#// by talos someone help her

[grimstalkr]

Foraging For Ingredients [ Open ]

Tharja was never one for actively being around others or asking for help when it came to her magic. She was a solitary being and that left her with little options when it came to ingredient collecting. She usually took a satchel with her and ventured around the Monastery looking for whatever she could find.

That was how Tharja found herself with far too much to carry. She had been so busy plucking plants out of the ground and catching insects in jars that she didn't notice her bag was quickly filling up. She normally wasn't a clumsy woman but luck was never on her side. The weight of her bag tipped her off balance as she went to stand causing her foot to catch on the end of her long skirt. Tharja attempted to catch herself only to fail miserably, landing straight back into the dirt with the contents of her bag spilling onto the floor completely. She sat on her knees in bewilderment at her own mistake before letting out a long aggravated groan. The humiliation was almost too much to bear. She didn't have a mind to wonder if anyone had seen her fall. All she could do was struggle to pick up her things and succeed in dropping them once again with her frantic movements.

"Nothing could make this worse." Unless of course, someone were to approach her. That would just be adding mortifying insult to fatal injury.

[myhandsarentsmudgediusedigital]

So!

Delphine.

One of the last Blades, undercover as an inn owner, hates all things dragony, bossyass old Breton lady. Like all Skyrim characters, she's underused and underdeveloped in the vanilla game.

I have thoughts on her now.

Warning: SPOILERS FOR A BARD'S TALE BY GABBICAV (link to the story here)

I was going through and revamping one of my old Dragonborns I hadn't worked with in a while*. And I got an idea for a scene that happens right after the fight at Kynesgrove. Minerva and Michel** drag Delphine out of town to finally get an explanation as to who she is.

And as I was writing her dialogue, I realized that her motivation isn't just about the Blades.

Of course she wants to reform the Blades, that much is obvious, but I don't think that's the end of it. It's not just the Blades she wants back, she wants everything back: the Dragonborn, the Empire being whole, and the Blades being the Emporer's most trusted bodyguards.

Delphine wants the Third Era back, or at least the idealized version of it she has in her head. As far as she's concerned, everything started going wrong as soon as Martin died.

Here's a quick quote from what I wrote that I think helps lay it out:

“That’s what we’ve been doing since the fourth era began. We’ve been waiting for a new Dragonborn, a new emperor, to appear, and become the true heirs of the Empire.” Michel let out a low whistle. “True heirs, huh? The Mede dynasty might have an issue with that.” Delphine scowled. “The Medes can go suck an egg. Ever since Martin Septim sacrificed himself, the Empire has been going downhill! If there’s one thing these past two centuries have proven, it’s that only a Dragonborn can keep Tamriel together!”

Of course we know this isn't entirely true. While the Empire did fall apart in the Fourth Era, cracks were already starting to show even back in the Third Era, what with the Simulacrum and the War of the Red Diamond and all. The Third Era might have been more stable, but it was hardly peaceful.

But Delphine either doesn't know this or doesn't care. She wants that idealized vision back.

A while back, I read A Bard's Tale by Gabbicav on AO3 (if you like bards, intrigue, sibling rivalry, and a new perspective on dragons, this is for you).

Delphine is (probably unsurprisingly) an antagonist in the story. I'm going to put what exact actions she takes between spoiler warnings just in case.

In the story, Delphine, not the Dark Brotherhood, assassinates Titus Mede on his visit to Skyrim. At the time I believed it was simply for narrative convenience and to make her more villainous, but thinking about it from this new perspective it makes sense: Delphine views the Medes as imposters unworthy of the throne. They're not Dragonborn, that's why the Blades didn't serve them and why the Penitus Oculatus had to be created.

Plus, y'know, she probably hates him on a personal level for signing the Concordat.

Anyways, I forget if she and Esbern work with the Stormcloaks in the story or if they just happen to also be an antagonistic force, but her working with Ulfric wouldn't be out of character.

You see, Ulfric:

a) Hates the (current) Empire

b) Hates the Thalmor

c) Has charisma enough to have at least a cult following

d) Obviously doesn't agree with the Greybeards because he left their order

e) Idolizes Tiber Septim/Talos

Add to that the fact he can Shout, even if he isn't actually Dragonborn, it might be tempting for Delphine to forge an allience.

Hell, maybe that was her original plan before the dragons and last Dragonborn showed up.

And now she has someone better then Ulfric: a real live Dragonborn that can absorb souls and kill dragons. Who can shout naturally. A true heir to the Ruby Throne.

All that goes a long way towards explaining her behavior. First, she makes sure you're the real deal. Then she sets you on the path to seeing the atrocities the Thalmor commit (even if they're not actually behind the return of the dragons) and reopening the old Blades temple.

And it explains why she's so huffy about Paarthunax. She and the Blades are supposed to be your most trusted advisors, not a dragon who's committed several atrocities (let's ignore that was thousands of years ago and he's been trying to make up for it since)! She has the very specific idea of what a Dragonborn is, and when you inevitable don't measure up to that for whatever reason, she gets angry.

Delphine is a frustrating character, even with development. She longs for a bygone era of peace that didn't ever exist, where she and those in her organization were held with the highest respect and not hunted down and killed, where the Thalmor don't exist, and all is right with the world (in her view).

And that is why you will never change her mind.

...sounds pretty familiar. Maybe she and Ulfric should team up after all...

*Minerva, if you're curious, may post art of her and her brother soon...if I remember...

**Previously known as Gildas, he's become Minerva's twin dragonborn instead of her older mundane brother

[hyperpotamianarch]

So, after seeing @half-shadowgalra's post about what if Bianca stayed alive, I thought of analyzing the topic. So, my take on what might change, following the details of canon I can remember:

Firstly, let us assume that Bianca accidentally drove Talos into the Labyrinth, and just got severe head trauma and amnesia instead of dying. Zoe, Percy and co, however, still think she died and continue under this assumption. What happens next?

Well, as far as I know, only one god might actually know Bianca is still alive - her father, Hades. Who, I might say, is not present for the Winter Solstice council and doesn't seem like he'll inform anyone. He would want his daughter safe, probably, so there's a chance he'll send Alecto to find her and bring her somewhere safe - possibly the underworld. No guarantee that the Erinyes would succeed, though.

As to what we see in canon... In his angry burst, Nico mentions feeling Bianca being judged in the underworld, and having nightmares. I'm going to have to assume his nightmares will be altered. And, well... This certainty of her death, which was another sign of them being children of Hades, will likely not exist. How will it change things? Well, I think Nico will still be angry at Percy and consider him guilty of Bianca's death. Maybe. After all, the lack of certainty he had in another timeline can't actually help him realize Bianca is alive. He can't know he would've felt it if she died - even if he started feeling such things, he probably didn't understand that well enough yet. He might have some doubts, though. That's still a minor change, all things considered.

Next time Bianca's death affects the plot is the Iris-net messages. However, we might need to explore first what happened to Bianca. Especially since she not only fell into one of the most dangerous pieces of magical architecture, she did so in a time it was being explored by a whole bunch of people. At any given moment, she could encounter Luke's forces, Clarisse, Daedalus or one of the creatures looking for her. So, you're Bianca Di Angelo, daughter of Hades, who's trapped in a maze underground and have amnesia. What can you do?

Well, I think her bow and arrows are either right beside her or a summon away - the latter is going to be problematic, because she doesn't remember how to summon them. She'll probably have her hunting knife. Oh, and did I mention that she won't remember her training, whatever amount she had?

I don't think canon gives us much indication on what she might do in such a situation. Part of the question is how much she forgot. And since we're makeing this up anyway, we can go for the option we find the most fun! Oh, and I forgot Nico is joining everyone in the Labyrinth pretty quickly. Either way, I think I'll go (regarding her memories) with forgetting everything except for her brother. And English, though it will be fun to have her speak some Italian dialect for some time. Oh, and her name. Easier that way.

So, Bianca wakes up in a cave. She only remembers her name and that she has a brother called Nico. Who is, for some reason, not present. She hears weird sounds and runs away from them.

Now here's another bit: we don't know what Bianca's powers include beyond the ability to permanently kill skeletal warriors. Incidentally, we have another canonical Pluto kid who can control caves. Now sure, Hazel and Nico supposedly have between them Hades' two dominions: riches and death. No reason to keep them separate, however. Bianca can have some power over underground spaces. We have seen Hazel interact with the Labyrinth in the House of Hades, even manipulate it - though she was using magic instead of demigod powers, so we can't be sure if someone with similar powers but no magic could do it. I do think it's possible, though - especially without anyone directly resisting her. It'd be mostly instinctive and unintentional, though, so there's no telling where it would lead her.

Now, where would Bianca find herself? It's hard to tell. Everyone goes through the arena eventually, but it takes time. Bianca can get to many places, Camp Half-Blood included as well as Geryon's farm or the underworld. There really is no telling. Meanwhile, Nico is looking into ways to find his sister and bring her back. Does he realize she's alive? Or does he still try to learn from Minos? As far as I know, we were never told how he made his way to the underworld. Did Hades send Alecto to collect him? If so, does that mean we'll have a family reunion sooner rather than later? Or maybe does Bianca inadvertently run away from it in effort to stay alive and, ironically enough, find her brother?

One possible change would be that when Hades gets Nico, he tells him (at some point) that his sister is still alive. Not in an attempt to console him - Hades doesn't really know about that - but as a throwaway line when Nico mentions her death. I think I can picture that. Nico still runs away, but this time to find his living sister - all that assuming he somehow got to Hades' palace in the time between the Titan's Curse and the Battle of the Labyrinth. In such a case, he might not turn to Minos, which would significantly change BotL. So... Maybe the best option here is Nico not getting to Hades' palace/Hades being too secretive about it all.

Now, no Percy Jackson story is complete without old myths underlining events: Percy isn't compared to Heracles for naught, there are a couple of parallels between them - at least in monster slaying and such things. Sadly, I can't say I'm an expert in Greek mythology, and I'm not sure I know enough to create a story paralleling any myth. So, I kind of hope someone more experienced could come and give a fitting story - only thing I can think of right now is Atalanta, the huntress who took a vow of virginity, joined the Argonauts for a time and participated in the hunt for the Calydonian boar, drawing first blood and thus winning the boar's hide - which eventually lead to much strife. Now, one would think this boar was used in the past, like in tTC - but nope, it was a different boar, so I'm sure having some taste of the Atalanta myth could work. Kind of. Maybe, somehow, I don't know.

