She’s 22, and never been in anything approaching a serious relationship before this, and now she’s head over heels for an assassin princess and has been for over a year. When it comes to relationships, it doesn’t get much more serious than this.
And the lust part has been easy, obviously, and the romance, too, is pretty easy, when you’re with someone who takes your breath away almost daily, but it’s the love love that’s the hardest. It’s the living your life beside someone, caring for them, accommodating their needs, their feelings, that has proved the most challenging for Sara.
Like coming into Nyssa’s (practically their) quarters to find the big bad Heir to the Demon in tears on the floor.
Sara has always, always been so bad at what to do when other people are crying. (Just ask Laurel, she briefly, so briefly, thinks.)
And in their time together, Sara has seen Nyssa occasionally, occasionally get a little misty-eyed (usually for ridiculously romantic reasons), but this? Alligator tears slipping down her soft cheeks, knees drawn up to her chest, back heaving with sobs. Despite their intimacy, Sara feels as if she has intruded on something incredibly private.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Nyssa says, and she sounds so, so small, her voice raw as if the sobbing has lasted hours. She looks small, too, huddled with her back to the big wooden bed. “I sent you-”
“Ra’s al Ghul countermanded your orders. He sent me back here.” Sara removes herself from the doorway, coming closer. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
It’s strange that sinking to her knees and wrapping Nyssa in her arms feels so weird, but seeing Nyssa’s walls lowered this much is disconcerting, and she’s sure that at least part of Nyssa does not want her here. After all, Nyssa did send her away.
Nyssa stiffens initially, but she allows Sara to stay. The stone is hard against Sara’s knees and if pain were a thing they were bothered by, both would probably move. Instead, Sara remains, arms around her Nyssa, because she is pretty sure that is what you’re supposed to do when the woman you love is sobbing on the floor for the first time since you’ve known her. But again, she’s no expert.
“Nyssa, what is it?”
This close, Sara can now see that there is something held fiercely tight in Nyssa’s hand. It’s a picture. Sara can’t see much beyond dark hair, which tells her it’s a person in the picture. She slides a hand down Nyssa’s arm, softly squeezes her wrist, and then gently places her fingers on the photo.
Nyssa relaxes her iron grip, wordlessly rests her head against Sara’s shoulder, and Sara feels so honored and so scared as her need to protect Nyssa overwhelms her. The sobs have been replaced by slow tears and soft breaths.
The picture is just in Sara’s hand now, and she brings it into her view, illuminated by the sun through the shutters.
“She’s beautiful,” Sara says. She already has a pretty good idea of who this is, even though Nyssa barely ever talks about her.
“My mother,” Nyssa confirms.
The resemblance is uncanny. Sara shifts off her knees, one arm still wrapped tightly around Nyssa’s shoulders, butt on the hard, cold stone, back against the big bed they so often share.
“The anniversary of her death,” Nyssa says, voice scratchy.
“You were seven?”
Nyssa nods against her shoulder gently, and Sara feels breathless with the depth of trust Nyssa is showing her.
She briefly wonders how she didn’t know what today was, since she’s been here long enough for this not to be the first such anniversary. Then she remembers: it was early in her training, but Nyssa had made a point of sending her away with Sar’ab and Fahd al-Rasadat, and Nyssa’d been extra prickly when they returned. Sara had been convinced that she’d done something wrong, but it had passed quickly enough.
“Thank you,” Sara says, rather than admonish or even question. Nyssa’s had over 15 years of mourning her mother in her own way, and she’s entitled to that. But she wants to be up to this, as inexperienced as she is with other people’s grief, with her own heart being vulnerable to the pain of someone else’s.
“Thank you, habibti,” Nyssa says softly, and Sara still thrills at the endearment.
“Will you tell me about her?”
Nyssa nods but doesn’t say anything, and Sara knows she will have to school her innate impatience (as Nyssa would say).
“Will you do it somewhere with, maybe, a cushion?”
Nyssa honest-to-god chuckles, and Sara swells with pride. She must be doing something right.
“Okay. Get in bed. I’m getting you tea, and have you eaten yet today?”
“No, habibti,” Nyssa acquiesces, allowing Sara to lift her to her feet and tuck her into the bed.
Sara leans over and kisses her cheek softly, and Nyssa smiles, just a little. Sara hands her back the photo.
“I’ll be right back.”
She heads for the kettle by the balcony, then sticks her head out the door to order a light lunch for the Heir from the ever-present guard.
She thinks she might be starting to get the hang of this love thing.
Your eyes burned.
When was the last time you had closed them? Truly closed them?
