#and I will 100% be taking those moments out of extortion because it's a fucking drought out here for (happy) oplita

[hercarisntyours]

this!!! While I absolutely love the hints we got (aka orion being down badd and flirting to world's end with her) it needs to be praised how they didn't include it head on!! Elita a lot of time has just been a romantic interest for him and this film didn't need that. A romance sub plot would have actually been a "ough that's not" in this film, but in a sequal is a necessity because they've already established that orion has a thing for her. While I so badly want(ed) oplita in this film, I am extremely glad that they didn't include it and that they've are setting it up for future endeavours, and I think it could be the best oplita iteration tbh, especially with how great their dynamic is in one; there's so much natural progression that can be clearly seen

as much as i love oplita i’m SO glad they didn’t do a romance side story in tfone. that being said i will be drawing and writing them

[pepperf]

for the weird writer's asks: 5, 14, 18, 33, 35, ahhh I want to ask you too many of these, even though I kind of know the answers to some of them! I just like hearing you talk about writing and related topics. :) So answer those, if you like, and then please pick one or two more that YOU would like to answer. <3

lol - I love all these questions but this took me so long! XD

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

I think the only one is that I don’t post WIPs. It’s not so much a superstition as it is self-awareness: I know that historically I am massively less likely to keep going once I’ve started getting comments. And if I do get comments, I create a situation where I’m relying on more of them every time in order to keep my motivation up (and that’s not how a lot of my fandoms work). Plus I like to be able to go back and make small tweaks to the start, once I get to the end, because often it’s not until I finish a story that I know the theme of it.

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

I do lend books to people, and mostly I forget where they've gone, aside from one that I tried to get back, but the person insisted that it was in fact theirs and they'd bought it years ago - and I had to let it go because I actually still have a book I borrowed from them but I'm still annoyed about it (but I went and bought myself another copy because it's the kind of out of print short story book that I might want in 20 years and be unable to find) (yeah I'm still annoyed about it but I bought it when it was NEW dammit and I've had it since I was a teenager) (look it's just words it doesn't matter). I used to write or stamp my name into books, but I got bored of that, tbh, and I've tried to learn to let go and be less possessive of material objects, because it doesn't bring me happiness. XD And I do want people to read things I love!

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

Okay, just bc I wanted to talk about it, have this bit from ‘and all my scars remind me (my worst days are behind me)’:

"Are you a cop?"

He stops short, a series of reactions flashing across his expressive face. He was never any good at hiding his emotions. "Are you a cop?" he counters.

"No, but then I never applied to join the police academy."

He hates lying. She can see him struggling to answer, and that's answer enough. "You still live here, don't you?" Ire rises in her. "Is this what you've done with your life, since I left? Absolutely nothing?"

His expression hardens. "Okay, we're done here," he snaps, gesturing to the door. "I'm not accountable to you. Get out!"

"Jesus Christ, Diego!"

He drops his arm and steps towards her, apparently resigning himself to this fight. "Oh, what, like you've gone on to such great heights?" he snarls. "Last I heard, you were working for a debt collection agency! Still breaking people's kneecaps for unpaid medical bills?"

He was always more dangerous when cornered. "Fuck you, I never did that kind of shit," she retorts, stung into anger.

"Extorting old ladies for back rent, then!"

This came from a discussion I had with @wheresmytowel about the idea that Diego and Lila ought to work on themselves alone before they get together, and/or the idea that they’d bring each other down in their current disorganised states. We both felt, I think, that actually there was no reason they couldn’t grow while they were together - and, even more, that they’re actually good for each other in that way, they help each other to improve.

I wanted to show my take on it, with them both stagnating after they’d had a relationship and broken up - how that combination of being alone and brokenhearted, and just the simple fact of not having someone in their life who loves and supports them, means that they both kind of end up in a similar place to where Diego is at the start of s1, pottering along in fairly unhappy existences.

They both believe the best about one another, that’s one of the things I love about them as a couple - they think each other is pretty fucking amazing, even when no one else does. That’s why Lila in particular is bitter, here - she’d thought she was breaking up with Diego for his own good, but he’s not taken that freedom and gone on to achieve his dreams, like she’d expected. And Diego is hurt that she left him, and pissed that she thinks she’s still got the right to judge his life.

I took a while to figure out where Lila would be, in this. I knew that she’d broken up with him just before he entered the academy, so in her head he’s already made detective, etc. I wanted her to have gone from a starting point of being with Diego at 19, learning some stuff about professional fighting, and then being out on her own again. It had to be a bit of a tough-guy career, because she’s competitive, but something a bit on the grey market, because she’s keeping her head down and avoiding the attention of any authorities. I think this one was @wheresmytowel‘s suggestion. :D

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

I do! I am a visual artist as well - drawing, painting, photography, printmaking, video, animation...you name it, I've tried it. And it definitely ties in. I did a Fine Art degree because I wanted to be a writer, and I thought that doing an English degree would tie me up in knots too much. I still don't know if that was the right choice, but it was certainly A choice (honestly, actually, I stand by that reasoning, but I should've gone to a better art college). And it's good to change it up: I find that at times I just need to step away from writing and do visual stuff instead, or crafts, or or baking, or something that is Not Words. But almost always I've tied words into the stuff I do, somehow (one of my favourite artists is Jenny Holzer, who is All About the words). I don't see how you could ever truly separate different arts, even if they seem unrelated, they're all coming from one central point - and that's beautiful, man. And words are my bag, ultimately.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

Uhhh...oh! I love to write tropes, I refuse to call them clichés, I think these things are well-established for a reason, that people love them and have a connection with them, and they create something really satisfying. They are also a good framework to play with expectations, to subvert them or use them in a different way. That’s what I love - playing with the fact that this is fiction, that there are established expectations, and that those can be used in all sorts of ways.

And one I’d like to answer...

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know?

I’m actually doing this at the moment. I decided to write an AU in the inexplicably-under-explored world of British local government, and it’s weird how much it feels like I’m speaking my own language. I never feel like I’m writing in another language, almost all the shows I love are American so that’s what I’ve been submerged in for the last, god, 30 years??? But, as you can attest, @bethanyactually, it’s still not actually my native tongue, lol! I still have to ask about some things, and speech patterns don’t necessarily come naturally to me. So writing Lila has been great generally - but even more so when I put her in her/my own country, in a setting that I know. It’s making me want to write more of the kinds of stories I love, but set here.

Okay, I think I’ll stop there! Thank you!!!

[alittlesimp]

kierkegaard and bsd fyodor

!! there may be manga spoilers ahead (i have NOT proofread) !!

small warning beforehand – i am in no way a professional philosopher or even good at writing essays. i took two years of philosophy in high school and kind of ran with it haha. i just thought this would be a fun analysis for me to make because fyodor is portrayed as a religious character – yet he murders, like, a lot. he immediately reminded me of kierkegaard, my favourite religious weirdo (lovingly). i grew up catholic so i do have a bit of knowledge on christianity and all, but i havent been to church in like 5 years so the parts about the bible and all might be a bit rusty, but i will obviously check to get the biggest stories etc right. english also isn’t my first language, so there might be a few mistakes here and there.

i do honestly believe there is more value in analyzing his behaviour with the irl fyodor’s books but 1) i am not as familiar with those as i am with kierkegaard and 2) that has been done before!! here and here. please do check these out, they’re incredibly well done. also, this is just a really vague comparison that i have been thinking about for days now so she’s gonna be a bit messy (no capital letters and not proofread, sorry i wrote this in a adhd-fueled Rage) and Maybe even complete bullshit, who knows! okkkk whooo lets get into this!!

Intro

first off, there’s not going to be a real justification for his actions. i’m just trying to explain his actions, i would never justify genocide (:

so i’ve seen a lot of people state that fyodor sees himself as god, and while i do think there is some truth in that, i don’t think that fyodor thinks he is god humanified, more that he sees himself as god’s righthand man? i’m not going to go very deep into this because i’m honestly not too sure what i think about this exactly, i might delve into this in the future after familiarizing myself a bit more with the irl author!

i also don’t think fyodor is a psychopath who doesn’t understand the severity of his actions. i really do think he completely understands he’s literally murdering people left and right, but that it’s a necessary evil to rid the world of ability users (he also mentions ‘the freedom of death’ shit a couple of times which is not really relevant here but… scary). this might be a bit confusing to most, why do something if you know it’s a shitty thing to do? to fully understand his standpoint, we’ll have to first discuss the philosophy of kierkegaard.

Kierkegaard

søren kierkegaard was a danish philosopher who is often seen as the guy who kickstarted the whole existentialism thing. although i definitely don’t agree with him, he is one of my favorite philosophers because his theories are just so fucking weird but like, still well-constructed.

kierkegaard’s main idea that we touched on in philosophy class was that other people’s judgement does not matter if god has given you a task. no matter how immoral it is by society’s standards, be it murder, extortion, fraud or sundry other crimes, if god himself has ordered you to do it, there is no need to justify this by anyone else’s moral or ethical standards. now, the actual theory’s a little more nuanced than this, but you do see where i’m going with this, right?

a quick example: the story of abraham. abraham was ordered by god to kill his son to prove his faith, which is considered a massive yikes like, everywhere in the world. however, abraham brought his son up to where he was going to sacrifice him and at the last moment, an angel told him that god was satisfied and that he didn’t have to actually do it. god created horrible youtube pranks y’all!

in his book fear and trembling, kierkegaard describes the anguish/anxiety (translations differ, but honestly i think i’d feel EVERYTHING if god told me to kill my hypothetical child) that abraham must have felt and why he ‘thinks’ (kierkegaard wrote this under a penname, and because he’s a bit of a funny guy it’s often unclear what he really believes) abraham isn’t just a triggerhappy guy, but just a devout christian. abraham must have believed that god would never let him do something as abhorrent as killing your son, and trusted that god would have had him do the right thing. kierkegaard states that, in faith, your individual relationship with god is more important than the church and even society’s general ethical and moral ideas.

ofcourse, this perfectly aligns with religious extremism and terrorism – which is exactly why people usually take kierkegaard’s words with a good handful of salt. but in our case, with our favourite smelly rat man, it might help us explain his mindset a bit better.