So, Bianca is dealing with her own stuff. Maybe, because I just thought of it, she can also have a taste of Cadmus' story - the guy looking for his disappearing sister who went on to found a city instead. I'll have to think about it for a bit, especially since I think both Atalanta and him had a weird "happily ever after in animal form" thing. Cadmus and his wife became snakes, while Atalanta and the husband she eventually did marry (thus breaking her vow of virginity, though the consequences were somehow unrelated) were turned into lions. Huh.

Anyway, she deals with that while running away from Alecto. Nico tries to find a way to reassure his sister while Minos hides the fact she's actually still alive from him. And maybe Bianca encounters Luke.

Now, the repercussions of Bianca being alive include Percy not getting the Iris-net calls about Nico. Which would mean that, if they meet in Geryon's farm, Percy has no way to convince Nico that Bianca doesn't want what he does. Which leaves us at an impasse, so Nico would head out with Minos straight away... Probably. Here's the thing: Bianca being down there means she can be found by someone. I think Clarisse isn't a good option for that, though. So, what if Luke found her? Would she join him? Or be killed? Well, obviously not the latter, we didn't save her so that someone else might kill her. But since we want her as a hero, we'd prefer her not to serve the titans, right?

So, after some thought: maybe she got to the arena and was forced to compete. Her fighting talent was promising, so Luke suggested she join them. And then... I think she run.

This is just a vague outline, and you may have noticed this is stream of thought writing. So, umm... well, I can only say that next she's probably told to give up the search for her brother and follow a cow, which probably should lead her to the huntresses, but instead of following it she'll keep looking and will find Nico, because I honestly don't like how easily Cadmus gave up on Europa just because the oracle told him. Curses be upon Zeus. Coming to think of it, the myth of Cadmus might fit well with the theme of BotL, because Cadmus is Minos' uncle. Yeah, it's all still stream of thought.

Bianca will probably meet Nico before the whole "king of ghosts" fiasco. I think this should affect the larger story, but I'm not sure how. So, umm... Let's leave it here for now?

So, a suggestion to a more organized outline: Bianca is in the Labyrinth. She runs away from some monster and accidentally finds herself in the company of some half-bloods loyal to Kronos. At first she journeys with them and they slay monsters together. However, after having drawn first blood from a very strong monster, some of the half-bloods became angry at her for hurting their egos or something? So she run away from them? Then she gets the magical cow, maybe Alecto finds her, and then she continues to search for her brother, who she maybe finds on the verge of killing someone to bring her back to life.

I might try to write it at some point, but I'm not very good at finishing stories. So, I guess we'll see.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

This crackship was supposed to be FUNNY but then it got really serious instead?

At least it's sweet. Or at least @elder-dragon-reposes thinks so!

Yo @incorrectskyrimquotes do you want some Leara/Ralof romance/pining?

ao3 | masterlist

She's curled in the corner of the wagon when he first notices her. Dark red hair falls in a curtain over her face, but Ralof thinks he sees the tip of a leaflet ear poking between the fallen strands. An elf, then. He doesn't remember seeing her during the ambush and the skirmish that followed. He wonders how she got there. He wonders why. Was she at the border?

When she wakes, it's signaled by strained shoulders and a near-visible shrinking in on herself. Then Ralof is met with the most startling blue eyes he's ever seen, bright and cold and thick with ice. They sweep his face, then turn to the other occupants of their carriage. At the moment, Ralof swears those eyes hesitate and widen when the elf woman spots Jarl Ulfric, but later, he isn't sure.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

She stares at him again and is quiet.

She is quiet when the Imperials corral them from the carriages to hear General Tullius's damning talk-down to Jarl Ulfric.

Then, they're in line for the chopping block. Hadvar, damn traitor that he is, is standing there prim as a princess with his quill and parchment, ready to take down the names of the convicted.

Ralof wants to curse him. He cannot.

Then the elf woman is in front of Hadvar..

"Who . . . are you?" "Leara Ormand. I, I'm from Daggerfall." "I'm sorry, miss. We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."

She hangs her head.

This was Imperial justice, Ralof thought. The innocent were condemned just as easily as those who fought for others' freedom. Anything that was inconvenient for the Empire must go.

They execute Snorri first, Talos guard him. Then they call the elf woman, Leara, forward. Her head no longer hangs. She walks forward with the same cool face and straight spine he's seen in other high elves.

Thunder rumbles, not for the first time since this circus began.

She kneels at the block.

All Oblivion breaks loose.

Smoke and screams resonate through the air as fire splits the skies. Visibility is lost. Ralof stumbles to the ground.

Amid the screaming, he hears a word echoing above the den and so penetrating that it chilled his soul.

Dragon.

He stumbles over something—someone. The woman, Leara.

Her hand snatches at his arm, shockingly cold amid the blistering heat.

They drag each other to the tower, making it just before Jarl Ulfric and the others close and bar the door. He turns to ask Jarl Ulfric—Could the legends be true?—and then she is gone like a dart up the stairs.

Ralof doesn't see Leara again until he stumbles into the Keep. She's on the floor, propped against the wall with her face flushed and her hands encrusted in frost. In her hands, she's clutching the hilt of a katana, but where she got it, Ralof doesn't know. Her eyes are closed, and she looks desperately like she's trying to catch her breath. But Ralof knows that soon this room will be swarming with Imperials fleeing the firestorm outside. They needed to go.

Their trip through the keep and its cave network is a blur of exhaustion and bloodshed. Her hands leave a trail of black frosted blood pools in their wake. The katana sings like hissing ice in her hands when they face the Torturer and sleeps just as easily when they agree to sneak past the bear.

He takes Leara to Gerdur. He needs to return to Windhelm as soon as possible, but it is clear as sunlight that Leara has been caught in a bad spot. When Gerdur hears about their escape from Helgen, she is only too willing to help out Ralof's new "friend."

Ralof waves Leara goodbye the morning after they stumble into Gerdur's yard. She is sitting on the porch, her katana beside her, but her face is clean from the ash of their near-death.

"Be well, Ralof!"

She says in farewell.

Ralof grins at her, not quite full, and leaves. And his mind wanders down other paths, away from his harried flight with Leara Ormand.

But he thinks of her again when he's faced with the white-blue ice of the White River biting at the ancient stones of Windhelm. When he returns to the field, he halfway remembers the song of her katana in the whistling of the wind through the pines.

But it is the dragon attack on Whiterun that eventually brings her back to the forefront of his mind. The attack is months after Helgen, but not long enough for the people of Skyrim to forget that a dragon leveled an entire village and stirred the embers of the Civil War into a full blaze with Ulfric Stormcloak's escape from the Imperials. The fighting has just picked up again after the winter lull when the news of the attack spreads like wild . . . dragon fire.

And with that news comes the murmur of Dragonborn. The Greybeards called her.

"Her?" "Some pointy ear. Not a Nord."

It is only when someone mentions that the Dragonborn carries a katana that Ralof knows that she and Leara are the same. It makes for a good story around the campfire when Ralof tells how he and the Dragonborn escaped that first dragon attack. Most don't believe him. Some do.

Then there are those who scoff at the idea of an elf woman being the Nords' hero. It's not long before Ralof finds himself in front of Commander Gonnar for brawling over it.

Commander Gonnar is . . . not impressed.

"Do you think we're out here to brawl like barflies?" "No sir." "No, because we have a job to do, leiutenant, and you can't perform your job when you're out there rolling in the dirt because someone insulted an elf to your face." "She's the Dragonborn, sir." "Well, then, she doesn't need you taking up for her, does she?" "Yes, sir."

Commander Gonnar sends him back to Windhelm soon after that. Less trouble in the camp.

Even in Windhelm, support for the Dragonborn is mixed, especially when Ralof hears about her plans to hold a peace talk at High Hrothgar. He volunteers for Ulfric Stormcloak's guard. The Jarl, at least, doesn't seem to care about What the Dragonborn is, so long as she takes care of Skyrim. That's fair enough, all things considered.

At High Hrothgar, Leara is happy to see him. Ralof is surprised when she catches his hand up in hers, a grin curving her white gold face. She seems happy . . . for someone who then proceeds to manipulate an entire table to agree to her terms while holding everyone else at their starting positions.

Yes, Leara is perfectly fine. Or so Ralof convinces himself, until he finds her in an alcove, sometime after dinner, with her katana in her hands and her face too pale. Her breathing is shallow and she's not seeing.

Ralof is crouched beside her in a moment.

"Leara—" "Elenwen. Elenwen."

Her skin is clammy. Oh.

Ralof holds Leara's hand through the panic attack beating on her. The best he can do is talk to her and rub her shoulder. Eventually, he manages to pry the katana from her death grip. Her hands soon fist in his hauberk. She falls asleep not long after that.

She is apologetic but still thankful afterward. For the first time, Ralof sees the layer of ice in her eyes give way to glimpses of spring waters.

Ralof might not know what happened to Leara, but he knows being a hero hasn't suddenly made her invincible. If anything, it's exacerbated a deeper problem. Problems he doesn't dare to tease out when General Stone-Fist sits down to talk about the Dragonborn as the Stormcloaks make their descent from the Throat of the World.

Months pass before he sees her again, and then it's on the wings of her victory over the World-Eater. She sweeps into WIndhelm and soon Ralof finds himself at the bar with her at Candlehearth Hall. He looks forward to speaking to her again but is nonetheless surprised by her turn in conversation.

"What do you know about the Butcher murders?" "Well . . ."

Ralof can't say he's kept up with the whole drawn-out tragedy, but Leara seems intent on investigating, and he commits to helping her—as much as his duties allow, that is. Later, when she brings the amulet to him with whispered descriptions of a room bathed in sinew and blood, he suggests the court wizard. Ulfric trusts the man, and from what Ralof has heard, Wuunferth seems pretty knowledgeable.

Directing Leara to speak to Wuunferth does not prevent her from being stabbed by the Butcher days later. She takes Calivto Corrium out with her own bloodied ice before collapsing in a shivering heap. She is taken to her room at Candlehearth before Ralof can check in on her. Before he can see that she's okay.

Leara will be okay. Ralof will not.

When Ralof accompanies the guards to clear out the House of Curiosities, he finds the Dibella statue modeled in Leara's likeness: White gold, small, naked, and frigid.

Rage bursts in his chest. He throws it into the wall. On impact, it shatters in a rain of pottery shards, painted and false.

From there, Ralof hurries to Candlehearth. There, he finds Leara propped in a chair; when he enters, she's half-heartedly nibbling an apple tart but, at the sight of him, sets it aside.

"Ralof! Would you like some pastry?"

Her smile is bright, if strained by the lingering pain. She half-raises the plate toward him.

Ralof takes it from her, and setting it on the table, kneels beside her chair. As he does so, he takes the cold hand in his, clasping it between both palms. He bows over her hand in his, his forearms braced against the chair arms.

"Ralof? Are you okay? What's happened?"

