sedai standing just a little ahead. They thought she didn’t hear, or perhaps they wanted her to. 

“Did you hear what Liandrin said? That girl is hers. Hers. In front of the Sitters, no less.” The first voice was full of surprise.

Nesta paused, curiosity stirring within her. She kept her distance, hiding just out of view as she listened, her heart oddly calm.

“I always thought the rumors were exaggerated, but Light, she didn’t even deny it.” the second Aes Sedai replied.

Nesta stood frozen, her breath catching. She felt no anger, no embarrassment at being the subject of their whispers. Only a strange mix of love for Liandrin, and a flicker of fear for what such a bold declaration might mean. The world was watching, and Liandrin had chosen to make her claim public. It could be a sign of her confidence, but it could also draw unwanted attention.

She lingered for a moment longer before quietly stepping away, unsure of what to make of the whispered words that still echoed in her mind.

-

The door to Liandrin’s chambers creaked as Nesta pushed it open, the faint scent of ink and parchment greeting her as she stepped inside. The room was dim, the light from the narrow windows casting shadows on the walls. Liandrin sat at her desk, the faint rustle of parchment the only sound as she leafed through something, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Nesta paused at the door, watching the way the candlelight flickered against the sharp angles of Liandrin’s face, highlighting the calm intensity that seemed to be present in her. She was perfectly still, absorbed in her task.

But as soon as the door closed behind her, Liandrin’s head lifted, her piercing gaze meeting Nesta’s. “You’re late.” she said, her voice cool, though the edge of amusement was there. She set the papers down on the desk with a slow motion, then folded her hands neatly in front of her.

Nesta took a step forward, her emotions already rising from the conversation she’d heard in the garden. She could feel the weight of the rumors still hanging in the air, the whispers that seemed to follow her every step, yet here was Liandrin, cool and composed as if nothing had happened. As if the whole Tower hadn’t erupted in speculation because of her actions.

“You want the Hall to throw you out?” Nesta’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air. “Or maybe you’re just hoping to piss off every Sister in the Tower at once?”

Liandrin didn’t flinch, her posture remaining unchanged. She simply looked at Nesta, her eyes bright and steady, like she was waiting for something more. “You heard." she said, her voice a low, unflinching acknowledgment.

Nesta couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that slipped from her lips. She started pacing the room, every step a release of the emotions that were too chaotic to contain. “Oh, I heard. Everyone has. The whole Tower practically turned into a betting ring about whether I’d show up with a leash next.” She chuckled darkly, the sound devoid of humor. "You claimed me publicly. Aes Sedai don’t claim anyone.”

Liandrin’s expression remained calm, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no trace of apology. She rose slowly from her chair, every movement measured, as if to emphasize the difference between her coolness and Nesta’s visible agitation.

“I won’t apologize for loving you.” She walked toward Nesta with confidence. “Let them choke on their rules.”

Nesta stopped in her tracks, the breath catching in her chest as she turned to face her fully. “You’re something else.” She said, half-laughing, but there was no humor in it, only frustration. “Sharp cheeks and declarations like a woman straight out of a romance story. No wonder they think you’ve got me leashed.”

Liandrin smirked, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she moved closer. “Do you want to be?” she whispered, voice rough and possessive. “Because you only need to ask.”

Nesta tilted her chin up, a spark of mischief flickering in her eyes even as her pulse drummed wild in her veins. "Try me." she said, voice almost mocking, daring, as if she wasn't already halfway undone just by the way Liandrin was looking at her.

The Aes Sedai said nothing. She merely smiled and turned away without hurry, as if she had all the time in the world.

Nesta heard the soft whisper of a drawer opening and when Liandrin turned back, leather coiled in her fingers. The black collar gleamed and a single silver ring adorned the front. The leash trailed from it, glinting like a line between hunter and prey.

"Strip, Lioness." Liandrin commanded.

Nesta’s hands moved before she could think. Piece by piece, she shed her clothing, letting it fall silently to the floor, until she stood bared to Liandrin's eyes, proud and unashamed.

Liandrin drank in the sight of her, her blue eyes darkening with fire. "Now kneel."

With a slow motion, Nesta sank to her knees before her. The carpet was soft beneath her, the air cool against her flushed skin. She knelt proud and unbowed, her hands resting lightly on her thighs, her head held high. There was no shame in her, only choice and desire

The woman's gaze burned into her. She moved closer, so close that the heat of her body wrapped around Nesta like a cloak. "Good girl." she said, almost a purr. Her fingers brushed Nesta’s jaw, tilting her face up.

Like a predator, she moved around Nesta, circling the girl, like savoring its prize. The leash, still slack in her hand, trailed deliberately over Nesta’s bare shoulders, across her back, making her shiver at the teasing weight of it.

"You kneel so beautifully." Liandrin murmured from behind. "Not because I forced you but because you belong to me." The soft leather brushed the nape of Nesta’s neck.

The collar closed around her throat with a muted click of the silver buckle. Tight, but not cruel. The pressure of it settled heavily on Nesta's skin. And Liandrin stood before her again, holding the leash loosely between two fingers, letting it swing lazily back and forth, brushing Nesta’s chest in hypnotic arcs.

"You feel it, don’t you?" She whispered. "This pull between us is unbreakable."

Liandrin gave the leash a small tug, just enough to tilt Nesta’s chin up higher, forcing her blue eyes to meet Liandrin’s. "So proud. So mine." she crooned, possessive heat flashing in her own eyes. 

Another tug, firmer this time, forced Nesta to rise from her knees, stumbling into Liandrin’s arms. The woman caught her, the leash coiling around her wrist like a binding promise.

"You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?" Liandrin murmured against her ear, letting the leash wind tighter, wrapping once, twice, around her fist.

She pulled Nesta forward by it, forcing her to walk the short distance to the desk. When they reached it, Liandrin kept the leash taut, ordering Nesta in place. "Hands flat."

Nesta obeyed, heart pounding as her palms met the cool wood. The leather around her throat creaked faintly as Liandrin tugged again, forcing her to bend lower.

She leaned over her, hot breath against Nesta’s ear. "You're going to stay exactly where I put you." she whispered.

She slid one hand between Nesta’s thighs, teasing slow strokes along her inner legs, while the leash stayed taut in her other hand, a constant reminder of who controlled the girl’s body now.

Nesta’s back arched as Liandrin’s chest pressed firmly against her, the hard edge of the desk digging into her hips. The leash attached to her collar pulled taut, forcing her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat.

Liandrin’s breath was hot against her ear, a mocking hum of satisfaction as her fingers circled, teasing, before finally pushing inside. Nesta whimpered, her fingers scrambling against the polished wood. The stretch was slow, each inch claimed with ruthless precision.

“Such pretty noises.” Liandrin purred, her voice dripping with cruel amusement. Her fingers curled, dragging another choked gasp from Nesta’s lips.

The girl’s thighs trembled, her body caught between the unforgiving press of the desk and Liandrin’s relentless touch. The leash jerked again, a sharp reminder of who owned this moment. Her breath hitched as Liandrin’s pace quickened.

“You clench around me so well, pet.” she hissed, her teeth grazing the shell of Nesta’s ear. “Is this all it takes to break you? Just my fingers and a leash?”

Nesta’s vision blurred, pleasure and defiance warring as she bit back another sound, but the leash yanked once more, and this time, she couldn’t stop the broken moan that escaped. Her hips rocked back instinctively, seeking more.

Liandrin laughed, dark and victorious, and added a third finger, stretching her obscenely. “Oh, you want it rough, don’t you?” She twisted her wrist, curling her fingers deeper, and Nesta nearly sobbed as pleasure spiked through her.

She whimpered against the desk, her nails dragging faint lines over the polished wood, but the leash remained taut in Liandrin’s hand, a constant reminder that she wasn’t free to move unless Liandrin allowed it.

“Good girl.” Liandrin murmured, her voice a dark purr.

Her fingers fucked Nesta's cunt relentlessly, the stretch bordering on pain. The girl's body felt completely trapped and the leash coiled tighter around Liandrin’s wrist now, binding them together as surely as any weave of the Power.

She gave another possessive pull, forcing Nesta to arch her back, to bare herself even more. "You're mine." she said again, harsher now.

“Yours.” Nesta gasped, her voice hoarse and cracking with sweet truth.

Liandrin rewarded her with a rough, brutal thrust of her fingers, the heel of her hand grinding against the swollen clit, and Nesta cried out.

"That's my girl." Liandrin murmured, possessive and proud.

Nesta’s vision whited out as Liandrin fucked her harder, the desk creaking under their combined weight. The collar bit into her throat with every jerk of the leash, every snap of Liandrin’s hips against her. And she shattered, the orgasm tearing through her with a violence that made her legs buckle. She collapse helplessly against the desk. And still Liandrin held the leash tight, refusing to let her fall completely, keeping her bound.

Only when Nesta’s trembling body finally went limp, Liandrin eased the tension. The polished wood was cool against the girl's flushed skin. Her whole world narrowed to the frantic beat of her heart and the lingering echoes of Liandrin’s touch. 

Above her, Liandrin gathered her slowly against her chest, piece by piece, lifting up with a tenderness that was no less possessive for its gentleness. A hand slid under Nesta’s chin, lifting her face. "You are so pretty now." She whispered, dragging the pads of her fingers over the jaw.

Their eyes met, Nesta’s pupils were blown wide, her gaze glassy and dazed, lips parted around shallow gasps. A breathtaking portrait of surrender and stubborn pride tangled together. While Liandrin’s eyes, in contrast, were dark and burning with a possessive affection.

Nesta sagged into her, letting herself be held, breathing in her lover's scent. The leash brushed against her bare skin as Liandrin unwound it from her wrist. The tension snapped free, but she stayed perfectly still, head bowed, throat exposed, her pride wrapped tight around her submission.

Liandrin’s hand rose, brushing aside blonde hair, fingers trailing along the line of the leather collar. Without a word, she found the buckle and unfastened it and the collar slid away. Beneath it gleamed the choker, Liandrin’s gift. "This is all you need, Lioness." A soft whisper as her thumb stroked the crimson stones.

Her other hand gently slid down Nesta’s back as she guided her toward the bed. With each step, she pulled the girl closer. As they reached the edge of it, Liandrin leaned in, her lips tracing a path across Nesta’s throat, pressing a soft kiss against the hollow where the choker clung tightly to her skin. It was a kiss of ownership, of love, a subtle claim that only deepened the connection between them.