The pale yellow
light of the candle flickered just beside the cradle as you peered over the
edge. The infant within dozed quietly, a stark contrast to its earlier
tantrums. The girl had dark hair like her father along with his azure eyes, and she was just as stubborn, too. She squealed whenever you set her down. Or when she
was hungry. Or need to be changed. Or was awake, really.
Those hours when
she was asleep or with the nursemaid were bliss, or would be had you not other
obligations. You still had to act the queen and even when you had your daughter
in your arms, you could be found tending to your subjects or countermanding
your husband in the council chambers.
Would it be offensive if I wrote about a bisexual female character still crushing hard on a girl (her best friend) who hasn't shown any signs of romantic interest towards her? Note: She's been crushing on her for roughly six years.
This depends on a lot of factors:
1) Does the friend ultimately (by the end of the book) reciprocate the character’s feelings?
There are few tropes I dislike more than Poor, Sad Queer Person In Love With Oblivious, Hot Straight Friend. Unfortunately, it’s very pervasive in media, so occasionally it seeps into our stories.
2) If not, does the bisexual character find someone new by the end of the book?
The Poor, Sad Queer Person In Love With Oblivious, Hot Straight Friend trope is bad because it ultimately devalues queer people. Stories that feature it tend towards having them wind up unhappy and alone, or dead. Having them wind up lucky in love by the end of the book would probably countermand that.
3) Whose perspective is the story told from?
If it’s told from the perspective of the bi female character, it’s probably fine. Because Poor, Sad Queer Person In Love With Oblivious, Hot Straight Friend trope usually makes us empathize more with the straight object of their affections than the queer person themself.
That said, ultimately, you are the only person who can write your story, and you are the only one who can decide what is right for it. So stay educated, do lots of thinking, and trust yourself.
An advance German machine gun position preparing to fire on French infantry.
April 16 1917, Berry–For days, the French artillery had been pounding the German lines along the Aisne. With one artillery piece for every 20 feet of front, a third of them heavy guns, the French, from Nivelle down, believed there would be no way that the Germans could withstand the barrage. However, due to poor artillery spotting, German defense-in-depth, and extensive underground construction along the Chemin des Dames, most of the German positions beyond the first line were intact when the barrage halted at 5:58 AM on April 16.
The French infantry began to advance two minutes later, with the barrage resuming ahead of them. The first minutes of the offensive went well, largely because the Germans had already all but abandoned their first line. Despite this, the French had difficulty physically advancing over the ground, still strewn with barbed wire and torn to pieces by the artillery assault. Pounding rain (and occasional snow) did not help, nor did the fact that their packs were overburdened with multiple days’ worth of provisions that Nivelle thought necessary for the subsequent advance beyond the German trenches and the reach of French supply lines. Soon, the barrage, advancing at 30-40 yards a minute, outstripped the French infantry, subjecting them to uninterrupted German machine gun fire.
On the Chemin des Dames, the Germans often came out of their underground caves and bunkers after the French had advanced overhead, attacking them from behind. While this had also occurred at Vimy Ridge, here, in conjunction with German counterattacks from their third line, quickly threw the French into disarray. Local retreats were countermanded, and more reserves continued to pour in on the original timetable, when the first attacks had largely not yet succeeded. Only the French supremacy in artillery prevented these masses of clogged infantry from being excellent targets for the Germans. Further attacks were ordered, but generally went worse than those in the morning, on many occasions being bombarded by their own confused infantry. General Mangin’s Senegalese corps suffered over 60% casualties, earning him the nickname of “broyeur de noir” (literally “black crusher,” also idiomatically “pessimist”).
The battle was to be the first use of French tanks in battle. However, due to mechanical and logistical difficulties, they could not be deployed until the early afternoon. Much lighter than the British tanks, the French tanks were easily taken out by German artillery, with many simply exploding into fireballs. Those that survived intact often became stuck in mud or fell into enemy trenches, not being long enough to bridge them themselves. In the one instance where they did reach their objective, they had outstripped their infantry (who were understandably reluctant to follow these exploding machines) and wandered aimlessly in the woods for some hours.
By the end of the day, after extensive German counterattacks, the French had advanced no further than a few hundred yards, and had not taken any significant portions of the German second line. Casualties were more than ten times what had been expected.
Some people were interested so I decided to share a bit more about this. This will start with more stuff about Jack and Gabe in their SEP days and continue into the crisis. A continuation of this.
Gabriel and Jack are the two best candidates in the program. A few weeks in and it’s clear that their only competition is each other. Despite a very promising start, the program begins to lose people about a month in. By two months half their number is gone and the rest of them spend more time recovering than they do training.
Jack becomes terrified that Gabriel is going to die every time the man gets sick. He goes out of his way to take care of Gabe, making sure he gets food and water and is properly warm or cool when he needs it. Jack gets sick, but it’s not important to him. He’ll be fine. He needs to make sure nothing happens to Gabe. Worrying about Gabriel more than himself becomes second nature to him throughout their injection cycles. Jack gets called a mother hen on several occasions, not that he cares what anyone but Gabe thinks.