But Ralof can't speak. How can he? How can he speak into existence the truth his spirit has been seeking this whole time? He must tell her. He's not a coward, but a brave son of Skyrim! But the words stick in Ralof's throat, even when Leara's other hand comes to card through his hair.

When he leaves, the words are still lodged in his throat. The whole time he doesn't speak, Leara simply strokes his hair, and when he leaves, she offers another smile. Confused, certainly, but soft. Kind.

Ralof is tempted to ask Generals Stone-Fist or Thrice-Pierced to deploy him to a camp in Hjaalmarch or the Reach, but every time, he's driven to stay. All the while, Leara is recovering. Soon, she's back on her feet, and when she mentions leaving Windhelm, Ralof feels as if he'll be sick.

What will she do once she's out there, alone?

She's capable, he reminds himself. Yes, she defeated the World Eater. But then she was nearly murdered by a serial killer. All it took was one mistake. One. And Leara would be, Leara . . .

Leara would be dead.

t's that thought that drives him to Candlehearth again. He's hurrying down the hall toward Leara's room before he realizes Elda is calling him.

"She's gone." "What?" "The Dragonborn, she checked out this morning."

Bile churns in Ralof's gut. She's gone.

Again the Palace of the Kings, Ralof seeks the training yard. Hack. Slash. Stab. Leara left. Slash. Hack. Stab. Leara was alone. Slash. Swipe. Turn. Leara might not come back. Stab. Hack. What if she . . .

No. He was being dramatic.

Ralof is not given long to wallow. General Stone-Fist promotes him to captain and deploys him to the Reach, clear across Skyrim. In the Reach, there's more to worry about than the abstract until proven idea of Leara's present safety. Ralof's, for one thing, and the state of the Stormcloaks campaign in the region, for the greater.

He is in the Reach a month before reports filter out of Markarth about heightened Forsworn activity in the city. The Forsworn were already a pain in the rear out in the hills and crags. Ralof did not look forward to weeding out a potential secondary force when the Stormcloaks marched on Markarth.

Then, a report comes saying there's been a breakout from Cidhna Mine. And that Madanach is alive. Ralof has a bad feeling about this. He's pretty sure Jarl Ulfric will have plenty to say about the situation.

Whatever Ulfric would say is driven from Ralof's mind when a thin figure stumbles into camp. Her hair is wild, her eyes are wild, and in her hands is that same katana.

Ralof is running to Leara to catch her in his arms before her knees even threaten to buckle.

"It's my fault." "Shhh." "Ralof, Ralof, Markarth . . ." "We'll take care of it. Don't worry, Leara."

Soon, she's asleep in the medical tent. Ralof is sitting beside her when Commander Kottir pokes his head in.

"So, that's the one stirring up the fuss in camp." "The Dragonborn, Commander." "That's what I hear."

Commander Kottir nods, grim.

"See that she doesn't die on our hands. We can't afford the talk."

Jaw clenched, Ralof just nods. Leara's hand is in his. Over the cot, he catches the commander's eye. Kottir's eyes linger on the joined hands before slipping from the tent.

When Leara wakes, Ralof learns all the dark details of Leara's ill-fated investigation iin Markarth that turned into her incarceration and eventual jailbreak with the King in Rags and his court.

"I had no idea what I was getting into. It was like a completely different playing field from what I'm used to."

Ralof can't offer much advice, except that when the Stormcloaks take over Markarth, they'd weed out the Forsworn support. Leara's face is drawn, but she squeezes his hand.

When she leaves, she says she's heading for Solitude. Ralof wishes her well, but a feeling of foreboding seeps into his bones. She doesn't say why she's going to Solitude, but there's a particular gleam in her eye that piques him in a certain way.

Without Leara in camp, Ralof's focus goes back to the war. General Stone-Fist comes out west, and Ralof is asked to accompany him to Hjaalmarch. They have their eyes on Fort Snowhawk, but before they get there, an anonymous tip comes in that the Dragonborn is being held by the Thalmor at Northwatch Keep.

When he reads the note, Galmar's face is hard. Ralof is cold.

"We can't leave her there, General." "We might have no choice."

But Ralof can't accept that. He'll go after her by himself. His knapsack is packed and his sword is sharpened when he heads for the edge of camp. Galmar stops him.

"You're not going to Northwatch alone." "Respectfully, General, but I am. I can't just leave Leara with the Thalmor when I can do something about it." "No, Captain, you're not going alone." "But sir—" "We'll be leading a raid on the fortress."

The Stormcloak attack on Northwatch is swift and pointed. The Thalmor wizards are difficult, but they're no contest when met in the tight melee range of the halls. General Stone-Fist's battlecry rings off the stonework, rallying the rebels. This is not like their plans for Snowhawk. They weren't trying to hold the fort. Raid, disrupt, and devastate, however? Doable.

Throughout the raid, Ralof felt at turns cold and furious. Leara is here somewhere, he thinks as he leads a group down into the dungeons.

The scent of blood and bile burns his nose. Ralof pushes forward until, rounding a corner, he runs headlong into a tall golden-haired Altmer. Lightning sizzles on her fingers, burning the air and setting Ralof's teeth on edge even as he thrusts his sword deep into her stomach.

Blood curdles out of her mouth as Ralof pushes passed her into the cell beyond. There.

Her head lulled to the side and eyes heavy, Leara is strapped to the wrack, her thin arms stretched skeletal over her head. In her mouth is a heavy gag, tied tight to prevent her from using the Thu'um. Ralof is at her side in an instant, making quick work of the bindings. He pulls the gag from her mouth, tossing it to the side. Behind him, one of the battlemaidens drops to her knees, checking Leara's throat and wrists.

"Captain." "How is she, Tilda?" "Sir, I don't think—"

But Ralof has Leara in his arms, her head falling against his shoulder. She's not heavy at all. They were starving her. Feeding meant removing the gag, risking the Voice. She wasn't this light in the Reach. They starved her.

He hugs her tighter to his chest, and hurries from the keep, Tilda and another soldier on his heels.

That night, after setting fire to the keep, Galmar meets him in the field healer's tent. It's even less equipped than what they have at one of their permanent campsites, and Ralof fears it won't be enough.

Leara is incredibly small and broken under the blankets. New golden scars peak from under the collar of her waif-thin shirt, tracing the path of her veins. Sitting by her bedside, Ralof has held her hand since Tilda finished examing her, the battlemaiden's face grey. The chill in Leara's hand is different now. Unsettling. He can feel the weight of Galmar's eyes on him.

"Tilda told me." "Oh." "If she wakes, she may not be the same."

Galmar cut himself off, but Ralof didn't pay attention. His focus was centered on the slight rise and fall of Leara's chest as she breathed. Every breath was shallow, and none of them restful.

"Listen, Ralof. When the time comes, if you need to take some time and go back home for a few weeks, not a man amung us would begrudge you that."

His throat thick, Ralof only nods.

With Leara in the condition she was in, it was risky to move her, but staying meant her death. The Stormcloaks were caught in a delicate situation, especially considering that they were still in Imperial territory.

"I can give you two days."

Ralof heard Galmar say to Tilda. The battlemaiden nodded. She worked diligently with Leara, praying to Talos, Mara, and Kyne for healing while attempting to work her own arts. Ralof prayed too, though his prayers beseeched Akatosh second only to Talos. But he also prayed to Arkay, begging for the tenuous thread of Leara's life to be strengthened.

One day elapsed. The second one drew toward its close.

There was no change. Within the last hours, Ralof sat on his knees, her hand in his and clasped against his forehead as he leaned into her cot. Ralof's chest ached.

One of the soldiers appeared at the tent flap, but Ralof didn't look up.

"Captain, General's ordered the camp to pack up and head out." "Thank you, Jorvar."

Then it was Tilda's hand on his shoulder.

"Come, Ralof. We must wrap her up and get her on a horse. We've given her as much rest as we can." "She's not strong enough." "Perhaps not, but we have to trust in the Divines that she may be."

His mouth in a line, Ralof simply nodded. Sighing, Tilda turned to finish packing the medical supplies they'd brought from the Haafingar camp.

A tear stung his eyes, followed by another. They weren't the first he'd shed over her, but the fear and despair were beginning to gnaw deeper into his spirit. With trembling lips, Ralof dotted a kiss on Leara's palm, then her knuckles, and the pads of each finger. At last, he drew the thin hand to lay flat on his heart.

Please.

Leara remains stable on the trip to the Haafingar camp, wrapped in blankets and nestled in the bottom of their one wagon. Tilda keeps vigil at her head. Beside the wagon, Ralof rides on horseback, his sword and Leara's katana sheathed at his side.

They make it to the camp, and Tilda is able to administer different medicines that she did not have before. Some color returns to Leara's face, but she still breathes shallowly. Soon, Tilda grows adamant that they must take her to Whiterun, to the Temple of Kynareth. Galmar, while seeing reason in some of Tilda's arguments, is quick to remind the battlemaiden that Whiterun is not their ally. The Stormcloaks cannot step foot in the city. Tilda insists that they can under certain terms.

In the midst of them, Ralof keeps praying that perhaps Leara would at least open her eyes. One last time. During these times, he often falls asleep, his head by her arm on the cot.

It is one of these times that Ralof fell asleep that he thought he woke up. Really, he was sure in the moment that he had, but afterward could never be totally sure. As he lay in half-sleep, he watched a man with golden skin and blue-fire eyes slip into the tent. As he approached, his feet made no noise.

The man's hand passed unfelt (and yet felt) over Ralof's head before landing on Leara's arm. As if entranced, Ralof watched the man remove Leara's hand from his grip and tuck it over her stomach.

"Oh, little one."

For the rest of his life, Ralof could never remember what happened afterward. One minute he was half watching the stranger pass the backs of his fingers over and over Leara's sallow cheek, and then the next, well. The next moment Ralof knew on waking was Leara's fingers carding through his hair. He stirred, and then stared.

From her pillow, Leara was smiling at him. It was a slight smile, still touched with pain, but it was alive because she was awake and she was here.

Ralof met the summer lake warmth of Leara's eyes. And he knew. He clasped her hand in his, and once more began to kiss it. Leara laughed, small and tired, but awake and alive. So very much alive!

He grinned at her.

"I love you." "I know."

Her voice was worn, tired, and fracturing, but so soft and relieved. Hopeful. He pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of Leara's wrist. Yes, he loved her very much, and he would tell her so every day for the rest of their lives.

fin

[moicaire]

hey do you guys wanna read a snippet of sad pathetic wet Aeilif fic

* * *

“Halbjorn. He was your husband, right?” Aela asked, approaching the topic with a bit of caution.