Nesta’s breath hitched as she felt the warm press of Liandrin’s lips, and her body swayed slightly, her head falling back with a soft moan.

"I never thought I’d let anyone bend me like that." Nesta murmured, voice teasing but laced with admiration. "Especially not with a leash and a collar."

Liandrin’s lips quirked into a smile. "I think you rather enjoyed it." she replied, as she continued guiding Nesta down onto the bed.

Nesta laughed softly, her fingers curling into the sheets as she settled back. "Maybe I did, Lia." she admitted, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. She glanced up at Liandrin with a mix of curiosity and desire. "You have a way of pushing me to places I didn’t know I could go."

Liandrin’s smile only deepened, "Stay here now." she murmured. A command, but also a plea. She stepped back, her gaze heavy and possessive as she stripped herself bare. Shedding her robes piece by piece. The fabric pooled around her ankles, until she stood naked, her skin pale and powerful.

Nesta couldn’t look away. Her heart raced, a mixture of love and admiration swelling inside her. Liandrin’s body bore the faint lines of old battles, and she wore them proudly. Each scar told a story of victory or pain that she endured and overcome. 

Her eyes lingered on Liandrin’s body. She saw the scars not as flaws, but as symbols of the woman’s history, her power, her beauty. It was impossible to look away from the way her muscles shifted as she moved, the soft curve of her waist leading to the strength of her legs.

Gently, Liandrin crawled onto the bed with grace of a hunter who already owned the kill. She caught Nesta by the waist, dragging her up the bed and pressing her down into the sheets.

The woman’s mouth found her shoulder first, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh with a low growl that was more possession than seduction. Nesta gasped, her hands clutching the blankets beneath her, as Liandrin bit and kissed a claiming path across her skin. Her shoulder, her throat, her breast.

"You have no idea what you do to me." Liandrin murmured

Nesta whimpered, her back arching, offering more, giving more.

"You let me have you, you kneel for me..." Liandrin continued, “And still you shine so brightly, my love."

The girl couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but clutch at Liandrin’s shoulders as her mouth moved lower, worshipping, devouring, owning every inch she touched.

"You are all mine." Liandrin said again, biting at the soft underside of Nesta’s breast.

"I love you." She gasped.

Liandrin’s teeth scraped over a peaked nipple, her tongue soothing the sting, and Nesta cried out.

Finally she slid lower, dragging her tongue along the trembling lines of Nesta’s stomach. She mouthed at the tender skin of inner thighs, nipping, kissing, marking. And Nesta sobbed brokenly, her hands fisting in the sheets, her body alight and writhing under the touch.

When the woman’s mouth finally found the slick heat between Nesta’s thighs, the first drag of her tongue shattered the last fragile pieces of the girl’s pride, leaving only need and belonging.

"Lia..." Nesta moaned, desperate and wrecked.

"Shh, Lioness." Liandrin murmured against her, the vibration making Nesta’s hips jolt.

"I’ll take care of you." she promised, before sealing her mouth over clit. Her tongue slid through the heat with deliberate slowness, as if she were savoring every inch of her.

Nesta’s breath caught, a trembling moan leaving her lips. She wanted to move, wanted to press closer, but Liandrin’s hands kept her still, holding her in place with the gentleness of a lover, but the authority of a queen. Every touch was measured, each movement calculated. Not rough, but firm, a quiet command in every stroke.

Liandrin’s mouth continued its teasing journey, never rushing, never giving too much. Just when Nesta thought she couldn’t stand it, when the hunger inside her became unbearable, Liandrin would pull back, leaving her breathless, her body aching with desire.

"Patience, pet." Liandrin whispered, the words a soft but clear order, laced with a hint of praise. "You’re mine to take. And I’ll take my time."

Nesta whimpered softly, her body arching towards her. She wanted to beg, to plead, but she bit her lip instead, the pleasure mingling with the frustration of being so close and yet denied. Liandrin’s fingers gently slid between her thighs, teasing the edge of her slickness without pressing deeper. 

"You’re perfect." Liandrin murmured, her lips tracing the curve of Nesta’s hip.

Her hand moved to Nesta’s waist, grip light but firm, and she guided Nesta’s hips closer to her mouth, encouraging her to surrender to the touch. But still, she took her time. She didn’t rush, not when she could feel the tension, the need in each movement. Liandrin enjoyed the control, the slow unraveling of her lover, piece by piece.

Nesta’s breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling with the effort to hold herself together. "Please, Lia." she finally whispered, the word escaping in a shaky breath.

Liandrin smiled softly, her eyes filled with warmth that only added to the power she held over her. "I’ll take you when I want." she whispered, her voice laced with that same possessive affection.

With a soft, reverent kiss, Liandrin returned to her task, but this time she didn’t hesitate. Her tongue slid deeper, making Nesta gasp, her hips lifting into the touch instinctively. But Liandrin’s hands pressed her down gently, holding her steady.

"I told you, don’t move." She murmured against her.

Nesta’s breath hitched, her body trembling with desire, but she held still, desperate for more, to give herself entirely to Liandrin’s consuming power.

The woman’s mouth was warm and soft, moving with the rhythm of a lover who knew exactly how to tease and please without breaking. The tension inside Nesta grew, coiling tighter, but still, Liandrin didn’t relent. She was in control, and she held that control with a gentleness that felt like a vice around Nesta’s chest.

When she finally allowed her to come, the release was overwhelming. It washed over Nesta like a wave, her body shaking with pleasure that was drawn out, gentle and sweetly agonizing.

But even as Nesta collapsed back onto the bed, her body limp and exhausted, Liandrin’s hands remained steady, holding her close. Her fingers traced patterns along her skin, reminding her that she was hers. "My Lioness." She murmured, her voice still tender, but now filled with the satisfaction of having claimed every part of Nesta.

She stayed atop of her, their legs tangled together as if they were made to fit this way. Nesta leaned forward, their lips met in a searing kiss, tongues sliding together. Liandrin moaned into the girl's mouth, the sound vibrating between them as Nesta’s teeth grazed her lower lip, tugging just enough to make her gasp.

“I love you so much.” Nesta murmured against her lips, voice rough with desire. One hand slid down, fingers brushing over the curve of Liandrin’s ass before slipping between her thighs.

The older woman shuddered, her breath hitching as Nesta’s fingertips traced her slick folds, teasing but not yet giving her what she truly wanted. “Nesta, don’t tease.” she whined, hips rolling, seeking more friction.

With a slow stroke, Nesta slid two fingers inside her, relishing the way her body clenched around them, hot and tight. A broken moan spilled from Liandrin’s lips, and Nesta swallowed the sound with another deep kiss, their tongues tangling as she began to fuck her in relentless thrusts.

Liandrin’s hips rocked against her hand, chasing every movement, every delicious curl of Nesta’s fingers. The wet sounds between them only fueled the fire, and Nesta added a third finger, stretching her just enough to make her cry out. Her moans grew louder, each breathy gasp escaping her lips as pleasure coiled deep within her. Her body trembled, muscles taut with anticipation, every nerve alight with sensation.

The girl's thumb found her clit with unerring precision, rubbing firm circles. She crooked her fingers inside her, pressing against sweet, hidden spot that made Liandrin’s thighs quiver.

The pleasure was overwhelming, and Liandrin came with a sharp cry. Wave after wave of ecstasy leaving her gasping. Nesta kissed her through it, her lips soft yet demanding, swallowing every whimper that spilled from the her mouth.

Nesta’s fingers never stilled, drawing out the pleasure until the last tremors had Liandrin’s body humming with satisfaction. She held her close, their foreheads resting together as Liandrin floated back down. The air between them was thick with the scent of sweat and Liandrin’s eyelids fluttered shut. A smile curved her lips as she melted into Nesta’s embrace.

-

Liandrin’s head rested gently on her lover's chest, her breath slow and steady, but her fingers still played with the edge of the blanket, as if she couldn’t quite settle.

Nesta’s hand, now absent of tension, traced lazy circles across Liandrin’s back. There was something deeply comforting about the way Liandrin’s body fit perfectly against hers. “You’re quiet.” She said softly. “What’s on your mind?”

Liandrin’s fingers paused, and for a long while, she didn’t answer. Nesta could feel her lover’s breath deepen, and she knew that Liandrin was considering something she rarely shared. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, laced with a tenderness that was reserved only for moments like this.

“I was thinking about how I’ve always had to be strong.” Liandrin murmured. She turned her head to look up at Nesta. Her blue eyes were haunted, but there was a softness too. “But with you, I don’t need to be that ruthless person all the time.”

“I never saw you as ruthless.” Nesta said, her voice quiet but firm.

Liandrin smiled, but it wasn’t the usual cold smile she often wore. It was soft and a little sad. She shifted so that she was half-lying on Nesta’s chest, her face turned so that her cheek rested against the skin of collarbone. “I spent so many years believing that I had to fight alone, that no one could be trusted to stand with me.” she whispered, her hand came up, fingers brushing against Nesta’s jaw.

“And then I found you, who makes me feel safe and loved.” she continued, “Like I’m not just the woman everyone fears. Like I can be something else with you.”

“Something else? What exactly do you mean?”

Liandrin chuckled softly, her hand sliding down to rest over Nesta’s heart. “Not the monster they all think I am. But just me, just your Lia.”

“You’re not a monster.” Nesta replied, her voice steady but laced with affection. “And you don’t have to be anything but yourself when you’re with me.”

Liandrin tilted her head up, “Thank you, Nesta.”

“You’re everything I need.” Nesta’s lips softened, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss.

She could feel the tension that still coiled beneath Liandrin’s skin. She didn’t need words to understand it, because recognized it. Deep down, she had carried that same armor herself. The way Liandrin resisted soft things, as though they might turn to knives if she let her guard drop. The way strength had become a language of necessity, not choice.

But she also saw what lay beneath it all. The loneliness, the ache of someone who had learned to be feared because being understood had never felt like an option. It was a reflection of her own pain, cast in a different shade.

