#THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE I'M SO SORRY

[beatleswings]

Autistic Carmen headcanons

Since it’s Autism Acceptance Month, thought I share this. So I headcanon Carmen is autistic but didn't go into much so now, I finally thought up some autistic Carmen headcanons! I might update this if I think up more of them.

Carmen was diagnosed at 18, just around the time she was starting out in her modeling career.

Growing up, as kind and friendly she's always been, Carmen struggled to fit in and connect with her peers. She remembers having to hide some of her behaviors such as easily crying or her interests especially anything deemed "childish" like dolls just so she'd be seen as "cool" and "mature". In hindsight, Carmen realized that she was masking some of her autistic traits to appear more "neurotypical"/accepted. The only friends she had growing up were Valeria (red dress girl from Don's contender slideshow) who she met when she moved to Madrid, making her the first real friend she had and who is her best friend to this day. And later Natalia (orange dress girl) and Yazmín (purple dress girl). Like Carmen, Valeria, Natalia and Yazmín are all neurodivergent; ADHD, dyslexia and AuDHD, respectively.

Carmen has always struggled with changes. When she was 8 years old, she and her family moved from Talavera de la Reina, her birthplace to Madrid, her current hometown and that same year, she started a new school. This still happens when it comes to her routines and schedules.

When she was chosen as a ring girl for the WVBA, Carmen still had a lot to learn and adapt in that environment since it's not much the fashion environment that she's used to and there were times where she would do the same routine she does when she does fashion shows and shoots.

Once she learned she was autistic, she was relieved to have found the answer she needed. Carmen had always known she was different from everyone around her but didn't know why. Prior to being diagnosed, Carmen begin to question if she may be autistic or neurodivergent in general. This was brought up to her by her friend Yazmín and even her modeling agent, who was concerned but was happy for Carmen when she learned of her diagnosis (her modeling agent is very supportive and understanding). 

Carmen's parents were just as glad as she was. They always knew Carmen may have had something and would be concerned despite being told by others that "she's fine, she's just a weird kid" or say something worse, which they did NOT like and they would be quick to defend her. They are sorry for not understanding before or having her checked out before but Carmen understands and knows they are good parents.

Her special interests are fashion especially vintage fashion, makeup, jewelry, flowers (especially roses) and dolls (this includes Barbie).

Her interest in fashion started from when she would dress up her dolls or switch their outfits. She would later begin making custom outfits for her dolls and for herself, the latter until she was 12. Some of those outfits would inspire the outfits she would design later on in her fashion designing career. Even looking back, Carmen would notice in her childhood photos and in family home movies that she loved dressing up.

She loves going to thrift stores and buying and trying out vintage outfits.

She hyperfixates on anything pink, which is her favorite color and the color she has a very strong affinity for so of course anything she owns is pink. The same with roses, dresses with polka dots (I mean why else did the wear that clownish, see-through dress?) or anything with patterns that are easy on the eyes for her, hairstyles and anything cute like plushies. Oh and when it's close to Valentine's Day? She would be at the Valentine's section at any store because the colors and decorations and even purchase Valentine items for Don and herself.

Carmen often has daydreams, mostly to do with fashion and modeling and whatever her current interest/fixation is. Don also fits her constant daydreams as well.

Due to Carmen's mother being a hairdresser, Carmen would get hair ideas from her for her dolls and later, for herself, which is another example of her hairstyle fixation.

She has her same foods: for breakfast, sweet corn flakes with banana and strawberries and whole milk (and she can tell the difference so it has to be whole).

Her safe foods are anything sweet like chocolate preferably milk chocolate and chocolate with peanut butter, strawberry ice cream (this partly due to her pink fixation), any pastry especially donuts and muffins.

She has foods she prefers and served a certain way; prefers warm mashed potatoes, smooth peanut butter and when she has spaghetti, she likes it served separate instead of mixed.

She dislikes bread with seeds and nuts due to texture. She also dislikes chunky peanut butter and chocolate with nuts for this reason. The same applies to juice with pulp.

She prefers soft, silky, stretchy and loose-fitting clothing. Super tight clothing makes her squirm, sweat profusely and nauseous.

She also prefers wearing soft and comfortable shoes, heels and boots. Also applies with chokers, she prefers loose fitting, soft and lace.

She always cuts off tags because it's sensory hell for her.

She enjoys her modeling and fashion career, in fact, she found solace in it—the textures, colors, and combinations of clothing became a way for her to express emotions and express herself.

Even though she enjoys her modeling and fashion career, Carmen still experiences sensory overload. At fashion shows and as a ring girl at the WVBA, it's due to the flashing lights, blaring music, and the crowded environments. While at first she's okay with it or more like, tries to mask, but after a while, it could become too overwhelming for her.

She also had to mask her discomfort in modeling tight and stiff clothing and certain fabric and seams that caused her sensory issues. Same when she would model turtlenecks. All those issues from her early days of modeling would eventually lead her to get a diagnosis especially when her agent expressed concern.

Carmen is prone to meltdowns not just from being overwhelmed or over sensory stuff but also if she's trying to remember or understand something or when she's annoyed.

Carmen uses noise-canceling headphones when she hears loud noises, to soothe herself and yes, her noise-cancelling headphones are pink!

Carmen also takes quiet breaks which is usually her reading fashion and gardening magazines before she continues with what she has to do or after a day of modeling.

She would start wearing sensory bracelets and fidget rings to be at ease when she's on the catwalk, as a ring girl and just in general. It helps soothe her.

Some of her stims are tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, hair twirling, hand clasping, hand waving and humming. Listening to the same song over and over again is another stim of hers and helps soothe her. She is also prone to getting songs stuck in her head.

Carmen has difficulty interpreting and responding to social cues. She tends to not understand sarcasm unless it’s someone she knows, she laughs at moments that aren't that funny (ex: one person jokes and everyone except her laugh and when that person is just talking, she laughs), and she smirks or smiles when she tries to hold her laugh in when she remembers something funny and when she is infodumping, she tends to forget to notice reactions from people and doesn't see if they're bored, annoyed and uninterested.

Carmen has hyper-empathy; she tends to feel emotional towards and over-attachment to people, places, animals, objects, or things; when she sees the boxers especially Don lose, it hits her hard. Same when she sees a model stumble and while everyone laughs or points, she feels bad for the model. And she can’t watch movies or shows where bad things happen to the characters especially animals.

She was scared to come out as autistic to Don or him finding out that she is. This was out of fear of thinking Don would look at her differently, make fun of her or think she's not pretty for him. She had to deal with that with some people including two exes of hers ("you're too pretty to be autistic", "why do you like childish things" or the tedious "but you don't look autistic"). One day when Carmen was dealing with sensory overload at the WVBA, that's when Don knew she was neurodivergent and he helped calm her down. He also then tells her he is also neurodivergent (ADHD) and he understands what Carmen goes through. Both of them being neurodivergent, bisexual and hopeless romantics who share an interest in makeup, fashion and dancing is what brought them closer.

Carmen still masks especially around new people or in new environments because she knows how neurotypicals can be. With Don, her friends, her family and people she trusts and when she’s alone, she feels at ease to unmask, stim and be herself. And they accept her for who she is.

Carmen would become open about her autism and advocate for autistic/neurodivergent inclusion in fashion. With her fashion design, she designs sensory friendly clothing. Oh and NO tags!

[queen-of-obsessing]

"Can…can I stay with you?" Bilbo asked, softly. "If only for the night? It's just…I share a room with Kili, and he snores, so…" Thorin freed a spot on the seat next to him before he finished speaking, and Bilbo collapsed into it, resting his head on his shoulder. "You're never forgiving me for this, are you?" he whispered. "Never," Thorin replied, but there was no malice in it. He simply pulled him closer. "But I'm beginning to understand." His lips brushed the crown of his head, in the gentlest of kisses, as sleep began to tug at him. “Go back to your books,” he said softly, the same words he said to him that haunting day on the hill, now a gentle whisper above Bilbo’s head, with his firm hand parsing through his curls. “Plant your trees, watch them grow.” Lying in Thorin’s arms with his head nestled against his broad chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart, Bilbo fought sleep for as long as he could, until he eventually drifted off, and had the most pleasant dreams of home.

Chapter 3 has (finally) been uploaded!!

[inonibird]

Coughing from the impact, Grievous scrambled to right himself, leveling a furious, accusing stare up at Dooku. “You would dare use the Force in our duel?!”

“I had to defend myself,” said Dooku calmly. “Your clumsy Djem So was too powerful for me to counter. What did you expect me to do?”

The cyborg lurched to his feet. “I expect you to fight me with honor! I can do nothing with your Force—cannot see it, cannot block it. A skilled warrior should not have to resort to cheating!”

Dooku laughed, a scornful scoff. “You speak of honor? What do you know about honor?”