“Yes.” Aeilif fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “It’s… hard to believe that he has been gone for two years.”

“Tell me about him?” Aela offered, a quality of softness in her voice that she did not often have.

Aeilif hesitated for a moment. She had barely mentioned Halbjorn to any of them, no more than a passing comment to explain her situation. She hadn’t talked about him with anyone at all, really. It had been easier to push it all to the side. Perhaps now was the time. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“He was always so cheerful, such a kind soul. Seemed like he was always bending over backward to help someone. I grew up with him, we were fast friends as children. I tended to keep to myself but he never failed to reach out to me.” A fond smile curved the edge of her lips up slightly. “Divines, we had fun. Playing near the river, looking over the trinkets my father had in the back of his shop. When we were older, we would practice fight with wooden swords or go hunting in the woods.

He left for Whiterun to join the guard after his twentieth winter. A few months later, my parents packed up and moved to Cyrodiil to start a store in the city. Tired of the cold, I guess, it wasn’t the best on my mother’s health. I didn’t want to leave Riverwood, though, so I took over their shop and lived upstairs. It wasn’t such a bad arrangement, although it got to be a bit much after a while.”

“That the shop around the corner from the smith? I remember seeing that,” Aela cut in.

“Yes, that’s the one. I made copies of mother’s l patterns and made most of the clothes myself, and some of the leatherwork. It was getting to be a lot to manage myself, though. But a couple years in, Halbjorn came back. He—he spent his free time in the evenings helping me finish the leatherwork, cleaning up the store. That meant the world to me.” Aeilif’s eyes watered and she rubbed them with the back of her hand. “And then… a few weeks later, he proposed. He had bought a ring in Whiterun before he came back to Riverwood. I found out later than he had been saving for that ring the whole time.” She reached around her neck and drew out a chain. “I’ve carried both our rings with me since he died.”

“What happened to him? Bandits?”

Aeilif scoffed bitterly. “Essentially. Worse than bandits. He got stopped by the Thalmor on the way home from Whiterun. He was wearing an amulet of Talos. He… didn’t come home that evening. In the morning some imperials passing through brought his body back. Cruel beasts!” Her voice wavered. “It was brutal. Absolutely brutal. H-he had clearly been in pain.” Tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed and stared down at the covers.

Aela grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “I am so sorry. It should never have happened.”

Aeilif broke down and wept openly, releasing the emotion she had held back for so many months. She missed Halbjorn so dearly. She missed the life they were building together, the children they should have had. How dare the Thalmor take it all away so easily? Why did it have to be him?

And Aela stayed next to her, holding her hand. And just listened.

[sith-shenanigans]

For the ask game where we send you an NPC, Talos Drellik? (I am totally not jumping up and down at the thought of following up on some tags/replies you left a while ago about Ahene and Talos, not at all)

aaaa it makes me so happy that you liked the tags and were not annoyed by the tags (let me put this under a readmore because it’s going to be extremely long)

Okay! So! Bearing in mind that this is a living work and Hoth is a long way away and I don’t know all of what will change—

There is a very not-entirely-normal dynamic here because it doesn’t progress in intensity so much as progress in what, precisely, the intensity is made up of.

Ahene’s first introduction to Talos is along the lines of “do you really want to talk to that guy? He’s strange,” and this endears him to her immediately. Ahene’s second introduction to Talos is walking into a Reclamation Service camp and not feeling like she’s home.

(She does, in fact, think of the camp outside the Rakatan ruin where she largely grew up as being “home.” She also often thinks of herself as not having a home. Or of the ruin itself being home, and the camp not.)

It is important to know, here, that Ahene’s relationship to her trauma is much more in the “continues to be attracted back to it and to things that remind her of it” category rather than the “avoid all reminders forever on pain of flashbacks” category. She actively enforces these reminders on herself whenever she feels she’s acting too much like she’s free—early on, it’s because she believes she isn’t, even if she and her master are the only ones who know that. Later on, it’s because a lot of her self-image is tied up in not being a “typical Sith,” and in her mind, her ability to treat herself harshly is proof she isn’t one (isn’t Like The Others). She hasn’t forgotten who—or what—she really is.

By and large, she feels safer in unsafe situations. She understands hierarchical relationships better than equal ones. She doesn’t know how to be a person, and she’s terrified she’ll forget how to not be. Obviously, this makes her kind of hate being a Sith, but it also makes her kind of prefer being a Sith—the social dynamics are very, very easy for her, even if she doesn’t feel she deserves the loyalty she gets for it.

Back on Tatooine, she worked with a Reclamation Service crew, and it was the most familiar thing she’s done since Korriban, except that this time she was a Sith to them. Which was simultaneously awful and “hey, the terrible thing that happened to you? You’re going to exist in proximity to it forever but it can’t hurt you anymore.” (Which, to someone who keeps trying to yank on her own trauma to prove it can’t hurt her…) Then everything went terribly wrong and Silthar got very badly injured, and they were depending on her, and she has never been able to avoid feeling responsible under those circumstances.

But there’s still this given hanging over it that the responsibility is unrequited. People will be grateful to her as a Sith that helps and protects them—more grateful than she thinks she deserves for doing what she perceives as bare-minimum decency towards anyone she has power over—but if she had been below them, they wouldn’t have treated her the way she treats those below her. She wouldn’t have been one of their people. She would have been one of their tools.

(The greatest exercise in loyalty, in her mind, is to give it without caring if it’s returned. She still loathes the Empire for not returning it towards its people, almost as much or even more than she hates it for what it did to her planet, because if it took care of them then she wouldn’t have to do it—but that’s because Imperials believe they’re doing something good. She doesn’t. She just takes care of them anyway, because it may not be the right thing to do, but it still makes the galaxy a little more just.)

By the time she gets to Hoth, though, she’s just having an awful time. The inquisitor story in the game only has things get really bad at the start of Act III, and before that you’re kind of fine? But Ahene is not fine. Ahene is also aware that she’s not fine. It might have started subtly, but at this point she’s just trying to sell herself on the idea that she can handle it until Thanaton is dealt with and then she can let the ghosts go and everything will be, if not fine, relatively fixed enough that she can spend about a week curled into a little ball in the corner of her ship until she can function normally again.

But, you know, for the most part, the ways she’s Not Fine aren’t externally visible yet. There was an incident on Quesh where she used the ghosts’ power and kind of halfway lost control and partly life-drained Cineratus, but because she didn’t stop at the station to get anybody inoculated, the only one who actually saw that was Khem. And she didn’t really… explain that. She hasn’t told anyone that she feels hollow all the time and barely gets physically hungry and hears the ghosts talking to her even when she isn’t alone. She can hide it. She can handle it. She doesn’t have enough of an advantage yet. This is enough this will be enough she can still put a stop to it.

So she arrives on Hoth, and she shows up at a Reclamation Service camp expecting for it to feel normal again—enough that it’s easy to slot into the proper role, that she doesn’t have to think about it. She knows the responsibility and the resentment, the fact that something about it always seems safer than anywhere else she’s been.

It doesn’t feel normal. It feels just a little bit like she hates everyone there.

(Or, more accurately, like somebody does. Ahene hates like hell freezes over—rarely, slowly, and with a sort of cold contempt that burns mostly in how impersonal it can be. But the spirits in the back of her mind know how to hate, and they’re much too happy to share.)

Talos looks at this Sith Lord, who appears to be unusually scruffy and looks like she’s developed dark side corruption without the glowing eyes, and—unlike Andronikos, unlike Silthar, unlike Sarnova, unlike Zaril—doesn’t come to the conclusion that someone needs to parent her. She’s moved a bit past giving off that energy. Instead he comes to the conclusion that she’s about to deliver the most fascinating problem he’s encountered this year, which is (because Talos is Talos) really what he finds ideal in a Sith.

Ahene looks at this strange, mostly fearless little archaeologist, and discovers that she is not immune to being treated like a totally reasonable and decent individual who is here for the love of history despite every indication otherwise. Many people make this discovery around Talos.

Their early interactions are still… fascinating. His aura of “everyone I talk to is fundamentally a decent fellow” can only do so much, especially since his version of “rationalizing” all the terrible things about the Empire is sweeping them all into a bucket of “things I can’t do anything about” to hyperfixate on archaeology. Ahene keeps him at arm’s length like she’s learned to do with most people. Ahene gets sucked into talking shop with him. They discover, to Talos’s delight and Ahene’s pleased-despite-herself annoyance, that they share a sense of humor. He treats his probe droids better than some people treated her, and exactly the same way that other people treated her. She gets attached to them too.

Somewhere in there—either before they find Horak-Mul or after, though I’m leaning towards before—he asks about her first dig.

She tells him it was the Verios ruin. The face he makes tells her everything she would have needed to know about Darth Kelshrin’s reputation with the Service, if she hadn’t already been aware.

Delicately, like someone trying to thread a conversational needle with as few actual words as possible, Talos suggests that you hear things about that dig, and they aren’t very good. People don’t like to talk about it, if they manage to get reassigned.

She says that she’s one of the reasons that people don’t like to talk about it, and watches him struggle to reconcile that with her entire demeanor for a moment, then clarifies that she was one of the children they had—probably still have—doing probe-work.

Because of course it does, this horrifies him. She shrugs and comments that she hadn’t realized Kelshrin was that much of an outlier; haven’t there ever been slaves on any of your digs? Talos starts to protest that yes, but none of them were children, and comes to the mid-sentence conclusion that actually, she doesn’t care.

His mouth clicks shut. They sit in silence for a little bit.

When he next speaks, he tells her that he’s sorry he wasn’t there.

She says that most people would have put an ‘and’ in the middle of that sentence. They would have found it absolving, that they weren’t there. And he makes a face, and says that yes, that’s true, but still—he wishes he’d been there. That perhaps he could have done something, if he had been. That at least he could have been—better than the others.

I’m sure you would have been, she says, touching his shoulder, in a voice that would be a threat if any of the bitterness were directed at him. It isn’t a threat. It’s just that half of her doesn’t believe him, and doesn’t blame him, and the other half wants to believe him—and hates so very much that someone like him existed this whole time, and never came for her.

They don’t talk very much about that part of her background, after that. She never makes a secret of what she was—it’s the first thing anyone knows about her anyway, the trash apprentice who brought back the Dark Temple expedition—but while she’ll talk about the ruin like it’s simultaneously a deathtrap and a lost home, she doesn’t tell him about the Service camp. It’s their armistice; it wouldn’t be fair.

She doesn’t blame him for what happened to her childhood. He doesn’t look at her like he’s afraid of her when she loses control of the ghosts’ power, when he walks in on her having snapping arguments with thin air, when the ghosts’ memories and personalities start leaking in and she reacts to something he said about the Great Hyperspace War like she was there.