[wolfjackle-creates]

Something Next to Normal Chapter 2

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Summary:

Tim's having a regular day at school when a classmate ropes him into helping with the school play as the light technician. Tim agrees to one rehearsal, but his responsibilities as Robin keep him so busy. He knows he'll have to turn down the position. Then he learns what Next to Normal is about. A dead son, a mother who can't cope, a father struggling to keep everything together, and a forgotten daughter. Tim absolutely cannot do this. --- Alfred is proud of Tim for taking on an extracurricular. The boy spends so much time alone. Having an excuse to spend time with other students his age can only be good for him. He wants to go see the show, but Tim counsels against it. After looking it up, Alfred spends a night in sleepless grief. But when day comes and he's face-to-face with Tim, he realizes the living boy in front of him needs him and something has to change.

Chapter 2 word count: 4.9k

Content warnings: continuation of chapter 1. Discussions around loss and grief with an undercurrent of Bruce being a bad mentor to Tim.

We switch to Alfred's POV for this one which is another first for me. Hope you enjoy!

-----

“I am glad you decided to join the play, Master Tim.”

Alfred watched out of the corner of his eye as Tim shrugged and looked out the window of the car. “Yeah.”

Alfred sighed internally and wondered how else to get through to the boy. He was so much more reserved than either Dick or Jason had ever been. Tim kept quiet and made himself unobtrusive.

He was more similar to Bruce, but even Bruce had been opinionated and passionate as a child. He never held back his opinion, scathing though it may be.

“Perhaps Master Bruce and I could see one of the performances,” tried Alfred. “I believe you said they begin next month? What dates?”

Oddly, Tim seemed to tense at the question. “Oh, um. I don’t think that’s a good idea?”

Decorum, and the fact that he was driving, kept Alfred from furrowing his brow and examining Tim more fully. “I assure you, I’d be very interested in seeing your work. I enjoy musicals, whether put on professionally or not.”

“It’s not that…” started Tim before trailing off.

“Then why do you not wish for us to go?”

“I just. We’re doing a show called Next to Normal. Do you know it?”

Alfred hummed as he thought back. The name sounded somewhat familiar, but he’d certainly never seen it or listened to the soundtrack. “I’m afraid I do not.”

“It’s about… Just. Look up the summary. You don’t want to see it. And Bruce absolutely should not see it. It’s fine. But we perform the weekend before Thanksgiving, so I’m going to need Friday and Saturday off patrol that week. And maybe some evenings the week before depending on how long rehearsals run.”

“I’ll make sure to mark it in the calendar. How was the rest of your school day?”

Tim shrugged. “Fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Alfred let them fall into silence as he continued the drive to the manor. After a few minutes, Tim put in his headphones and tapped along to whatever he’d put on.

---

That night, after their patrol had ended and Tim had returned to his own house while Bruce climbed into bed, Alfred opened his computer and searched for the musical Tim had mentioned.

And realized instantly why Tim had said he and Bruce shouldn’t go. The musical was about a family struggling with the death of their son. The mother, especially, could not let the boy go.

Jason’s face danced behind his eyes as he read through the plot synopsis. “Master Jason,” he whispered. “Did you know what your death would do to this family?”

Alfred closed the page without listening to any of the songs and realized he agreed with Tim. He did not wish to see such a play. And it would be best if he did not mention anything about it to Bruce.

Besides, surely the boy’s parents would be back in town by then. It was just days before Thanksgiving after all, and they’d want to see what their son had been up to.

Mind made up, Alfred changed for bed and laid down for another restless night. One of many he’d had since Jason had been taken from them.

---

“Good night, Alfred!” called Tim as he prepared to leave the cave.

Alfred smiled at him and wished he could convince both Tim and Bruce that the boy should spend the night sometimes after patrol. He hated sending him away into the night alone. Even if he was just going next door. “Good night, Master Tim. Will your parents be worried about your late return?”

“Nah, they’re not home tonight.”

Alfred frowned. “Will they be returning tomorrow, then?”

Tim cocked his head. “I don’t think so, why?”

“To see your work for the school musical. Are they not interested in seeing what you’ve been working so diligently on this past month?”

Tim shrugged. “I mean, they are”—Alfred’s stomach sunk as he realized the boy was lying—“But work is keeping them busy. Can’t leave a dig site just to see some high school play.”

“I see.” Alfred did not see. Master Jason had been in one play, a small role as he had still been a sophomore, and Bruce had gone to all three performances the school put on. Everything else—Wayne Enterprises, the Justice League, even Batman—had been pushed to the side.

Tim, of course, didn’t know the direction of Alfred’s thoughts, and waved before leaving. Heading back to his empty house.

Once again, Alfred imagined leading him upstairs. Giving Tim a bedroom of his own and keeping him close and safe.

But then he looked over at Bruce.

Bruce was still in uniform, sitting before the bat computer. He hadn’t even looked up as Tim had left, let alone done something as cordial as say his own goodbyes.

“You could at least tell the boy ‘goodbye’ or ‘good night’ when he leaves,” scolded Alfred.

“He shouldn’t even be here. And the sooner he learns that, the better.”

“If you were more in control of yourself, perhaps he wouldn’t be here,” retorted Alfred. And the thought shot straight to his heart. Tim might not have been around long, but he’d wormed his way into their family just the same. His quiet presence in the dining room doing homework or researching cases was a balm on Alfred’s wounded heart.

Already, Alfred could not imagine life without his newest charge in it. But Tim was right, too. Bruce would not appreciate it if he spent the night.

Bruce barely wanted a Robin, he definitely wasn’t ready for another boy in the house. The odd night after Tim had received an injury on patrol was fine. But anything more permanent?

Still, Alfred couldn’t help but imagine himself bringing breakfast to a sleepy Tim who’d just come downstairs from his own bedroom. One day, perhaps, he’d be able to treat his newest charge the way he deserved.

The way his parents so clearly refused to.

Bruce had turned back to the computer screens, not interested in discussing Tim any more.

Alfred bit back a retort and retreated to his own rooms. Once more, he looked up the musical Tim’s school was putting on.

---

For the entirety of the next day, Alfred debated with himself. When he informed Bruce that he would not be making dinner that night and got in his car to drive to the school, he still wasn’t sure he’d actually make it inside the theater.

He sat as a stop light, mind still in turmoil, when the sign of a florist’s shop caught his eye. His blinker was on before he’d even finished reading the sign.

Due to Bruce’s issues, Tim hadn’t spent much time at the manor, but Alfred had gotten him to stick around a few times. Especially just before and after his European training tour. He’d come over to report to Bruce then stay for an afternoon with Alfred. The two had spent many a lovely hour in Alfred’s gardens.

Alfred pulled into the parking lot and entered the store. The attendant greeted him and asked if he required any assistance, but Alfred waved her off as he examined the premade bouquets.

The roses were proudly displayed front and center in every color. Tim had spent some time in Martha’s rose garden, but they’d never truly captured his attention the way they had Alfred’s.

In fact, one of the first questions Tim had asked had been which flowers were native and which were imported. Alfred had been almost ashamed to admit he’d planted flowers he’d loved as a child so most were of English and European descent.

Tim hadn’t said anything critical, but the hum he’d let out was as damning as any of Bruce’s.

The very next day, Alfred had asked if Tim would like to help him plan a new garden for the manor consisting solely of native plants. The boy’s eyes had lit up and he’d begun researching flower breeds on his phone immediately.

So when Alfred saw the small selection of bouquets featuring Black-Eyed Susans against a side wall, he didn’t hesitate to walk in that direction.

Only one bouquet combined the yellow of the susans with the red of coral honeysuckle and columbines. Enough greenery was mixed in with the flowers to fill it out very nicely—all native flowers in Robin’s colors.

Alfred didn’t even look at the price tag before taking it to the checkout counter.

“Oh, good choice!” said the cashier. “They’re all native flowers, you know.”

“I know,” said Alfred. “The person I’m getting them for has an appreciation for native plants over foreign ones.”

“So does Laura, the owner. She’s big into conservation and is so disappointed that people don’t tend to buy the native flowers as much.”

Alfred hummed and glanced down at his bouquet again. “Tell her she should consider labeling this the Robin Bouquet. Native flowers for a native hero, might entice more people to buy it.”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s brilliant. I’ll absolutely let Laura know. Thanks!”

With a quick goodbye, Alfred resumed his trip to the school. Though he made a mental note to return to the florist in the future.

The closer he got to the school, the harder his heart beat. Would be actually be able to make it inside the building? When he pulled into a parking spot at the school, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he forced himself to let go of the steering wheel. A glance at the clock showed it was six forty-five. Fifteen minutes before the play would start. As he stared at the clock, a minute passed. Before he knew it, it was six fifty.

And so, not even ten minutes before curtain, Alfred strode into the school, bouquet clutched in his hand. Most everyone had already purchased their tickets so no one was still in line when he approached the table for one. He thanked the woman who gave it to him, but avoided interacting with anyone else.

When he entered the auditorium, he slipped into the back row. No one sat near him, to his relief.

Three minutes before seven, the lights dimmed and brightened and Alfred couldn’t help the fond smile. Tim really did take this seriously.

Then the play started.

Alfred cried. He knew he would. Dan’s song about struggling to help his wife cut deep.

But it was Natalie’s song that cut the deepest. It highlighted all his own failures in defending the newest addition to their family. Tim shouldn’t be forced to deal with Bruce’s moods, to manage him and keep him from killing himself.

When her mother told Natalie she loved her “as much as she can,” Alfred buried his face in his hands. Had they done anything to make Tim feel like anything other than a placeholder?

Alfred vowed, then and there, to take better care of the boy.

The musical continued, though. Natalie’s grief fading into Gabe’s ghost singing about how he was still alive. And Alfred couldn’t help but think of a closed door and a room that hadn’t been touched in months. Except for the times he caught Bruce sleeping in it.

Of the way Bruce’s eyes sometimes lit up if he saw Tim in the kitchen from his back, only to fall when he remembered Jason was dead. Alfred had only allowed it to happen twice before he started encouraging Tim to work anywhere but the kitchen.

By the time the musical had finished, Alfred’s handkerchief was wet with his tears. He kept his seat as the auditorium emptied around him before grabbing the flowers again and looking around for where the lighting office might be.

Which is when he saw a door only a few rows away open and Tim stepped out.

“Master Tim,” he called.

Tim stilled before turning to him slowly. “Alfred? What are you doing here?”

Alfred approached him and held out the flowers. “Because you have spent a month learning a new skill, and I wished to see you exhibit it. Excellent job, my boy. You did very well.”

Hesitantly, Tim reached out to take the flowers. “These are for me?”

“Of course. Flowers are traditional after a performance, are they not? And I remember you enjoyed these from our discussions this past summer.”