Fyodor

now, how does this link back to fyodor?

fyodor takes up abraham’s place in this story. he knows that what he’s doing is in no way explainable by moral or ethical reasons, but because he believes that it is god’s wish, he will have to do the dirty work. think about it: abraham would have really murdered his son if god hadn’t stopped him, so maybe fyodor’s killing really would be necessary to please god. in abraham’s case, it was to test his obedience and faith, so it’s not 100% the same as directly being given the task to create a new perfect world without ability users or whatever. but just like abraham thought that god would have him do the right thing, fyodor trusts completely that god is guiding him in his actions and that therefor, he is doing the right thing.

he knows it won’t make sense to others, he knows he can’t justify it by society’s standards, but he feels like he’s justified in doing it anyway because god gave him permission somehow. he most likely also thinks all his crimes are for the greater good, or that the sin of the general ability using population heavily outweighs his own.

in the end, i think him believing he has to do this will link back to his backstory somehow (which i’m INCREDIBLY curious about). i could probably write some more about this but I need to get this out of my system so that’s it. i might redo this in the future but who knows! maybe after i familiarize myself with the irl fyodor a bit more <3.

if you have any comments, spot any mistakes or have a question: don’t be shy, drop an ask so i can give you an in-depth answer (if i’m feeling it, it might take a while, i’m a bit tired n all) don't bully me i will cry <3 (: love u!

[uta-h3m-vcd-tbw]

Who Am I?

I have attempted to dialogue the events in my life at least 100 times beforehand but probably more but could never bring myself to be completely honest.  Call this a personal inventory if you will.  I consider myself a better writer than most however when it comes to writing about myself my brain goes blank.  I know what I want to say, it’s just how do you go about telling anyone....”I am a Heroin addict.”  

I have read a couple books about other addicts & have watched countless documentaries, movies, & shows about addiction.  Always paying close attention to how the writer unfolds his/her story trying to translate it to my own with little success.  I eventually came to the conclusion that so much has happened in the two decades of drug use that there is no way fathomable to include everything...at least not in your standard literary fashion.  

A few days ago I stumbled across a new series on Netflix about a girl that liked to blog on Tumblr & suddenly I felt I may have an outlet to format this timeline of events.  Make no mistake about this...everything I write from this moment on is 100% true whether you choose to believe it or not.  Hell looking back....I don’t believe it sometimes & constantly find myself asking God why am I still here & why have so many perished before/besides me?  What makes me so special?

Most stories I read/watch about addiction are pretty generic.  It typically starts with someone who was injured & prescribed pain killers only to get cut off from the doctor & led down the dark & endless path of Heroin addiction.  They tell stories about the terrible things they did to maintain their habit & of loved ones they hurt along the way.  While I did horrible things as well, hurt & lost too many loved ones to addiction...this story is unlike any of the rest.  This is a story of addiction...obviously...but also one of organized crime, corruption, murder, extortion, jail/institutions, & love but mostly death.  

Every addiction specialist or rehab I have been to always had the same fault....they try to find some underlying reason as to why I started, “self medicating,” & attempt to address it.  I’ve had numerous heated arguments with councilors & doctors who insisted I was suppressing something deep down & may not even know it!  While I have heard of such instances to actually be the case I can very well tell you I am as normal as you are.  

I grew up in a child’s utopia in an upper-middle class suburb roughly 20 miles North of Detroit.  Think of the famous Tim Allen show, “Home Improvement.” Not only was I raised in Metro Detroit but I also come from a family of two parents, still married, & was the youngest of three boys.  I know most people’s perception of Detroit isn’t very high however in the 80′s & 90′s it was a great place to start a family.  Before the auto industry tanked most people skipped college to work on the assembly line at one of the, “Big Three,” (Ford, GM, or Chrysler) & lived comfortably.  My dad was a, “Safety Restraint Engineer,” for a subsidiary company with several patents still in use today!  We spent our days riding bikes through endless trails behind our house, building forts, playing back yard football, & camping in the backyard on warm summer nights.  My brothers & I were raised Catholic.  Went to Church every Sunday & Catechism on Thursday nights.  If I could change one thing about my childhood I wouldn’t.  It was that perfect!  My Father didn’t fail to raise a man...I failed to be the man he raised. 

When someone asks me why I started doing drugs I tell them because it was fun....simple as that.  I know it sounds cliche but it’s true, everyone was doing them.  My older brothers were way ahead of me, listening to Grateful Dead & dropping acid in middle school!  I just liked drugs a lot more than everyone else. My mother knew I had an addictive personality because I would take everything I did to the max & always looked for instant gratification.  I never wanted to wait/work for anything.  I think my brothers were aware of this as well because they would NEVER sell me pot in these early days.  They wouldn’t even talk to me about it.  So as far as being as normal as everyone else....maybe that one’s a stretch.  On the other hand I was years ahead of my classmates & understood how things worked much easier than the majority of my class.  

By the time I reached High School I was selling/smoking pot & hanging out with kids my age but it wasn’t long before I caught the attention of the older guys in the neighborhood.  I had already garnished a somewhat questionable reputation through my brothers by default & everyone knew my name from the paper route I had since I was roughly 12 years old.  At first they were intimidating & I hated whenever I had to deliver papers on one of their streets...praying they wouldn’t be outside playing basketball or something.  They always hung around the same two or three houses depending on who’s parents weren’t home that day.  If they saw me coming every one of them would stop what they were doing & aim their attention towards me.  All of them except one.  I knew his face & heard stories whispered about him in the hallways at school.  His name was Franco & he was not just the leader of their group...he was, “Head Fucking Hancho.”  You know the scene from mob movies where people from the neighborhood come to sit with the boss & ask him all kinds of favors in return for their loyalty?  That was Franco at age 15!  He had everyone’s respect....even that of my older brothers who looked up to nobody.  If you had a disagreement with Franco it didn’t go far.  I’ve seen him hit guys so hard they temporarily lost the ability to speak!  After a couple minutes of hazing from the guys he would shout from the porch telling them to leave me alone & they would scatter like roaches! 

These encounters would eventually lead up to my first drug deal.  Up until that point I had been stealing whatever I could from whichever brother wouldn’t notice at the time & smoking/selling it with & to my friends.  They eventually caught me & beat the living shit out of me.  I don’t think they were actually mad about the missing weed it was more about not stealing from your brother.  The same day I was caught stealing weed I planned on meeting several kids from school at a friends house & of course everyone was expecting me to bring the pot.  To this day I don’t know how I got the phone number or the guts to call it but I reached out to Franco’s best friend Mark.  I don’t really no why I chose him....any of the older guys could have found me weed.....but I knew Mark sold it regularly & to pretty much anyone.  There was no cell phones at this time so I had to call his house.  He wasn’t as angry as I expected & told me to wait 5 minutes before riding my bike towards his side of the neighborhood.  I did exactly as he instructed me to & before I could get to the end of my street he was pulling up in a dark green Ford Ranger...Frank was with him riding in the passenger seat.  Mark got out...threw my bike in the back of his truck telling me to hop in the backseat before getting back behind the wheel & pealing off.  The music was so loud I could barely understand the lyrics over the bass let alone what Frank & Mark were saying but it didn’t matter because they weren’t talking to me.  At the time I thought Mark must want to get out of the neighborhood before doing the deal but after getting to know him I learned...that was his, “thing”.  He loved to drive around, blaring music, & smoking weed with whoever was willing to tag along.  He hated driving alone & his truck was like his office.  Frank acted as if I wasn’t even there...holding a cool composure looking out the window while nodding his head to the music.  Eventually we pulled down a random street, where Mark turned down the music before pulling the truck over.  He turned around & asked me how much money I wanted to spend before opening a large grocery bag filled to the top with little, “dime bags,” or roughly a large gram of weed in each bag.  I don’t know if it was how he had them bagged up but it was more than I had ever seen in one place at the time & my brothers always had a lot.  I had a handful of crinkled five′s & one dollar bills I collected from my friends earlier in the day at school.  It came out to around $24.  I remember it was less than $25 because Mark insisted that an 8th cost $25 & that I was a dollar short.  I didn’t even know what an 8th was or how much it cost but didn't want to screw up my first deal so I pretended it was just an honest mistake & he threw three bags in my lap.  Franco asked where I was going & asked if I needed a ride which I humbly excepted.  

From that day on things changed little by little with every passing day.  I hung out less & less with the kids my age to be around Mark, Frank & the rest of the older guys.  They saw me as the kid who could sell a lot of weed since I already had that reputation from my classmates.  I saw them as a ticket to popularity.  In my mind it was an even trade.  My mother had an entirely different opinion.....constantly telling me I should be hanging around with my younger friends.  To me it was harmless....choosing to see it as normal for a kid my age.  I had no idea where this new found friendship would lead us.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  

As I was saying before....so much has happened since this day that I cannot even begin to piece it all together in a manner in which it flows conveniently into a timeline of events.  This is the beginning of my attempt & you will have to stick with me to learn more as I continue to publish.  I will warn you upfront that I will be changing some names, maybe even places or be vague as I am still getting death threats to this day & also don’t want to negatively impact any of the families that have already been ripped apart from unimaginable losses.  Lastly I am still weary about telling my story in it’s entirety.  I am sure those who are close to me will be able to figure out who I am since most of what I am going to tell you has never been a secret save one part.  I have never told ANYONE the FULL story other than my parents.  I feel it is the main reason I have struggled in all my attempts at telling/writing what actually happened.  Please understand that I take absolutely NO pride in the things I have done & only feel I need to document what I went through so maybe the next kid contemplating the path I chose....will rethink the decision.  I can tell you now their is no glory or honor in what we did & the end result was nothing but pain & suffering for our victims as well as ourselves.  I really hope nobody reads this the wrong way & that I am able to accurately portray the pain/anguish we caused so they realize how brainwashed we were & the impact you can have on others no matter how minor you think it is.  You have to stand up against what may seem to be the correct/hard decision at the time or even a harmless one that you know in your heart/gut is questionable & choose to do what you know to be right.  The definition of the word, “popular,” is; liked, admired, or enjoyed by many people or by a particular person or group.  The groups that are using/selling drugs are the minority & in the end you will find most are not truly your friend.  When I go on social media, looking back at all the kids I graduated with, I realize now that those who did well in school & actively participated were actually the, “cool kids.”  They are the ones posting pictures of new houses, nice cars & beautiful wives with blossoming families.  There is nothing cool about being alone & having nothing to show for the last two decades of your life but scars.  It is not romantic in any way shape or form.  You will not find comfort.  

Stay tuned for more to come! 

[weirdness-on-the-roof]

critical role episode 48 campaign 2 notes and funny lines post break edit:this has detailed notes on all the stuff that happened later in the episode including physical descriptions near the end. enjoy ya nerds

don’t steal the books from a high powered mage; don’t kill the dude; beau turning into cad; look at beau planning for the future

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is marisha flirting with matt via matt playing yasha and beau flirting with yasha?