In the end they are the only two that survive and show significant positive results. It’s a relief as the program draws to a close, but it also emboldens Jack’s world view. He and Gabe survived and are stronger than ever because they are simply better than other people.
They celebrate with extremely awkward sex. It’s not exactly Gabe’s first time, not that he has a lot of experience, but it is Jack’s and he just doesn’t take to it naturally. Gabe has a good time regardless, just being intimate together, while Jack decides to study up on the matter so that he will be proficient the next time.
When they are asked to join the newly formed Overwatch strike force, they don’t even hesitate. Jack is wary of whoever was going to be leading them though. It would be difficult to work under someone he didn’t respect in the field. His worries are assuaged when Gabriel is named commander of the strike team. He knows that Gabriel will do well, he is brilliant and will listen to other people.
They meet the rest of the strike team. Ana Amari has a sharp eye and quick wit. She’s another person that Jack will come to respect, even if it’s not the same as with Gabriel. Reinhardt doesn’t seem like much at first, but in battle Jack can understand why he joined, the man was an impressive fighter. Torbjorn is an inventor and short tempered, but his knowledge and ingenuity prove invaluable throughout the war effort.
Together, the five of them begin to mark up a few major and minor victories against the Omnic’s. The more successful they are, the more aid they receive. As Gabriel’s second in command, Jack handles a variety of tasks, while also advising on tactics and numbers. He is the best person for Gabriel to bounce plans off of.
They quickly run into a problem for Gabe. As they begin working with other militaries more directly they have to deal with politics, something which quickly frustrates Gabriel to no end. Jack begins to take over the duties of talking to people Gabe doesn’t like. He spends much of his free time learning two dozen languages over the course of the crisis to deal with them without a translator.He prefers that they respond to his words and not someone interpreting what he says.
Gabe understands the importance of dealing with these people, but he has too much to deal with and doesn’t have the patience for it. Jack detests most of these people and the way they treat Gabriel, but he can deal with them because he has to, because he won’t let Gabriel waste his time and energy on them. Things go well with the his arrangement until a major op in Russia is ruined by a Russian general, Komarov, countermanding Gabriel’s orders. Gabe is wounded in the aftermath and Jack had never been more livid in his entire life.
Luckily for him, Gabe asks him to take over duties as commander while he recuperated and the obligations keep him busy for several days. If he had not been so busy he might have done something stupid. Instead of acting rashly, he let his anger cool to an icy fury and planned. He was a very patient man after all, there was no rush.
A few weeks later, Gabriel is back in command and there is another fairly large skirmish. Early on a stray bullet from a bastion unit no one can remember seeing rips through the building Russian command was using, killing general Komarov instantly. No one saw the bastion, but it had to be one. No one could have lifted, aimed and fired one of those mini guns by hand. It would have taken a superhuman feat of strength to accomplish such a feat.
Komarov is not the last command or political figure to die in the midst of battle conveniently. Though no one would ever connect the deaths to each other or to Jack. There was no obvious pattern, Jack made sure of that. Plenty of people who were difficult to work with never had any close calls or anything. He was very selective with the people he killed, reserved it for the lowest of the low. He never told Gabriel about it and Gabe never said anything, so he assumed the man never knew.
Jack was seriously wounded seventeen times protecting Gabe. Every time Gabriel complained Jack justified protecting the commander as a higher priority than his own life. It was an excuse that Gabe had a hard time arguing with given the situation. The truth was that Jack killed and would die for this man without a second thought, no matter what his rank.
Jack developed the knack of being reckless when it came to protecting Gabriel of course, but also when it came to civilian’s in their immediate vicinity when they are out on the field. He risks his life, not for the civilians, he did not care much for them still, but because he saw how much their deaths affected him and how brightly he smiled when they were able to do their jobs and save lives.
Jack is practically the only person who gets to see Gabriel when their plans go awry or when a tough decision needs to be made and a lot of people die. As the war drags on the Omnics seem to get more desperate and collateral damage becomes more of an issue. Jack has to handle the stress from the political side whenever there’s an issue, but he also holds Gabriel when it the pain and regret become too much. Gabriel is willing to make tough calls, but that doesn’t mean they don’t weigh him down. Jack wishes he could do it for him, but he can atleast give him comfort and assure him that he is doing the right thing, not that he would care if Gabriel was actually being heartless, but Gabriel cared too much about people who Jack wasn’t sure deserved any of it.