Tim seemed to notice what the flowers were for the first time. “Wait, these are black-eyed susans. And coral honeysuckle.”

“And columbines. All native flowers. And I thought the colors apropos.”

“Apro— what? What does that word mean?”

“It means fitting. That they are suitable to the current situation or conversation in some way.”

Tim nodded, but still didn’t look up from the flowers.

“Are you hungry? I know of an excellent diner nearby if you’d like to grab something with me. I must admit, I did not have dinner before leaving this evening.”

“Don’t you have to get back to the manor?”

Alfred sniffed. “I do believe Master Bruce can handle himself for one night. Tonight is about your achievements and I would like to celebrate them.”

Tim finally looked up at him, but the poor boy looked so confused. “I wasn’t on the stage. I really didn’t do that much.”

“My boy, without your work, we would not have been able to see anything that was done on that stage. Your contributions were vital to the experience.”

Alfred bit back a smile at the way Tim blushed and kicked the floor in embarrassment. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Of course, Master Tim. Now, will you allow me to treat you to a late night dinner?”

“I— Okay. Yeah. That sounds nice. I just need to say bye to Mrs. V and return the key for the lighting room.”

“Very well. Take as long as you need; the diner is open twenty-four hours.”

Tim had Alfred wait with the flowers at the entrance to a hallway that led deeper into the school while he ran off to take care of everything he had to.

As soon has he returned, he shyly took the flowers back from Alfred. “Thanks again. You didn’t have to come. I hope the show wasn’t too awful for you.”

Alfred clicked his tongue and waved a hand dismissively. “Indeed not. I will admit it was a difficult show to watch at times, but I do believe it helped me realize a few things I had been neglecting. What was it Diana sang in the last song? I don’t have to be happy to be happy I came.”

Tim examined him for a moment, perhaps trying to see if he was lying. But after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure?”

Alfred wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Indeed I am. Now come, let us get dinner.”

They sat in a corner booth, the diner nearly empty at this time of night. Tim was avidly reading every entry in the menu, biting his lip in concentration as he considered.

“Order whatever you like, Master Tim,” said Alfred, afraid Tim was trying to make a decision based on what would please Alfred rather than himself. “After all, tonight we are celebrating your achievements.”

“Oh?” broke in the voice of their waitress as she set two waters down on the table. “What are we celebrating tonight?”

Alfred smiled proudly at Tim. “This young man managed to learn how to operate the lighting equipment in his school’s auditorium in just one month so they could actually perform the musical. The previous student had to transfer suddenly, so he only had a week of training at that. And, as someone who has seen a number of professional performances, he did a wonderful job.”

“In just a month? You must be a very bright boy,” commented the waitress.

Alfred bit back a smile at how red Tim had turned as he mumbled his thanks and buried his face further into his menu.

“Well, I’ll give you boys a bit more time with the menus. But if you’re celebrating, I’ll let you know we’ve got some fantastic pancakes. Or, if you’re not interested in breakfast foods this late at night, our fried chicken sandwich is always a favorite.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” replied Alfred. “We will certainly take your recommendations under advisement.”

Tim waited until she’d left before asking, “What should I order?”

Alfred frowned. “Why, whatever you want, Master Tim.”

“But my diet? To keep up with, you know.”

Alfred clicked his tongue. “My boy, celebrations are chances to break any diet. You may order whatever you like, however much sugar or fat it may contain. I will happily pay for anything on this menu.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at him. “Even if I only order dessert?” he challenged.

“Even if you only order dessert,” agreed Alfred.

Tim hummed and looked over his menu again. “All right.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until the waitress returned to take their oder. Alfred ordered the chicken parmesan. He bit back a smile when Tim ended up going for the pancakes, covered in fruit and whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

When they were alone, Alfred asked, “Master Tim, I must ask, what is your favorite song from the show?”

Tim froze. “Oh, um. I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Because I am curious. For myself, I don’t know if I have a favorite song, however, Dan’s song after Diana’s suicide attempt touched me deeply.”

“That one’s called ‘I’ve Been.’ Did you really like it?”

“Indeed. The young man who played Dan did a wonderful job of conveying his character’s devastation to the audience.” Though Alfred thought even if the boy hadn’t been a talented actor, he still would have failed to make it through the song without more tears.

Alfred could truly empathize with a person who continually pushed aside their own needs to help someone who was hurting more openly and destructively.

Tim grabbed his drink and took a long sip. “I… It was ‘Superboy and the Invisible Girl’ for me.”

Alfred’s stomach sank and he resisted the impulse to close his eyes in regret. Of course Tim related so strongly to Natalie. He’d seen the parallels himself while watching. They’d truly been ignoring Tim in favor of Bruce for the entire time the boy had been in their lives. “We truly do not deserve you, Master Tim.”

“What are you talking about, Alfred? You’ve been great.” He grinned, excitement clear, even if there was an undercurrent of confusion still lingering. “I still can’t believe you came tonight. I’ve never had someone come to my events before!”

And Alfred had to smile even as he felt his heart breaking. He vowed then and there that he would make more of an effort for Tim. “I wish I could have brought Master Bruce.”

But Tim just waved him off. “Oh, God no. That would’ve been a disaster! He’s been almost calm this past week. Only two hospitalizations. Seeing Next to Normal would’ve sent him spiraling again.”

Alfred wished he could refute the claim, but Tim was correct in his assessment. “And Master Bruce should be able to put his grief aside to support you the way you deserve. I am glad I was able to be there for you.”

Tim’s brows furrowed again. “I’m not his kid, though. He’s supposed to supervise my training, but that doesn’t include going to silly school plays or anything.”

“After everything you have done for him, both in and out of the suit, he should be doing the bare minimum to express an interest in your life. Has he even asked you a single question about the show?”

Tim shrugged and looked down. “He asked to know when and how rehearsals and performances would affect my nighttime availability.”

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did. Well, let me offer my sincerest apologies on his behalf.”

“But why does it matter? I would’ve lied if he’d asked. Not like I’d actually tell him anything about the musical.”

“Be that as it may, he owed it to you to at least ask. And I shall be having words with him.”

“No! You can’t!” protested Tim, eyes wide with panic. “He’ll hate that.”

A creeping fear made it’s way up Alfred’s spine. “And what do you believe the consequences will be?”

Tim shrugged and didn’t say anything.

“Master— Chum. Please. What do you think Bruce will do should I speak to him?”

“He’s not going to do anything,” said Tim. Alfred couldn’t help but fear he was lying. “He’ll just start paying more attention and be harder on patrol. And things are going well right now.”

“How will he be harder on patrol?”

Tim shrugged again. “He won’t slow down so I can keep up. Then he’ll be mad I fell behind. He’ll keep a much closer eye on me and notice more of my mistakes. And I’m trying. But I know I’m not as good as J— as his previous protégés. So I keep not measuring up.”

The pit in Alfred’s stomach grew. How had he failed another boy so badly? Tim should not be worried about measuring up to Jason or Dick. He wasn’t them. And he was twice the detective either of them were, far more patient on stake-outs and he picked up on details both of them would have missed. “Listen to me, chum. If Master Bruce ever acts like that again, I want you to tell me. Immediately. Understood?”

Tim looked up in surprise. “What? Why?”

Alfred took a steadying breath. He did not want his anger to come out at all. Tim would likely not understand it wasn’t directed towards him. “Because Master Bruce should know better. You are doing a phenomenal job and I can only offer my most sincere apologies for not ensuring you knew that sooner.”

Before Tim could reply, their waitress returned with their food. “Anything else I can help you boys with?”

Alfred smiled at her. “I believe we are both quite satisfied, thank you. Everything looks positively delightful.”

She nodded and left.

“Why— why are you bringing this up now?” asked Tim after he’d taken a few bites.

“Because, my boy, I have been remiss in my duties.”

Tim shook his head vehemently. “No! You’ve been perfect.”

“Indeed I have not been. I love you, Tim. And I have done a rather poor job of showing you that.”

Tim’s fork fell from his hand and he stared at Alfred in open shock. “You— What?”

Alfred got out of his seat and knelt on the floor next to Tim’s side of the booth. He took Tim’s hand in his and smiled sadly up at the boy. “You came to me during my darkest hour and were a ray of light I could cling to. Tonight, I was confronted with my failures. I cannot change the past, but I swear to you, I will do better going forward. I love you, chum. No ‘as much as I can.’ Just, I love you. End of.”

For a moment, there was stillness between them as Tim stared at Alfred wide-eyed. But then his boy was barreling forward and sobbing into his chest. Alfred wrapped his arms tightly around Tim and held him close.

“Shh, my boy. It’s all right.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred noticed the waitress approach. She mouthed, “Is he okay?” at Alfred.

Tim wasn’t, of course. None of them were okay, but he smiled wanly and mouthed back, “He will be.”

She nodded and silently backed away, leaving the two of them on the floor in the corner of the diner.

Alfred didn’t know what else to say to Tim. He’d never been skilled at comforting grieving boys, no matter how much practice he’d gotten over his long life. After a few moments, though, he became aware that mixed in Tim’s sobs were choked off apologies.

Alfred brushed a hand through Tim’s hair. “There is no occasion to apologize, my boy. Take as long as you need; I won’t leave you.”

Despite Alfred’s assurances, it wasn’t long before Tim stopped crying and was pulling away. He rubbed his eyes against his sleeve and stared at the ground. “Sorry to ruin dinner.”

Alfred clicked his tongue. “The food is still here. Mine even appears to still be warm. You have ruined nothing, my boy.”

Tim shrugged and climbed back into his side of their booth. Alfred bit back a sigh as he took his own seat.

They’d both sat in silence for a minute when the waitress bustled back over with a pitcher of water to top off their glasses. “Anything else I can get you both?”

Alfred declined. Tim looked down, though, and said, “I’m sorry for causing a scene, Ma’am.”

She tutted at him. “None of that now. You’re hardly the first person to cry in this diner, won’t be the last. Why, just the other week, I had a woman cry on me about her ex there at the counter.”

Tim stared at his hands and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Their waitress hummed. “You know, though, we do have one rule.”

Tim’s eyes were wide as he looked up at her in alarm. Hesitantly, he asked, “What’s that?”

“If you cry, you get a free milkshake. So, what’s your poison, kiddo?”

Tim blinked in surprise. “What?”