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‘tea the international language’ but no earl grey

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wensworth the goblin

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coming from Cad ‘im a fine tea maker’ is kinda a threat tbh

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elf that isn’t white/European??? yay! also really old elves are cool

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beau and cad tag teaming a political chat with a mage this can’t end poorly

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Nott: :beau ruins every situation shes in and is very abrasive

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send the freaking cat!!! why not?? caleb my dude

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god i miss allura and gilmore currently

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fucking fuck don’t lie to the mage beau plz stop this is painful ‘you’re not wrong’ sure blame the ancient sea god

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‘on the verge of returning’ yea no duh you let him out 2/3 of the way so fjord could get a spell

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‘we found a thing’ so smooth and eloquent beau ‘it was presented to us as the happy fun time ball’

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‘butter fingers with magical items’

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beau getting a geography lesson from a very old powerful elven mage

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‘magical geometric orb that has the ability to bend time and space and fate’ which is kept in a hot pink magic bag that happened to ‘fall into [their] lap’

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‘if youre down im down is what im saying... i have a few slots open in my loyalty bank if you’re willing to pay rent’ says the 20 some human who punches things to the centuries old wizard ‘

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liam stress eating

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cad’s hope in the group is heartwarming

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tower metaphors and a conversation!!!

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caleb reading shitty romance novel and nott eating a fish outside a mage’s tower in the morning sunlight in a major city

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caleb takes the rear

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first name drop and a while

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holy shit 200 years of magic using

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cad explaining materialistic nature of the rest of the party to elf dude is hilarious

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teleportation circles?????? in return for access to the sphere!! oh shit thats good

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or candy

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crap. no one has insight checked this dude and they gave him the happy fun ball and made a deal kinda.

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‘how do we prove our loyalty?’ ‘by not fucking me over’ sounds like a good plan

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is this guy just caleb’s patron now on the low idk this is how my head works and he said learn

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“you have a geometric shape that makes babies?” “yea they talked about that”

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fjord just kills the dude

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‘i got banishment on hold just in case’ *cackling laughter*

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i agree with elf dude, him not knowing anything about the dodecha is more concerning than him knowing about it

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ALL THE CITIES FROM CR1 MENTIONED FOR THE FIRST TIME!!! I STILL MISS ALLURA AND GILMORE

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good to know the pink bag protects from divination on this plane but just this one

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jester and the traveler figurine

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cad included the Traveler in the ‘chaotic forces’ i still think the traveler is some kinda arch fey evil things idk its real late here and this is incoherent

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‘well, thats been my morning tea‘ 

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caleb getting additional tour

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good aesthetic for the room tbh

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letting weird people in for morning tea is entertainment is a mood and something i strive to be able to do without getting murdered one day

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so yasha and caleb both have gotten the ‘stay with friends’ chat from a powerful being which is nice. but also the ‘use who you need to’ going to caleb is vaguely concerning

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personalized biscuits [bourbon, cinnamon, lobster, fish and three unknowns]

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‘caleb, what happened in there?’

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cad not believing caleb’s bullshit and opening doors for caleb warms my heart

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‘if this isn’t the death of us, and if not hes a good ally. somethings gonna be the death of us so [yolo]’

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‘you can’t bullshit everyone in this world’

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cad talking about beau telling the truth: ‘you’re not very good at it but you tried

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jester looking out for nott and her home town

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caleb and beau being cute while also giving each other shit is the most sibling like thing

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omg going back to allfield that was so long ago for fucks sake BRYCE my person thank god

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jester had a boy band phase its cannon and i think the girls had a sleepover in jester’s old room. also marion never leaves the hotel. THE RUBY NECKLACE MY HEART AND THE HONEY AWWWWW

‘the army of men and women and inbetween that will do as i want them to’ god i adore her being protective of jester

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also the fact matt makes such a good mom why is he like this

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travel time!!!! ‘roll for initiative’-tal

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how does matt keep these notes so organized and remember all the npc names

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the ranger/beast master in Laura is coming out with nugget

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caleb is a devout cat person and jester is the definition of a dog person

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nott refining oil on a magical moving cart, while jester reads a romance novel and trains a dog,

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Dyren- Beau’s roommate at colbot souls; ‘taught beau lots of really cool things’ got sent to a warfront. shaved head, dark clothes, buff b/c ‘been workin out’, ‘do you love her?’ they had ‘good times’, then literal booty call, and dropping locations, Dyren was in Bladegarden. ‘fierce eyebrows, pointed nose’

                    OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES

-------

Vandren info drop to Fjord ‘he was making amends’

-------

Dyren responded and was hurt in Bladegarden but is safe. Beau looked immediately worried and happy about jester’s imput [’sounded way into you’]

-------

empire kids chat and caleb admitting insecurities about powerful people and being scared about the consequences of his actions and the group’s actions. caleb is scared about being forced to leave for safety and being ‘flayed alive’. my thoughts are he would leave if he became a threat to the others by being there or vise versa. trent would extort that b/c hes a dick

“caleb, unfortunately, you don’t get to choose who cares for you” you’re fucking correct Beau

“the problem with friends is that you have to care for them”

walks away “wow cool caleb! see- jester thinks you’re cool because shes your fucking friend!”

me too Tal “everything i like about those two characters in one conversation”

-------

5 years since Caleb left Trent and crew ie had a nervous breakdown

-------

gustav left town after being freed and trostenwald now has a WV accent that is too familiar

-------

100 extra soldiers in allfield. bryce is still up and kicking and wonderful. stuff ‘got this far east [quickly]’. the attacks came from underground apparently so fuck. the fields were burned, building destroyed a bit then they [Xhorhasians] left

“good thing is they’ve already been attacked so lightning doesn’t strike twice” oof thanks bryce

-------

beau just dead ass asking for illegal writing statements

-------

fjord having a thank u jesus bryce moment

-------

jester giving cad a pretty present is ‘so exciting’ and precious

-------

Cad not knowing cookbooks were a thing!!! and not being utterly literate enough to understand it

-------

wtf happened to liam’s voice in the ‘main export is oysters’ thing

-------

FELDERWEN!!!!!

-------

a dozen squads of 50 ppl each patrolling felderwen area so rippppp

-------

Nott knows where the halfing’s house is.... interesting... and is heavily drinking

-------

BLUE FLASH

elven woman in fine clothes of green and black ----lady vest durogna the arch mage of antiquity serboros assembly

a male figure in deep blue robes, older pale elf, fine clothes, the flash came from him----- martinette luden’th de____ arch mage of domestic protection

CALEB KNOWS THEM BOTH FROM THE ACADEMY AHHHHHH

he just lays flat and hides in the cart internally: ‘nopenopenopenope’

-------

several burned buildings, a warehouse, an inn, apothecary and several houses

-------

ohhhh shit the halfling was the owner of the apothecary and nott was looking for the shit she had been sending back this whole adventure....... im sad now that was confirmed

havent found a body of yeza

luke is yeza’s son at old edith’s house

            halflings only produce halflings according to something i read at some point but forget where sooooooooo

shattered vials and materials and house stuff

CHILDREN'S TOYS

locked basement which nott knows of?? Nott is anxious and impatient when the door doesn’t open. jester fails, yasha rages and at a 19 and doesn’t break the door. ‘it wasn’t [trapped]’ but dispel magic worked to open it.

a 15′x15′ room, tossed ‘not like you remember’ to nott, a 2x3 iron chest. a single chair in the center of the room. definitely a struggle with heavy impacts and blade scratched on wall

             nott was the torturer from the goblin tribe

chair was placed in the spot after the struggle

this was where he [yeza] kept chemicals according to nott

poisoned iron locked box (dull black glass)  inside a retractable silver tripod to hold something atop it, 3 empty vials 1 full one with a liquid/gas fog like dull colored thing, a pile of destroyed notes [two pieces of still legible paper which have props]

            dunamous field, causes ppl slow to be slower or faster, ‘captured crin operatives’ dunaments and dunamacy, origon gliffs, exist outside established schools of magic, theory in deeply rooted in arcana taken for granted, rooted in _____ town, 12-16 months to refine, word has found me that trent’s kiddos have knacks for this things, dreams are thrilling

well shittttt

            crin on battle fields, ‘breaking fields of fate, fuck the raven queen

SHIIIIIT

a piece of dunemous

dodecha goes in tripod according to beau

chair facing chest

-------

cricks did this apparently

a little under 100 crowns guard killed, 4 civilians burned

soldiers just ‘slowed down’ 

left via tunnels and collapsed them behind them

-------

nott dont be a bitch and don’t get mad at caleb and call them ‘his people’

-------

cad picks up caleb and ‘youre not at fault here, youre the solution here. don’t let her anger... its not about you’

my HEART

-------

the chest is too big for the haver sack but fits in lorenzo’s bag of holding

-------

people have entered and exited since the attack and left the chair and stuff

-------

lots ‘o chairs

-------

nott needs to see ledith and uke (?) and not flip the fuck out

‘humble hobble’

nott looked like halfling plump face, braids, tan skin

edith- human older, grey hair, beady eyes, ever present smile like face

          LUKE IS HER SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CANNON

         *edit- rewatching this and seeing ever one’s faces “wheres my son?!” particularly laura/liam/travis just hurt. liam just looked up after a second and travis did his face he does and laura just stiffened and eyes and hand to face. caleb/liam who knows just hugs himself the rest of the convo. marisha is note taking and fuck the video off now

about 5 yrs old, blue eyes, tan/light brown skin, halfling

gave him the doll of the king

IM GONNA CRY NOW BYE

‘HES PROABLY DEAD NOW TOO LIKE I THOUGHT YOU WER’

yenza locks him away when ‘the mean lady comes by’

mean lady has pointy ears and comes often, luke was kept in room, luke was pushed out of the house and told to go somewhere safe so he ran to edith’s house and ‘everything was on fire’

‘im not strong enough to come back yet but know that [im stll thinking of you and i send things] and i hope dad sends them to you.“ fuck my heart

“in my heart i think he is” “well don’t die”

-------

the elves are gong to the ruins of yenza’s house

-------

marisha looked so betrayed

tal ‘i was waiting for the riegel shoe to drop’

WOW

HEY CALEB- WOOOW

-------

we’ll pick up hiiiere

fuck you sam and matt and everything abou this my heart is just FUCKKK

ummm so enjoy the frantic poorly taken notes <3

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JENN! You’ve been accepted for the role of CRESSIDA Admin Rosey:  I had never expected Cressida to give me a reckoning. I expected her to be soft, malleable, somewhat broken by what her father has done to her. But you have given me all of that, Jenn, but ten thousand times more. You’ve given me her brokenness and made it iron, her kindness and made it gold. This was not at all what I was expecting when I thought of Cressida, but it’s much, much better than that. I am on the edge of my seat when it comes to the wild card that is this Madam Duval. I know I won’t be disappointed. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Jenn Age | 21+ Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | With work, I’ll probably get around to writing a couple replies at lunch and in the evenings when I’m home. So, that’s a few hours each day which is like a solid 6/10 for me :) Timezone | GMT+8 Current/Past RP Accounts | Both are inactive @lcarian & @littleflvme

In Character

Character | Cressida // Celeste Duval

You look in the mirror. Your bloodied mouth twists into a frown, and your eyes shine with disdain. What a damn waste of space. Yet again, you disappoint. “What wrong have I done? How much better would I be if I had been born a son?” It is unjust, unwarranted that your sex is deemed inferior all because you can make babies and not be the one who held a cock. “They are fucking wrong.”