‘just following orders’ is a viable legal defence in the Imperial legal system, if those orders were given by a Sith. however, it is not a defence that sees much use, for two main reasons:
1. it is not infrequent that said Sith will deny up and down giving those orders, particularly if it has ended badly enough that the Imperial legal system has not just become involved but acquired jurisdiction over the actions of a Sith. the burden of proof is, in these cases, on the defendant to prove that those orders were given, and there is little protection (in the case of a successful use of the defence) from retribution from the Sith or their powerbase to the defendant and, in extreme cases, their associates.
2. it is equally not infrequent that those orders are countermanded by orders from another Sith. this gives the subordinate in question an impossible dilemma, and the majority of cases which successfully plead this defence have done so in exchange for accepting a finding of guilty for the offence of failing to follow orders of a Sith, for which the worst punishment is execution - in order to avoid a fate literally worse than death.
Imperial legal scholars have debated at length as to whether the defence should be removed entirely, given as it causes more problems than it solves and invariably results in a higher caseload and, in the worst of cases, body count.
Republic legal scholars, on the other hand, just stare in horror.
is my jam, most of this is going to be about them. I don’t know about anybody
else, but last night’s episode felt like a season finale to me. it gave me
everything I wanted to see—Olicity in survival mode, a big pot of truth tea,
married-like banter during adversity, love, pain, teamwork, hope; and oh yeah,
I liked the
premise of them being trapped together and not having any doors to walk out of
when the shit started getting real. Well, Felicity wasn’t going to walk
anywhere, but I get the metaphor. Felicity repeated to Oliver at the end of 519
that he still doesn’t trust her. Then the power went out, and in the darkness,
both of them had a front row seat to the dynamics of what it is to trust
someone. It wasn’t about matters of the heart (not at first.) It was about working together as a team. There
has never been an issue for them on that score; going back five years, it is an
ingrained instinct to have each other’s backs. In a way, Chase’s evil plan to
trap them alone together ended up being the catalyst to opening up their hearts
to one another. All I could think of was Felicity telling Oliver at the end of
season three—‘don’t fight to die, fight to live.’
I also love
that Oliver’s first reaction at the beginning of the episode was to call for
Felicity. He could have had severed limbs or internal bleeding or any number of
significant injuries. But Felicity’s well-being and her safety was his first
thought when he came to. It gave me some serious feels—for personal reasons. There
was a part of me that wanted to see Oliver pick her up and gently put her in
the wheelchair, (again for personal reasons.)
episode went on, I thoroughly enjoyed them starting to take care of one another
again. Felicity patching up Oliver played for me like the end of a drought. I can
think of a couple of times during the season when she wanted to tend to his
wounds and had to stop herself from touching him. The lead up to their
flashback Bunker sex brought clarity as to why she kept her distance from him
in that way. But the instinct to take care of him was still there. It will
always be there.
of the Bunker sex. I kept hearing R.E.M.’s Shiny
Happy People playing in the background of my enthusiastic mind. I love that
they used Chinese food and wine and the salmon ladder to kick things off. So this
sex happened just a month after the ‘you thought I was leaving too, not a
chance’ exchange. Apparently, a lot of flirting was going on. And Curtis was
instigating a lot of It. Who would have thunk? Okay, so they were drunk, and
perhaps Felicity forgot that he lied to her and forfeited their chance for a
happily ever after. Oliver talked her into trying the salmon ladder. After telling
her she couldn’t do a chin-up, she was game and gave it a shot. I love that
Oliver stood behind her admiring the view while she dangled from the bar. It was
a valiant effort, but not to be. She asked him to help her down. It was very
sensitive and erotic. He hadn’t put his hands on her like that for months; the same
with Felicity bracing herself on his shoulders as he lowered her down. There was
a soft glance and they were inches apart. Oliver reminded her that she had a
little bit to drink. Felicity countermanded that she had a lot to drink. Then,
as if she were diving into a shaft of rainbow colors, she came at him with everything
in her. I’m guessing it was something she had fantasied about since the
of their intimacy was—well, it was breathtaking. She pulling his shirt off,
him spinning her around to help remove hers—sublime. I kept thinking of ordering
some Chinese food during the whole sequence. I also thought how fun it would
have been if Oliver hoisted himself back up on the salmon ladder with Felicity’s
legs wrapped around him. Now that would be some flourish. But the mat worked out
I’m not a smut writer. It was erotic, exciting and beautiful. But then, during their
post-coital snuggling, Felicity remembered why she left him and reminded Oliver
as well. Cue the bucket of cold water. She did tell Oliver she still loved him.
I could have sworn he shot a quick glance at the salmon ladder when she told
him. So Felicity solidified her wall and went out to find someone who appreciated
her. And then Season 5 officially started , ambiguity and all.