It’s difficult not to care deeply about someone who sees you at your absolute, utter worst—half-dead, half-possessed, still suffering from a Horror Hunger despite knowing that there are few things she needs less than other people’s life energy—and treats it like it’s simply something that’s happening, and no more terrifying than any other serious illness.

He’s the one she goes to one night, when she needs to tell someone how terrified she is to die. He’s the only member of her crew she doesn’t feel some need to be strong for.

(He is, maybe, the person she tells that she thinks she could exorcise the ghosts. That she hasn’t tried, because she’s scared that it would work.)

It’s important that—by this point—he doesn’t feel like he has to be strong with her, either. He doesn’t have to pretend that he doesn’t notice how bad things are, or keep up a cheerful front through it, the way he nearly always does. It’s not that his cheerful front is insincere—it’s not that he’s lying—but that’s how he’s always dealt with his emotions, the same as Ahene deals with them by scrunching them up into a little ball and taking another step no matter what. They aren’t people who know how to seek comfort in other people, most of the time. Talos doesn’t have childhood trauma the way she has childhood trauma, but he did very much grow up in an abusive environment that he generally dismisses as “not so bad as all that” with a wave of his hand. So it’s… something, that they can be scared together of what’s going to come.

(This could so easily be read as romantic. It is not remotely. It’s also not remotely parental on Talos’s part. It’s just a very unlikely bordering-on-queerplatonic friendship.)

When Ahene walks out of the Dark Council chambers on Korriban with Thanaton’s body (Teneb Kel’s body) in her arms and a title she didn’t ask for or want, Talos makes sure the body ends up in a cryostasis tube until it can be properly entombed. When they head for Dromund Kaas right after, because the planet is being invaded, when she makes for the Dark Temple immediately when they arrive in the aftermath—Talos waits for her at the Dark Temple approach.

When she calls him and asks him to get another stasis chamber and never breathe a word of it to anyone, he does it, because they would trust each other with anything.

Up to and including the body of the Emperor’s Voice.

(The next couple months, she barely remembers, because she was under so much pressure and so much of the same kind of pressure that her dissociative memory issues cropped up again and turned it into a soup of events that 2V had to record and summarize for her. But Talos quite frequently knew what she was doing better than she did, at least when it came to the fact that she suddenly had to run the Reclamation Service. This has always been a team effort. Between her and all her crew, but still especially between the two of them.)

[npc opinions]

[jolyne-best-jojo]

While my brains still on SWTOR I have to gush about the Sith Inquisitor. The story of a slave rising through the Imperial ranks, growing a powerbase which includes a cult and a Moff with access to a superweapon able to destroy multiple ships in a single shot, killing a Sith traditionalist who wants to kill them just because of their masters actions and then taking that Sith seat on the dark council is so good. Every SWTOR class stories hook me at some point but the Inquisitor does it the best.

Aside from the main story the companions are also great, specifically Talos Delrik and Ashora. While Ashora only works if you play the Inquisitor light side, as otherwise you've got her telling am person who kills everyone they come across that their a good person, I really like how it her conversation helps delve into the Inquisitor's own mind a bit letting you decide if their in it for the power or to change the Empire. Ashora becoming disalusioned with the Jedi and their insistence on inner peace over galactic peace and eventually admitting the Sith tennant of Peace is a lie is really good, although it would've been better suited to the main story where they're trying to corrupt her.

As for Talos his more upbeat personality is great considering the inner turmoil of Khem and Ashora and Xalek's stoicism. The best part of him though is, like Ahorsa, the development given to the Inquisitor in them having an interest in history and knowledge and getting a chance to express that intrigue with someone who shares it, especially fitting considering the Council seat they take is the sphere of knowledge.

Back to the main story and Darth Thanaton works so well as a the main villain. There's the obvious fact that he's a traditionalist Sith and your a slave who previously wouldn't have become Sith if the empire wasn't desperate for soldiers but it's moreso the fact that he, like real world traditionalists, is hypocritical. He challenges the Inquisitor to a fight between their powerbases but when he loses and the Inquisitor is about to kill him he runs away and begs the rest of the Dark Council to help him kill the Inquisitor. While some may argue this is bad writing as you've already beaten him twice, once in the battle between powerbases and earlier using the uncontrolled power of ghosts, it really works for me as the final fight is more so humiliation as you've already beaten him infront of his powerbase and now you're killing him in front of the most powerful Sith in the galaxy beating him into the ground leading to him crawling towards his fellow Councillors for help that will never come. There are only two real issues I have with the story one is how the Inquisitor's ancestor Lord Kallig just disappears after the start of Chapter 2, it would've been so much better if he at least appeared after beating Thanaton for the second time asking the Inquisitor to bind him and use his power to help defeat Kallig. The second is how, unless I missed something, they can't kill Overseer Harkun, the man who repeatedly called them a slave, tried to get them killed, tried to trick their would-be master that they failed the trials, called them a slave to their face again when they've become a Lord of the Sith and cries to Darth Thanaton that your breaking the Sith Acadamy rules by letting Xalek live and become your apprentice.

[curator-on-ao3]

Tag Game: First 10 Lines Challenge

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

Thank you so much for tagging me, @deadheaddaisy! ❤️

1. The fabric over her cage is supposed to be soundproof, but Number One burrowed a hole years ago, a toothpick plucked from the open-mouthed snoring of her then-owner and maneuvered to separate tightly knit threads just enough to be able to hear what’s going on. Toothpick returned, the owner none the wiser, Number One could better anticipate when she might be hit or pushed into or sold.

Malleable and Unmalleable Orders, Mirror Pikeone, E

2. The kitchen in their quarters is tiny, a prep island that serves as the main source of counter space hemmed in by the food storage unit and oven. Perhaps, if appliance doors could fully open without almost scraping the island, the whole thing might be charmingly cozy.

Or if the kitchen was for two people instead of the four pilots who live in the shared cabin, just one room with upper and lower bunks built into the bulkheads.

Something Sweet, Pikeuna, G

3. “Vulcan ship approaching to port. Not science or exploration, probably a passenger vessel.” Erica calls out the alert, fingers quick on the piloting console that once was Una’s. “This is weird.”

This Time: A Love Story, Pikeuna, E

4. The wall to my quarters opens. 

Not the door. 

The wall. 

99 Pegasi, Pikeuna, T

5. “It’s like shrinking,” Gloria says, and Phil could crawl inside a magician’s coffin, bang his fists on the interior lid (not to be confused with the secret divider that allows the magician’s assistants to appear to be one person to allow the trick to work) because Gloria is right.

Grief is like shrinking.

Real Estate, Gloria Delgado-Pritchett/Phil Dunphy, Modern Family, T

6. Her knees collapse, a crouch not a fall, her eyes searching for the source of the weapon. She’s highly trained, but his sniper position is almost invisible — the small, high window of a skinny tower on the periphery of the bazaar. 

Disarmed, Mirror Pikeuna, E, the start of what I wrote after prompt text began the story

7. “Do you think Paris has changed much?” Will’s gaze seems to follow the automatic watering vehicles that fly along the straight lines of vines that extend outward from Château Picard. The soil is spongy under Una’s boots, sauntering steps alongside Will, slants of afternoon sunlight, rainbows shimmering in moisture the watering vehicles apply to grape leaves, the dog Number One keeping pace with the two humanoids.

The animal’s species is a dog, right?

One to Make Us Whole, Number One | Una Chin-Riley & Number One | Will Riker & Number One | Jean Luc Picard’s Dog, friendship, G

8. “Try it like this.” Chris’ arm slides alongside Una’s, delicate fingers that slow her shake of seasoning into the simmering sauce. There’s a soft press of his chest to her shoulder blades, ballet-like movements of culinary reverence that help her faster reflexes find calm.

A Little Love, Here and There, Pikeuna, T, a “drabble pyramid” of a ficlet each at 100, 200, 300, 400, and 500 words exactly; with five separate first lines I chose the opening I like best

9. Chris left that part out of the official report: the fantasies. 

Not Starfleet’s business.

Not anyone’s business.

Not even his business.

It’s cruel to plumb someone’s thoughts, to share their secrets and watch for a reaction — a reaction Number One barely gave; irritation, if that, not the red-cheeked humiliation he would have felt if that had been done to him. So it’s right to ban travel to Talos IV. No one should ever have to endure that sort of mental pillage ever again.

Nope, never again.

Ever.

Except … ahem.

Fantasies? About him? From the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

Truth is a Fantasy, Pikeuna • Pikeone, T

10. “This was amazing, Mom.” Chris settles back in his chair, pancake crumbs and a streak of leftover egg on his plate, the sun bright through the kitchen windows. “Thanks.”

Youthful Exuberance (Some Kind of Love), Pikeuna, E

Pattern analysis: These mostly begin with action or a scene-setting description or both. Descriptions are so the story start can convey that the setting is unusual and therefore relevant to the action about to unfold. Half are quotes and the other half are narrative. My dream is that all of them make a reader want to know more and therefore keep reading. 🫶

No pressure tags: @pc-corner, @divinemissem13, @elephant-in-the-pride-parade, @emilie786, @grissomesque, @fiadorable, @lorcaswhisky, @enterprise-come-in, @marymoss1971, @starrybouquet, @sun-lit-roses, and the many people I’m forgetting because I love to be tagged but get tag anxiety when tagging others. If you want to play, please consider yourself tagged! 🥳

[bananasartsnanimations]

HELP WANTED: LOOKING FOR LOST ART (FOUND)

Hi, thank you so much for the enrapturous support of my content so far. It genuinely means everything to me. My next video is gonna be something a lot different, but I NEED YOUR HELP to get it to an ideal fruition.

In 2008, Iris Jay, going under the name ConcentrationMoon, participated in Law of Talos OC tournament with her character, the Chimbley Sweep. Her character was really popular at the time and she made it all the way to round 4. However, her devientart account had been deleted since 2015 along with all of her works, but I strongly believe that it's out there somewhere given how popular it was at the time.

What I'm looking for is the audition, and rounds 1-3. (Everything else is found.) I did find someone on twitter posting reaction pics using art from these rounds, and when I asked they found them, they "on the wayback machine." I tried extensively looking on there myself to no success, but other LoT stuff had been saved on the wayback machine without a hitch, so maybe I'm just bad at navigating it.