“I am Qymaen jai Sahuldeem, the greatest warrior in Kaleesh history,” was the snarled response, his name tumbling from his vocabulator without hesitation. “I did not achieve greatness by stooping to cheap tricks. I earned my greatness as a powerful leader. I was Chieftain—Khan—Khagan!”

Dooku’s expression darkened at this distasteful display. It was not the first time he’d observed the issue of insubordination, defiance and an excess of individuality, and he was less amused by it every time it resurfaced. He spoke firmly, not yet drawing on the Force to aid him, meeting his apprentice’s glare with well-bred authority. “You’re losing your focus, Grievous. Concentrate on what is happening now. Your training. Our duel.” “All I am losing is my patience,” seethed the cyborg. “And you will lose more than that if you do not treat me with the respect I deserve.” ��

Chapter 9 of Part Six - Grievous of the Sahuldeem series is up!

[skyward-floored]

Impa breathes out slowly, shifting into a ready position as she faces down her opponent.

Volga stares back at her, firelight shining off of his spear as he also stands ready, and they move at the same time, Volga lunging forward as Impa raises her naginata to block him.

She succeeds, but doesn’t have enough time to even think of attacking back before he’s swinging at her again, spear jabbing quickly at her defenses. It’s all Impa can do for several moments to just avoid being struck, Volga’s speed greater than one would expect.

Sweat beads on Impa’s brow as Volga batters at her, her heart pounding as she narrowly avoids a swing of his spear. If he manages to land a solid hit, it’ll all be over.

Impa grits her teeth and finally manages to fight back, breaking out of the pattern she’d found herself in and thrusting her weapon at Volga.

Their weapons lock, the two straining against each other. Impa's arms shake as she strains against him, Volga’s strength impressive and much greater than her own. So Impa pushes for only for a moment longer before sliding nimbly out of the way, ducking down and swiping at him. Volga moves at the last second, smoke puffing from his nose, and the two whirl around each other in a dance of weapons, Impa trying to dart in and land a hit, Volga methodically blocking her attacks.

Sweat is pouring down her brow now, but Volga doesn’t look like he’s having an easy time of it either, panting as they both dodge and attack with equal frequency.

They're almost completely evenly matched.

Volga twirls his spear in a series of short jabs, and Impa lunges out of the way just barely too slow, the blunt end smacking her. An ache shoots up her side, but she isn’t badly hurt, and she notes the brief opening Volga leaves as he tries to get her while she’s reeling.

Impa avoids another thrust, and prepares herself for the next attack. She purposely leaves an opening this time, just large enough to be noticeable, and Volga takes it, lunging towards her with his eyes gleaming.

But instead of hitting her, Impa uses his momentum against him, twisting around at the last second and hooking her foot around his leg.

Volga stumbles, his eyes wide with surprise, and Impa whips around and knocks him flat on the ground with her naginata, whirling it around and pointing the tip at his neck.

He looks up at her and she looks down at him, both of them breathing hard, the smell of sweat and smoke in the air.

Impa smiles.

“I win.”

Volga snorts, resting his head back on the ground as he lightly pants. “Seems you still have some tricks I haven’t figured out.”

“Well I can’t reveal all of the Sheikah’s secrets,” Impa smirks, and Volga rolls his eyes.

Impa pulls her naginata away from his neck, and reaches down, offering him a hand up. Volga takes it, unlike the last time they sparred, and doesn’t immediately let go once he’s upright.

“Impressive,” Volga says, mouth twitching up into a smile. “Not many can momentarily best a dragon. Someday you might even properly beat me.”

“...Excuse me? Which one of us was flat on his back a moment ago?” Impa replies with a brow raised, and Volga tosses his head.

“I gave you a handicap. I used no fire, and never transformed.”

“We both agreed to not use any magic or anything of the sort before we started, we both had a handicap,” Impa says pointedly, and fights the smile that tries to form at the face Volga makes.

“...MaybeI let you win,” he huffs, and Impa can’t help her laugh.

“You're too honorable not to give it your all, Sir Dragon. Admit it Volga, my skill in weaponry bests your own,” she says teasingly, and though Volga looks away, it isn’t fast enough for Impa to miss the fact that there’s still a smile twitching on his lips.

“...Perhaps. Pity there were no witnesses to your supposed victory.”

Impa opens her mouth to argue, but closes it as she realizes Volga’s right. There’s nobody in the cave the Gorons have designated as a sparring area, probably because it’s rather late at night. They had no audience for their spar except for the small lizards that sometimes hide under the rocks.

Which unfortunately means Volga is correct.

Volga laughs at her expression, and Impa swats him on the arm, unable to stop her own smile.

“Well the next time I beat you, I’ll do it in front of an audience so that no one can deny my victory,” she says firmly, walking to the wall and placing her weapon against it. Volga does the same, and they lean against the rocks, both still catching their breath from their fight.

“I don’t plan on losing,” Volga says, looking over at her with a gleam in his eyes. “I won’t hold back.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Impa replies. “The only way to improve oneself is to train against a real challenge, and your style is quite unique. Before coming here, I knew very little about fighting techniques aside from my tribe’s, and that of the Hylians.”

“You’ve improved since then,” Volga says, watching a lizard skitter under a rock. “I can tell a marked difference between when we first fought and our spar tonight. You’re truly growing in your skill.”

He smiles again, and they look at each other, an odd sensation sweeping through Impa’s chest. It’s similar to the excitement she’d felt when she managed to knock Volga down, but not... exactly.

It’s certainly different from the annoyance and near hatred that she used to feel whenever she’d see one of Volga’s smirks, and she knows he feels the same, his grins less smug, his pride eased more to simply confidence when they’re together. Somehow they’ve become friends despite their less-then-friendly interactions at first, and Impa enjoys having another warrior around to talk to.

Especially because of the other feelings she sometimes gets when she looks at him now.

...Not ones I should be dwelling on, she thinks hastily.

“It’s rather late,” she notes with a clearing of her throat, and Volga nods. “And I unfortunately have a meeting in the morning.”

“My condolences,” Volga chuckles, and Impa smirks.

“Don’t be too happy. You’re supposed to be there as well.”

Volga grimaces, and Impa smiles, groaning a bit as she stretches. She’s going to be sore tomorrow, but the spar was more than worth it. Impa stops leaning against the wall then, retrieving her naginata in order to place it back in her room, and turns back to Volga to bid him goodnight.

And startles when he suddenly leans close to her, his blue eyes trailing along her face.

Impa blinks at his closeness, the heat that had just begun to leave her face returning full-force. She meets his gaze, and he looks back, a faint smell of fire and smoke coming off him.

Then Volga softly nuzzles his face against hers.

“Goodnight Impa,” he says in a surprisingly quiet voice, his breath against her skin making the hair on her neck stand up.

Then he pulls back, and leaves.

Impa watches him go with a shockingly warm feeling sweeping through her middle, and she raises a hand to the cheek he’d nuzzled against, her heart doing an awful lot of leaping around.

It must be a dragon thing, she thinks almost dizzily, her fingers cool against her hot face. Platonic, surely.

...Surely?

Impa stands by herself in silence for another few moments, trying to get her wits about her, and blows out a slow breath as a smile slips onto her face without her permission.

Then she leaves as well, glad now that nobody is around to see the color of her face.

...

The memory fades, and Impa looks down at the scale she’d been rubbing between her fingers, orangish-red and shimmering in the lantern light.

She holds it up and studies the small details she knows so well, the way the color changes when she tilts it, the faint warmth it gives off. She’s not sure why she still has it after so many years.

It’s not like it makes the memories hurt any less.

Voices drift past the half-open flap of her tent, and Impa’s ear twitches at the soft sound of Link’s voice, Proxi chiming in answer. Her son's quiet laugh reaches her, and the sound equally warms her heart and tears at the ragged edges of it.

Impa sighs as Link's footsteps recede, his voice fading away, and she looks at the maps she's supposed to be using to plan out a route.

She breathes out, running her thumb along the scale one more time, then returns it to the small pouch at her hip, closing it tight, and putting her thoughts from Volga.

It's harder then it should be.

[kaisollisto]

the instant i saw you reblog the europa stuff i was like 🥺👉👈 wheres the avatrice/avalil/bealil SLASH all of them au for poor sick victorian boy follower?🥺 (translation: i love how u write about space & also Landscapes and also The Characters and Europa is so😳what if we met in the ice tunnels beneath a burning sky that is always, ALWAYS cold, and what if home was very far away? but also here, where bodies are hearth-fires and your breath can die inside your mouth)

hi this was back in april when i was fighting for my life 🙇‍♀️ oops i'm so slow at writing. um i'm in tears, i remember when i got this ask i was having a rough weekend and this really blew my ass up. i love u thanks for waiting o7

\

“I tell you to jump, you fucking jump, I tell you to fucking shoot you shoot. What’s not clear?” Mary is livid, her fury burning the front of Lilith’s soaked suit. She can’t see her face but she knows it’s hardened, her teeth peeking from her lips a dull white against her dry skin. Her shoulders shake with each breath waiting for Lilith’s pithy excuse. Mary catapults through her anger regardless of the destruction and waste, (Lilith knows this, catches herself in the reflection of Mary’s fangs).