People, a great big sigh.
confession to Felicity about what he thinks Chase showed him was powerful. Telling
her about his ‘enjoyment of killing’ was his biggest fear, not because he was
afraid Chase was right, but because Felicity would agree and turn away from him
forever. What I saw in that tear rolling down his face was ten years of pain
and suffering and not deserving anything soft or peaceful or tender in his
life. It was him not being deserving and worth of Felicity.
it too. She told him she wouldn’t have fallen in love with him and wanted to
get married if she thought he was a monster. And perhaps with those words,
Felicity might have unlocked the door that she closed between them and started
to push it open. She knows she loves him. I think the real question is—does
she love him enough?
hospital scene at the end, she said that he should try to find the man that he
is. I’m sorry, and I might piss off some people here, but if you love someone
as deeply as she says she does Oliver, wouldn’t the good qualities and the bad ones
be part of that package? It is not okay to be flawed and imperfect, to have
doubts and misunderstandings? Can he not make mistakes or bad choices? It works
both ways. It’s not a gender issue, a he-said, she-said issue. It’s not about
right or wrong. What it is about—and they both agreed in 410, is for better and
for worse. Sure, he might lie to her again, or she could go dark again and
join another evil organization; it’s a life filled with maybe’s, should of’s,
and could of’s.
show drives me nuts sometimes.
about Felicity basically letting Oliver off the hook? Is it another example
from her on wanting to take on his burdens? Was Felicity telling Oliver it was
okay he lied to her? Don’t’ worry honey; you’ve got enough on your plate. I call
bullshit. Oliver does need to take responsibility for his actions, especially
when those actions hurt the love of his life. It kind of seemed out of
character (and a bit rushed) that she would get why he lied to her about
William. If these two are really closing the distance between each other, then
Oliver needs to own his part, and not just assume that Chase’s mindfuck gives
Oliver a get out of jail free card.
always going to be something messy happening in any relationship. Nobody’s
perfect (Felicity, circa 420.) What makes
it work is knowing it, believing it and not repeating the same mistakes. Insanity
is sure to ensue. Trusting each other, good or bad, is the cornerstone to a
long, happy life together. It’s what keeps the momentum moving forward.
thing that struck me about 520—the elevator shaft scene and OTA. The allegory
of them working together as a team was just beautiful. John on one end of the chain,
Felicity on the other, and Oliver in the middle making sure the links stay
strong and don’t break. It was the summation of OTA and why those three letters
need to be capitalized. Great stuff.
Like I said
at the start of this—it felt like it could have been a season ending episode.
There are still three left! There is a mysterious corpse and a birthday party
and a huge island explosion coming our way. Maybe even a kidnapping thrown in
But if OTA
and Olicity are standing strong with each other through all of it—that is a
truth I can believe in.
C’mon, am I the
only one who thinks Oliver and Felicity having sex on the salmon ladder would
be viewing gold?
Petit-déjeuner anglais ou belge? the landlady had said, and Christopher, impatient for her to leave them, had answered de rien, merci. Rosalind had laughed and said je voudrai le petit déjeuner belge, mais anglais pour mon mari, s’il vous plait.
When he woke, the first thing he noted was that the sun came from a different angle than in his own bedroom, and next that he could feel smooth sheets against all his skin from shoulder to heel, and finally that the bed was warm beside him. He opened his eyes as the door creaked.
Rosalind slipped in barefoot, wrapped in his dressing gown belted with the scarf she’d worn on the train yesterday. She had a laden tray in her hands, and her dark hair hanging loose down her back, and her eyes sparkled as she said “Good morning, Mr. Foyle.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Fo-oh!” He grabbed at the sheet as he sat up.
“Don’t worry on my account.” The chuckle in her voice was somehow more delightful than an open laugh. “Madame assured me she won’t want to do the room until afternoon. We won’t be disturbed.” She put the tray down on the bed, went back to latch the door, then shed the dressing gown as quickly as a fish slipping out of a net. She, too, was naked beneath, all rosy skin and dark curls. She climbed into bed beside him and pulled the tray closer, half over his lap and half over her own, before she kissed him.
The china rattled on the tray with their movements and regretfully Christopher turned his attention to adjusting the pillows. His stomach growled, and he reflected that Rosalind had been right to countermand his dismissal of breakfast.
On his plate there was a hearty slice of black pudding, a fried egg, beans, and a grilled tomato; on Rosalind’s there stood a thing like an outsized honeycomb made of bread. When she saw him looking at it she broke off a piece with her fingers and held it out for him.
“It’s called a gaufre,” she said. “It’s a bit like a crumpet, with more air in it.”