If anyone has found something, hit me up, either here or on this lost media wiki forum post I made:

[kiefbowl]

been binging a little and am almost caught up. some impressions:

rhaenyra: i married a crazy person. by talos, this can't be happening, all i did was marry my uncle after letting him assassinate my husband.

rhaenys: v cool. especially when she tells alicent that she should think bigger than just putting a window in her prison. also the dragon thing.

otto hightower: i am surrounded by crazy people. by talos, this can't be happening. all i did was help my daughter put my absolutely insane grandson on the throne.

ser criston cole: oh no, i broke my vow of chastity. again. i'm going to go kill someone in a fit of rage over it. again.

ser larys strong: has overtaken daemon as first in line to be eaten alive by pigs.

alicent: how are BOTH my sons such disappointments?

pretty much nailed it lol

[stampvamp]

Kazuha as a...

[kazuha x gender neutral reader]

- fluff - no smut - 

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of nausea.

DISCLAIMER:

This is an old fic and ask I saw in my drafts and I wanted to post it since it was almost finished. Also, I finally found the log in to my account so Im back! Sorry I posted this 2 years late I forgot..

ALSO MORE LAW OF TALOS CONTENT AHEAD SORRY GUYS FOR BEING GONE FOR A YEAR

enjoy !!

Boyfriend

The waves roared against the thick wood of the ship. Your stomach felt tight while your head felt light. You never knew why you decided to join forces with the eager Beidou, knowing your immense sickness towards the waves themselves. You grimaced, closing your eyes.

“Are you alright love?”

You felt Kazuha’s velvety voice coax you out of your sickness. You opened your eyes to see his white hair followed by the thick red streak that was embedded into it. The red streak a refining trait of the Kaedehara family, well known and has presented itself in your lover. 

“We’re almost at shore, don’t you worry now,”

Your throat let out a groan as you helpless nodded against Kazuha’s shoulder. Kazuha was always a soft character to you. When you had felt lost Kazuha would feel like the guiding light in a dark tunnel. You’ll never forget when the treasure hoarders left a nasty cut on your arm and the shock and anger in his crimson eyes. The aftermath was sweet moment of him holding your arm close as he wrapped the bandages around your arm. The pounding of your heart and the burning feeling tainted your senses. The ship rocked pulling you and of your tender thoughts. You held onto the thick fabric of Kazuha’s scarf for the balance. The bright cheer of your fellow crew mates flooded it your ears. You were home, you were at shore. 

Kazuha’s shoulder’s relaxed, the roars of the storms were behind the crew. Upon his low calm demeanor, his stomach roared. You chuckled, your hand flying over to your hand to stifle the laugh to come. You were the most fragile but beautiful thing. Your personality something that he has come addicted to. Was it your personality? Your looks? Oh, now he knows

It’s you, and only you.

Husband

After the tender feelings that you two shared, it was undeniable that Kazuha wanted you to be a Kaedehara. Would he propose in a manner that showed more then him telling that he wanted you be his? Would he bring you amongst the stars only to recite the sweet poetry. This was the one thing that kept him from sliding the shining ring onto your fingers. 

Was is he too scared?

No, he couldn’t be scared of your rejection. You had to love him right? Was this too fast? The questions intangled him, his coarse hands rubbed against the leaf that once made sweet tunes. Now, without sunlight or proper care, detached from it’s original stem that it once flourished from was gone. The shape once smooth and strong, was now brittle with small rips inbetween. 

“Hey Kazuha, what’s got you stumped?”

He has turned to the direction of the familiar voice. His eyes had met hers which was an excellent bold color. Bold. What a perfect way to describe her.

“I’m fine Beidou, I’m seeing in which ways I can propose to y/n-”

The alcohol which was once easily sliding down her throat was not even going through her lips. She had completely paused as if she an animation and someone had paused her completely. 

“Well, well- Look at ya I blink my eyes and you’re already getting married-”

Her boastful laugh echoed in the small room, her strong palm slammed against Kazuha’s back.

“Lemme help ya- I’m sure my advice will be a great assistance,”

He sighed, smiling after as he looked at the prominent woman.

This was going to be an awfully long week. 

After hundreds upon hundreds of rehearsals from the captain, only then did he feel as if it was appropriate to ask the question. The small box felt like pure acid has seeped into his hand, was he really going to ask? He ought to, he has already gone through so much preparation that it would be a waste not to. But one thing for certain. He was going to make you his.

- Kazuha was a good husband who was with you at all times

- when he’s jealous he makes you flaunt the ring

- He lays on your shoulder for comfort, taking in the warmth you emit

- he smiles at you knowing you are his spouse

Father

Finding out he way going to be a father, allowed him to gather himself. Mature fast so he could be the best father possible.

- Keeping the Kaedehara linage was a responsibility, something he was oathed to do from the very start

- Bringing herbs, berries, and fruits he had found around Inazuma and other nations.

- he rubbed your back, whispering how much you meant to him. You were carrying his child, it was the least he could do

- He often talked about the probabilities of the babies’ features in detail to you. Running his fingers around your bump as he rested his head against you.

- He insist you are never alone.

- When the baby was born, he couldn’t stop smiling.

-

“Y/N.”

Your husband spoke softly, his red robe tied against his waist as he took another sip of his tea.

“Hm?” You hummed, your head pressed against the head of your son. It was another restless night of him crying.

“Please dear, allow yourself rest. I’ll take care of him for the rest of the day, you can see him when you wake up.” He got up, motioning your hands to give him the baby.

“Kazuha- that’s so sweet, but really there’s no need for that. You have an expedition planned for today and you’ve already canceled so so many for this week.” You stuttered, rubbing the back of the four month old in your grasp.

“Expeditions will always comes last when it comes to family. Allow me to take care of my family.” He smiled gently, caressing your cheeks and you slumped against his bandaged hand. “And my care does not only pertain to our children, but it will always include my spouse.” His scarlet eyes stared into yours as he gave you a simple nod of reassurance.

Your head dipped, giving him the baby as you stood up. “Thank you Kazuha, I’m so grateful to have you.” You shuffled sheepishly, rubbing your tired eyes as your husband spoke loving words to the baby.

“We’re grateful to have you as well, dear.” His body turned the baby to yours, looking down at his sleeping son. “Isn’t that right?”

You laughed, giving your baby one last smooch on the cheek. You were forever grateful for Kazuha and your baby.

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 24: Apology

SWTOR

Time: Around 7.2 (after we see Arcann regretfully say he needs backup, but before we see him on Voss in 7.3); Late 28 ATC

A/N: ...this is probably a joke gone to far. Last year, I wrote Amber about Marr's lightsaber and how it was in Arcann's possession. Then, I wrote Goodbye to explain what had happened during the search for the rightful owner of the saber. And this -- this is where Arcann was between Elom and Voss. And yes, it got big enough to need a cut.

~~

The mission report for Elom had been filed, dutifully, in the most neat and well-practiced penmanship Theron had ever seen; although regulations demanded reports be typed out and electronically submitted, he still had to admire the skill that went into this project in ink and flimsi.

The problem was that its author had not come home.  Arcann was missing.  Sana-Rae had arrived to provide support, and one of small taskforce Eva had assigned to help him (and monitor him) handed off the report.  Arcann had disappeared.

Theron…really, really did not want to deal with this.  Malgus had been captured, and there was  a missing padawan and a missing holocron with probably something powerful and nasty inside.  The last thing Theron needed was a missing ex-emperor. 

…And then the whole situation went weird.  Theron thought maybe the universe hated him.  That, or Eva and her entire crew were pulling some elaborate joke on him.

Supposedly, Arcann, former emperor, had been sighted flipping burgers at some fast food joint on Dromund Kaas. It was like one of those wild claims that had popped up in the months after Senya had had the Voss heal him. 

But then Talos Drellik and Koth Vortena came forward to … confirm the possibility.

Because one of the girls with tats and piercings and pink hair had said something nice about him.  Years ago.

Theron wanted to bang his head against the wall.  The problem with Eva and her Alliance – and Voidfleet more broadly – is that it did attract misfits.  Misfits with quirks.  He knew he fell into that category himself, but stars, couldn’t someone be utterly boring and come home from the mission?

So here he was, trying to be inconspicuous as he strolled through the streets of Kaas, making sure he had the right dive.  Now all he had to do was wait out in the rain for the back door to open and him to get a visual confirmation that Arcann was here.

…Theron’s luck was even better than that.  Arcann came out of the backdoor…

To take out the trash.

The Eternal Emperor.  Garbage duty.  There was a cosmic-scale joke here.   

He wore the dirty, grease-stained uniform of the chain.  He even had the stupid billed cap on.  The door swung shut behind him –

And Theron grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall.  “We’re going to make this look like some petty street dispute,” he muttered to the startled Arcann.

There was a momentary flailing, but Arcann quickly recognized him and lowered his hands.  “Hello, Theron –”

“Why didn’t you check back in?” The operations manager of the Alliance – and their lead on black ops – really wasn’t in the mood for niceties.  Not on Kaas. 

Arcann reached up to detach Theron’s hand from his throat, which Theron allowed.  “I found myself… vestigial to Sana-Rae’s work.  I wrote my report, as required – “

“And then you disappeared,” Theron snapped.  “You of all people can’t do that.”

Theron saw a brief flicker of temper.  “Perhaps I should.”

“Excuse me?” Theron demanded. 

Arcann straightened up against the rough wall of the building, trying to exude that imperial authority….while wearing a fast food uniform.  “I have wondered, since the Captain’s victory over the Eternal Empire, what would become of me.  I have…a liminal existence on Odessen.  I am free to travel.  With supervision.  I continue to reside there for lack of any secure option – I’ll either be assassinated or turned into a cult figure, depending on the partisans in the area.”  He motioned up at his face.  “If I’m ever to be anything else other than Emperor Arcann, I must plunge myself into a completely and utterly different life.”

Theron absorbed all this.  “…so the pink-haired girl flirted with you years ago, and you thought this was a great career move?”

“’Successfully committed multiple genocides in less than five years’ on the resume doesn’t really attract many employers,” Arcann returned, readily.  “So…I took the first opportunity presented to me to not always be under your watchful eye.  Or that of my mother.”

Theron wouldn’t apologize for that.  Ever.

“I left Elom.  I lied at my job interview – which took place in this very alley.  I explained that my scars were from a deep fryer accident – I read about such things on Holonet forums.” 

Arcann tilted his head slightly, frowned, and then said, in absolute seriousness to Theron, “Workers rights and unions are absent on Imperial planets.  This concerns me greatly.”

Theron directed his gaze skyward, wondering what gods were laughing at him today.  “They didn’t have those sorts of things on Zakuul either when you were running the show.”

“I was different then!”  Arcann insisted, and Theron saw some flash of indignance.  “I know these things should exist.  I now know why they should exist.”

…Arcann was now learning things Theron had learned under Master Zho’s tutelage.  About compassion without judgment, about how not everyone was safe in the galaxy, and not every state was benevolent to its people.  He was over thirty now.  The cure, for an adult… must have been difficult

Jedi believed in fresh starts. Otherwise, no one would ever be able to be allowed to join after escaping the Sith. 