Alfred smiled at the waitress gratefully, then nudged Tim’s foot under the table. “Looks like you’re getting even more sugar tonight. What milkshake do you want? I believe they have quite the selection.”

“Sure do. Obviously we have the three standard: chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. But there’s also mint, butterscotch, rocky road, black cherry. Or you can mix and match. My son loves chocolate mint.”

“Um, could I mix chocolate and strawberry, please?” asked Tim.

“Course, kiddo. Be right back.”

“Now, Master Tim,” said Alfred. He waited to continue until Tim was looking at him. “I believe you said your parents will not be back yet tonight.”

Tim shook his head. “No. They’re coming back Tuesday.”

Well, at least Tuesday was before Thanksgiving rather than after. “In that case, I must insist you come back to the manor with me tonight. I should much prefer to have you close.”

Tim’s eyes widened, and he vehemently shook his head. “I couldn’t! Bruce would be so mad.”

Alfred didn’t let his anger as his charge show. “I understand you concern. However, I did not mean that I would bring you to a room down the hall from Master Bruce where he should see you should you need to use the lavatory in the middle of the night or some such.”

“What?”

“I have a suite of rooms reserved for my own use. Master Bruce does not enter without permission and I am permitted to bring anyone I wish or do anything I wish to them. I have a second bedroom in my suite. If you will take it, it is yours.”

“Bruce really doesn’t go there?”

“Not once in his life has he come by without my express permission.”

Before Tim could answer, the waitress returned with his milkshake. “Everyone feeling better now?”

Tim smiled at her as he took it, his face picture-perfect in a way that must have been trained into him. “I am. Thank you for your concern.”

She laughed. “Such a serious boy! You just take care now, okay?” Then she turned to Alfred. “And you look out for him.”

“I intend to, Ma’am.”

“Very good. Then I’ll leave you boys to it.”

Tim took a sip of his milkshake as the waitress left. Once they were alone again, Tim asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you there, chum. I really will feel much better if I know you have a place in the manor you feel comfortable. And if you cannot feel that way with Bruce, I want you to feel that way with me.”

Tim stared at him a long moment, likely trying to detect any deceit in Alfred’s face. Whatever he saw must’ve satisfied him, because eventually Tim nodded. “Okay. I’d be happy to go home with you.”

Alfred couldn’t have stopped his smile if he’d tried. “Excellent! Currently, the furnishings are rather utilitarian. However, perhaps next weekend you and I can go out and purchase some things so that you might feel more comfortable.”

And back was that heartbreaking, wide-eyed stare. “You don’t have to go to any trouble for me, Alfred. I’m sure it’s just fine.”

“Nonsense. I want you to stay which means you must be comfortable. At the very least, you’ll want bedding that does not look like it was chosen by an old man. And I’m sure there’s some movie or band who’s poster you’d like to hang on your wall.”

It took all of Alfred’s skills, but he did get Tim to confirm his favorite colors at the very least. And he spent the rest of their meal discussing furniture options with his boy.

When they’d finished eating, down to the last sip of Tim’s milkshake, Alfred stood and held out his hand. “Let’s go home.”

And Tim grinned shyly up at him and took his hand.

-----

When I asked my friend @greensword101 to beta for me, he messaged me after reading that I did such a good job with the meaning behind the bouquet. I was surprised because I literally picked the flowers out based of their colors from a list of native Jersey flowers that @flipwizardstarlight (edit: fixed your username. Originally copied over your AO3 name by mistake) found. But, uh, he was right.

Black-Eyed Susans: In Native American folklore, the flower is regarded as a symbol of justice and truth. It is believed that the bright yellow and black petals of the flower represent the sun and the judgment of truth. Additionally, this flower is also considered a symbol of protection and can help ward off negative energy [source]. From another site: these flowers are considered a symbol of encouragement to stay strong and persevere during difficult times. They represent the idea of resilience and the ability to overcome obstacles [source].

And how perfect is that for Robin and Tim's Robin specifically? Totally unintentional.

The line from the musical that Alfred paraphrases actually goes, "And you find out you don't have to be happy at all,/ To be happy you're alive."

Which, just. Ouch.

Let me know what you think in the comments!

[tritoch]

miscellaneous wol characterization thoughts post-dawntrail

since wolund is supposed to be as close to canon wol as possible i think about this stuff a lot. huge spoilers through the end of 7.0. non-exhaustive list

we're WAY more chilled out now. very consciously avoiding combat or taking up arms until absolutely necessary. in retrospect you could sort of tie that back as far as the endwalker patches so maybe my new canon is now just that wolund lays down his sword after the zenos fight. we're done looking for new fights because we fought our greatest rival at the end of existence in a place made real by our willpower and where we were strengthened by our emotions. the conflagration of our clash scorched even the stars--and now we are kind of burned out!

there's a recurring thing where alisaie keeps saying you should take a break when you've not done any more work than the rest of the team, and there's also the moment where she's like "oof okay. i guess you gotta go into living memory. aight :\" and i think that's fun. as far as scions go this was really her and g'raha's expansion emotionally.

so much of the wol's stuff here is about what you don't do or say. you don't step in during the bakool ja ja fight, either the kidnapping or the wuk lamat fight. during valigarmanda, you very pointedly don't talk about prior experiences fighting primals or even your experience with the auspices, because this is wuk's big moment and you've gotta let her have it. you don't ever draw direct comparisons to emet-selch or other things with wuk lamat when sphene comes up because you're letting her figure things out herself. we've evolved from hot-blooded hero to wizened mentor, and we've gone sharply back to a heavensward-ish number of dialogue options. we're VERY quiet.

the gulool ja ja fight really is the one time you cut loose! and you're explicitly denied the chance to test yourself against him in his prime 1 on 1. there's a subtle undercurrent that basically every single fight in dawntrail is kind of "beneath" the wol in the sense that it doesn't require their exclusive attention in the way that Only You Could Fight Meteion, even if you're clearly the strongest combatant and wuk lamat says they couldn't have beaten zoraal ja without you. no one except gulool ja ja really takes your full measure in this expansion. i think a g'raha-level fighter probably could have helped the wuk lamat team clear everything just fine, and he's definitely supposed to be below you and estinien level even if he's an all-rounder.

that kind of denial of anything truly satisfying on the wol's level...seems very intentional? it's interesting that after the credits you're explicitly like "yeah i'm gonna be outta here soon." shadowbringers you had to resolve the scion's dimension hopping problems, endwalker cuts you off before you can say what's next, but here you're like "yeah this was fun but honestly not that big a deal to me. i like you and i know you think of me as surrogate family after losing your dad and mom and brother but i am in fact gonna bounce." the key is obviously more immediately interesting to the adventurer than anything about tural.

oh my god. oh my god wolund is already a deadbeat dad to a young woman in her 20s. he's gonna ditch wuk lamat too. my god what an asshole. this is so fucking funny.

i think i'm gonna go back and have wolund be a scholar as early as 6.1 and see how that changes things for me. i think i'll find it a lot more satisfying if i'm like "he came to tural because he's done fighting" instead of the "he now loves fighting even more" i'd been carrying through endwalker patches.

[direct-from-orzammar]

2, 22, 31, 37 for Hissera? c:

Ask game here, answers under a cut

2: What were their expectations going into the Conclave?

Not what happened. Hissera wasn't even a frontline fighter in the merc band. Too skinny, too young. She was basically there to hold a sword an look scary enough that nobody would try anything. Shokrakar was mainly agreed to let Hissera go because she didn't think it'd be that dangerous. Good experience for the kid to help her get more training. Hissera vounteered because she wanted to see the rebel mages up close. She supports her fellow mages and wanted so badly to see mages get some sort of good outcome with her own eyes. So she really thought she was going to be a witness to history, for better or worse. Not as instrumental as she ended up being.

22: What do does the Inquisitor see in the small fear demons?

I've given this a lot of thought over the years. And I think (knowing full well how much this sort of implies about her initial interactions with Bull), that she'd see Ben-Hassrath agents, and possibly qamek vapor. Or more accurately, this version of Ben-Hassrath agents that her (also a mage) stepmother unintentionally instilled in her. Despite how healthy her family life was for her and her stepbrother, there was always an undercurrent of fear. Of people who feared the Qunari and would try to find their little village. Of Ben-Hassrath coming to eliminate or re-educate the tal-vashoth. They'd have "no way" of knowing she wasn't already possessed (See: Sheparding Wolves and Three Trees to Midnight in Tevinter Nights), so she'd probably get the qamek. And she knows this. That conversation with Bull where he's talking about how really strong-willed people would get the qamek if the Qunari took over? Not telling her anything she didn't already know. So from her perspective, the team is being chased and hunted by the same Ben-Hassrath that kept her mother up at night and she always feared would come to tear her family apart.

31: What are the Inquisitor's thoughts on Morrigan? Do they trust her?

I think of the PCs of mine that interact with Morrigan, Hissera has the second best opinion, second to Helsi. But Morrigan is one of Helsi's best friends and they spent all that time traveling together, where Morrigan was a more background element in Hissera's whole quest.

But overall they have a fun dynamic. I feel like Hissera being genuinely eager to learn about magic would bring out a softer side of Morrigan, especially since DAI means she's a softened a bit overall, especially since in Hissera's canon Morrigan has Kieran.

I don't think I'd consider them friends, but at the very least they're colleagues that get along well.

37: What are the Inquisitor's thoughts on Solas before and after his disappearance?

Veeery complicated. Back in Haven, Hissera and Solas really bonded. Solas became something of a mentor figure to Hissera, especially since she's a rift mage. She respected him a lot as a friend and mentor for a long time.

The rift between them started to build before he disappeared. His first betrayal was actually in an earlier conversation. The one where he basically wonders if the mark made you "different". To use the exact words: The Qunari are savage creatures, their ferocity held in check only by the rigid teachings of the Qun. But you have shown a subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I know of your people.

Like even if he respects Hissera as an individual, that's still a pretty fucked up thing to say about her people. So by the time Solas disappeared, there was still a little pang of grief over him being gone, but more grief for the friendship that they once had that was now gone.