He nipped her fingers in fun as he took it in his mouth. She trailed her hand along his arm as he chewed. It was light and crisp, and not as sweet as he’d imagined. “Delicious,” he said, and kissed her again.
at the bottom of the staircase looking up, Anders did his best to gather his
nerves. Cole hovered somewhere behind him, a silent supportive force, but Cole
had made it clear that he would not push this forward – this was Anders’ to
was he afraid of, really? That Dian would blame him, throw him out of the
Inquisition or worse? No, that wasn’t the sort of woman she was – but even if
she didn’t blame him overtly she always would, a little. When you blasted apart
someone’s life there would always be that little bit of resentment, no matter
what surface apologies passed. Varric had been proof enough of that.
had a good thing, here. Safety, companionship, good works, a chance to improve
the world… And if he shied from doing what it took to protect that world, then
he deserved none of it.
Full Name: Alexander Titus is his praenomen and nomen, the ‘Maximus’ cognomen he got for heroism in orbit above Calth.
Gender and Sexuality: Male, Straight (Demisexual)
Pronouns: He, Him, His
Ethnicity/Species: Human, Astartes, Espandoran, Space Latino
Birthplace and Birthdate: outside Herapolis, Espandor. 880 M30
Guilty Pleasures: Any meal that isn’t field rations, but especially space fajitas.
Phobias: As an astartes, technically, none. As a Horus Heresy veteran: the potential to be utterly corrupted by good intentions and fall to Chaos.
What They Would Be Famous For: Heroism in the Great Crusade, Horus Heresy, Indomitus Crusade
What They Would Get Arrested For: Finally snapping and yelling at a room full of M41/42 Imperials that their entire religion is a) wrong and b) disgustingly similar to Chaos
OC You Ship Them With: Inquisitor Elizabeth Kane of the Ordo Hereticus
OC Most Likely To Murder Them:
Inquisitor Elizabeth Kane of the Ordo Hereticus (see ‘most likely to be arrested for’)
Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Old, optimistic sci-fi with minimal/villified conflict.
Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche:
“I have combined the DNA of the world’s most evil animals to make the most evil creature of them all.”
“It turns out it’s Man."
Talents and/or Powers: Transhuman physiology, notable personal and group charisma, notably quick and fluid/lateral thinking, skilled at reading people and delegating tasks accordingly rather than getting bogged down in micro-management (unlike a lot of Ultramarines).
Why Someone Might Love Them: He’s a good combat officer- never gives orders he wouldn’t himself follow, leads by action/inspiration. Treats his own- and all, really -soldiers with respect tinged by paternalism without patronization.
Why Someone Might Hate Them: His enemies would hate him for pretty obvious reasons. His allies might hate him for a number of reasons: His quiet adherence to the old atheist ‘Imperial Truth’ rather than faith in the ‘God-Emperor’, the way he willfully ignores or countermands orders that conflict with his own ethos, the fact that he only really takes orders from his Primarch and regards anyone else as making ‘suggestions’.
How They Change: He slowly lets go of his disgust for religion in general (it’s a source of comfort to a lot of people), comes to see the glaring flaws in the Crusade-Era Imperium more clearly for where they’ve led, and decides to embody the ideals he feels humanity should have rather than those it does have- leading by example rather than allow himself to sink into despair over how far humanity’s fallen.
Why You Love Them: He’s a smart-ass space latino Roman tribune who is basically the 42nd millenium version of Captain America: he’s loyal to the dream, the potential, not the politicians/government.
More on Daenerys’ character because apparently this meta wasn’t very clear.
In the post linked above, I explained why the surprisingly common idea that Dany is an entitled and/or selfish little girl is crap, outlining that she is in fact a young girl who desires agency and loathes feeling powerless. Evidently, that just wasn’t good enough for some people. I guess her actions are just so horrendous and cruel that no past grievances could ever excuse them.
So let’s take a look at Dany’s horrible, evil crimes.
“It was worse inside the town. Many of the houses were afire, and the jaqqa rhan had been about their grisly work. Headless corpses filled the narrow, twisty lanes. They passed other women being raped. Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed woman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the others she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate.” (Daenerys VII, AGOT)
Horrifying. As Dany watches the Dothraki sack a small town, she decides to put a stop to as much of the violence as she can, despite having immersed herself almost entirely into their culture at this point. Compassion, mercy, and open-mindedness are horrible traits in a leader.
“Dany could think of no other questions. She looked at Arstan. ‘You have lived long in the world, Whitebeard. Now that you have seen them, what do you say?’” (Daenerys II, ASOS)
“‘Whitebeard,’ she said, ‘I want your counsel, and you should never fear to speak your mind with me … when we are alone. But never question me in front of strangers. Is that understood?’” (Daenerys III, ASOS)
Not only does she desire counsel, but she’s smart enough to know not to show that in front of those who will see it as a weakness. Unbelievable.