Theron wasn’t a Jedi.  But…

“You’ve got to come back to Odessen.  This … is not tenable.”  Theron made an abstract motion to this entire, ridiculous situation.

“Not on these wages.  They are not livable.”

Theron rolled his eyes, but Arcann was already untying his apron.  “I have learned much…and I do want to live away from Odessen.  Maybe not under my own name.”

Theron was already shaking his head.  “That is a conversation for a completely different time.  You need to come back.  Now.”

“I will.”

Theron cleared his throat. "...I did mean it when we'd talk about this. Because you are right, you can't live forever in limbo like this."

Arcann nodded.

The two men understood each other.

...That was progress. Progress was good.

There was an awkward pause. 

“…So what are you going to tell that girl?” Theron ventured.

Arcann responded with a rueful smile.  “Turnover in the fast food industry is very high, which is understandable given the conditions and lack of pay. She is no longer employed here.”   Then he squared up to Theron.  “Hit me.”

…

…

…

Yes, this day was absolutely off-the-wall strange.  “What?”

Arcann cast a look back at the eatery.  “The manager will be out here to wonder where I’ve gone.  He doesn’t want trouble, so if he sees me engaged in fisticuffs, he’ll be inclined to fire me – I won’t be wanted back and nobody will look for me.” 

That would make everything neat and clean…

And Theron had been waiting for this for a long, long time.

So he squared up….then he paused.  “Do you even know how to take a punch?” 

Arcann nodded.  “I did have a twin brother…we were very competitive…”  Then he shifted uncomfortably.  “…The Captain also decked me.  Once.”

Oh yeah. Theron remembered now. “Bowdaar didn’t stop talking about it for two weeks,” Theron confirmed.  Theron decided if he was only going to get one permitted hit on the guy who had stolen his wife (well, now she was his wife) from him for five years, it better be a nice big one. 

The wind up….

“You do know I’m never going to apologize for this, right?”

Now Arcann smirked.  “The only apology you’ll have to give is to the Captain – that she didn’t get to see this or directly participate.”

[pulse-oflife]

Prompt #9 // Lend an Ear

Kirah was tired. The bone deep, soul crushing tired of someone who had been pushing themselves to their limit for far too long. But she had to keep going, had to push through it all. Despite the white blurring the edges of her vision, despite feeling increasingly detached from her body, despite how tired she was. Only Ryne really had clocked how much this was affecting her, and so the others had no qualms about pressing her to do more. Hence why she was out here, looking for the Crystal Exarch. She'd spotted a shoebill again, this time staring south and not at her. Not directly anyway. She'd seen them (or was it a singular bird following her) around a few times though no one else had seemed to notice. Unimportant detail to worry about right now.

She continued south, though, finally spotting the unfamiliar familiar robed figure resting against a rock. Resisting the urge to touch him, she instead softly called his title, causing him to wake with a start from whatever dream he'd been having. They spoke then of the construction effort, of all the people who had come together to build the Talos and then he asked her what she would do, once this was all over. He did seem interested in the topic, as ever interested in her life and plans and thoughts despite being nearly as opaque as the crystal of his tower.

As tempting as it was to answer that she would rest (which was the truth), Kirah skirted away from the topic. There was a growing feeling that she would not survive what was to come, that however this ended would be the end of her. She buried the thought, again, and instead deflected by asking to know more of him and what his plans were for the future. He seemed surprised by the question, by the thought that anyone would be interested in him as someone other than the Exarch. So he spoke of a friend, of someone he wished to travel with, of someone he wished to share his stories with, of someone he admired quite deeply. Kirah found herself feeling a bit jealous of this person but again, buried the feeling. It served no purpose and there was absolutely no reason to examine it. None at all.

She helped him to his feet and they made their way back to Amity, two figures burdened by their perceived lack of a future. The shoebill watched them go, staring steadfastly at their backs before taking to the air silently.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

That moment when your bestie gives you Thongvor Silver-Blood/Last Dragonborn as a crackship and you roll with it to surprising results

ao3 | masterlist

So @elder-dragon-reposes gave me this prompt. She wanted to see what I could do with Leara Rose-blade and one of the Silver-Blood brothers. I chose Thongvor. So, to start Leara off with Thongvor, I read his UESP page. And I learned some things. You can get Thongvor to talk about Talos, and if you're an elf, like Leara, he says:

"He founded the Empire, and now they've turned their back on him. To appease your kind, Elf. Do your people rule Skyrim, or do the Nords?"

Leara would cooly reply,

"You may find that some of my kind stand with Skyrim. I'm here on behalf of Ulfric Stormcloak."

(Floor him, Lea, c'mon)

He may also say:

"Your kind started the Great War. Nearly destroyed the Imperial City. Then the Emperor took the coward's way out and surrendered. Now you people dictate everything we do. Don't want us acknowledging a "mere human" like Talos as the god he is."

At which point Leara, Thalmor agent though she was at the time, would say,

"Your gross generalization of all elves under one banner is fascinating. Tell me, do all Nords see eye-to-eye with you? Because I thought you and Jarl Igmund had a few fundamental differences of your own."

Leara just dismantles him. Deconstructs his worldview until she dominates his perception. That's my girl.

This conversation happens:

Thongvor: "Reburrus, I need you to draft a letter to Ulfric requesting more men." Yngvar: "Ha! About time we got some more muscle in this city." Reburrus: "Thongvor, do you really think that's wise? I mean, King Ulfric is such a busy man, and there are so many areas of Skyrim to protect." Thongvor: "Whose side are you on, Reburrus? I'm not worried about Skyrim, I'm worried about the Reach. Specifically, the part of the Reach we're standing on." Reburrus: "Yes, Thongvor. I'll draft the letter immediately."

And after Reburrus sends the letter, Ulfric's natural inclination is to send his trusty Rose-blade.

"I know you're inclined toward the negotiator's table, but with the situation in the Reach, I need someone I can trust on top of things."

And Leara smiles at Ulfric.

"Of course."

And she's off to Markarth.

Does Ulfric know that his old friend Thongvor is about to simp for the woman Ulfric loves? No. If he did, he'd have sent Galmar or literally anyone else.

So then I asked my friend: What do you want to bet that this is the conversation Leara walks in on when arriving at Understone Keep?

Thongvor: "I want soldiers sent to deal with these dragons. Every able-bodied man and woman who can carry a bow." Reburrus: "We can't do that. Every soldier we send to hunt dragons is one more man that can't defend the Reach." Thongvor: "Killing dragons isn't defending the Reach?" Reburrus: "Our men know how to kill Forsworn and Legionnaires, not dragons."

And she clears her throat, light and delicate, and says,

"I can handle the dragons for you."

And Thongvor is going to put his foot in his mouth [see above where Leara dismantles him and informs him Ulfric sent her], and Thongvor just has to trust this half-elf, apparently from "King Ulfric" (she probably has a letter with a seal or something) to go handle the immediate dragon problem. And she does, and it's amazing.

Right now Thongvor is catching feelings for Ulfric's liaison and he has no idea what to do. She's not what he's perpetrated elves to be. And it's got him on the wrong foot.

Thongovr does need help in Markarth and Leara is surprisingly effective. She's diplomatic and soft-spoken and has an uncanny ability to introduce logic into situations and to soothe hot tempers. Thongvor can see why Ulfric sent her of all people. And after a while, he doesn't particularly want to send her back. Thongvor isn't an idiot: He knows there are many people in Markarth who still sympathize with or are on the side of the Empire or the Forsworn. He can't name names, but he knows they're there and they are a threat to his family's hold on the city. But Leara Stormcrown is keeping everything together. The dragons aren't so much of a threat now and there hasn't been a Forsworn attack or riot in several weeks. Thongvor is living high on Leara's success.

And then Ulfric writes, requesting Leara return to Windhelm at Thongvor's earliest convenience, because he needs his negotiator. back. Unfortunately for Ulfric, Thongvor doesn't find this convenient at all. He almost anticipates the city falling into anarchy as soon as Leara leaves and he can't have that. Markarth needs her. He needs her–

So Thongvor starts inventing excuses to keep her in the city. Leara knows Ulfric needs her to help him handle the Imperial deligations from Solitude, but Thongvor hasn't signed off on her mission to Markarth. She's getting antsy to leave, but she can't abandon her orders.

And this leads into the Forsworn Conspiracy/No One Escapes Cidhna Mine. There are problems from the Forsworn. When Leara starts looking into it, Thongvor doesn't want her to, but she does anyway and Thonar, what do you mean you arrested her?

And then Leara is in Cidhna Mine and Thongvor, Mr Foot-In-His-Mouth, is stalling on getting her out and his concern that Ulfric is going to find out.

(Firm belief that Thonar doesn't like Leara at all, by the way. Thinks his brother is a fool.)

And then . . . the Forsworn break out of the mines, and Leara is standing in his quarters. It's 3am. She's in rags. She's never looked more mesmerizing. Why is it so cold all of a sudden?

"I stopped them from killing your brother – barely. I did that for you, by the way. You're welcome, Jarl Thongvor. You're welcome, because Madanach is free, and he's gone to spread the truth to the Reachfolk."

Oh. She's . . . cross.

Her finger, directed at his throat, is a jagged spear of ice as it presses into his skin. There's a blizzard in her eyes and frost on her skin. That's what they meant when they called her Dragon of the North.

"Since coming to Markarth, I have followed your every direction. I have aided the people and dealt with your problems for you. But no longer. When your idea of aiding the people is the eradication and abuse of half the populace, then you are no longer worth my attention. People say Ulfric oppresses the Dunmer, but at least they have roofs over their heads, food in their stomachs, fires for warmth, and city walls for protection – the Reachfolk have nothing. You would take everything from a people whose only crime is living in the land you desire for your own! When I return to Windhelm–"

And then Thongvor snaps. He grabs Leara by the shoulders.

"I did it for you! I tried to protect you from the Forsworn! I would drive them into the depths of Oblivion so you never suffer at their hands again, like you have tonight!"

Leara's stare is a long winter.

"You did it for yourself."

And then her skin – he can almost feel the softness of her thin shoulders through the prison rags – is so cold it burns.

"The only one who hurt me tonight is you. I thought you were better than that. Really, I did."

And then Leara walks away. More painful than watching her go is knowing that she would never look on him again. That all her regard, so carefully attained in recent months, is shattered and gone. And Thongvor cries.

LATER IN WINDHELM:

Ulfric is just lounging on his throne, waiting for Thongvor to send Leara back, when the doors just blow up and she's there and she's brought the winter wind in her wake, but she's got a stiff lip and an iron spine. Ulfric is on his feet in moments because this isn't laughing Leara, this is Leara struggling, and he meets her across the room in moments.