It’s a fleeting thing that blindsides her, the memory brushing up the back of her neck. (Shannon’s fingers quick and light riding the slope of Mary’s arm pressing hard enough to feel in the frozen tundra as Mary works her jaw). A stolen moment she shouldn’t have seen but one that ached in different places of her body.

It is Europa’s disease, the weak imitation of heat sullying the minds of any living thing it touches. The earthsiders have a word for it, the hunt for any hint of warmth that drives barracks mad. (They cannot conceive it, a famine that thrives through the flesh. Europa’s twin, born second, void of anything, now at the heart of a feast gorging everything it can touch).

It is a disease they cannot combat, the yearning ache to go home.

cont.

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I want to send Monty a collection of sunglasses in various colors and shapes. Let him have a bit of variety.

For the second time today, you dig through your backpack for a gift to give. What will this one be? You hope it’s a good one like the last pair. After what feels like an age, your paw lands on something. You eagerly pull it from the backpack to give it a good look over and read the tag. It was a present wrapped in green polka dotted paper, a sticker on one side of the ambiguous shape with the name Montgomery Gator written on it, the whole thing decorated in stickers. You check your database for the animatronic in question and start to make your way up the steps in front of the daycare, towards the security door you hoped would lead directly to the atrium.

The door opened without question for you and you stepped right through, once again wondering when you were going to run into the security around here. You always do eventually… or at least you always do when the location has security to run into. You shake off the thought as you take in the atrium for the first time from the walkways.

This place is huge! You can’t help but gawk at all the lights and colours in awe. There was just so much to look at, you struggled to find a place to start!

Strangely enough, you end up starting at the scaffolding and white covers over the attraction at the opposite corner to where you’re standing. What’s that about? Fazerblast next door and Bonnie Bowl next door but upstairs looked fine though. Your curiosity almost got the better of you but you shook yourself out of the desire to explore over there for now. You turn your gaze determinedly towards the attraction directly to your left, all green and full of fake plants of the jungle variety. Do alligators live in jungles? You’re not so sure… but then again, Fazerblast is clearly themed on space and bears aren’t aliens so you wouldn’t be too surprised if Fazbear got it wrong.

Or at least… you’re pretty sure that bears aren’t aliens. They’re not aliens… Are they?

It takes you more effort than you’d care to admit to break out of that train of thought and get back on track. You have a job to do! You can’t keep getting distracted!

With that in mind, you march onwards towards Gator Golf.

Eyeing the golf ball ride as you pass, you continue on until you find yourself standing in the attraction itself. There was even more fake foliage in here, with mini golf greens marking a path throughout the place and an alligator ride still chugging along far overhead. How in the world are you going to find Monty in here?

You wander along the path of greens, passed holes and bunkers and mechanical alligator heads jumping out of the water, passed the huge stage, around the game hazards and under the giant bucket. It takes you a while before you finally spot him. At first, you thought it was just another cool prop, but as you drew closer, you realised that the green and red thing in the water was the real thing.

And that you’d walked passed him at least three times.

He was just floating there. Belly down and snout just above the water line, his tail acting like an anchor. With the star shaped glasses on his face, you couldn’t tell if he was watching you or not.

You whistle to draw his attention but he doesn’t respond. He just carries on floating. You whistle a little louder, but still no response. You try once more, as loud as you possibly can, and still nothing. Maybe he lacks audio sensors? He wouldn’t be the only one after all…

Leaning in closer, you wave at him instead, hoping his eyes are open under those glasses. You lean over the barrier some more as he seems to drift lazily towards you with the water current. Your frantic waving has no effect. You keep trying, wondering if you could drop something on his head to get his attention as he drifts closer to you. You’re about to leave to try that-

Splash!

In a blind flurry of motion, Monty suddenly launched up from the water. He snapped his jaws. You leapt backwards, teeth missing you by an inch. You stare, wide eyed from the floor at the figure now hanging over the railings from the opposite side. Monty laughs, almost cackling at your misfortune, completely unbothered by the water dripping from his every limb. He nudges his now decidedly stupid glasses up his snout as you huff and pick yourself up off the floor. You brush yourself off as he continues to laugh.

“Damn, I gotcha good, lil’ guy!” Yeah, no kidding. This must be the Pizzaplex’s resident funny man without the funny. You’re pretty sure every Fazbear location has one of these goofballs. “Who are ya anyway? Not seen you ‘round here before. You new?” You shake your head and insistently pat the badge you proudly display on your chest. He raises his glasses and an eyebrow at it, studying it for a few long moments before muttering a ‘huh.’ You give him a second to process, wondering if he knew what your badge meant or not. He perked up as the realisation seemed to hit him and his eyes fell straight to the green package at your feet. He should consider himself lucky it’s not soaked…

“Ya got somethin’ for me?!” Monty’s eyes almost sparkled with surprise and excitement and the second you nodded, he dragged himself over the railings so fast you’re surprised he didn’t break anything. “Really?!” You nod, stepping back a bit so as not to get dripped on as he towered over you. Safe from the rain, you stand up straight, puff out your chest and present the gift to him, holding it up as high as you can. He gasped, jaw dropping a little as he stared at the present in awe.

It took him a while to gently lift it out of your grasp and sit himself on the floor with a ground-shaking thud. His tail wrapped around himself, his legs crossed and his eyes never left the little green bundle in his hands. You wave your paws to it to urge him to open it, hoping he does so before the water soaks through too much of the paper. You don’t know what’s in it, but the last thing anyone wants is for him to ruin it like this…

He pays you no mind, taking his time to deliberate it for a good while longer before taking his claws to it. He drags them lightly down the side, cutting paper and stickers alike, but never harming what lies beneath in an impressive display of precision and control. The paper tears away with ease, falling to the floor in surprisingly clean strips and gradually revealing the container within. It didn’t give much away, with no markings to speak of and no labels to describe the contents. With the lid opening towards you, all you could do was wait until Monty showed you to see what it was.

“Oh hell yeah!” A grin split his face like lightning as he beheld it, wasting no time in lifting them up to try them on. He swapped the star glasses already on his face with a blue pair with lenses shaped like the moon, “whaddya think?” You think for a moment before nodding and offering a thumbs up at his goofy smile. “HAHA!” He cheers before swapping the moon glasses for silver clouds with little lightning bolts dangling from them. You mouth an ‘oh’ and nod more enthusiastically. He sniggers with mischievous glee as he digs through the box for the next pair of glasses that catch his eye. The next pair replaces the old, this time shaped like bolts of fire.

“Heh, bet Rox would love these!” You had to agree these ones were pretty cool… what else does he have though? Peeking around the edge of the box, your vision suddenly turns purple and you almost lose your balance from how roughly the glasses were shoved onto your face. You blink a few times as you adjust them with your paws, taking a good look in the mirror on the underside of the box’s lid to find that they’re shaped like paw prints. A smile makes itself known and it only grows as you turn to find Monty grinning goofily at you with red lightning bolt glasses that barely covered his eyes at all. You can’t help but quietly giggle too and before you know it, you and Monty have spent at least an hour trying out his new collection of coloured shades.

He must have had every shape you’ve ever seen in that box! Love hearts, diamonds, rabbits, apples, flowers, feathers, and heck he even had a pair shaped like fish! And of course, Monty had set aside a pair or two he thought would suit each of his friends, often commenting how much Bonnie would have loved this. It was perhaps the only time his cheer was dampened throughout your time with him. What was up with that…?

Well, it was none of your business anyway. If he didn’t want to say, then he didn’t want to say. Who are you to pry? Instead, you would choose another pair of glasses at random and offer them up to him, managing to bring his attention back to the positives as much you could.

As you’re about to take your leave and return to your important job, you place the glasses you were just wearing softly back into their box. You turn to leave, ready to wave goodbye as you go when your arm is suddenly grabbed and you’re pulled back a few steps. Your vision turns purple as the pair of paw print glasses is plonked right back onto your nose.

“Hold onto these ones for me, will ya?” He lets go of you and starts making a mess of the glasses in the box, acting like the lid won’t fit. “Can’t get ‘em all back in so you might as well have ‘em.” He winks behind Saturn-shaped lenses and a good natured, toothy smirk. You’re surprised for a moment, but gradually, a happy smile replaces your round eyes and open jaw. You clasp your paws together and nod your thanks. Your hair is ruffled with a light chuckle in return before he nudges you back the way you were going before he stopped you.

“C’ya later, yeah?” You nod again with enthusiasm, readjust your backpack and wave goodbye as you head on out. He waves back, and just as you’re about to turn a corner and out of his sight, you hear him call out, “you better watch out for alligators next time, lil guy!” You snigger and poke your head back around the corner to give him a thumbs up before you leave.