“‘Unsullied!’ Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. ‘Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see.’ She raised the harpy’s fingers in the air … and then she flung the scourge aside. ‘Freedom!’ she sang out. ‘Dracarys! Dracarys!’” (Daenerys III, ASOS)
Very obviously the actions of a little girl who wants attention, and not at all those of a cunning leader who doesn’t want to sacrifice her ideals or morality just so she can get a bigger army.
“Worst of all, they had nailed a slave child up on every milepost along the coast road from Yunkai, nailed them up still living with their entrails hanging out and one arm always outstretched to point the way to Meereen. Leading her van, Daario had given orders for the children to be taken down before Dany had to see them, but she had countermanded him as soon as she was told. ’I will see them,’ she said. ‘I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember.’” (Daenerys V, ASOS)
Her refusal to turn a blind eye to the injustice in the world when it would be easier to forget and just move on to Westeros is very clearly the mentality of an ignorant and stubborn child.
Sarcasm aside, I am more than well aware that Daenerys makes mistakes throughout the series. You may be surprised to know that that’s how storytelling works. Characters have to grow and learn throughout a story, or else they serve no purpose; watching them propel the plot forward isn’t enough. You need to add characterization. And the fact that Daenerys messes up while ruling (while she is sixteen to seventeen years old, by the way) is a very purposeful decision by GRRM. She is developing and learning from her past choices.
Daenerys’ need for control is not a flaw; it’s a realistic response to her past experiences that can, under certain circumstances, act as a flaw. Her idealism is similar, in that respect. That’s what makes her such a fascinating character: her desire to change the world for the better clashing with how to go about doing it.
The first forced time, the worst time & the best time
i went to a party at my dealer’s house, all tarted up cos I owed him money and was gonna try and sweet talk him into giving me some crystal on credit anyway. he knows i get soooo fucking slutty if I have an eccie or any coke… so he sorta played it cool and didn’t mention what I owed him at first, and I didn’t wanna bring it up. he was feeding me shots and lines for the first few hours and I was flirting with like, every guy there.
and sometime after midnight (i got there just before it got dark) there’s a big group of us in the kitchen just drinking and smoking and stuff and babbling about some bullshit, and my dealer friend suddenly yells loud enough for most of the party “WHO WANTS A BLOWJOB?” and a bunch of them all cheer and shit cos they drunk, and they’re boys, but then he turns to me and says that for every person at the party that I suck off, he’ll shout me a fat line of coke….
Summary: Alexander Hamilton has a habit of saying exactly the wrong thing. Luckily, Eliza knows how to cheer herself up.
A/N: This is my Squealing Santa gift to fanficsandfluff. Greetings from the anonymous nondenominational holiday figure of your choice! Your Avengers fanfiction on deviantart was the first I’d ever seen of tickle fics, and you inspired to me keep looking for them – and eventually to give writing them a try :) Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy! (also, this has so much plot and I don’t know how to write dating people and I am so sorry)
The weather outside has turned truly miserable, she’s breaking the behavior code from every lady’s book she’s ever read, and her dress has long since given up on settling into the graceful folds that Angelica manages so effortlessly, but Eliza thinks that she has never been more happy in her entire life.
Partly due to the atmosphere, of course – with a fire lit in almost every room the house is almost cozy despite the howling wind that whistles outside windows and seeps through walls, and the strains of a quartet playing float up from the ballroom below. But truly, I’s the company she’s keeping. Not twenty feet away, Alexander Hamilton is sorting through her father’s bookshelves in search of a treatise of slavery (alone! With an eligible young man! What Angelica and Peggy would say if they weren’t occupied downstairs), all the while holding forth on the essay he’s planning to write. It’s a bit much for her to follow – he hasn’t stopped talking for nearly half an hour – but his voice buoys her along, joining the crackling fire to lure her into a lazy contentment.
“Come sit with me,” she says without thinking, and blushes.
Hi. I know this might be a stupid question, but, when I reread the books, I noticed that Jaime Lannister had been the Warden of the East, at least technically, when Tyrion was arrested by Catelyn. Instead of directly ambushing Eddard Stark, could he have used his authority in that position? (I know that people in the Vale were not very pleased with Jaime being Warden, but as far as legitimacy was concerned, could he have done something?)
Related to my other ask, could you explain how Jaime Lannister,
being a Kingsguard, stood as Tywin’s heir to the Wardenship of the West?
I thought that Kingsguard cannot hold titles… In the same vein, how
could Robert name him the Warden of the East? I’m sorry if this question
has already been asked!
Well, while he could have called upon the Vale levies to muster for a punitive expedition against the rogue Starks, chances are good they wouldn’t have responded. Eddard can countermand any order to muster as Hand of the King as a higher authority, and the Vale hates the Lannisters and Jaime for stealing the rightful position of young Robert Arryn.