She almost flinches back when he reaches for her.

His hand falls.

"Leara . . ."

Her eyes are distant, off to the side, and then she looks at him, and maybe there's a thaw but it comes with a swell of rain and barely restrained tears.

"I failed in the Reach, Jarl Ulfric."

Ulfric doubts that. Leara doesn't fail. But he hesitates to ask what she means because there's something haunted in her eyes. He reaches for her hand and when she takes it, slowly, he says,

"Tell me."

And she does, and Ulfric hears thunder.

Clear across the province, Thongvor shivers.

And that's it. That's the post. Thank you for coming to my TES talk

[lilac--sugar]

The way he looks at Tav here! 😭

I keep seeing people show off their Tavs and it makes me want to join in on the fun!

Here's Kieran, a chaotic neutral Tiefling Cleric (nature domain) of Talos!

If anyone is interested in a little slapdashed backstory and an impromptu drabble it's under the cut lol

Kieran Heulwen was raised as a Cleric of Bahamut. The problem was that she was always getting into mischief and never quite fit in. Eventually, she broke from that order. Doing so caused tension between her and her parents. They didn't accept the change and told her she was on her own. She lost contact with her parents completely but still wrote to her siblings. An older brother, Ulrich, and an older sister, Wynn.

She found a small temple of Talos in a little corner of Baldur's Gate. There she felt much more at home. Without much money she'd usually go to the seediest pubs and taverns. There she happened upon Astarion.

She'd often see him charming the literal pants off of just about everyone. Someone new every time. She never knew why it bothered her so much. She would keep to her books and her cheap little meals and try to ignore him. (She's got a Sage background so I imagine she'd keep to books to try and keep away from her mischievous nature) So, she'd try to ignore Astarion. Astarion with his stupid laugh and his stupid hair and stupid honeyed words and his stupid hands that she'd watch trace over collar bones. Watch as the skin would prickle under his touch. Subconsciously, she'd reach a hand up and mirror the touch only to realize-

Oh!

She had a crush.

So, one day she decided to approach him. She treated herself to a glass of wine so cheap it tasted more like what she imagined piss to but she downed it for the courage anyway. She sidled up next to him at the bar and feigned ignorance to his existence.

Her blatant disregard for him struck him and so from the corner of her eye she could see him analyze her.

“Can I help you, sir?" she asked as she kept her eyes on the barkeep, trying hard to further her fake disinterest.

With tilted head and brow furrowed he slipped an inquisitive, "Perhaps." from between his lips. He reached up and slipped a finger under her chin to turn her gaze to him. Her breath caught in her throat as she was now under his full attention. Vibrant red eyes roamed her body before taking in her face. He turned it easily in his hand. His eyes lingered on hers, in them the weight of his pending opinion. It pressed down on her, rendered her breathless. Yet, despite it, her heart felt as though it could fly.

With a hum of thought he pushed her chin away with a blunt, "No."

She'd experienced rejection before but not on such an abysmal scale. How could she compare it? Crushed by a ten ton stone? Run through with a rapier? No. Worse. Eviscerated by the careless turn of his stare as he leveled it on to others around them.

Humiliated, she was quick to gather herself. Beet red and angry, she fled.

Little did she know he'd done her a kindness that night. Though, to call her special would be a fallacy. What she didn't know was that he saw more of a spark in her eyes than he cared for. Too young and too aware. Despite her willingness she wouldn't be so easy. He needed someone more dull and less curious. Someone that could easily bend under his will. He'd often rejected anyone with her sort of spark. Where there is one of her there are tens if not hundreds of the dullards, in his humble opinion.

So, ten years later Astarion is the first person she comes across after waking from the Nautiloid crash.

Astarion that has the audacity to not only demand her help but clearly not even remember her face. And he doesn't. He never remembers the rejected. They were safe. It's only the victims that haunt him. The thousands of faces he'll never forget. Ingrained for all eternity.

Kieran tells him outright that he looks capable and he can do it himself.

Second chances usually entail better beginnings. Unfortunately that isn't as such for Astarion and Kieran. Not when his blade is pressed to her throat a moment later. Kieran pinned on the ground under the pale elf who once made her heart beat so fast. Then again, perhaps some things never change. Her heart is still pounding, just in a different way.

Empty threats and a headbutt later and she's free. The two of them agreeing to stick together despite their annoyances towards the other.

As they travel together she notices Astarion almost always agrees with her choices. The two of them seeming to think alike most of the time.

When Astarion comes to her one night to feed it takes a leap of faith, but she does so. To her surprise it's a sort of blissful lull as she slowly loses herself to him. He tells her this is a gift. For him it most certainly is. For her, it feels the same. Bloodless, she's able to sink easily into sleep.

In no time she's fallen back into old feelings.

She tells herself when he finally makes a move that it's just sex. She tells herself he means nothing by it. It's just casual. Just the end of the world and she's there. She's available.

It isn't until their first night at Moonrise does he admit to her that he was using her. How he messed up and fell along the way. Once again, she takes a leap of faith. It isn't hard. She's already fallen.

Which, brings us to now. The two of them, together, on the road to Baldur's Gate.

GODS I'm sorry! I started writing and writing and writing... I couldn't stop. IDK if I'll write a fic at some point. It'd probably be based on Kieran. I'd loosen it up a bit so it isn't so OC. But I've had thoughts brewing in my head of a semi angsty fic. Who knows? I certainly don't!

If you read this, thank you! 😂 I know it's a bit much!

[biblioflyer]

Captain Marvel through the male gaze.

Fellas, we need to talk about Captain Marvel.

And I do mean “we.” I am one of you. Says so right on my birth certificate and I’ve never had reason to question it no matter how much feminist and trans-positive media I marinate in. I enjoy stuff even if I don’t completely relate to it in every way. I enjoy insights into the lives and priorities of people who are very different from me.

Author's note: This is quickly going to take on the sort of lecturing tone that I don't really intend to be the default tone of this blog, but even having sat on this for a few days, my primary emotion is frustration and try as I might, I feel it would be dishonest to try to scrape that frustration off the page.

There’s no point in denying it. This is Girl Power the Movie. It is very much about a woman refusing to be told to calm down, quit being so emotional, or that she should respect her limits. Spoiler alert: she doesn’t take it well.

This movie is full of tropes we love when it's a man!

When scrawny pre-supersoldier serum Steve Rogers picks himself back up to face the bullies and declares “I can do this all day” who actually wants him to stay on the ground in a fetal position, whimpering?

So why do so many men cast themselves as the villains in this movie? Why do we assume we are the ones who are jeering Carol? Telling her to slow down, stay down, calm down, stop being emotional? Why do we identify with the people who are using her as a weapon? Why do we identify with the guy who gets snippy when Carol doesn’t find his flirting amusing or the fanatics destroying entire civilizations?

Why not identify with Talos or Fury? The men who trust Carol, try to unchain her, believe in her capacity for goodness?

Good Straight Male Representation can Still be Badass.

In the intervening years since this movie was in theaters, I forgot how great of a character Talos is. He makes me proud to be a man! He’s such a great character, Fury too! As a man, there are some great audience surrogates in this movie. Some people are constantly complaining that all masculinity is “toxic” now or that there are no positive representations of men who aren’t “queer coded.” Lets just set aside for the moment how much the fandom fanatically loves Steve Rogers and Bucky and focus on this film.

Talos is a loving husband and father who took extreme risks to protect his family. He also interrupts a cycle of violence by choosing to try to appeal to Carol’s conscience. Talos uses reason but he also uses emotion too. These are both tools in his kit, neither is a liability. If you need a macho flex, he handily beats Fury in hand to hand combat and is generally an effective fighter throughout the movie. Yet when push comes to shove, Talos’ most powerful weapon is his ability to find a window into Carol’s humanity and reawaken it.

Fury saw someone disoriented and helped rather than shot first! He followed his instincts into saving the world! He also, rather critically, was open to changing his mind. The aliens he fought valiantly not all that long ago, he was able to allow himself to recognize that they weren’t monsters, they were people driven by very similar instincts and desires as human beings. If you don’t think Fury is a hard man, he had just instigated a car wreck he barely walked away from to win a fight merely a day or two before helping save the planet.

Yes, Carol is aloof and cold throughout much of the film. She’s an alien soldier constantly being told to suppress her emotions and follow orders uncritically. That last part is key! The theme isn’t that logic is bad! The theme is that rationality without morality is wrong. Suppressing empathy actually strips you of your rationality, and opens you to being gaslit into thinking that victims are enemies. Talos and Fury both use empathy to unlock Carol’s true persona and as well as their fighting skills to save the day.

Conceal, Don’t Feel

Carol was a soldier, the mantra to follow orders makes sense in that context. However there was always an ulterior motive. She is an amnesiac serving an authoritarian state as a member of a death squad! That’s why they want her to be an automaton! They don’t want her or any Kree pondering the wider implications of what they’re doing. Sound familiar?

Put the Phone Down.

Consequently, this is a single screen experience. If you are not scrutinizing Larson’s face, her body language, and small details in her tone of voice, you’re missing most of her performance! You have to pay attention to Clint Eastwood or Mads Mikkelson, they play very minutiae focused characters. Same with Captain Marvel. It's less austere than Jenna Ortega’s Wednesday, but it’s not far off!

Strangers in a Strange Land

The Skrull story is also just fantastic. They can stand in for so many displaced and diasporic people. Kurds, Uighurs, Afghans - anyone greeted with suspicion and violence. Anti-Semitism is also back on the rise. Whatever spicy takes you have about the Balfour Declaration or the occupation of the West Bank, you’d do well to remember that if you think most Americans aren’t personally responsible when a wedding gets strafed, the same applies to people of Jewish descent.

The Skrulls can be anyone literally and literarily. They’re such a great representation of any group seen as an interloper. But in the end it's about family, safety, and finding a home. Not taking anything from anyone. They don’t even want vengeance.

If it’s not about you, Don’t Make it About You!

If you are a man, a fan of superhero movies, think women are or should be equal to men - not each equal in separate spheres but equal, and you think this is a man hating movie, explain to me because I just don’t get it. Why do you think the cast, crew, writers, etc. think you are Jude Law’s Yon-Rogg instead of Ben Mendelsohn’s Talos? How can this movie hate men when the men who are the good guys are so awesome? Who doesn’t want to be a badass spy like Fury?

Did you think they were talking about you when they included a biker who gets snippy when Carol doesn’t respond to his flirting? Who do you think Marvel thinks you are in this movie and why aren’t you seeing yourself in the heroes?