You seethe at the sight of your name written in tasteless, serif font on the header of your journal. You strike it out, wanting to be rid of your family’s dictation and those dull letters, C. DUVAL. Instead, in the center of the page you put down these words in pink marker—permanence above all else. Your script is bold—vertical strokes, both straight and rounded, penned thickly in the cursive hand of not a child but a budding woman who, underneath it all, radiates conviction.

I AM CELESTE DUVAL AND I WILL RULE THE DAMN WORLD.

What drew you to this character? | We’d love to hear what about this character’s bio caught your attention! Make this as long or as short as you desire!

Celeste is a law unto herself. What she is made out of is nothing short of sheer will power—a storm with skin, a sun capable of razing whole kingdoms. She breathes the lethal combination of initiative and annihilation and perhaps that’s what her parents were too stupid to realise before branding her useless. She is, in fact, malleable and they lacked the faculty and interest in moulding her due to superficial beliefs. But blessed by the Fates, she had the propensity to be great and she knew that. She knew it in her very bones. I can’t help but find that she is an independent character with a complex engineering capable of masochistic deeds which she alone has accomplished. Because like Cressida, Celeste is painfully aware that in this very masculine world her sexuality is her advantage and power and acts on the fact.

But for all her cunning and edge, her fetters come in the form of family and a nauseating amount of obligation. In that sense, I feel that she’s very relatable—that gnawing feeling that compels you to make your parents proud. She doesn’t care for anyone’s feelings or reputation but her family’s, and even then it’s not out of love but necessity despite how contradicting it might come across. Take into account that she’s been born and bred in an environment that constantly exhorts her to seek the validation of her parents. Celeste is a commodity, a subject of the machinations of her father and she knows it well but she’ll be damned before she repeats the tragedies of Cressida (or her own father, for the matter). She won’t be dragged into the gutter the same way.

In short, I choose Celeste because she is a growing mastermind. I choose her because she is a woman capable of pushing past her boundaries, her liabilities—of brandishing her arsenal of wiles and manipulation at the most opportune moments,—of brilliant intellect and drive. I choose her because her family underestimates her, that she’s merely a chess piece to be moved then tossed aside, yet she protects them and I find that very admirable. I choose Celeste Duval because she bore the bitter cost of being sold into a loveless bargain—because she has long lost her rose-coloured glasses and has in its place adopted a more cynical view of the world, a world in which she is determined to be a wolf among dogs.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

FAREWELL, BASTARD // The biggest thorn in her side now is a slippery one. Easton. Craven. Deplorable Capulet scum. It’s a dynamic I am much too excited to explore. The angst will be one to speak of for centuries. Celeste wants to make him eat his words. He never much concerned her before but he made things personal, so she’s out for blood. A Duval isn’t offended without meeting out consequences. While I am pretty much open to anything regarding this unfortunate duo, I would love to write about the challenges Celeste will face in overcoming this villian in her story. Whether she fails or succeeds…I imagine it’s just a matter of moving the right pieces at the right time. “My turn.”

FOR TO BE WISE AND LOVE EXCEEDS MAN’S MIGHT // “Do you take Tomas Sabello to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The gods must have spared Celeste no mercy shackling her to Tomas. She is nothing if not fiery but with Tomas she feels…well, that’s the problem. She doesn’t feel anything for him that she wouldn’t feel for a mosquito. “I do.” At this point, she isn’t sure if he’s in love with her (perhaps, more the idea of her) or in love with love itself. If Tomas is smart, he’ll figure out that Celeste won’t be falling for him anytime soon. But when life gives you lemons…you make the best out of Tomas Sabello. To me, this connection is rather intriguing because I can see Celeste exploiting Tomas the way she has been exploited, to steer him to gain whatever it is she wants given his connections to the mob and his industry. But I can also see him threatening her happiness more than he already does. He unknowingly wields a double-edged sword—destroy her happiness and save her reputation, or destroy her name and let her grapple at whatever contentment she can seize. Cressida’s only odds stacked in her favour is that Troilus is ill informed on the subtleties of war.

THOU LAY'ST EVERY GASH THAT LOVE HATH GIVEN ME // And take those gashes she will, willingly. I want to say their love is the type that moves mountains, that swallows whole oceans, that transcends all time and space. “Alas, I cannot. Not yet, mia bella.” Isabella Gagliano—she’s smart, she’s beautiful, resourceful and most importantly, she’s honest. She brings out the best in Celeste (when they’re alone). Being together in Verona is a challenge Celeste did not see coming. On one side, a Capulet maw is waiting to devour her. On the other, Cupid’s bow struck true. And around her, the world watches. To be in love with Isabella is to be caught between a rock and a hard place. It’s only a matter of time before Isabella becomes tired of hiding. The truth will out and when the time comes, then there lies their final test—will love triumph over all? Or will power and respectability?

DO TO THIS BODY WHAT EXTREMITY YOU CAN // Wolves are known to trick guard dogs by sending out a female wolf. In the same manner, Celeste’s sexuality can be put to good use when brokering deals or negotiating an accord. I can see this being more than the stereotypical plot where a woman uses her allure to get what she wants. This touches on sexual extortion/exploitation in a very real way. There is so much space for flexibility with this plot and subplots where I can see her forging alliances, making enemies, making more promises she doesn’t intend to keep, etc. But overall, I see this as a very developmental plot for her character in that she will have no choice but to finally see herself for who she is and decide if she likes what she sees.

ONE TOUCH OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN // I’m pretty sure she isn’t the only one in the mob to have been coerced (or “gently pushed”) into the position she’s in right now. This plot is not just about making friends—it’s about making friends in the right places be it Montague or Capulet. Celeste is ironically very much like her father. She’s ambitious. “And ambition can take you to very dangerous places. Better you cease your nonsense than fail.” Thanks, dad. But obviously, it takes more than words to deter her. Celeste is set on climbing out of her father’s shadow and making a name for herself but she can’t do it alone. I’m talking bribes, underhand dealings, secret arrangements It’ll be a nice bonus if they take out a few people on their hit list on their way up. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?

MEN PRIZE THE THING UNGAINED MORE THAN IT IS // Is the grass greener on the other side? Cressida’s whole story revolves around her being traded to the enemy. If shit does go down, this will be an extremely, 100% intense story driven plot device that can be used to spin a new tale for Celeste where she, like Cressida, is forced to or willingly betrays the Montagues to save herself. However, like all the plots I’ve listed so far, I’d love for this to be an organic progression for Celeste’s character especially in the choice she makes if she chooses to stay loyal to or double-cross the Montagues. Her sense of loyalty and obligation is an integral part of her identity and while I can see her evolving as a person, I wouldn’t want to force or distort it.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I am, yes! Though Celeste promises she won’t go down alone, if at all.

In Depth

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

(tw: death mention)

There are two ways to end this interview—one where she spares a man, and another where she damns him. Won’t you stay to find out which you want more?

***

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Anywhere but home, if that’s what you can even call it, Celeste wants to say. The words were already poised on the tip of her tongue but the hearsay that will plague her hence promises too much displeasure especially if word were to come back of her less than picture perfect life. Nevertheless, she lets her lips part as if secrets were to be spilled that instance but the words were different from her thoughts.

“Oh, you know what? I’m thrilled that you asked,” she says, an answer already taking form, waiting to be divulged. “My bath,” the tilting of her lips and closing of eyes as she inhales paint a picture of scented candles and a soaked body. “It’s very relaxing in the water. We’ve just had our house renovated. Tomas has such an excellent eye for design, you know. It’s never looked better.” The lies drip like sugar—sticky like a spider’s web and she at the center of it, a black widow waiting to strike. “You should come have a look one day.”

What does your typical day look like?

Now that was a question worthy of the likes of Lawrence Vernon—borderline prying, equal parts intrusive and dubious. But the limelight demands blood and that was the only currency that really matters. So, she bares her teeth with a grin, sweet as the devil and even slicker still. She, a darling of Verona, has more to say with a smile than with talking when she employs her perfect blend of truth and deception.

“Well, as you know I’m rarely on vacation here. Work takes up most of my time. Actually, we just did the photo shoot in the heart of the city—it’s for my next fall collection. So, it’s mostly just replying emails and finalizing edits with the photographer before the big showcase. A business cannot run itself, no?” she laughs, pausing to ascertain his satisfaction with her answer. He laughs with her. “But I find that taking a walk around the city after lunch helps with inspiration.” And allows time for a detour certainly. Emissary work always came first even in the middle of a work day. “We’re planning on launching in August. I can’t tell you much more than that I’m afraid. Or else my publicist will have my head!”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Allowing mediocrity to run through my veins. The fear of failing is so ingrained in her that it only takes two seconds before she registers her heart beating harder ever so slightly. It was a disgusting flaw, one she finds nearly impossible from which to separate. But she does. She stops, her mouth pouts in ponderance as if she isn’t waiting to end the interview already. “I love my fashion line. I love it, I do. My only regret is that I hadn’t started it sooner.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

Her whole life has been a task but one that takes the cake has to be pretending she wasn’t in love with Isabella, especially now when she was so close. The woman is life itself and without her, Celeste finds it hard to breathe. No, impossible. But pretences must be upheld lest the Fates be too tempted to lay waste to her even further. “Two things. One, building this business from scratch. Two, outgrowing my father’s shadow,” she laughs again though this time it doesn’t reach her eyes. As intended, the man fails to notice having been distracted by the way she folds her bare legs one over the other, the slit of her skirt riding up a small degree. “You know how it is. A woman with her own business is rather a challenge in itself, isn’t it? Thankfully, I’ve got all the support I need.”

The night went on as most interviews would go—a meeting at a nice restaurant, dinner, a drink, maybe two and that was it. But when they were the last two to leave, Celeste couldn’t help but feel something amiss. “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” she asks the man instead. Sharp eyes turned up at the question—a final question. It was what she had been waiting for. The perfect opportunity. “Ah,” she finally realises what was wrong, “We’ve run out of wine.”

She reaches up for the bottle and begins to pour. “Are we friends, Signor Henri? You know friends don’t lie. Let’s pretend we are. So, I’ll be honest for the first time tonight.” The glass is almost full by then and the bottle all but vertical like the hand of a clock at midnight—his time was nearly up. She answers her for him. “The Capulets are the dirt beneath the gold, a most unwelcome stain on this city. And you, dear friend, have been propagating their agenda despite our…propositions that you don’t.” The war will forever be a pissing contest, she cannot deny, but what does it matter if she plays for the winning side? “You should have done your work better. Damiano isn’t happy with what you’ve been publishing about us.” She says the words with pride. Us. The Montagues.