You make your way back through the jungle foliage and back into the Gator Golf section of the atrium, coming to a stop beside the golf ball themed ride to once again slide your backpack from your shoulders onto the floor. The glasses slip a little as you look down at the bag and you can’t help the smile as you push them back up your nose. It’s not very often you get a gift as well, but it leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy inside every single time…

Sticking your paw into the bag, you can’t wait to show the next person your new glasses. You wonder who you’ll be going to see next...

[caterpillarinacave]

i saw in the tags of your henry and mortmain posts that you’d like people to ask you about them :) — and tbh i’d love to hear more about the parallels between them that you mention in the post :D

Before I begin, I’m so sorry I took so so long to answer! I have been pretty busy and could definitely do a longer breakdown of all this but it’s already been a month and it’s going to drive me insane if I leave thing unanswered any longer. 

I’ll need to do a full re-read of the trilogy to really answer the questions but here are some thoughts that are very interesting to me. Please excuse any incoherent-ness, (and grammar issues, and repetition issues, and poor citation, and spelling, and rambling, etc, etc) i have spent so long staring at the document i wrote this on trying to get my brain to work I may have totally lost the plot. Just trust me guys I’ve got a PhD in Henry Fairchild.  

Lets start off with the most obvious parallel, that being their work. On a strictly physical level the work they do is very similar- they both approach magic through science and vice versa in a notably unique fashion. Stylistically and functionally the things each of them create has a decently sized overla and Henry has no problem understanding Mortmain’s creations. Mortmain favors clockwork for his creations and while Henry doesn’t specifically focus on such things he is very familiar with them, and interested to boot. 

Mortmain is quite brilliant, in multiple ways. Most people could not manage the type of thing he pulls off consistently; Henry *probably* could. It’s worth noting Henry is severely limited by Shadowunter laws; in the third book we see the only reason he hasn’t invented a portal entirely by himself is because he can only work with a specific set of runes (Clockwork Princess, pg. 282). Even working in the tight restraints of Shadowhunter resources, and only being around 21 in the books, he’s extremely competent. 

Furthermore, Henry does not approach things with the period typical Shadowhunter judgement; as a matter of fact he essentially does not function within society as a Shadowhunter. To unpack that lets look at where Mortmain and Henry stand in relation to broader society. 

The London Shadowhunters in this time period can be described, for lack of a better word, as pissy. Judgmental, bored, aggressive, whiny, chronically dissatisfied, dramatic, dismissive, sometimes downright cruel, etc, etc. Pissy. They’re really pissy. 

Henry, objectively speaking, does not fit into all this, and is punished for it (see pgs 281-283 CP3). The general public treats him horribly. Recall in Clockwork Angel Charlotte tells Tessa that Henry was the one who told Mortmain what a Pyxis was (which is, again, a different rant), that he wants her to tell the Clave and that she won’t because “they already treat him so badly”. And they do- nearly every single interaction involving him and broader Shadowhunter society involves some sort of insult, mockery, slight, etc. Almost nobody but Charlotte ever objects to this behavior and her objections have zero effect. “Making fun of Henry” is pretty much an unopposed standard. 

There’s no fair reason for this. Henry is, by all accounts, an extremely pleasant person. He’s repeatedly described as “kind”- Tessa has him pinned as a trustworthy person almost immediately (“it’s only Henry, after all”). He’s rarely upset, laid back, well intentioned, and generally polite. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. 

Imo he probably would have been treated better if he did respond in kind- or even if he had just fully withdrawn from Shadowhunter society. His persistent refusal to hold a grudge, a generally positive trait, shoots him in the foot. This is only compounded by his general disinterest in things like physical fighting, politics, and social structure. He hasn’t done anything wrong- quite the opposite- but he’s being punished by his peers for the crime of being earnestly odd (coughhasblatantlyautisticcough). 

Mortmain, being a human child raised by warlocks, obviously does not fit into any particular standard. He doesn't have any particular loyalty to a party. Rather, he mostly defines his identity with his hatred for Shadowhunters, and connects with other groups transactionally with this in mind. 

He has been wronged by the Shadowhunters, when his parents were killed and then in the aftermath. The Clave denying his request for reparations and, by extent, denying any wrongdoing in their actions, is a smack in the face from a powerful society. 

With this in mind they would be both well within their rights to resent the Shadowhunters and they respond to that in fully opposite ways. 

Henry doesn’t resent them- at all. Despite how horribly he is treated, which, one can note, does not stop after the battle of Cadair Idris, he chooses to let it go and actively work to make life better for those same people. (Clockwork Prince; “You know it isn't just tinkering for me. You know I want to create something that will make the world better, that will make things better for the Nephilim.”), He views that cruelty as a part of life as a Shadowhunter but not the defining part of that society. It’s just a thing that happens- it sucks, it hurts, but he’s not going to blame or punish the whole group because of it. 

Mortmain’s is entirely the opposite. He hates them and views all the Shadowhunters as irredeemably wrong, fully deserving of a violent fate. All of them. He’s obsessed with destroying all these people despite most of the individuals who hurt him directly being gone. He blames them all, intends to carry out a mass punishment and doesn’t care about anything else.

He is deeply resentful, yeah, but he also wants more for himself. He doesn’t just want revenge, he wants a disgusting amount of power, a total victory over anything he choses, power mainly for the sake of having power. 

Now we can circle back to that earlier point- Henry could be like Mortmain. 

Recall in Clockwork Angel when they first bring back the automaton for Henry to examine in his lab he’s not just interested in the machine- he’s excited about it.He recognizes it to be a brilliant work of science and design, something incredibly impressive and compelling. This is not the sort of thing anyone sees everyday and it’s certainly not the sort of thing a Shadowhunter would interact with. This is exactly the sort of thing he loves, the sort of thing nobody else ever brings up, and it’s exciting to see. 

As the books continue nobody else is ever caught up on the functional skills of the machinery itself. People talk about Mortmain, about what is happening, what to do, etc, etc, but the fact that the automatons are a feat of engineering is just not on anybody's radar. It’s not the sort of thing any Shadowhunter gives shit about, save Henry. 

So Henry has the same intellectual capacity as Mortmain, the same scientific and magical capacity, and a not dissimilar approach to thinking. 

He could pretty much disappear and do whatever he wanted forever. He could ditch the Nephilim. He could walk off without telling anybody and never bother with the Clave’s again. He could go off and study all the things Shadowhunter’s are banned from. He could create whatever he wanted completely unencumbered by the restrictions of the Nephilim (see pg.283 of CP3). Chances are nobody would pick up on it. One of the major flaws of that group of Shadowhunters is that they’re very self focused. If someone they aren’t particularly fond of, who doesn’t fit into their narrow view of someone that deserves respect, stops showing up and interacting with them they are not gonna make any real effort to figure out where they’ve gone. If Henry wasn’t around to “annoy” them none of them wouldn't go looking for him and they don’t have enough respect for innovation to wonder what he’s up to. 

Remember, nobody cares about what he does (Clockwork Princess: Henry blushed a scarlet color. It was clear that no one had ever complimented his inventing before, except perhaps Charlotte. Pg. 282 ) 

He could have a whole new world of resources without having to deal with a society that thoroughly rejects him. He could do the one thing everyone thinks he loves the most. Hell, from an outsider point of view, the only thing he loves. He’ll happily spend days straight working, forgetting to eat, sleep, or anything else.

It’s theoretically not difficult to imagine a universe where he skips out of Shadowhunter society completely and has been wandering around the same circles as Mortmain for forever. 

(He doesn’t ofc because that would be betrayal. It would require breaking the law, throwing away all social and civic responsibility, abandoning the whole kit and kaboodle, blah blah, certainly not related to other very elaborate thoughts I have about this character.)

The point here is that they are so similar save that fact. Their scientific approach to the world, which absolutely defines that way Henry exists and, at least at some point in his life, probably defined Mortmain, are so similar. If you laid the basic facts all out to someone with no context other previous knowledge on the characters (here is what they do, here is what they’re best at, here is what they bring physically to the table etc and exclude personality, morality, relationships, etc) and asked them to point out a character most like Mortmain they’d probably point to Henry. 

Hell, I’d point to Henry. I’d say yeah, that’s a set up for someone to go full mad scientist and wander off to do whatever he wants. I’d say that's the character most likely to agree to use human bodies to power machinery. 

Recall back to Clockwork Angel (and like, two paragraphs ago) about the automatons that are so fascinating to Henry. The beginning scene is the most exciting he  ever is about this incredible tech:

“[The automaton] is not precisely a living creature at all… A mechanical creature, made to move and appear as a human being moves and appears. Leonardo da Vinci designed one. You can find it in his drawings- a mechanical creature that could sit up, walk, and turn its head. He was the first to suggest that human beings are only complex machines, that our insides are like cogs and pistons and cams made of muscle and flesh. So why could they not be replaced with copper and iron? Why couldn’t you build a person? But this. Jaquet Droz and Maillardet could never have dreamed of this. A true biomechanical automaton, self moving, self directing, wrapped in human flesh.” His eyes shone. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Henry.” Charlotte’s voice was tight. “That flesh you’re admiring. It came from somewhere.” 

