#companion piece with my last set basically

[rocktheholygrail]

2x07 || 2x08

[queensparklekitten]

I think I just guaranteed queen of nothing by the crane wives a place in my spotify wrapped tonight because of time princess

[alpaca-clouds]

How redeeming Gortash would improve Karlach's story

I will admit, that the title is a bit overstated, because by the time you actually get to interact with Gortash, the plot just does not have enough time left to redeem him. Because other than what some folks in Hollywood think: No, giving a character one last minute "heel-face-turn" with one big symbolic act does not in fact redeem a character. Redemption is a process that takes time.

BG3 actually understands this, because Astarion's arc basically ends with: "You took the first steps towards redemption." Which is really good.

However: You could end the game at least in a way to set Gortash up for a possible redemption arc - and more importantly just... not have him die. Because actually that would improve Karlach's character arc.

I will get one thing out of the way first: The entire "Gortash redemption" idea is always contentious on the fact that he is a really bad guy. Like, he is bad. He brutally killed and tortured, he enslaved people, all of that.

I am an anarchist though. Hence, I do not really believe that punishment is in any way just. And to put it differently: Killing Gortash does not undo any of the harm he has caused. Not a single dead person will live through it, not a single tortured person will become untortured through it, and no slave is freed through it either (you kinda gotta say that as the player in a different mission).

And yes, I will say at this point that in general I was iffed by the fact that in many fights of the game I was not given a choice really. It was "either join the bad guys or kill them", and my "all charisma bard", who does not believe in killing for revenge, was like: "But... But..."

Like, my Tav was on board with killing Cazador (because literally in the situation it is "kill Cazador or have 7000 people die") and killing Ketheric (because he needed to die to end the curse), but he is already iffy on Orin (as she never had a choice but to be a killer) and definitely is not on board with killing Gortash (because there is no good reason to do it).

But let me talk about Karlach. Because the thing is... I have seen a lot of commentary on how Wyll is underwritten. And he is. But not as underwritten as Karlach. Like, her entire companion quest basically goes: "Kill some fake paladins, find Dammon, find two pieces of Infernal Iron, kill Gortash (which you have to do for plot reasons either way)". She doesn't really have a dungeon connected to her quest. Nor really an exclusive boss fight, because again: Gortash you kinda gotta fight for the story either way. Nothing really.

Every other character, too, also has to make one hard decision. Where they want one thing - but what is actually the good thing is something else. I wrote about this before, the "become what you hate" decision, basically.

Karlach doesn't. Sure, you could argue that the "die or go back to Avernus" decision is her big decision. But it feels very different than the decisions of the others.

Which brings me to Gortash and saving him.

Here is the thing: Logically speaking Gortash should probably be able to fix Karlach's engine. He understands infernal engines, as he built the Steel Watch around them. You can easily argue that yeah, he should be able to fix Karlach. And that... would actually make for a great decision for Karlach's story.

If I would get to fix Karlach's companion quest, I would probably do it like this: Put in some sort of dungeon where Dammon sends you in the hope that you can find some plans there, that might give him an understanding on how to fix the engine. Heck, if you do not wanna do a whole new dungeon, you could also just put some plans or whatever into the Steel Foundry.

The point is that it will then turn out that, yeah, even with those plans for some reason Gortash is the only one who could fix it. Putting Karlach into the spot to make this decision: Does she value her life more than her revenge on Gortash?

Because here is the thing: Gortash is supposed to be 1) the intelligent one of the dead three chosen, and 2) also clearly is the one who acts first and foremost in some sense for his own self-preservation. Which made me go like: "Nah, this does not make sense," when he decides to fight against me after his Steel Watch was disabled and I already killed the other two chosen.

So, yeah... You should get at least a chance to persuade him to just give up - or, going back to what I was talking about before - to save Karlach.

And again, I actually think that even for the Gortash part of the story it would make for more interesting storytelling. Killing him is not really that interesting.

Especially as, once again, killing him does not undo any of the harm he has caused. But given that he is this big egghead he could actually do something good if he got to live. And yeah, also there is the fact that... You know... Given what we know about his backstory, his actions are about as understandable as those of some of the companions.

Some of you might already know, I have written some fics dealing with the way how I would imagine something like this to go. Mainly Hurt begets Hurt (which is basically my Tav convincing Gortash to give up), An Impossible Future (Karlach inner turmoil after her engine is fixed) and Cheesy Noodles (Gortash being a big meany towards Tav, who is unphased by this).

I am right now writing a story featuring Astarion dealing with a very, very depressed Gortash.