The glass brims with wine—scarlet overflows, crimson spreads and stains the white cloth beneath. His time was up and black clad men entered the room, the harbingers of his end drew near. All she had to do now is tell them whether to spare him or doom him. Celeste holds the bottle in her hand like the life she now holds between her fingers, tenderly, eagerly. Was this not what she wanted? Power. She sets the bottle down, signalling the men.

“Lucky for you, you won’t need to do any more damage control. We’ll say your last piece for you.”

The devil take thee, indeed.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

PLAYLIST // a measure of ascendance

MOCKBLOG // ttitaness

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: The Nifty (Late) Nineties

Last time on Daredevil 101, Matt had yet another nervous breakdown, and Foggy finally found out, after 30 years of canon, that his best friend was Daredevil.

Now, with Matt having un-faked his death, he, Foggy, and Karen are free to settle into a new status quo - and it’s a refreshingly light-hearted one! Honestly, I would say this is the peppiest Daredevil ever is - there’s less melodramatic thought-bubbling than the Silver Age, and no undercurrent of severe depression like in the Waid run. It’s just sheer, pleasant fun.

In fact, it’s basically a romcom, with wacky misunderstandings and lots of workplace shenanigans thrown in. Which, considering we’re talking 1996-1998, is right on schedule.

Over the next three posts we’ll be covering Daredevil Volume 1 #353-375, mostly by the creative teams of Karl Kesel/Cary Nord and Joe Kelly/Gene Colan (the latter of whom also drew much of Silver Age Daredevil, aw).

Content Warning: Reading between the lines, emotional abuse by a parent.

We begin with Matt deciding that the best way to announce his return to the world is to stroll into the courtroom during one of Foggy’s cases and just start arguing it alongside him, creating a media circus. Foggy’s...less than thrilled:

How on earth would he know you’re really blind, Matt? You never a) explained anything or b) apologized, you literally just jumped out the window and ran away.

Anyway, they don’t have time to go into it (and Matt gets to skip out of apologizing again) because they get a shocking message:

1. Foggy, you are a fashion icon, never change.

2. How does he know Rosalind Sharpe? And why is he so agitated at the prospect of meeting with her???

Meanwhile, Karen's trying to find her own direction in life:

Matt’s always been pretty careless and jovial about Karen selling out his secret identity - he has literally never tasked her with or blamed her for it - but it weighs on Karen. Also, I don’t blame Karen for not being sure what job to take, since her last two were “handing out anti-porn pamphlets on a street corner” and “running a drug addiction hotline,” both of which are noble causes but neither of which seemed to come with a salary.

Side note: this haircut is very dated but it is my 100% favorite Karen haircut of all time. So kicky! So fresh! So Monica Gellar circa Season 2! I love it.

Meanwhile, Matt’s gone back to “swashbuckling banter-er” when it comes to fighting crime:

I mean, Matt’s jokes are stupid, but that’s part of the point. At least he didn’t say “Talk to the hand” or “Don’t have a cow, man.”

Later, he and Foggy meet with Rosalind, and she offers them both junior partnerships in her firm. Foggy instantly, gleefully accepts, but Matt’s more reluctant:

So yeah, Rosalind is a stone cold bitch, and I don’t use that word lightly. I think she’s a fascinating character but not because she’s, like, not an awful person or anything. (For anyone reading this who doesn’t know why this is so awful: Rosalind is Foggy’s biological mom, though Matt and the reader don’t know that at this point. That’s why this means so much to Foggy.)

It’s also pretty baffling, because Rosalind declares Foggy “adequate” and Matt “astounding,” but Matt has been a) disbarred and b) declared dead twice, while Foggy is a former district attorney and legal counsel to both the Fantastic Four and Tony Stark around this point in time. The perceived wisdom about the characters up until Bendis takes over in a couple years is that Matt is a brilliant attorney and Foggy’s a fumbling buffoon, and both Kesel and Kelly steer hard into that curve, but not only does it not match what the characters actually do, it never made any sense from a character point of view. Why would Matt, The Greatest Lawyer Ever, saddle himself with an incompetent? And how could he run The Most Successful Law Firm In New York while dragging Foggy’s dead weight behind him when it’s canon that he barely ever has the time or emotional capacity to do legal work? I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS FOGGY NELSON SLANDER!

Anyway, Matt and Foggy take some time to hash it out (though Matt obviously doesn’t tell Foggy about Rosalind’s ultimatum), but it’s a tense discussion considering how hurt Foggy still is about the Daredevil thing:

“I can only say I’m sorry so many times, Foggy!” Maybe start with once? That’s a good number to begin at, Matthew. (This “UGH get OVER it” attitude continues for a while, btw, until Foggy finally stops bringing it up. Gee, I wonder where he learned to put up with such belittling dismissal from his loved ones?)

That’s Liz Osborn at the door - formerly Liz Allan, Spider-Man’s high school dream girl, now the widow of Harry Osborn, mother of his child Normie, and head of OsCorp. Foggy helped her with a legal matter recently and she’s come to, well...

Yeah, she’s there to ask him out. GET IT, GIRL. Liz knows what’s what. (Well, she does now. Not so much when she was 16, but then who among us did?)

Check out Foggy’s foreshadowing about Rosalind there in panel 2, btw.

Matt, meanwhile, realizes that he really does owe Foggy this after, you know, the lying to him forever thing, so he tells Rosalind he’s in, on one condition:

Yeah, so Rosalind wants to fuck her son’s best friend, right? That’s what’s happening here? I mean, I kind of get it - Cary Nord draws a hell of a Matt - but also Jesus Christ, no, Rose, keep it in your pants.

And so Nelson and Murdock becomes Sharpe, Nelson, and Murdock. Meanwhile, Karen is fully on board the Foggy/Liz train:

Matt, as usual, is deliberately obtuse/borderline resentful of the fact that Foggy might have other relationships. Oh, Matthew. I’m sure if you just tell Foggy you’re in a triad with him and Karen he’d be on board.

Hey look! It’s Misty!

(She’s the investigator for Rosalind’s firm. She’s also talking about Danny there, yes. They dated pretty consistently in the comics for like 40 years. They’re very cute. COMICS DANNY IS BETTER. Anyway I like it when she and Matt flirt.)

Oh and hey, while we’re here, let’s have the one-two punch of Nelson and Murdock in action. ONE: Matt, having badgered Foggy into defending a supervillain for convoluted Daredevil reasons, fails to show up in court:

Foggy, you are a sartorial wonder and a joy forever, I love you. (Seriously: KILLING. IT.)

TWO: Matt bursts in, either in costume or out, with evidence he’s just come into possession of that’ll blow this case wide open!

There you go, that’s every Daredevil trial scene ever except for the time Matt made Peter dress up as Daredevil so that he could cross-examine him.

Please note Rosalind cackling evilly back there, because she’s trying to get Foggy to throw Matt under the bus, because...she resorted to extortion to get Matt to join her firm and now she wants to ruin his reputation? Which will hurt hers to? Again, Rosalind’s so busy being calculating and cutthroat that her actions frequently don’t make any goddamn sense.

But this is also pretty much the moment that Foggy lets go of his resentment over Matt’s secret and re-pledges his troth, so I feel a lot of feels about it. Even if I would like to see Matt dangle a bit longer.

Meanwhile, Karen’s found a job, though she’s been a bit cagey about what it is with Matt. Why? Well, she’s a late night DJ/talk radio host...but for WFSK, which is owned by - you guessed it - Fisk. But she’s great at it!

This dialogue is 100% ridiculous but also 100% believable, can’t you just hear her cadence? If you’re old enough to remember this kind of thing, at least.

Rosalind has decided to turn Foggy’s friendship with Daredevil (who of course she doesn’t know is Matt) into a win for the firm by branding him as “Daredevil’s Pal,” so she calls in and puts a very startled Foggy on the phone so that he can talk about his relationship with Daredevil:

YOU GUYS. I’M CAN’T. <3 <3 <3

A few callers dial in with weird theories and questions (“What if he has weird bug eyes?” “Whatever happened to those funny little kids he used to hang out with?”), but then “Mike” from the Bronx calls to ask what Karen - I mean, “Paige Angel” - thinks of Daredevil:

Karen goes on to say that Daredevil’s saved her life, and she wouldn’t be the person she is without him. “Mike” replies that Daredevil must be blind...if he can’t see how lucky he is to have people like her in his corner. He adds that whoever Daredevil is, he’d probably be impressed that “Paige” is trying to do some good from the inside at a place like WFSK.

Karen, not being an idiot, recognizes Matt and is touched. And Matt, who’s just heard his two favorite people wax rhapsodic about how wonderful he is?

AWWWWW LOOK AT THIS HAPPY BOY! You enjoy it, buddy. You don’t get to have it too often.

Next up: Nelson family drama, and the return of two of Matt’s old flames!

[bellringermal]

What sort of man is Gerhman for you? (Same question as with Maria)

He is a handsome piece of trash and I love him. THE END.

Oh, if only things were that simple! :P I will try not to turn this post into the ramblings of a shameless fangirl but I promise you nothing.

What I want to clarify right here at the start is that Gehrman is, overall, a good man. Yes, he is flawed, yes he is a closet pervert and yes he never really felt guilty for the slaughter of Fishing Hamlet. But all of this is what makes him the more human and relatable character in the Soulsborne series in my opinion and what intrigued me in the first place.

So, lemme give you some juicy and 100% fanmade backstory for this bad boi :P

Gehrman’s character and personality are definitely the results of his upbringing. Born frail and sensitive, he was forced into martial training since a young age and denied to pursue what was probably his true calling in life, that of the artisan. He had to ‘grow up fast’ to help to sustain his family (Gehrman’s childhood/teenage years follow the disastrous conclusion of a war between Carim and a foreign nation) and because of that he never got the chance to assiduously attend school. When he got hired at Byrgenwerth as a handyman at the age of 16, he could barely read and write. This poorly paid job was for Gehrman a pivotal turning point, because it allowed him to escape the clutches of his overly strict father and gain access to a world of higher-cultured people such as the students and personnel of the college.

And as time went on and Gehrman proved himself a skilled and hard-working lad, he forged a long-lasting friendship with the college’s gatekeeper/janitor Edmund and the sinister but caring scholar Dores. These two, are easily the most influential people in his life beside Master Willem. Dores and Edmund encouraged him to get back to study, lending him books and laboratory equipment so that he could put his -rusty, but brilliant-  skills at use in his free time and asked Master Willem to grant him the permission to attend lessons alongside the students. Finally able to express himself without neglecting the martial training he got from his father, Gehrman quickly became essential to Byrgenwerth as a whole, serving both as a groundskeeper (and trust me, you need someone like that when your college is located in the middle of a damn forest!) and custodian. Everything that ever mattered to him, everything good that ever happened to him and that gave Gehrman some sense of pride or accomplishment was tied to Byrgenwerth and to the benevolence of Master Willem who provided him a place where to stay in exchange for his services. No wonder the soon-to-be First Hunter would become fiercely loyal to the Byrgenwerth’s cause to the point of self-detriment.