Henry passed the back of his hand across his forehead, the light dying out of his eyes. “Yes- those bodies in the cellar.” (pg. 160-161, Clockwork Angel. )

That characteristic earnest excitement that he displays towards nearly everything new dies on the spot. “Miranda” and the other automatons are not less interesting because they’re made with human body parts- if anything that should make it more interesting. But the scientific brilliance is negated by the cruelty associated with it. It’s impressive, it’s “beautiful” and it’s not worth it. Innovation that opposes life, as opposed to promoting it, doesn’t count (see tags). 

So their work, especially in this context, is interchangeable- it’s their intentions that make the whole difference. 

Tessa says it best in Clockwork Princess; Henry brings things to life. Mortmain destroys. Where one of them has devoted his life to protecting people, regardless of how he’s been treated, the other one has devoted himself to slaughtering people, because of how he was treated. Where one invents with the specific intention of protecting life 

In other words, two very very similar people differentiated by a fundamental love for humanity and a fundamental disregard of it. 

TLDR: I need to reread the books to make this post but their style of work, approach to science and magic, and interests parallel. Also I have no idea if I’m coherent anymore please ranting in the tags for thoughts on everything here. 

TLDR the TLDR: They’re both inventing shit in a series hinged around these things that have been invented

[fleetsonourgecentral]

hii not sure if this blog is active still but since its the 23rd, that means scourge finally gets the birthday he deserves in the fleetway universe.