[roguestorm]

ok i read black widow pale little spider and i LOVE that greg rucka seemingly took one look at yelena and was like "she wants to be dommed by a woman so bad" bc that was also my read. such a bizarre series but i kind of loved it. i like that between this and storm: the arena igor kordey is the guy you get if your superhero comic has your heroine descending into a lair of kinky sex. it's kind of funny that it's a scene in this comic that ppl point to when saying yelena is asexual bc i feel like the entire story is about yelena grappling with the fact that she does have sexual desire for women and is into d/s stuff to some extent. i think it's great how sexuality in general and her sexuality specifically are things that she's very uncomfortable with and yet there's an unmistakably sexual undercurrent to her own motivations and obsessions and she has to like, untangle that. i would be so interested to hear rucka's thoughts on this story, i think it's the most sex-focused comic of his i've read and i'm kind of astonished by how respectfully and positively it represents sex work and kink for a comic from 2002 LOL. i would love to hear your thoughts on this very strange comic :)

hiiiiii it's been 4 months since you sent this ask but i DID reread the story. i think that any weirdness/yuckiness about the comic comes from the art and not the story. the cover art is AWFUL, and it's the same guy who did the horrible oversexualized art for the emma frost series, so... i hate you greg horn >:(

igor kordey's interiors are for the most part pretty communicative without being overly sexual, and he doesn't really sexualize yelena. there are a handful of weird objectifying moments with the agent who is pretending to run the place, but not too many. but i've seen more objectifying shots of female characters in comics drawn by greg land that don't have anything to do with sex clubs, so it's okay, all in all.

i DEFINITELY think that when yelena says she's not anything, she's lying. i don't know if i read the lesbian subtext quite as strongly as you do, but she's definitely lying (to herself as well as others) about her desires. the comic is really complicated on a gender level because of the way d/s dynamics are portrayed, because of the gender roles that the black widow mythos comes with, because of the layers of manipulation and lies, and because yelena as a character has these very contradictory impulses, as you pointed out.

and there's a whole thing where agents like nikki (or whatever her real name is) and natasha were trained in some way to use their sexuality in the field and yelena never was. so the instrumentality of it and of having nikki like use her sexuality to get under yelena's skin at yelena because it's the thing she's most uncomfortable with and the red room wants to be sure she can handle anything. also, the fact that the red room a) murdered her mentor and then b) tainted his memory by making her think that he wanted to have sex with her is like. fucked up! like of course she's never gonna figure herself out if everyone in the entire world keeps lying to her or trying to get her to play some specific role.

i also thought it was funny that rucka decided to have someone pretend to be someone else and lose track of who they really are AGAIN in this comic. like breakdown finished a year before this series started but he was like "that's a good idea, let's reuse that from a different angle."

i have no idea what to make of its presentation of sex work bc like. the main character who is a sex worker that we interact with in fact isn't a sex worker at all? so she's explaining consent while ignoring yelena's boundaries but that's not because she's a sex worker, it's because she's an agent and her explicit job is to attempt to psychologically break yelena.

[kedsandtubesocks]

More Jedi!Gojo x Mandalorian!Reader & this one is for @strawberrystepmom because Star Wars jjk has now infested my poor little brain

.⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆.

Forged centuries ago by an ancient mandalorian jedi, the darksaber holds the weight of lifetimes. Unsuspecting, quiet in its sleek black beskar saber, it actually looks rather unsuspecting.

Yet it contains multitudes. If ignited, a striking black blade would emerge. It stands as an unwavering symbol of the mandalorian will to survive. More importantly - it signifies the rule of the Mand’alor. Whoever wielded this blade wielded power. They controlled all of mandalorian society.

And it now sits in your lap… and it’s yours.

“Still admiring that new blade of yours, huh?”

The playful voice of the Jedi twinkles in. You wonder if throwing the saber at him will make Gojo shut up for once. But even with how playful his tone is you catch the serious undercurrent.

“It’s not mine.” You mutter back.

“Well by your creed or whatever, it’s yours right? I mean you did win it in battle. And isn't that like the whole thing for who can own it?” Gojo offers curiously making sure his information is right. He is of course.

“But I didn’t win it in battle. You helped me.” You answer with a heaviness.

Tracking the leads on the missing mandalorians had led you and the Jedi to Geonosis. There in the caves you discovered remnants of the empire festering alive and well. And the lead commander of the secret base, so gleeful in his pursuit to collect beskar, held the sacred saber in his grasp as a boast of his triumph.

You and Gojo moved together in sync against the commander. With fury and rage for your people you fought alongside the Jedi. And you found you trusted him without fail.

The reward of that now rests in your lap.

“Does this mean what I think it does? Do we both get to rule Mandalore together?! Am I royalty by default now?!” Gojo cries with an obnoxious shrill.

The mandalorian elders and clan leaders would all collectively revolt or die on the spot if this chaotic man of a Jedi showed up with the darksaber in hand. He probably would even wave it around like a toy.

You can’t chide him like you normally would. Your thoughts weigh too heavy in your mind.

Suddenly Gojo chimes out your name.

When you turn to the side he is there kneeling beside you. Something inside of you collapses at the sight of this great Jedi, the strongest of his generation, kneeling so close to you. Even with the white wraps covering his eyes you sense his direct gaze on you. A chill crawls under your armor and runs along your skin.

This annoying Jedi, this headache of a man who makes you understand why your ancient ancestors vowed to fight the Jedi, speaks with the tenderest of voices.

“There is no one more worthy. You won that saber for a reason.” Gojo begins with an unwavering confidence. “And besides, anyone who wants to disagree…I’ll kill ‘em.”

Those words make you choke. It’s at times like this that the savior of the galaxy doesn’t sound like a holy warrior but like a feral ravager instead.

“That isn’t a very Jedi thing to say.” You weakly tease him.

Now a strange silence floats within the ship. You can’t grasp what strange emotion it’s conjuring up. But it’s enough to notice the unusually solemn face on the usually animated Jedi.

“Guess not.” Gojo mutters low. His response only tightens the strange flutter in the air that wiggles into your chest. You and him stay silent the rest of the trip.

When you arrive back home, the council erupts in a cacophony of emotions. Some of your mentors embrace you with pride. Other clan elders demand an investigation on how the saber was won. Your heart sinks. You knew there was going to be disbelief. But to already see flat out rejection at just the thought of you wielding the darksaber stings.

“It was won the proper way, in pure mandalorian tradition. I witnessed it myself.”

Gojo speaks and it slices through the bickering. All attention turns to him as he walks confidently towards you.

“And if there are any objections…know I’ll side with the Mand’alor.” A deadly undertone rises in his voice and you realize the ruler he speaks about is you.

You. The Mand’alor.

Gojo deliberately stands besides you, a visible sign of where his allegiance resides.

A heat rises under your skin and threatens to consume you alive beneath your beskar armor.

As the darksaber quietly rests in your grasp you again think of its origins. A great mandalorian, who held abilities of a Jedi, forged this as a means to unify his identities. It of course signifies rule and power to your kind. But in its bones the saber personified Jedi and mandalorian unity. It’s the physical embodiment of how beautiful this union can be.

That notion haunts you in a way you dare not explore yet.

Because if you do, you know you will not like the dangerous truth lurking within your heart that even the darksaber itself cannot conquer.

[anotherwvba]

Learning on the Job, pt. 10

In the hushed atmosphere of the locker room, Dudley Bruce, with the careful hands of a seasoned artist, was securing Gemma Golden's gloves. The tension was palpable, charged with the silent focus that precedes the storm of battle. Dudley adjusted the tape around Gemma's gloves meticulously before stepping back, giving room for Gabby Jay to step forward and inspect the work. He scrutinized the fit, then initialed the tape to approve the gloves, a ritual signifying readiness and regulation.

"Thank you, Gabby," Gemma said, her voice a blend of nerves and gratitude. She flexed her fists within the confines of the gold boxing gloves, feeling the snug embrace of the leather, the maroon and gold of her attire reflecting her readiness and the weight of the moment.

Dudley eyed her intently, his expression one of concern masked by professional detachment. "Are you ready, Gemma?" he asked, his tone even but carrying an undercurrent of paternal care.

Gemma started bouncing on her toes, shadowboxing to dispel the creeping dread that gnawed at her insides. "I'm scared to death right now," she confessed, throwing a one-two punch into the air, "but I’m ready to see this through." Her voice was steady, betraying her resolve despite the fear.

Skye Ivy, always the vibrant source of energy, clapped her hands and stepped closer to Gemma. "That fear’s gonna pass as soon as the bell rings, Gem. You’ll see," she encouraged, her Chicago accent thick with confidence and support.

Gemma moved to the focus mitts that Dudley had donned, throwing punches that punctuated her thoughts. "The fear is good, Skye. I’m always scared before a big performance. It tells me I’m challenging myself, that I’m about to do something really worth doing."

Their routine was interrupted by a knock on the door. Dudley walked over and opened it to a young man with a headset, peeking in. "Five minutes, Miss Golden," he said briskly. Gemma nodded, her face set in determination, and the man disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Skye glanced at the door and then back at Gemma. "We should get moving toward the entrance position, yeah?" she suggested, her tone implying urgency yet comfort.

Dudley held up a hand, signaling for a brief pause. "Just a moment, Skye. Can I have a word with Gemma?" His voice held an unusual softness, a departure from his usual formal demeanor.

Skye nodded understandingly and stepped out, leaving the two alone in the quiet of the locker room.

Dudley turned to face Gemma fully, placing his hands on her shoulders. His gaze was intense, searching. "Gemma, are you truly ready for this fight? It’s not too late to back out if you’re not," he said, his tone more mentor-like, showing a vulnerability seldom seen.

Gemma looked up at Dudley, surprise flickering across her features before a smile broke through. "Thank you, Dudley, for pushing me, for everything. This isn’t about the movie anymore. I haven’t been scared in a long time, but this... this terrifies me. Getting ready for this fight has reminded me that it’s alright to be afraid, to be challenged. I am ready."

Dudley’s expression softened, a rare smile curving his lips. "I’m very proud of you, Gemma. The work you’ve put in, the dedication... it’s more than I expected."

Gemma’s eyes glimmered with a mix of emotions. "Thank you, Dudley. I hope I live up to your expectations in the ring." Her voice was thick with emotion, the weight of the moment settling around them like a cloak.

Together, they walked out of the locker room, joining Skye who waited with an encouraging smile. The trio made their way toward the entrance position, each step heavy with anticipation and the promise of a challenge that would define more than just a match—it would define Gemma herself.

Across The Omni, the air was just as thick. Star Mika was dressed in her vibrant teal and pink ring attire, shadowboxing as Alexandra prepped her equipment to work Mika’s corner. Teal gloves sliced through the air with precision and grace as Mika danced around the confined space, bobbing and weaving away from imagined blows.