When the scholars unlocked the entrance to the Tomb of the Gods and faced the horrors of the Labyrinths for the very first time, Gehrman was right in the front line, clueless an unprepared. That first ‘hunt’, that resulted in dozens of students getting killed and our ‘hero’ crippled and scarred for life, was an experience so horrifying and traumatizing that most people would’ve just called it quits “Fuck the college, I’m outta here, I don’t get paid enough for getting my face eat by giant undead werewolves”-style. But Gehrman, somehow, probably out of fear of losing everything he ever cared about now that Willem considered him useless because of his injury, endured. He swore to himself he would find a way to fight the beasts and vanquish them and as his leg healed after the amputation he spent months researching and tinkering with weapons at his (at the time, quite small and disorganized) worktable. During that time, Willem hired several groups of mercenaries hoping that they would be able to clear at least the first floor of the Chalice but obtained no concrete results. Still bound to his wheelchair, Gehrman observed their equipment and strategies, trying to grasp what those experienced warriors were doing wrong and what he himself would do wrong in following his father’s teachings. Once able to stand on his two legs once again, Gehrman asked the captain of the mercenaries to listen to him, offering some advice and explaining what he had learned from the Pthumerian texts Dores was able to translate. The mercenary scoffed him at first, but then decided to listen to what the young man had to say and asked him for a demonstration. Impressed by the rudimental but quite efficient trick weapon (Gehrman’s first creation was the Saif, in my headcanons. Not the Burial Blade) the captain allowed Gehrman to train with his men and share his knowledge and tricks with them. The next expedition in the Chalices would be their biggest success so far and that very night Gehrman would come back to the college with a wide smile on his blood-smeared face and the severed head of a Scourge Beast as a trophy. He was 24 years old :3

But the real story begins almost 20 years later. 20 years that Gehrman spent devoting himself to the Hunt completely, perfecting his techniques, forging new weapons and taking the place of the captain of the mercenaries becoming, in fact, the Hunter Chief of the group, now composed of more than thirty members, all students of his. He came from nothing and crawled his way up to the top, taking pride in his accomplishments despite the fact that he had to put aside everything else, including his private life (which had been quite depressing and lonely since his childhood friend, Therese, married someone else) and with the constant awareness that everything he has is still just a kind concession of Master Willem and that he could lose everything in the blink of an eye. His workshop, his money, even his comfy studio filled with mechanical creations, everything belongs to Byrgenwerth.

Even now, as a grown-ass man with a reputation and devoted students of his own, Gehrman is still very much the same insecure boy he was when he joined Byrgenwerth. He still holds a grudge towards his father (it’s a mutual thing) is a walking disaster around women, is very dependable on Dores and Edmund and never questions Master Willem’s orders, not even the more despicable ones. And trust me, Willem often asked him, Dores and Edmund to do things that are, to put it simply, quite fucked up. For science, of course.

Overall, Gehrman means well. He does his best, tries to be impartial when it comes to his students and genuinely cares about their safety and well-being. He has seen many of them die in the course of his career and always blamed himself for their demise. Even if they signed up a contract knowing what they were getting into, that doesn’t make the departure of a colleague or friend any less painful for him, reason why he takes upon himself the responsibility of finishing off his students on the battlefield if there’s nothing that can be done for them. He is a really demanding teacher (which reminds him of how his father used to treat him and Gehrman kinda hates himself because of that. Yep, he definitely has daddy issues) and someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kick you out if you don’t behave, but he would do this only because he doesn’t want to see you dead.

Surprisingly, all the above also applies to Maria. No matter how much into her he is, during training, he never treated her differently than his other students. Never went easy on her because of her higher social status or the simple fact that she is a woman. (I mean, Gratia, Izzy and Henriett are women as well and they know that Gehrman doesn’t give a damn and they are glad he doesn’t.)

Speaking of which, it’s time to make this post even longer and spend a few words on Gehrman’s mania. He immediately found Maria extremely attractive since their very first encounter, and in a genuinely perverted way at that. He immediately had his mind filled with all sort of naughty thoughts while his reasonable side was there to remind him to “keep dreaming bro, that ain’t going to happen”. And at first, he was kinda okay with that. No matter how beautiful she was, Maria was a real pain in the ass at first and not someone Gehrman would’ve wanted to form any sort of relationship with. So his thoughts were, for quite some time, just thoughts. And not even particularly intrusive ones. But as time went by, the more he got to know Maria the more he realized that she was literally everything he ever looked for in a woman. That was the moment the whole drama began because at that point he became afraid of what Maria would’ve thought of him if she ever found out about his infatuation with her.

That is the point in the story when he began to hide, lie and avoid her while still dying to see her. This part is my favorite because Gehrman is very conflicted and does a bunch of dumb shit in pure cheesy Period Drama style. The worst thing he does is probably idealizing Maria beyond belief, putting her on a pedestal where no one (not even himself) can touch her while gloating about the idea that he is the one responsible for her talent. Which is relatively true, but doesn’t excuse the ‘ownership’ he claims over her skills. On a good note, he is very aware of how twisted his feelings have become and feels guilty about it, reason why he acts cold and distant towards Maria. A behavior that doesn’t fit with that of the other hunters who are now friendly and well-disposed towards her at this point in the story.

His internal turmoil is the reason why I do find Maria’s reaction to his extorted confession absolutely brilliant (props to Daisy who wrote it

Now, I could keep on rambling about these two for hours and about how the Old Blood and its effects on them (and the setting) affected the story but this post is already TOO long XD

[lookatthisdork]

Meditations of Jason Todd (Draft)

In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I’ve made several attempts at drafting different fic ideas, which inevitably meant blocks of Batfam fanfic drabbles that don’t have any coherent plot, flow or continuity. They’re all basically unfit for internet consumption right now, except for this first attempt at writing in Jason’s voice. 

(Um, I’m still reading Pre-Crisis and 90s comics in my free-time, so the only canon Red Hood I have is his single animated movie. Since this is set significantly after that in his character arc, I’m not super confident when writing him. I have a problem writing characters I haven’t read the canon for, honestly.)

The problem with trading and selling drugs in a city like Gotham is that no matter how careful you were with recruitment, no matter how high your people’s morale and loyalty, you inevitably have to get your hands dirty to keep the money flowing. There are always incentives for both defectors and saboteurs to take pot shots at your stake. Offing a boss could mean a bigger piece of the pie for yourself, better job security (in the short-term, if your employment was tenuous), averting your boss throwing you under the bus for a job gone wrong. If the guy up top doesn’t maintain an aura of invulnerability, a willingness to crush any dissent under his boot, he quickly finds himself faced with with mutiny.

Dealing in drugs always ends in blood, one way or another. Jason was well aware of this. He was also aware of the fact that if you wanted to finance something really expensive quietly and quickly, drug money was the most sure-fire way of getting what you wanted.

(Actually, well-done white-collar fraud was the most sure-fire way, but if there was one thing he’d absorbed from watching Oracle, it was that fraud was never as secure as people made it out to be. It only took one individual with a computer and more skill than you to blow your operation to bits. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but at least drug-money was a physical object that couldn’t be “lost” with a few keystrokes.)

(Also, fraud was boring as a sole source of income. Too much time behind a screen, not enough explosions and punching people in the face.)

The Red Hood had been a damn-good drug lord, Jason liked to think. He’d run a tight ship, and the “severed heads in the duffel bag” shtick had quickly established just how out-of-their-league everyone else in the game was. Sure, he hadn’t stayed in business all that long for several good reasons (only one of which was Bruce), but extorting organized crime bosses was like riding a bicycle – really hard to forget. There was no practical reason for why he shouldn’t just recycle his old plan in a new city for some fast cash. Wasn’t like the shit-hole he was stuck in had anyone equipped to take him down.

Of course, striking fear into the hearts of criminals by decapitating their peers wasn’t the best strategy to use when your little brothers had front row seats to the carnage via helmet-cam.

He could just disable the cam for that part, of course. But the brats would definitely put two-and-two together and hatch some plot in response. An unnecessary headache when there was no Dick to foist them off on.

And...Jason wasn’t the best role-model in the world. He could admit to that. He used the phrase “little brothers” to refer to Tim and Damian very, very lightly in deference to the uncomfortable number of murder attempts among the three of them. Nowadays, he did regret all the stabbing and shooting and general dickery. Even though Damian was genetically engineered to be the most aggravating child on the planet and Tim kept stealing Jason’s alter-egos out from under him (unrepentantly now, the little shit). They were still better than uninterested-and-unhelpful-unless-I’m-sending-you-to-Arkham Dick and fucking Bruce. They didn’t deserve half the shit they were dealing with.

But his regret didn’t magically fix everything. There were 100-to-1 odds that neither kid saw Jason as anything more than “that one fuck-up that we don’t discuss in polite company.” Fair enough. Still, didn’t mean that the Red Hood had to live down to their expectations. He could do better – be the responsible adult, make sure they were fed and watered regularly, maybe (maybe) address their allotted emotional-expression-of-the-week.

Jason blamed his previously non-existent brotherly streak on Cassandra. She’d not only spoiled him by re-familiarizing him with friendly human contact, but she also subtly planted in his mind the idea that hey, you know who else would appreciate Jason’s company when Cassandra was busy? Tim and Damian. And you know who would benefit most from Jason’s unique perspective on life? Who needed a reprieve from Bruce and Dick and all of their frankly impossible expectations? Who could always use another person watching their backs, making sure they end up in an early grave?

(Honestly, Dick should watch Cass in Big Sister Mode and take notes.)

A soft huff of static came through the comm in his ear without warning, followed by the ridiculously-identifiable Damian’s click of the tongue. (Bruce was trying to train him out of doing it in costume so people wouldn’t catch on - with no success, of course.) “Todd, have your remaining neurons finally ceased to function? You’ve been standing outside the warehouse for five minutes. Are you ready or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” he said as he checked the indicators for the explosives one last time. (Still all green, ready and able to wreck a certain someone’s next fiscal quarter.) “I was just reminiscing about the good old days, back when we all hated each other’s guts and I still blew up drug dens with the dealers inside instead of out. Ever miss those times?” he asked, heavy on the sarcasm.

Tim’s voice was dry as a desert, even with the slightly-tinny reception. “I miss them as much as I miss the knife that was embedded in my spleen.”