OH SHIT HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY TO THE BASTARD MAN HIMSELF

~~~

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Can't you take a hint?" Scourge hissed, swatting at the finger insistently poking him in the head. "'M sleeping. Go away."

"Absolutely not," Sonic snorted, evidently giving up on poking Scourge awake and upgrading to physically shaking him. "If I let you sleep in, you'll just be bitching later."

"When have I ever bitched about sleeping in?"

"Repeatedly. Get up before I push you out of bed."

It wasn't an empty threat, and Scourge knew it. The knowledge, however, did not stop him from burying his head under the pillow and groaning long and low. "Fuck off and let me dream about setting Tekno's experiments on fire."

It was disappointing, but not surprising, when instead of heeding Scourge's command, Sonic yanked him out of bed by his ankles, letting him crack his head on the cold, unforgiving floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Scourge twisted in Sonic's grip, pulling his poor ankles free. He glared up at Sonic, who looked down at him with his arms folded, customary smug smirk on his face. It was sorely tempting to kiss that stupid smirk away, but that would require getting up, and Scourge was seriously considering pulling the blankets off the bed and curling up on the floor and going back to sleep out of sheer spite. "What was that for?"

"Get up and you'll find out," Sonic said, nudging him with his foot. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

"How about you get up and find out a new place to sleep tonight," Scourge grumbled, reluctantly hauling himself to his feet. "Won't even let me sleep in peace when there's no new missions you need me for... don't get in the bed if you want to be up at the asscrack of dawn."

"This is my room," Sonic said, linking his arm in Scourge's before Scourge could contemplate throwing himself back under the bed-sheets. "If it bothered you that much, you would go crawling back to your own room."

"Maybe I will."

"Sure you will."

"You think I won't?"

"Prove me wrong tonight if you want to, but you're not going back to bed today. After all the bitching you did about the birthday chair on my birthday, I'm not going to let you sleep your birthday away and give you the chance to bitch about not getting the chair."

"Some boyfriend you are, not letting me sleep in on my..." he trailed off, half-asleep brain finally registering Sonic's words. "Birthday?"

"Yes," Sonic said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Birthday."

That couldn't be right. His birthday wasn't until...

Scourge frantically tried to remember the date, and when his memory failed him, he snuck a glance at the calendar.

Huh. Well, fuck him sideways, look at that. It was his birthday.

Scourge... had honestly forgotten all about that.

It wasn't his fault! It was this stupid dimension and their backwards way of writing dates. The weirdos wrote the day before the month, like maniacs, instead of putting the month first like a normal person. That little difference had tripped him up more times than he cared to admit, and he'd lost count of the amount of times the mix-up had gotten him into trouble. His recent tactic was to just leave all the date stuff to everyone else, and while he had gotten better at remembering their weird system, it still didn't come to him automatically. It was one thing to know, logically, what month it was, and another thing entirely to look at the date and associate the unfamiliar order with the month they were in. So he hadn't been paying much attention to the date, and the reminder of his birthday just sort of... slipped by him.

Apparently, though, it did not slip by Sonic. He remembered. Although Scourge couldn't remember ever telling him when his birthday was, so how Sonic knew was beyond him.

"It's my birthday, and you're still making me get up at ass o'clock in the morning?" Scourge complained, shoving down the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest as he snatched his glasses from the nightstand. It was a familiar feeling by now, and it didn't bother him as much as it once did, but it was way too early for anyone to see him feeling sappy feelings.

"Oh please, it's only nine o'clock," Sonic snorted, dragging him out of the room. "Nowhere near the asscrack of dawn. Quit your bitching."

"I think I should get to sleep in as long as I want on my birthday. Don't I get any birthday privileges? What kind of fucked up dimension is this?"

"Your birthday privileges are the birthday chair. Move your ass, or you won't get any of the presents you were bitching about missing out on on my birthday."

Presents? Well, that was a motivator, Scourge couldn't lie. He dragged his feet for a few more seconds, just to prove a point, just so Sonic wouldn't win, but with lingering sleep slowly losing its grip on him, eagerness took its place, and he couldn't stop himself from picking up the pace a little. Sonic, like the dickhead he was, noticed immediately, and that stupid knowing smirk returned, and fuck, Scourge really needed to kiss it off his face. He'd do that. Later. Pencil it in to his to-do list. He'd get around to it right after he opened his presents.

Downstairs, the rest of the Freedom Fighters bustled about, the same way they had done for Sonic's birthday. Just like before, there were no cheesy banners (thank fuck for that) and the old ratty armchair had once again been dragged out of storage. The hand-made banners from last time were nowhere to be seen, but that was expected; those were banners for Sonic, after all, and Scourge didn't want banners about Sonic Day hanging from the walls on his birthday anyway. Overall, there weren't as many decorations as Sonic had, and the ones that were in the process of being hung up were boring and generic, but as most of those decorations from last time mentioned Sonic specifically, Scourge wasn't too upset about it. There was a green cushion on the armchair, though, which wasn't there last time, and Scourge took his rightful place on his throne for the day with smug satisfaction coiling in his chest. It wasn't much, but the cushion was so clearly bought with him in mind. It was for him and him alone, and it did wonders for his ego. No wonder Sonic was so pleased with himself while sitting on the armchair on his birthday.

"Scourge!" Amy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, beaming at him with a bright smile Scourge still wasn't used to. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks." Scourge leaned back in the armchair, crossing his legs and doing his best to shove away the bubbling discomfort. Amy didn't need to know he still wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to such genuine... genuineness. If she knew, she'd probably do it more, under some kind of excuse like helping him get used to it, which was such bullshit; Scourge knew her well enough by now to know she liked messing with people, and liked messing with people by being nice to them even more. The only reason she'd stopped telling people she was Sonic's girlfriend was because Scourge bragged about dating Sonic too much for anyone to believe it; apparently not even dating Tekno was enough to get her to stop, because Tekno found it funny and encouraged her to do it more. If anything united the Freedom Fighters outside of, well, fighting for freedom, it was opportunities to screw with Sonic.

Speaking of Tekno, she also fluttered in and out with presents clutched in her arms, parroting another "happy birthday" in his direction, although thankfully she was gone almost as soon as she said it, so he didn't need to reply. Even Tails waved at him as he flew in with a few more decorations.

"Sonic, can you-"

"Yeah, yeah, already on it," Sonic interrupted Amy, dashing into the other room after Tekno to help. Scourge peeked through the doorway after him; from what he could see, the pile of presents was nowhere near the size of Sonic's pile on his birthday, but he guessed that was to be expected. Sonic was the Hero of Mobius, receiving presents from grateful citizens in every Zone they entered, including a few sent over from the Special Zone, and Scourge had no interest in being viewed as a hero by anyone. No one had the same sense of gratitude towards him as they did towards Sonic.

An envelope and present landed on his lap before he had the chance to feel anything about that.

"From Ebony," Amy said quietly as she passed, like a secret. "And... well, the rest of them, too, I guess."

Raising an eyebrow, Scourge ripped open the wrapping paper on the present; Sonic had waited until all his presents were brought into a pile at his feet, but considering who this was from, Scourge figured he'd be forgiven for opening this one early. It was nothing special - a simple mug, Scourge couldn't tell if it was hand-made or store bought - but it was honestly more than he was expecting. It would be good to put his hot chocolate in, if nothing else, since he broke his last designated mug and hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet.

Setting the mug aside out of sight, he ripped open the envelope next. A cheesy birthday card greeted him - gross - but when he opened it, he was greeted with a glorious sight: money. Score.

He almost didn't bother reading the words on the card, but he was feeling gracious, so he skimmed them. Ebony's neat, cursive handwriting greeted him: thank you for all you've done for us. From Ebony, Pyjamas, and Super - The Groovy Train

Ew, sappy shit. Scoffing, Scourge tossed the card aside with the mug, ignoring whatever weird feeling was happening in his chest. He didn't even know why they'd bothered to send him anything; he didn't even like them that much, he only showed up to babysit Super if Ebony promised to pay him. But hey, if it meant he got birthday money out of it, he wasn't going to to question it too much.

Folding his arms, Scourge watched Tails and Amy hang the rest of the decorations. Someone managed to get their hands on some balloons, which they'd scribbled "yearly survival day" on in marker. And - oh boy - they'd found some banners to hang up after all. Amy was balancing on a ladder holding one end, while Tails grabbed the other, flying up to stretch the banner out-

Oh.

That... that was a hand-made banner. Not one of Sonic's, and not a generic or cheesy one, either.

Thanks for bullying Sonic, it read, with a bunch of names scribbled underneath. Signatures. Signatures of people he knew, people he was... friends... with. Front and center, proud, not tucked away at the back where they'd be out of sight.

Scourge stared at it. It was objectively ugly, an eyesore if he'd ever seen one, clearly made with limited resources, and the letters smushed together at the end where they'd clearly started to run out of room when they were writing. It was messy, far from perfect, nothing lavish or fancy. In all his life, he'd never had a birthday banner as ugly as this.

A pesky lump formed in Scourge's throat. He swallowed it down. At least his eyes were dry, and if that changed, his tinted glasses would hopefully hide that.

And oh fuck, there was Sonic suddenly standing before him, arms full of presents, glancing at the banner before meeting Scourge's eyes with that stupid, stupid, smug and knowing smirk.

Fuck it. He wasn't waiting. He was moving this task to the top of his to-do list.

Sonic barely had time to drop the presents onto the meager pile before Scourge seized him by the arms, dragged him in, and finally kissed that smirk off his face.

His triumphant plan promptly failed, for although Sonic couldn't smirk, his smugness was apparent in his kiss, instead. Asshole.

"Worth getting up for, huh?" Sonic said when they broke apart. "Was I right, or was I right?"

"Eh, I've had better," Scourge lied, pulling Sonic onto his lap. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"I've got something planned for later," Sonic promised, looping an arm around Scourge's neck without his customary complaining. "Bring your spray can, we're going vandalizing."

... Fuck, Sonic knew him too well. Damn it, Scourge loved him. It was actually unfair how much he loved him. He'd say there should be a law against it, but... well, Scourge wasn't exactly famous for giving a flying fuck about the law.

"You'd better treat me to dinner after," Scourge said, instead of saying any of that sappy shit.

"You'll get burgers or hotdogs from the first stand we see and that's it."

"Cheapskate."

"You'll get over it."

It wasn't lavish, or extravagant, or over the top, or any of the flashy, fancy things he was sure he'd get when he became the King of Moebius. And it was still too damn early, and he would've still liked a lie-in. But the hand-made banner was for him, and was signed, and Sonic wasn't even complaining about being in his lap, so... it would do.

It would do just fine.

[lazzarella]

🐍🧧❤️ (Pod via his insta)

[blackjackkent]

Raphael waits until Voss has left the room before turning fully towards Rakha with a wide, almost ingratiating smile. "I'm glad you came," he says mildly. "Not to my door, not yet, but to the final reckoning." He tips his head, studying her thoughtfully for a moment, then raises one hand.

"One more thing before we begin, though."