The Wardenship is not a title in the way a titled land holding is, it’s a special title of senior command and steeped in tradition. A Warden is a merely appointment and mark of leadership, and is traditionally held by the Arryns, Lannisters, Starks, and Tyrells as a further honor of their position in the feudal hierarchy in a tradition that dates back to the early Targaryen monarchy. Not naming the current lord of those positions is an unusual circumstance. Specifically in this case, Jaime’s naming to the Warden of the East would be a temporary measure. The title would be ceded back to Robert Arryn when he reaches the age of majority or presumably right after he earns his knighthood in a formal ceremony, so it’s a unique set of circumstances in this scenario.
I agree though that the Warden of the West is a bit strange. Tywin wouldn’t pass the Wardenship of the West to Jaime upon his death, it would fall to Tyrion, or more than likely, another senior male Lannister after Tywin’s death such as Stafford or Daven. This could be a worldbuilding mixup, a symptom of the early worldbuilding weirdness, or perhaps Eddard believed that Jaime would be appointed anyway in Tyrion’s stead, since Tyrion’s physical stature causes difficulties in the lead-from-the-front style of Westerosi nobles.
FIC: Mystery Contract
Stanley Pines X Reader
Set maybe 2000. I might continue where I left off, but for now this is kinda nice. Also, as it is now, it can maybe pass for a gender ambiguous reader. Is there a tag for that?
“And here on the left our last stop, if you’ll just step off the train for a bit everybody…”
God yes. He’d make a brilliant and effective second hand guy for a good leader but he is NOT that leader. (So totally here for accidental benevolent warlord Ajay Ghale though)
So I couldn’t stop thinking about “accidental benevolent warlord Ajay Ghale”, and then somehow fic happened
Ajay’s been in Kyrat for about three months now, and he still hasn’t figured out if he’s technically there of his own free will or not. It’s weird. The whole situation is really fucking weird. Pagan Min is really fucking weird. Took Ajay’s passport but gave him back his history, took Ajay’s phone but gave him an army in return. Ajay woke one morning to discover the entire contents of his old apartment neatly packed up in the courtyard, and Pagan was furiously threatening to have some hapless porter shot because he accidentally dented the corner of a box or something. It’s ridiculous.
Ajay quickly intervened on behalf of the porter, and then spent the rest of the day unpacking his things while trying to ignore the burning lump in his throat and the sting in his eyes. There weren’t nearly as many boxes as he would’ve expected and it hurt, in a really odd way. Did the sum total of his life in the States really amount to so little?
It’s…different here. Pagan is deeply terrifying, but he’s also kind of fascinating in a “car crash you can’t look away from” sort of way and Ajay, rather in spite of himself, finds himself liking the guy. A lot, actually.
Of course Jaime is never going to become a “true knight.” That has never been what Jaime’s redemption arc is about.
His arc is about dropping that idea entirely and instead become a good (effective) *leader*. A good/effective *High Lord*. A good and effective Lord of Casterly Rock (and maybe more). Which no one else but him CAN do.
Which requires him to drop the very idea of “redemption.” Do you see? His redemption arc is about forgetting about the futile pursuit of a redemption arc. Besides, what he needs redemption from is not what he currently thinks, anyway. If Jaime needs redemption, it’s from his original sin: dereliction of duty.
A true knight? A waste of a perfectly good High Lord, is what it is. Look at it, it’s got anxiety.
Cut because very long and also one brief reference to the increasingly likely looking spoilers about Jaime’s season seven endgame.
Damn, nonny, that really sounds like an angst!fic title - didn’t I break enough feels with my last Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan post? I will not let the name of Saner become synonymous with angst! XD (ohmigod you should hear @lilyrose225writes laughing at me rn. although since I’m not writing this one…?)
I’m springboarding off my previous play in @punsbulletsandpointythings‘ TINDD sandbox (thank u so much) because I’m just too tempted. Also, this became more meta than summary. So, um, thank you nonny :)
I could try again if you want me to actually fill the prompt tho idk this ran away with me and it got really really really long
Bella’s brows drew together as she wheeled around to where the voices had come from. Butch and Vishous both stood in front of the library door, their legs encased in leathers were braced apart, their muscles bulging against the black shirts they wore as they stood with their arms crossed. The only difference between them was V was wearing a Red Sox hat.
Bella put her hands on her slender hips and glared at the brothers. She was casually dressed in a dark green cotton short sleeved blouse along with blue jeans and bare feet.
“Excuse me. Last time I checked you were not Nalla’s parents.” Bella said as she pointed at the two hard ass vampires.
“She’s our niece, enough said.” Butch said with a note of finality.