“Well, you have to admit, a knife in your spleen was probably the most exciting thing that happened to you that week, even if it was bad for your health long-term.”

“Clearly Todd’s mental dysfunction is worsening,” Damian said. As usual, his tone gave no indication if that was meant to be a joke or an insult.

Probably both, actually. Kid got a kick out of riling people who weren’t Dick up.

At least it was a joke clearly aimed to get a chuckle out of Tim instead of a joke at his expense. If there was one thing this months-long jaunt into the multiverse was doing, it was driving the boys together through their shared survival instinct and the fact that Jason deprived them of all baked goods whenever he had to break up their fights.

(Bribing his brothers with freshly-made cakes and brownies in exchange for good behavior was really the only reason they were three months into this shit-show with no major casualties.)

“Ain’t that a shame,” Jason replied. “It’ll just be you and Tim, stuck all alone in Not-Gotham. What a perfect opportunity for you two to bond.”

No,” both boys said at the same time.

Then the sound of Damian trying to land a hit on Tim (and failing judging from the lack of a pained grunt) filtered through Jason’s headpiece. Because Damian couldn’t stand to agree with Tim on anything for more than 10 seconds without ruining the moment.

Well, whatever. The brotherly-bond was a work in progress. “Stop fist-fighting so we can finish this,” he said. “I’ve got Falcone’s heroin wired up to an irresponsible amount of explosives, and I’d like to get our racket money before dawn.”

What I just wrote makes no sense out of context, but since this is the only thing I have written for this AU, I’ll just explain here:

This is from the “Jason-Tim-Damian get stuck in Flashpoint” AU I mentioned at some point, a few months into their impromptu stranding. How they got there isn’t super important, and I’m handwaving intervention from standard Earth not being able to get them back home in a timely manner. (Note: Bruce, Dick, Cass and everyone else aren’t trying really hard to get them back; it’s just not working for Reasons.) 

After thinking about these three in a strange Not-Gotham for a while, I came to the conclusion that they’d lay low and avoid drawing attention to themselves instead of trying to approach Thomas-Batman or Alt-Cyborg or someone else. Things might be different if Dick or Cass were the oldest sibling on the ground, but Jason’s much slower to trust, as are Tim and Damian. A virtual stranger that also happens to be Batman would be the last person Jason would trust with his and his brothers’ safety. 

Naturally, that means the guys need to find a source of income and a place to hole up. The former, Jason gets by extorting the local organized crime - charging money to sabotage competitors and charging money to not sabotage his employers. Lighter on the murder than his first return to Gotham, but Tim and Damian noticeably don’t bring that subject up anyway. I imagine they picked a spot that was an auxiliary batcave on their Earth and fix it up as a temporary base where Tim is trying to engineer something to send them back to their Earth (funded by Jason’s extortion racket). Damian is stuck as the odd-jobs kid, which he handles with as much patience as he can. (Hint: he’s not a very patient person.)

It would be a waste of the setting not to get the three of them involved with Thomas-Batman and possibly even the main plot of Flashpoint, so this scene would be a sort of in-between-scene prologue before the status-quo changes. I’m leaning towards either Red Hood crashing one of the Cyborg-Batman scenes because he needs tech only Cyborg has or one of the guys interrupting Martha-Joker’s last crime.

Of course, this premise requires a long-form fic, which I’ve never written before. This is all wild speculation, really. I’ll probably never write all of this out.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BUT IF I DO, you can count on Jason finding out that in a world with no Bruce and no Robin, he STILL ended up dead and resurrected. The multiverse just has it out for him, clearly.

[arkhamarchitecture]

So okay, this is the other, angry version of Percy having a post-episode 100 breakdown. And this one comes with a very important preface - not everything Percy says is right. He says some shit that he has strong opinions about but he is not necessarily correct. He is mad about some things he is not necessarily justified in being angry about. Anger isn’t always logical or reasonable. Do not get on my ass about this. I know. 

“I’m going outside,” Percy says in a flat tone of voice that brooks no argument.

Everyone looks up at him with varying degrees of concern but if Percy spends one more minute in this monument to bad memories, he’s going to start screaming, so he bypasses all of them and heads down the tunnels.

It seems so obvious, in retrospect. Numerous warding glyphs of Delilah’s favorite spell, a small horde of undead - probably all she could find in such an out of the way location - to act as shock troops, a tunnel dusted with fine powder and carved so smoothly it could only be made by disintegration, and an identical ziggurat with a mysterious cult? Every sign pointed to someone involved in the Briarwood’s scheme and why would any half-skilled necromancer stay dead?

It’s still early morning when Percy emerges into the sunlight, which makes sense because it feels like everything happened in a split second. Percy walks only a short distance - not out of sight should any of his friends come looking for him, but down onto the coarse sands of the Marquetian desert instead of the rocky hillside. The true daytime heat of the desert hasn’t set in yet but all of the nocturnal desert life has retreated to their burrows so everything is serene and quiet.

There’s no movement. No noise. Not even a breeze to stir up the sand.

Out of deference to some concept of stealth and the understanding that just because he doesn’t see any enemies doesn’t mean there are none, Percy activates Diplomacy and creates a field of Silence around himself. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t hear it.

The ground next to him explodes in a shower of sand and grit. Percy fires Animus five more times and each shot sends up clouds of sand that obscure his vision and make his eyes water. As soon as the sixth bullet is out of the barrel, Percy whips the chamber open and blindly reloads. He fires again and again until he feels the recoil hit his hand wrong and there’s a sharp stab of pain radiating up his arm to the base of his skull from the psychic backlash of a misfire. He holsters Animus and draws Retort in one smooth motion, firing and reloading until that too bucks in his hand and ceases to function.

He doesn’t draw Bad News. The only thing Percy can see is his own personal sandstorm, which is starting to settle around him now that he’s stopped firing. Percy’s chest is heaving, his face is wet, and his throat is raw, either from the sand or from screaming.

Everything is still completely silent.

Percy’s gunhand is numb and shaking from all the recoil as he deactivates Diplomacy. The sound of his own harsh breathing abruptly reaches his ears and Percy tries to compose himself, holstering Retort and drawing deep, shuddering breaths.

When the dust settles enough for Percy to see, a surge of rage wells up inside of him so all consuming that he knows if both Animus and Retort weren’t broken, he would have already started firing again.

Sitting on a rock some thirty feet to Percy’s left is Scanlan Shorthalt.

“I was wondering if that worked both ways. If you couldn’t hear me as much as I couldn’t hear you, I mean.”

Percy says nothing.

“...It’s a very clever contraption,” Scanlan offers when it becomes apparent Percy isn’t going to respond. “I’m impressed you did it without magic. I don’t know how any of your toys work without magic, really.”

Percy’s face twists in anger. “It is magic, you prick. Taryon enchanted it. And nothing I build is a toy, no matter how much fun you seem think my guns are.”

Scanlan winces. “Ah, listen, I just want to apologize for… a few things.”

“Don’t bother, I don’t care.”

“No, please just hear me out? I said things in anger that I didn’t mean and I know that it wasn’t right to take it out on you guys. And I know I shouldn’t have taken one of Ripley’s -” Percy flinches at the name still, even after all this time, and Scanlan pauses momentarily before revising, “- one of the guns. I don’t think of it as a toy, honestly. I thought it would be good to have as backup just in case, you know? I felt so useless on that island. And I’m sure you don’t think of that as much of an excuse but I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“Sorry. You’re sorry,” Percy repeats. “Who gives a shit if you’re sorry, assuming you even are? Actions speak louder than words and especially when they’re coming from someone who lies and manipulates people to get them to do whatever he wants them to do. And right now what you want is for us to stop being mad at you, so you know what? I’m going to keep being mad. I’ve never been able to tell when you were lying before and I certainly can’t now, so there’s no reason for me not to assume that every word out of your mouth isn’t a lie.”

Scanlan swallows hard. “That’s - yeah, alright. That’s fair.”

Percy had come out here in the first place to unleash his temper somewhere that it couldn’t hurt anyone he loved. And just when he thought he’d calmed that fire, Scanlan showed up to pour oil on it.

“You know what? While I’m telling you exactly how far up your arse you can shove those apologies, let me be very clear - I’m not angry about that garbage you said a year ago. I knew you were lying and I knew you knew you were lying. I am angry about you showing up out of the blue just to try to - to extort me for something you know perfectly fucking well I don’t spreading in exchange for information that could save my gods damned city!” Percy stalks towards Scanlan, his voice rising sharply. His throat already hurts from yelling, what’s a little more?

“And as for feeling useless - fuck you! You want to know what useless feels like? Useless feels like being in Hell and watching Keyleth go down and realizing that if she dies then all of you die and there’s nothing you can do about it! It feels like being in the Plane of Water and staring down a Kraken when all your weapons rely on combustion and watching it kill your family! Did you even know that Vax died? Did you ever ask what happened to us after you left or did you just let everyone fill you in on whatever they cared to mention without ever prying deeper because clearly if it was important they’d fucking tell you, right?!”

The sound of Percy’s voice echoes across the empty landscape. Scanlan stares upwards at Percy, who is looming dangerously over him. He doesn’t look afraid and why should he? Percy isn’t a threat to him. The amount of magic in him is absurd. The only person who can beat Scanlan for raw power is Keyleth. There’s nothing Percy can do to him and they both know it.

“Do you want to know why I’m angry, Scanlan?” Percy asks quietly. “Do you want to know what it is I’ve held a year-long grudge over? It’s the fact that you left. And it’s the one thing I know you won’t apologize for because you aren’t sorry. We needed you and you left.”

Scanlan blinks up at him and smiles sadly. “You’re right - I’m not sorry for leaving. I needed to leave and I’ve been better for it.”

“It’s not about you or what you need. Responsibility and duty don’t care what you need. You have a job to do and you do it even if it makes you fucking miserable, because it’s the right thing to do. Do you think I want to be in Whitestone signing off on paperwork about crop rotations and listening to diplomats lie to me about previous trade deals we lost records for because of that fucking woman,” Percy gestures back towards the mountain with a wave of his arm, “and her monstrosity of a husband? Of course not, but that’s where Cassandra needs me to be, so that’s where I am.”

Percy sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “If you had left for your daughter, that’d be one thing. But you can talk a big game about how you needed to be a better father all you like - you and I both know you were going to leave with or without her.”

Scanlan spreads his arms and shrugs. “I think this conversation has told me more about you than a year and a half of traveling with you ever did. You have a very specific definition of responsibility that I don’t share.”

“Obviously.”

“So what do we do about that?”

“Nothing. We’re going back to Whitestone. You can go home to your daughter and your criminal empire. I suggest you make those bullets I gave you last because if I ever catch you trying to get more from me, I’m going to shoot you.

Percy doesn’t wait a response and turns to leave, then pauses and turns back to Scanlan. “And you can return the Gatestone. That’s Vox Machina property.”