Rakha starts to argue, to tell him that she is not here for him, that she doesn't want anything he can possibly offer her - that her aim was to bring Lae'zel here to talk to Voss, and that Raphael's presence here is nothing more than an annoying flicker out of the corner of her eye...

...and then he snaps his fingers.

...and Rakha's mind goes blank.

Narrator: For the first time since the nautiloid, your mind is clear. It's... unsettling.

(A/N: Hahahahaha. So. Okay. I straight up forgot that this was a thing that happened, but damn if it doesn't come out of nowhere and completely bulls-eye the target.

It's become pretty clear to me over Rakha's journey since Act 1 that mental peace is the only goal she has that is stronger than the murder urge. It's stronger than her desire to defeat the Absolute, stronger than her love for Wyll, stronger than anything. And she's had a couple places where she's been able to get fleeting moments of it to varying degrees and in varying ways - the myconid spores, sex with Lae'zel, dancing with Wyll, channeling the Weave with Gale, sleeping cuddled up with Scratch and Buddy, and - most recently - the moment of "ecstasy" granted to her by the nymph in the room next door.

But most significant by far has been the Guardian/Emperor and her time in the Astral Prism, either in dreams or reality, as those have been the most complete and extended moments where both the tadpole and the beast have shut up in her head. And those experiences have driven most of her biggest recent decisions - particularly the decision to treat the Emperor as an ally despite its illithid nature, and to consume the Astral Tadpole.

One of Raphael's primary goals in this conversation is to convince Rakha that what he has on offer - the Orphic Hammer, and therefore a means to stand against the Emperor - is worth giving him the Crown of Karsus. And he opens the conversation by casually, literally with a snap of his fingers, proving that he can provide Rakha with the most important thing that she values about her existing partnership with Empy.

And, in fact, given that the narrator specifies for the first time since the Nautiloid, I'm inclined to say that Raphael in fact does it BETTER. I might have assumed that the game only means that the Emperor is no longer present in your mind, but there is a Dark Urge specific dialogue option here indicating quite directly that the murder urge is ALSO quiet in this moment.

This is such an in-character bit of smooth manipulation on Raphael's part that it is hysterical to me that the story has developed such that it happened by complete accident.)

Rakha goes completely still, as if she has been struck to stone. Her breath feels frozen in her lungs.

Silence. Everything inside her is quiet. The sound of the brothel fades to a distant hum and then out of hearing completely. The worm is unmoving in her temple. The beast sleeps. Everything is calm, and the only thing inside her skull is... her.

She opens her eyes - not having realized she closed them in the first place - and stares at Raphael in undisguised wonder. "The tadpole is slumbering..." she whispers. "And my blood... isn't boiling..."

Raphael smiles slowly. "I gave you back your privacy by shutting that illithid in your pocket out of your mind. It can't hear us."

Rakha shifts her weight uncertainly. This is Raphael, she reminds herself. A devil, like Mizora who tore Wyll's life apart. An evil not to be trusted. A creature she hates.

But the quiet is so deep, so impenetrable. Even the Guardian - the Emperor with whom she has thrown in her lot - has never silenced the voices in her head so thoroughly.

Does he know the statement he has just made to her? Or is it merely the luckiest of lucky guesses?

"Then speak freely," she growls. "Tell me why you brought me here."

Raphael relaxes, looking pleased, and lounges back on his heels. "I brought you here because I'm true to my word," he says smoothly. "And I can make all of this tadpole business go away - which means you and your lovely friends can remain blessedly free of tentacles." He smirks. "Unless some have already sprouted in places I can't see."

Settling his weight forward again, he hooks his hands behind his back with a businesslike attitude. "Let us speak plain," he says, his tone now crisp. "I'll admit - you've impressed me. I wasn't sure you'd make it this far. But no matter how far you come, you're still on the road to ruin - a road that leads directly to a confrontation with the elder brain."

His head tips forward, his eyes fixing on Rakha's. "At best, it will kill you and everyone in this city. At worst, it will assimilate you, and you won't have enough free will left to even wish you were dead." His gaze flicks to the pack on her hip. "You have the key to destroying it in the palm of your hand, though."

"The Astral Prism?" Rakha says slowly. What he describes doesn't exactly spark fear in her; none of it is anything she doesn't already know. What she doesn't understand is his angle, and the unexpected silence in her brain makes her thoughts feel strange and uncoordinated, as if she is running a few seconds behind the conversation.

Raphael shrugs. "In a manner of speaking. But it's the one inside the Prism that you need. Not the illithid - the gith." He spreads his arms dramatically. "I can give you the means to break him free."

Rakha frowns. This clarifies nothing - in fact, it increases her confusion. Why does Raphael want Orpheus freed?

"Speak, devil," Lae'zel says abruptly. Her eyes are narrowed with intense attention, her fists clenched at her sides. "We're listening."

Rakha hesitates. Yes - of course Lae'zel will want to hear more, if this is indeed what Raphael is offering, regardless of his reasons. And in truth, Rakha has been fairly conflicted on this point ever since they learned the Emperor's true nature.

The Emperor has been her ally up to this point, has granted her mental peace on occasion, guided her, advised her. Confided in her, even. But so has Lae'zel - and Lae'zel wants Orpheus freed. Which of them does Rakha owe more loyalty to?

Until this moment, it had seemed a moot point, since only the Emperor could protect them from the Absolute's influence; it stated quite clearly that Orpheus, if freed, would not provide the same service. Raphael, though, seems to see things differently.

"Orpheus's guards tried to kill me," she points out slowly, thinking out the statement word by word. "He's dangerous."

"To illithids - yes," Raphael says dryly. "But despite your reckless embrace of the parasite and recent mutations, you're no mind flayer... not yet. Orpheus would gladly execute the Emperor, but to you he will be a friend. After all, you're at war with an elder brain."

Rakha cocks her head to one side. "The Emperor is the only reason I'm still alive," she points out.

"No," Raphael says patiently. "*Orpheus* is the reason you're still alive. The Emperor is abusing the gith for its own ends. And it's doing the same to you." His lip curls. "You're nothing more than the beast of burden that will transport it to the elder brain. An ox requires food, and the occasional beating to keep it moving. You are simpler - the Emperor's words serve as both carrot and stick."

Narrator: Perhaps it is true that Orpheus would ally with you against the elder brain, but if he proves uncooperative once free, you may have to kill him.

Frustrated rage scratches at the back of Rakha's head - and absently she feels a flicker of wonder at realizing that just for this moment it is her rage, not the beast's anger but her own, grounded entirely in her own thoughts.

Raphael is, she has to admit, making a certain amount of sense. But there are only two interpretations here - either the Emperor is manipulating her or Raphael is. To agree to Raphael's manipulations would be to help Lae'zel - but it would mean siding with a devil, a tacit betrayal of Wyll. To stand with the Emperor would honor something of what she has learned in the past months about loyalty, friendship, honor - but it would mean abandoning Orpheus to his fate, a tacit betrayal of Lae'zel.

(A/N: I legitimately don't know wtf to do here. XD Raphael and the Emperor have both played Rakha like a fiddle so deftly, and Wyll and Lae'zel have both wormed their way so thoroughly into her life and thought processes, that she is now effectively deadlocked between them. This would actually be an easy decision if it weren't for MIZORA of all people, who isn't even in the room.

This is one of the few times when it would actually be awesome if Lae'zel just made an executive decision to do something dumb without my input but unfortunately there's no "defer to companion" option in this conversation.

I can't even very easily pick based on what I haven't done before, because I haven't either agreed with Raphael OR allied with the Emperor; Hector rejected Raphael's deal and then broke into the House of Hope on his own.

Jeez.

Ultimately I think we're going to stick with the Emperor because Rakha is, in her own way, oddly loyal to those she's decided have earned it, because I'm curious how the game plays out if you're on good terms with it, and because no matter how complete the mind-silence Raphael can provide and how much Lae'zel wants Orpheus to be free, I can't see Rakha agreeing to make a deal with a devil, particularly this devil, with Wyll right there in the same room.

Sorry, Lae'zel. :(

I'm going to slightly tweak one line of this conversation, however, in order to be able to get more info on the hammer before Rakha makes her decision, because she always wants more information.)

"Perhaps it's worth taking the risk,"(*) she says slowly. "How do I free Orpheus?"

"The Orphic Hammer," Raphael says matter-of-factly. "An artifact capable of shattering the chains that hold Prince Orpheus is held securely in my House of Hope even now."

Rakha lifts an eyebrow. "Perfect. Give it to me."

Raphael laughs brightly. "Such an eager little pup!" he says, a touch mockingly. "Surely you realize there is an exchange to be made. You scratch my back, I scratch your parasite."

Rakha's jaw works. "Just tell me what you want."

Raphael's expression hardens. "I want the Crown that dominates the elder brain," he says flatly. While Rakha absorbs this revelation, he looks past her, towards Lae'zel - perhaps seeing that she is the more willing listener. "And you, Lae'zel of K'liir... want to free the forgotten prince, do you not?"

"I want nothing more!" Lae'zel agrees earnestly.

Again that cool smile drifts onto Raphael's face. "Then it is settled, is it not? A Crown for a Hammer. A bargain of a lifetime, Lae'zel of K'liir..."

Rakha ignores his attempts to draw Lae'zel into the conversation, too focused on the information at hand, struggling to force her brain to process it. "What exactly is the Crown?"

"Power," Raphael purrs. "Ancient and full of wonder. I have craved it ever since the archwizard Karsus created it, long centuries ago, and brought doom to the empire of Netheril. That was the great age of humanity, and Netheril's flying sky-cities were the apex of civilization."

He smiles coldly. "I was there the day it all fell apart. Entire cities plummeted from the sky, like angels with broken wings." His eyes flick half-closed with a beatific expression. "The screams, oh the screams - hundreds of thousands of people watching in horror as the ground came up to meet them. It was not a happy meeting."

Then his eyes open again, and he is once again cool, matter-of-fact. "And Karsus was responsible. Not driven by malice, but by ambition. He forged a Crown imbued with all the powers of magic, a Crown that would make any who wore it a god." He snorts dismissively. "Men cannot contain so much power. The Crown destroyed its creator, and his empire fell with him. Karsus' Folly, the bards and scholars call it. I call it hope. The hope of creating a better world, and the perils of unchecked hubris."

He clenches one fist, a fiery light flaring in his eyes. "I knew then that the folly of mortals could be the triumph of devils, and that I could use that Crown to unite the Nine under one Archdevil Supreme. Me."

So that's what he wants. Power on a grander scale than ever conceived, in the Hells or anywhere else. "What makes you think," she asks, "you'd succeed in using the Crown where Karsus couldn't?"

To her surprise, that light in his eyes suddenly flares from satisfaction to rage.

"I AM NO MORTAL!" he roars. "And I do not fail."

Rakha squints. "If you don't fail, how come you didn't get hold of the crown then?"

It's a factual question, not a gibe, and surprisingly enough, he takes it as one and simply shrugs. "The Archdevil Mephistopheles snatched up the Crown and squirreled it away in one of his vaults," he says bitterly. "So much power and potential kept inert. He made a miracle into a museum piece." His eyes narrow. "I raged, but only for a decade or so. Then I waited, ever watching, for more than a thousand years, for a mistake, a mishap, a misadventure."

Again that slow smile. "And these Chosen who have caused you so much trouble accidentally did me a favor. They brought the Crown back into play."

"How did they come to have the Crown?" Rakha asks.

He scowls. "Through the aid of a diabolist, someone capable of opening a portal to the Hells -- *deep* in the Hells. They must have raided Mephistopheles' vault. Impressive, I must admit." A dismissive shrug. "But they'll be dead soon. If you don't kill them, the elder brain will. It doesn't have feelings in the way you'd understand them, but it seems rather angry."