Alexandra glanced up from the bucket she was putting her gear in, noticing Mika’s unusual energy. “Okay ka lang? You seem a little off.”

Mika stopped punching, but kept dancing around, light on her feet. “I’m nervous, but I’m good.” A grin spread across her face, excitement in her voice, “I just wanna give Gemma a debut she’ll remember. We’ve got a show to steal tonight!”

“I see that,” Alexandra nodded in understanding. “This is quite a different outlook from our first conversation. You were worried about injuring her and had considered holding back. Why the drastic change?”

The grin on Mika’s face grew as she resumed her shadowboxing. “Gemma and I talked last night. Ran into her outside the Omni while I was jogging. She talked like a fighter last night. For the first time, she wasn’t an actor, she was a boxer wanting to win. If she’s gonna be serious, I want to honor that.”

As Alexandra was about to respond, a knock came at the door. She walked over to open it when a deep, warm, and familiar voice came from the other side, “C’mon, kiddo! Don’t leave me hangin’ in the hallway all night.”

Mika stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes lit up. “Open it, Alexandra! Open it!”

Alexandra opened the door, revealing Doc Louis. The former World’s Heavyweight Champion, Little Mac’s coach, was standing in the doorway, decked out in his signature red jumpsuit. “Hey, kiddo! Mind if I come in?”

The words barely left Doc’s mouth before Mika was airborne. She ran and jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Doc! What are you doing here?”

Doc chuckled as he set Mika down on her feet, “Well, word is that Gemma girl’s got Dudley Bruce in her corner. That’s big. Dudley’s a former world champ. I know you got the experience edge and all, but I figure it’s only fair that if she’s got a former champ that, uh, you do, too. That is, if you’ll have me?”

Mika was near speechless, her eyes like saucers, her voice trembling, “You… you mean it?” 

“Course I do, kiddo,” Doc smiled wide. “Look, Coach Fox called and told me he couldn’t make it. Seeing as he’s holdin’ down my gym back home while I’m on the road with Mac, least I can do. I wanna be your coach tonight. No disrespect to… uh…”

“Alexandra, sir.” The respect Alexandra held for the legendary coach was apparent, “And none taken. It would be an honor to work Mika’s corner alongside you. I know I’ll learn a lot.”

Doc nodded with a wry smile, “Nice to meet ya’, Alex, and enough of that ‘sir’ stuff. Call me Doc.”

Just then, a young man ducked into the doorway, headset in place. "Mika, you’ve got five minutes."

“Alright, kiddo. You ready?” Doc asked with a sense of anticipation as Alexandra grabbed the corner bucket.

Mika punched her gloves together, excitement bubbling over. “Oh yeah, Doc. Let’s go!”

The trio left the locker room together, Mika flanked by her newfound friend and a legendary coach. Her confidence surged as they approached the entrance position. The buzz of the crowd grew with each step, Mika’s nerves giving way to focus. This was special, and she knew it. 

As Mika stood, waiting for the formalities before the fight to commence, Gemma stood in the opposite entrance position across the arena, waiting for the curtain to rise on her most challenging performance ever. In that moment, they both shared a familiar feeling and gave that feeling words.

“God, I love this part.”

Star Mika is an OC belonging to @cyrah-is-cool101 and is used with permission.

Alexandra Rosal Archangle is an OC belonging to a friend of @cyrah-is-cool101 and is used with permission.

[cilil]

For birdboy week, ask nos. 3 and 10 please

Relationships with Manwë, Varda and Ilmarë

I'm going to answer this for the default verse; if anyone would like alternate takes feel free to ask for number 3 again :)

Manwë is very much a mentor figure to Eönwë and someone he greatly admires. Depending on the fic in question, this can be a paternal or otherwise familial relationship or more like Angbang with romantic/sexual undercurrents.

Eönwë feels comfortable coming to Manwë for help and advice regarding most things, but one topic he will leave out with almost complete certainty is anything related to war and violence. At this point he's old and wise enough to understand that there's a fundamental different between a warrior spirit who was designed to fight and kill (like him) and a spirit so good and holy that he has trouble even grasping the concept of evil (like his lord). To be clear, he doesn't fear anger, violence or punishment from Manwë if he found out about what happened during the war, but he fears that Manwë could be worried about him or disappointed.

Varda is the queen. Eönwë respects and reveres her, perhaps even so much so that he hasn't even begun thinking about her canonically legendary beauty; then again he would never dare thinking such thoughts about his queen and lord's wife.

When it's a more familial connection between Manwë, Varda and their Maiar in fics/verses, the relationship is still not very maternal because Varda can be intimidating, demanding and distant. Eönwë definitely prefers to stick to Manwë, not because he holds any of these traits against Varda, but because he's a little scared. He doesn't like disappointing a lady.

Ilmarë is one of his closest companions. In my default verse they're the kind of duo who've known each other since birth, already played together in the sandpit, grew up together, you name it. When they were named chiefs of the Maiar, this also gave them a close working relationship on top of it; Ilmarë especially appreciates the gossip Eönwë picks up while on herald duty.

Due to this close relationship, a sort of expectation grew around them, with others thinking there was budding romance between them and waiting for Eönwë to start courting Ilmarë officially (yes, Manwë was among those people). Eönwë wasn't really sure what he felt and if there was something on Ilmarë's part, but felt pressured to at least try - and was kindly rejected (I usually write Ilmarë as heavily female-leaning in her attraction). This was more relieving than upsetting for Eönwë, since he could now continue to just be friends with her.

In different verses I sometimes also write Eönwë and Ilmarë as siblings, based on Lost Tales.

Snippet time - this one's from the monastery AU

"Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Filius Dei..."

The feeling remained even as he spoke. Eönwë glanced up at the statue of the Holy Virgin Mother, almost expecting her to look down at him with contempt, yet her artfully sculpted features remained as soft, sweet and benevolent as ever. He could only hope that she found find it within her boundless grace to forgive him, even though he would sin again - was already thinking about it, in fact.

Every day, every night he prayed. Yet each time his faithless heart returned to that book and the demon he had summoned, and his mind was flooded with filthy fantasies that drowned his resolve until he gave in again.

"Sancta Virgo, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus... nunc... et in hora... mortis nostrae."

[neopuff]

easier

ship: jake/riya word count: 2075 ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54460879

x

Riya found herself staring at his face.

He was all scratched up - his suit was torn in several places, his hair looked like a mess, there was a long scratch along his goggles - and it was all because he decided to push her out of the way and take a bad hit from the newest mutated nuisance in the city.

It wasn't necessary, obviously. Blindstrike’s armor was top quality and could withstand most attacks. The gesture was nice, though. Riya found herself teetering on the edge of flattered and annoyed.

“You recovered the disc, at least?” Dr. C asked, a judgmental undercurrent to her voice.

“Yeah, here.” Riya handed it to her mentor, but her eyes stayed trained on Stretch while he chatted with his teammates.

Dr. C took the disc and rolled her eyes so dramatically that Riya could practically hear it. “Good.”

“So we're all done, right?” Omni-Mass asked quickly, pulling away from his conversation with the other two boys. “Cause Wingspan and I have a big family dinner to get to and I don't wanna be late!”

“Until the next attack, you're all free to go.” Dr. C didn't look at them while she spoke, typing away at her computer and trying to access the information they'd gotten for her. “I doubt we'll hear from any more of Rook’s other experiments today.”

“Excellent!” He pumped a fist in the air and then brought it down on Wingspan’s back. “I'm starving! What're we having?”

“Ow…” Wingspan rubbed his shoulder uncomfortably. “It's just another meatloaf night, nothing to get excited about.”

“Are you kidding me? Your mom’s meatloaf is the best!”

The two of them waved goodbye to Stretch and continued their conversation about meatloaf as they exited the secret lab. Riya removed her helmet and shook out her hair, absentmindedly wondering why Stretch stayed behind.

Her question was answered quickly as he took a noticeably deep breath, then stepped over to her and stood his ground.

She put her helmet down on a nearby table and stared up at him.

“Blindstrike! Um…er, Riya. I, uh…” he stammered, as he often did when talking to her outside of her stealth armor. “I want to apologize.”

Riya responded by raising one curious eyebrow. That was unexpected.

“I know you can handle yourself just fine in the field, so please don't think I was trying to belittle you or anything by pushing you out of the way. I just…” He paused and gulped again, clearly very nervous. “I could do something to stop you from getting hurt, so I did. And I'm sorry, but I'm also kind of not.”

She stared at him, unsure if he was going to say anything else. It wasn't quite an apology as he'd prefaced it, but it was nice of him to say.

Sometimes Riya got frustrated at him because he was always trying to do and say the right things. Even when he messed up, the intention was there, and it was so different from every other person she knew. He was a genuinely good person and sometimes she didn’t know what to do with that.

“I…I am glad you're not hurt,” he added nervously. “So I hope we’re okay.”

Riya felt a strange urge come over her and glanced to the left to make sure there wasn't an audience. Dr. C wasstill  typing at her computer, not a single thought on the teenagers behind her. Then Riya looked back at Stretch and frowned. She wouldn't be able to do this if he was in his stupid costume.

Without saying anything, she reached up and pressed the side of his headpiece, fully deactivating his suit. Before he could even speak his confusion, she also grabbed the goggles and tugged them off his head.

Jake practically had question marks floating above him as she held his goggles in her hands and stared up at his face.

Then Riya did something she'd never done before.

She leaned up and pressed her lips against his.

It was very brief, less than a second of contact, but she couldn't deny the rush of excitement that shot through her when they touched. She liked Jake - to an extent, since she'd never really had the time to give it much thought - and knew that kissing him could be nice. She didn't anticipate anything more than that.

She pulled away and shoved the goggles into his hands, refusing to look at his face because she just knew he'd have some goofy, lovestruck expression that would make her feel something she didn't feel like feeling. He was stiff as a board already and she was surprised he managed to hold onto his goggles.

Riya turned around and walked away from him. There was no need to stay and discuss things further, honestly, especially if he was going to clam up and not say anything. It wasn't as if she expected some sort of romantic gesture, but a little something would've been nice.

“I-I…d-do you wanna come over for dinner?” he finally squeaked out, almost too quiet to hear.

Rather than respond verbally, Riya just turned her head slightly and smiled at him, then continued to walk away.