“That’s it?” Scanlan asks incredulously. “You just want me to pretend none of this happened and I didn’t see Delilah Briarwood back from the dead?”

“Yes. Give me back the Gatestone.”

“What happened to a sense of duty and responsibility? This is happening in my backyard!”

“Then you handle your backyard,” Percy says coldly, “And I’ll handle mine. Now give me the gods damned Gatestone so I can give it to my sister because the woman who slaughtered our family and held her captive for five years is back.”

Scanlan closes his mouth with a snap. He reaches into a pouch on his belt and pulls out the Gatestone. He bounces it in his palm for a moment before lobbing it gently at Percy, who snaps it out of the air. “You know, I always liked Cassandra.”

“She liked you too. Stay away from her. She doesn’t need the disappointment.”

Scanlan sucks in a sharp breath but by the time he’s recovered from that blow, Percy’s already gone.

[viswas]

Speed equals money divided by time

"Hello?" "Hey Karan, Mano here. Do you wanna watch 'Speed'?" "Right now? It's 9 p.m already." "Yes, if we leave quickly, we can get to Satyam by ten. I hear it's a fantastic thriller." "Yeah, I heard that too. I definitely want to watch the movie but I think it's going to be a close call." "I think we will make it" "Hmm, maybe we will if we keep off the main roads" "Alright then, will you pick me in ten minutes?" "Let me check with mom. If you don't hear back from me in five, it means I am coming." "Ok", said Mano. "I will honk twice when I get there. Come out quickly. Don't make me wait." "Sure, see you soon" "See ya"

Karan hung up the phone. It had been a while since he went to the cinema or hung out with Mano. The exams had taken his attention the past two months. He needed this break, but he would have to rush. After two minutes in the shitter, he looked at the mirror and decided that his shabby wear-at-home tee shirt and shorts were sufficient. He walked up to his mother who was folding clothes in the bedroom.

"Osame, I am going for a movie with Mano. And I need to leave in five minutes. Is dinner ready yet?" "Karan, how often do I have to tell you to not plan late night movies?" "Please, ma. It's been long since I watched one and I deserve this break." "Where is it playing?" "Mount Road" "I suppose you are taking the bike?" "Yes ma, I'll be fine. You worry too much." "Of course I do. What if you get mugged at night?" "I won't, I am sticking to the streets." "That's precisely the point. At least if you stuck to the main roads, where there are cops, I wouldn't worry much." "Madras is a safe place ma. But I hate dealing with the cops. I look underage, so they tend to stop and extort me. It's easier when I stick to the streets." "Hmm. Alright. Dinner is on the table. Eat properly and go. Be safe. And don't forget to take the keys. Don't ring the doorbell when you are back." "Will do Osame. Love you." "And stop calling me Osama. I am not a terrorist." "Okay Osame" "Hpfff... do you have money?" "No ma, can I get some?" "Take it from my purse. There should be a 500 rupees note in there." "Thanks, Osame. Love you" "This Child ..."

Karan couldn't believe his luck. His mother was in a good mood. Typically, this would have needed some cajoling. He grabbed a plate from the kitchen, scooped a lump of rice onto it, drowned it in dal and made a mix-mash with his hand. Five minutes and 25 morsels later, he dropped the plate in the sink, washed his hands, took the money, wore his sandals, locked the door and got onto his bike.

He arrived at Mano's a minute later and honked twice.  He could faintly hear shouts emanating from the house.  "Noise", "Karan", "Spoilt Child",  "Late night", "Irresponsible" and other adjectives that Karan thought did justice to his personality.  He hated being made to wait. Now they were going to be late to the movie. When Mano stepped out five minutes later and got onto the bike, Karan was relieved.

"Glad you could make it", said Karan. "Let's go", said Mano. Karan gave him a stare from the corner of his eye. "Sorry dude, the usual troubles. Not sure you heard anything. Please ignore." "Dude, I don't care what your mom says. I told you to be ready. You could have had these conflicts and gotten permission before you called me." "Sorry again mate. Let's move on. I am super excited", said Mano, rubbing his palms against one another. "Alright, hold tight. I am going to make a mad dash for it."

Karan shifted the gears, twisted the throttle and let the bike surge. He loved the pull and the beat of his two-stroke bike. It had character. Every pulse of sound from the exhaust, each a bit louder than the previous, raced his heart. He hated riding his bike on the small streets though. It forced him to brake too often. But, tonight he was on a mission. He hoped for an otherwise interruption-free ride. It would be nice if he could reach the cinema ten minutes earlier. This would set a new time record to Mount Road.

"Mano, what time is it?" "It's 9.30. We have time. I don't mind the speed, but please drive carefully." "Of course", said Karan. "I hope we get tickets over the counter. I have only 100 rupees, not enough to buy in black." "Don't worry. I have a 500 should we need it. But we may not have the time to find a scalper and haggle." "Agree. I hate those vermin", said Mano. "Hate them, but they are a necessary evil if it's house-full." "I disagree. The house is full because they buy up all the tickets." "Point taken. Let's hope we don't have to deal with one today."

Karan's thoughts drifted from the movie to the riding experience. He wished the main roads were empty at this time. He loved experiencing headwind on his face and hair. The tickling sensation from his fluttering long hair was blissful. Tonight, the experience was soured by the need to rush through the streets. He wouldn't be able to savor the ride.

"Karan, watch out, cops ahead" "Fuck, fuck, fuck, the last thing we need", said Karan, almost grinding the bike to a halt. "Why are they here?", asked Mano. "Fuckers must have found that there were people like us bypassing their revenue stream through the streets."

His only option was to turn back, take the parallel street and come back in the same direction. Just ahead was an opening in the road divider. Karan pulled forward and turned the handlebar all the way to the right and throttled. Just as he gained balance after the turn and pulled his feet up, a white shirt khaki pant clad cop extended his lathi and walked into the middle of the road from out of nowhere.

"Bloody hell", muttered Mano behind Karan. "Sidele iddra vandiye", said the cop. "Enge oddarey?"

Cursing the street lights, Karan pulled over. Mano got down to the kerb. The cop had placed himself strategically on the wrong side of the road. Today, everyone was going to pay their dues to this asshole.

The cop walked over to the bike and pulled the key out. Karan made a mental note to never step out again without a spare bike key in his pocket. Dealing with the cops was not a worthwhile experience. If he had another key, perhaps he could take his chance with running away, hoping that the cop wouldn't care to track him down. Karan feared Cops. They had no morality or empathy and were greedy. He had never had a polite interaction with a cop. They were bullies and treated everyone like criminals. Every time he spoke to one, he felt he was trying to prove his innocence. They were all three - judge, jury, and executioner. And today, he was definitely guilty. Only the verdict remained.

"Licensum RC iddu", said the cop.

Karan pulled out his wallet. Inside, he found a 100 rupees note.  Next to it was the 500 rupees note from Osama. He hoped to settle the matter with the 100, wishing that the cop hadn't noticed the 500 note in the poor lighting. He slid out the license and registration and quickly put the wallet back into his pocket. The cop grabbed the license and the RC from Karan's hand and stared at it. He looked at the photo, then to his face, back to the photo, back to the face. When he was satisfied, he returned them to Karan.

"Enge poray?", said the cop.

Karan had a choice to make. He could speak in Tamil and weasel his way out of the situation by flattering the cop. Or he could pretend to not know Tamil and confuse the cop with English. The latter it would be. Flattery may not work; the cop was visibly angry or at least pretending to be.

"Tamil theriyaadu saar. English?", said Karan in broken tamil. "Nee enna periye Peter ah?", said the cop. The fucker had judged Karan to be pretentious already. This was getting worse. When Karan didn't reply and put a puzzled expression on his face, the cop said: "Where are you going, Man?" "Sir, we are going to a movie", said Mano. "Which theater?" "Satyam" The cop flicked his wrist and looked at the time. So did Karan. It was 9.50 already. "You are late, no movie for you", said the cop.

Mano and Karan exchanged a glance. They had 10 minutes before the movie started. It would easily take them another 20 to get to the theater. Not happening. They were definitely going to miss a part of the movie, assuming they got tickets.

"Sir, please sir, we already did advanced booking", said Mano, hoping the cop wouldn't ask him to show the tickets. "Hmm.. which place you from? What you do?" "Sir, I am from Andhra and he is from Kerala. We study engineering.", said Mano. "Liar, I think you study movie at midnight.  What your father do man?" "Sir, he runs a medical store", said Mano. "Business good ah?", said the cop "Don't know Sir", said Mano. The cop looked at Karan and said "Insurance? Show."

Karan felt a shiver inside him. He hoped the insurance hadn't expired. His dad had warned him recently about the insurance being close to the due date for renewal. He had forgotten about it. Just as he fetched the papers from the fuel tank bag, the cop snatched it. After a quick glance, his otherwise straight lips curved upwards into a smile. Both Karan and Mano knew what that meant.

"Pay 500 and leave". Mano put a weak pleading smile and said: "Sir, please sir, we are students." The cop shelved his smug face, pulled out his stern face and said "First you no helmet. Then you cheat and put u-turn. Then you no insurance. Then you no headlight sticker. You want discount? No discount. Pay and go."

Mano looked at the time. It was 9.55 now. They would miss 15 minutes of the movie. This assuming they got the tickets. The odds of finding tickets across the counter were against them. If they paid the cop the entire 500, they might not get to watch the movie at all. And if they haggled with the cop, they would miss the starting of the movie. It was a tough call.

"Sir, please give me a moment to talk to him", said Mano. "Ok", said the cop.

Mano stepped in between Karan and the cop, his back facing the cop. He explained his thoughts to Karan. Karan thought for a moment and said, "Mano, I was very excited and I don't want to go back home without some fun. Let us pay this fucker and take our chances with the tickets. If we don't get tickets over the counter, let's just ditch the movie and go play pool. We can still make it a memorable night." Mano thought for a moment and nodded his head. He then stepped aside and faced the cop and said "Ok sir. We will pay." "500", said the cop.

Karan pulled out his wallet again and took the note. He looked into the cop's eyes with hatred and handed it over.  The cop quickly pocketed the money, gave his smug smile, returned the keys and stepped aside. Mano got onto the bike and the two of them were on the way to the theater in no time.

They reached the theater at 10.13 p.m, instantly found parking and rushed to the box-office. There was no house-full board. Karan pulled out his wallet. Inside was a 500 rupee note. Mano saw it too. They looked at each other. "Fuck me", said Karan as his eyes lit up. "Fuck me too", said Mano, and then they burst into a stream of laughter.

Two minutes later, they walked into the auditorium and found the audience sitting down after the national anthem. For the first time, they had an appreciation for advertisements and the supreme court's mandatory national anthem rule.