His expression settles, his eyes fixing on Rakha's again. "It is inevitable. When you destroy the brain - and you will, because you must - the Crown will be yours for the taking. ANd when that moment comes, you give the crown to me. In exchange, I give you the Hammer now."

"Tsk'va!" Lae'zel snaps. "We should do as the devil asks. The Prince of the Comet must rise again!"

Narrator: A simple transaction, it seems. But it's more than that. He's offering you an alternative to the mind flayer in your head. Take Raphael's deal and you could free Orpheus. With Orpheus free, you would have no need to rely on the Emperor. But there's no guarantee Orpheus would be on your side. And if you take the deal, you'll have to fulfill it. You'll have to deliver the Crown of Karsus to the Devil himself. He claims his ambition is to unite the Hells. But can he be trusted to stop there? Do you trust him more than you trust the Emperor?

For a very long time-- Rakha says nothing at all.

This, then, is what they mean by temptation, what she is being offered right now. Wyll has said it is the domain of devils, and there is no question that Raphael knows her, and what she wants, with a depth she would not have anticipated. He has dangled an unsubstantiated promise of peace and victory in front of her in exchange for his own power, and the part of her that is made up of animal instinct wants to grab at it with both hands.

But she is more than that, isn't she? When the beast is silenced, there is more to her than that.

She can feel Wyll's eyes on her as this devil offers her an alliance against the thing that saved her over and over again. And she knows - thinks she knows, hopes she knows - what he would do, in her place.

"No deal, Raphael," she says abruptly. "I'm leaving."

All the warmth drains out of Raphael's expression instantly and his smile turns brittle. "I won't stop you," he says coolly. "But time is running out, so don't stay away for long. If you see reason, I'll be here waiting, right up to the moment the world ends."

-----

(*) The line in game is a flat "It's worth taking the risk" (and the other two lines are "i'm convinced" and "goodbye", so there's no actual uncertain option here).

[marionmorse]

Short Fuse is the funniest fucking ship name to me because it's: 'oh yeah, fuse! Like bombs having a fuse! That's a cute way to reference Demo!'

and then engie's just short.

[willoftheabyss]

Just wanted to say hii same pfp :)

true hiii ^_^

[shallowseeker]

god i look at old posts sometimes and I'm like oohhhh that is so nice to revisit but full of horrible hospital memories and hypoxia delirium

[imeriayapping]

Hi bestie, hope you are doing fine. <3 you are one of my favorites here btw, just wanted to let you know this before continuing. <3

About the last thing you posted, I wanted to write you something because you said you hope at least one person writes to you.

I, myself, usually write out of necessity, I have to write only because of my degree, and loscar being my favorites, are always the characters I use to work with words. The concept is usually similar. I have some kind of a fixation I can't get rid of. Maybe I'm not satisfied with something? I don't know.

For some reason, whenever I write about them, one of them is not present and sometimes it's vague whats the reason behind it. In addition, another frequently used symbol in my writings is usually some kind of a garden that comes with them. A kind of symbolism for their love or their absence. An overgrown garden is usually used to symbolize the absence of one of 'em, and a beautiful lush garden reflecting the light in a beautiful way is usually a symbol of their good, or better days when they were together, in love, and happy.

You can use all the above and some kind of a supernatural or paranormal thing. Make one of the characters into a ghost or maybe let it be realistic and make one of them solely an idea that the other one has in mind. A product of their imagination or madness.

I didn't have any idea, and I thought maybe writing this to you; gives you some kind of a picture? Even if at last you don't like it and forget about it, at least, I've tried. I'm not really good with giving ideas or words, so an imagery was all I could give. Hope it helps one way or another. :>

With love, a friend. <3

Omg first of all skndkskdkslskfk thank you soooo much for this ask!!!! I'm very honoured to be one of your favourites (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)♡

Second of all i really like your idea so here something that my brain generated when i read it, hope you like it :p it won't be finished or anything but still something

It always was there, as long as he could remember there was a door that lead to a garden. It wasn't magical itself (at leat it didn't show anything to logan) but it's just always appeared behind any door if he thought about it enough. Garden was beautiful but always only for him to see, logan could never find it when he wasn't alone. The incident when he was six and tried to show it to Dalton but without any luck for twenty minutes before giving up and being teased about "imaginary garden" was enough.

One of the first times Logan gone there he broken a few branches and stomped few flowers, it wasn't out of cruelty but more of childish need to destroy sometimes. But after that only thing he was answered with was quiet gust of wind that made plants sing. It shouldn't have gotten any reaction from him probably but still, Logan was momentarily flooded with shame because of his actions, a gentle voice in his head reminding him to treat everyone around with kindness while broken wood shined under the sun as to remind him of what he did. Logan flew out of the door right after and didn't try to summon garden back for a few weeks.

Afterwards he got into a habit of helping the garden any time he visited, maybe picking up few leafs or watering flowers with hose that always was somewhere around. Besides that he just hang out there as before, sometimes running wild or just napping under trees.

Time was moving the same for outside world and here so for most part Logan only had bit's and pieces of time to spend there before his family would start to worry.

As his life progressed there always were three constants - racing, garden and oscar.

After moving to Europe it was pretty nice mix to keep him grounded, a passion of his life, a place ha can feel at home that will always be there for him, and only person that would be his friend no matter what distance is between them.

Meeting oscar probably one of the best parts of moving, part of the reason not to give up. Their friendship wasn't one to fall apart from distance of being in different series (tested in Logan's first year in f3) and by the time they got to f1 the bond is stronger than ever.

It makes Logan wish sometimes to show his garden to oscar but at that point garden became his place of solitude, his always sunny runaway spot. Even if he knew he wasn't there alone, Logan saw that sometimes pots were moved around or leafs that he put off cleaning weren't there when he came back. Maybe it's garden being actually magical, maybe someone actually come there but they never bothered him so he figured thay couldn't be too bad.

So he continued opening closest door whenever things became too much and sticking close to oscar, two simple truths of his life.

Until one day after oscar being so sweet to him and logan wanting to repay to that he broke his promise of not breaking anything in the garden. Well technically he didn't break, just carefully cut off a few flowers that he doesn't remember planting, to make a small bouquet for oscar. But it was fine wasn't it? He always could just put some new there and it's not like there was someone to mind.

Or so logan thought before he saw frown settle onto Oscar's face just few minutes after he received flowers, his initial smile melting away longer he looked at bouquet. This reaction made Logan anxiously ask if everything was alright but he was quickly reassured that nothing is wrong and oscar even going as far as to kiss him on a cheek, leaving him dizzy while oscar retreated back to McLaren.

Logan tried not to think too much of this interaction because he's pretty sure it would just drive him mad. So he hides this memory in furthest corners of his mind till he gets back to garden hoping to water some greenery and maybe even plant a flower that he was eyeing for a while.

It all came to halt when he was walking past flower bed that contained flowers that he cut off before. There was a McLaren cap hanging on one of the strongest stems that were left there as a result of his bouquet preparations. When he picked it up there was a little note with "these were mine >:(" that in pairing with cap left no room to imagine who other person in the garden was

"Fuck"

[sternentreue]

for spicy rook questions, feel free to choose any of your rooks you feel it applies best to or that you wanna develop more~

3, 7, 19. <3

I am so sorry this took me a whole week to reply to! First week of work happened and sucked all my creative energy. Thank you so much for asking about my Rooks! I decided to answer for Firion again 🩷

3. How often does Rook spend "alone time"?

Firion doesn’t do it at all, at first. For one because the stress of everything weighed down on him a lot; with Varric being injured and leadership basically falling to him, the concussion that gave him headaches for a while, the Blight returning to D’Meta’s Crossing, the blood and gore in the streets of Dock Town… It was a lot to process and when he lay awake at night he found himself staring at the ceiling, sometimes for hours. Because when he closed his eyes his mind was playing a recap of everything that had happened again and again. It wouldn’t even have been capable of conjuring up any source of arousal for him at this point. And second of all, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He never heard Solas’ voice when he was not actively focusing on seeking him out but - in whatever way the elven god had managed to form a connection between them - he was not very keen on letting Solas in on this kind of thoughts. And then, something changed. It was an unusually carefree evening and they had all come together to get dinner. Lucanis had prepared a special dish and everyone was helping around the kitchen. There was wine, coffee and laughter and later everyone left to their rooms with full bellies and a little tipsy. And as Firion was settling down, his head a little foggy but not tired enough to sleep yet, he allowed his mind to wander. He enjoyed these evenings, they had finally settled into a routine. Lucanis was a great cook and settled well into his role as their appointed chef. Harding often brought hearty treats from Ferelden. And Lucanis was so skilled with his hands. Neve always made sure to enchant the leftovers with an ice spell. And Lucanis looked really good when he was serving the plates. His rolled-back sleeves brought out his forearms very well. Lucanis had great arms. Firion had a thing for strong arms. And shoulders. Arms and shoulders and a broad chest, regrettably always hidden under a thick layer of tight-fitting leather. Oh, he looked so good in leather, probably also without. That night something had lifted Firion’s curse. Or someone. 

After that night he spent “alone time” more regularly again, but out of respect for Lucanis he tried not to let his mind wander too much. However, it did help him to realize that he had more than just friendly feeling towards their assassin.

7. Does Rook have any kinks? Do they act on it or just think about it?

I already answered this one here but I thought about one more!

Not sure if this counts as a kink but Firion likes it when Lucanis touches his feet. Firion doesn’t fancy wearing shoes. He grew up in a very traditional Dalish clan and he has never put on any shoes until his late twenties (specifically when he started travelling with Varric). They feel uncomfortable and as soon as he’s indoors it’s barefoot only. When they sit on the couch, usually with some book or a cup of coffee, Firion likes to rest his legs on Lucanis’ lap. One time Lucanis started to caress them while he was absorbed in his book and, contrary to his ticklish nature, Firion didn’t jump or pull away but he got very into it. It’s not something that he wants to actively incorporate into their sex life but he’s sure Lucanis made a mental note.

19. What is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to them in bed?

Firion is overall quite ticklish, especially around his hips and down his groin. On one of their first times Lucanis tried to kiss him there and Firion almost knocked him out with his knee. It startled all three(!) of them so much that Spite hurled Lucanis off the bed with a flap of his wings. Although they both laughed about it, Firion’s ears still turn bright red when Lucanis mentions it in jest.

Thank you again for the ask, I appreciate it a lot! 🥰

🩷 Spicy questions for your Rook + their romanced partner 🩷

[greghatecrimes]

If I'm not around much the next couple days, it's just cause I'm absolutely exhausted from work + procedure. But I miss House and hanging out on here, so hopefully answering asks asap and more screencaps and rewatch this weekend :3 Maybe even some In the Dirt planning if I'm lucky