In the distance behind her, she could hear him start to find his voice again.

“I think my heart just melted…”

“Well, don't get it all over my floor.”

X

Jake had a strange day.

It’d only been a few hours since his…encounter with Riya and he hadn’t told anyone. If not for the memory of Dr. C’s very intense eye roll, he’d almost swear it didn’t actually happen.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell his friends. Jake didn’t want to be the kind of guy who kissed and told. But he didn’t know what was going on. Did that mean Riya liked him? Or was she just grateful? Or was there some mysterious third option that he didn’t know? He was completely clueless about relationships and having a crush on such an especially closed-off girl didn’t make it easier.

Maybe he could talk to his dad. His dad had at least one successful romantic relationship, so he had to know something.

They were getting ready for dinner when Mark finally commented on how quiet his son had been.

“Are you feeling alright, son?”

Jake stared down at the plate he’d just set on their dining room table. He didn’t know how he felt. “I had an…interesting day. Just stuck in my head about it.”

Mark moved around the table and put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

He knew he was biting his tongue, but Jake didn’t know how to have this type of conversation. Especially not with his dad of all people. “It’s…I, um…”

Jake’s awkwardness was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

Mark looked over, then down at his son, then up at the door again. “We can continue this after you get the door.”

Jake smiled, a bit uncomfortable, then rushed to the door and opened it wide without checking through the peephole. He definitely didn’t expect to see the woman of the hour standing there in casual-but-nicer-than-usual clothes.

“Hey.”

“Riya! Wh…what are you doing here?”

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “You invited me over for dinner, remember?”

Jake knew his heart was beating ridiculously fast and hoped his face wasn’t bright red to match. “I-I didn’t think-”

“Miss Dashti!” Mark came up behind his son, sticking out a hand to greet her professionally. “Jake didn’t tell me you were coming over! I’ll go set another place.”

Riya shook his hand and smiled as the older man walked away. Then she stood there with Jake, who proceeded to stare at her without saying anything at all. She frowned. “Are you gonna invite me in?”

“Uh-! Right, of course!” Jake moved to the side and closed the door behind her, feeling more confused than ever. “I, um…it’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” she said quietly, giving him a small smile.

Jake continued to stare at her. He didn’t know what to say. He had so many questions about what happened earlier in the day and he knew it’d be really uncool to straight up ask her about it, but he also knew that that was the only way he would get the answers he was looking for.

With a deep, deep breath, he finally spoke. “Look, I…I don’t want to be presumptuous or assume anything or read too much into this, but, I, um…does this mean, uh. Do you…” He felt beads of sweat building on the back of his neck. “...do you like me?”

Riya raised an eyebrow at him again.

He frowned. Sometimes he wondered how he ever questioned that she was Blindstrike. “Come on, Riya. You know what I mean.”

She stayed silent for another few seconds, then turned away and ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. This is new for me, too, you know.”

Her confession took a lot of the pressure off of his shoulders and Jake felt himself calm down a tiny bit. “I get that. Completely. But…well. You - I think you know how much I like you. And I really don’t wanna screw this up more than I already have. More than I already do. All the time.” His neck started to feel sweaty again.

Riya didn’t look at him, taking a few steps into the living room and staring out the window.

Jake followed her, and took a moment to appreciate that his dad was giving them a moment to talk. Usually his dad didn’t have that level of tact, but he probably figured this was why his son had been so quiet all day.

“The last eight years of my life have been so…secretive. Dangerous. Difficult.” Riya crossed her arms over her chest and glanced down at her feet. “Everything was hard. Sometimes I could barely get up in the morning, you know?”

Jake knew. Sort of. He knew the facts of what she’d gone through and it made him feel grateful that he still had his dad, no matter how much he struggled with the man sometimes.

“For a long time I didn’t have any friends and the closest thing I had to family was Dr. C…who isn’t exactly nurturing. But she was what I needed.” Riya sighed and uncrossed her arms, holding her wrist gently in front of herself. “It’s…tiring. Really tiring. Not having anyone to talk to.”

She made eye contact with Jake for a second, then turned away again. “I’ve never really had a social life ‘cause it’s always been too difficult to make time but…I don’t know. With you, it feels a little easier.”

Jake was one-hundred percent sure that his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He’d never anticipated such a level of vulnerability from the girl of his dreams, and to top it all off? She said he made her life feel easier? He wasn’t sure there was a greater compliment to get from a person who’d been through as many hardships as she had.

Riya ran both hands through her hair and held them against the back of her neck. She was clearly not used to talking for so long. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…I think this could be fun. Us, I mean. But you have to be patient with me.” She turned and glared at Jake, making direct eye contact. “And do not try to hold my hand.”

He let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, then nodded over and over. “O-okay, yeah. Of course! Whatever you want.” Jake gulped and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’d…so long as you’re comfortable.”

“Jake! Riya! Dinner’s ready!”

The two teens glanced towards the kitchen, then back at each other. Riya smirked at him, though there was a nervousness in her eyes that he’d never seen from her before. “What are we having?”

“Oh, um…” Jake suddenly felt very awkward again. “Chicken kale salad?”

Riya’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a confused frown. “That’s what you’re having for dinner?”

He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “I-I didn’t know you were coming over!”

Unexpectedly, Riya breathed out a short laugh, then smiled again. “I guess that’s what I get for not saying anything.”

[mysticinsightstarot]

Ya ya sure ! Just don't drain yourself up ♡

Alright, let’s dive into this quirky, detailed tarot reading with all the bright vibes! 🌟✨ Here's how your first meeting with your future spouse might go down, based on the cards you’ve pulled.

1. The Setting: 3 of Pentacles

💼 Okay, so your first meeting might take place somewhere productive, like a work project, group activity, or collaboration. Maybe you're working on something super creative together, like a big event or a team project! 🎨🛠 You’re both building something, and that’s where the sparks fly. It's a total "Let’s get things done" vibe, but little do you know, you're about to build something way more…like your future love story! 💕

2. Your Emotional State: King of Wands

🔥 Oh, you're feeling yourself at this moment! The King of Wands means you're confident, driven, and in control of the room. 🦁👑 You’re like, “I know exactly what I want, and I'm not afraid to go for it.” This is BIG boss energy. People are looking up to you, and you’re totally radiating leadership and charisma. It’s definitely going to catch your future spouse's eye! 👀✨

3. Their Emotional State: 4 of Pentacles, 5 of Pentacles & The Hanged Man

💸💭 Your future spouse? They're a little more reserved at first. The 4 of Pentacles shows they might be feeling guarded, holding back, or maybe even a little worried about finances or stability at the time. But then there's that 5 of Pentacles—they could be feeling left out, lonely, or like they're going through a rough patch. 😥 But with the Hanged Man, they’re seeing things from a new perspective after meeting you. It’s like, "Whoa, I didn’t expect this," and suddenly, they’re rethinking their approach to life and love. 🌙🌀

4. Their First Impression of You: 9 of Pentacles

💎 They see you as a total QUEEN (or KING!) of independence. The 9 of Pentacles screams self-sufficient, luxurious, and someone who knows their worth. 🌹✨ You're giving off this vibe like, "I’ve got my life together, thank you very much," and they’re totally mesmerized by how composed and successful you seem. You might literally be glowing to them. 😍💖

5. Your First Impression of Them: Wheel of Fortune & Justice

🎡⚖️ Whoa! When you first meet them, you’re hit with some MAJOR vibes. Wheel of Fortune tells me that you’ll feel like it’s fate—like you were meant to meet them. The moment feels bigger than just a random encounter. And with Justice, you're sensing they’re balanced, fair, and someone who has a strong sense of right and wrong. You’ll feel like the universe is putting everything in order. 🌀💫

6. External Influences: Queen of Swords, King of Swords & 10 of Cups

💡🗡 This might be a social setting where some serious people are around, maybe mentors, bosses, or strong personalities who speak their mind. The Queen and King of Swords show that this might be a no-nonsense environment, but here’s the twist—there’s an undercurrent of warmth and love. With the 10 of Cups, it’s like a hidden promise of emotional fulfillment, despite all the sharp intellect flying around. Family or community vibes could also influence your first encounter! 💬💖

7. Immediate Outcome: 9 of Cups, The Fool, The Magician

🎉💫 After this meeting, it’s like you both feel on top of the world! 9 of Cups is all about emotional satisfaction, so you're both leaving that first meeting feeling like, “Wow, that was everything I didn’t know I needed.” 🥂🍀 And with The Fool and The Magician, it’s like the start of a whole new chapter—both of you will feel like something fresh and magical has just begun. There’s SO much potential here! 🧙‍♂️✨

8. Advice for You: The Moon

🌙 Trust your intuition! Things might not be super clear at first, and you may feel like there’s more going on beneath the surface. The Moon is asking you to be patient and allow things to unfold naturally. Don’t push too hard for clarity right away—trust that the answers will come in time. There may be some mystery, but embrace it. 🌑🔮

9. Spiritual Significance: Judgment, The Star, The Sun

🌟🔥 This meeting is CRAZY powerful in your spiritual journey. Judgment means it's a wake-up call—this meeting is part of your higher purpose, a key moment in your destiny. The Star shines a light of hope, guiding you toward healing and your dreams. And The Sun? TOTAL happiness and positivity. ☀️💫 This isn’t just any first meeting—it’s one that brings major clarity, healing, and joy into your life. The universe has been planning this! 🌠

10. Future Beyond the First Meeting: 6 of Pentacles

💞 This card shows that your relationship will be based on equal give and take. You and your future spouse will balance each other out, offering support and generosity to one another. It’s a beautiful partnership where you both give as much as you receive. This is a sign that your connection will be grounded in kindness and mutual respect. 🌿💸

Bottom of the Deck Energy: Ace of Swords

🗡 The Ace of Swords says this relationship will bring about a breakthrough! It’s clear communication, truth, and mental clarity. You’ll both feel a sharp awareness of each other’s significance from the very beginning. This meeting is a mental and emotional game-changer. 💡✨

TL;DR: Your first meeting is all about building something meaningful, filled with fate, deep intuition, and a sense of destiny. You’re confident, they’re guarded but intrigued, and together, you’re set for a new adventure. 🧭✨ This is more than just love—it’s a major life shift that brings clarity, joy, and balance. 🌟💖

Whew! That was a journey! Ready for the magic? 😘💫