[hsrblake]

Cooper Howard qotues

Why, is this an Amish production of The Count of Monte Cristo or... just the weirdest circle jerk I've ever been invited to?" – The Ghoul after being awoken

"Well, what makes you think I'd give a good goddamn about that?" – The Ghoul to Honcho about a bounty

"Well, I tell you what, boys, whenever somebody says... ...they're doing one last job, that usually means their heart's not in it. Probably never was. But for me, well... I do this shit for the love of the game." – The Ghoul to the bounty hunters

"You right, friend, about one thing. This right here was your last job. My paycheck wasn't quite what you expected, but... well, you know what they say. Us cowpokes... ...we take it as it comes." – The Ghoul while murdering Honcho

"Now, last night a bounty came in through all six agencies. A hefty price on the head of a man that fits the description of that fella right there. Now, I may not know much, but I do know a bidding war when I see one." – The Ghoul about the bounty for Dr. Wilzig

"Well, now, that is a very small drop in a very, very large bucket of drugs." – The Ghoul after being shot at by Lucy

"You got to be fucking kidding me." – The Ghoul after seeing Maximus' arrival

"Well, I'd say come up here and get me, but... it's hard to walk upstairs when you're wearing a 12-piece cast-iron skillet set." – The Ghoul to Maximus.

"Well, I guess basic training ain't what it used to be. 'Cause you drive that thing like a fucking shopping cart. Rule number one: read the manual." – The Ghoul taunting Maximus

"Yeah, well, the Wasteland's got its own golden rule. [...] Thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time."

"Well, Lucy MacLean, it ain't all canned peaches and marmalade left up here, sweetheart. Sometimes a fella's got to eat a fella." – The Ghoul while harvesting Roger's remains

"I'll bet that outfit makes y'all fell like a big man, don't it? Well, I know 'cause, well I used to wear one back in the day. There was only one problem with it. There was a flaw in the welding just below the chest plate. I wonder if they fixed that in this new model? I guess not." – The Ghoul confronting the Brotherhood.

"Oh, you want another autograph, young Henry? Feo, fuerte y formal." – The Ghoul to Hank MacLean.

"When your daughter said her last name was MacLean, well, I just couldn't believe it was the MacLean. Hell, this kid used to pick up my wife's dry cleaning. Now, I've waited over 200 years to ask somebody one question. Where's my fucking family?" – The Ghoul confronting Hank MacLean.

"War never changes. You look out at this Wasteland, looks like chaos. But there's always somebody behind the wheel. And that's who I want to talk to. That's where your daddy is headed." – The Ghoul to Lucy Maclean.

John Hancock quotes

Of the people, for the people."

"Plenty of folks wanna make life hard for people just tryin' to survive. I'm not willing to stand for that kinda shit."

"What kind of settlement requires a test for entry?" – Referring to Covenant.

"Whoa, the Downs. Hope we're not going anywhere for a while." – Referring to Easy City Downs.

"That kinda bull is the reason I became mayor in the first place." – Referring to The Big Dig

"Damn. Hey, look, if you wanna get outta here..." – If taken to Nate/Nora's corpse in Vault 111.

"If someone needs help, we help 'em. If someone needs hurting, we hurt 'em. It's not hard."

"Like it? I think it gives me a sexy, king of the zombies kinda look. Big hit with the ladies."

"Hey, does that play "Red Menace?" Love that damn game." – Accessing a terminal

"Looks like you can use a little pick me up." – Said when initiating dialogue with him as a companion (and him giving the player character a random chem)

"Whoa ho ho, I like you already! Walk into a new place, make a show of dominance. Nice." – referring to the Sole Survivor killing Finn

"Listen close. It's the last thing you're ever gonna hear." – When Sinjin tells the player character to stop speaking as The Silver Shroud

"Christ, it's bright in here. Clearly they didn't consider some folks might be nursing hangovers. " – Possible comment when entering Vault 81.

If completing The Big Dig with Bobbi No-Nose:

"How you doin' killer? Arms tired from all that digging? You know, my strongroom is surprisingly empty now..."

"Now if it was just the money, I'd rough you up, break a few bones, and then we'd be square once you paid me back. But you killed Fahrenheit. That means blood for blood."

When traveling naked:

"Hey Emperor, love the outfit."

"Let them stare."

"Don't mind me, just enjoying the view"

When committing Cannibalism:

"Suppose they're...beyond caring at this point"

"You...you do what you gotta"

"That one...all yours"

"At least you have the politeness to wait til they're dead"

When using chems:

"Two a day, keep reality at bay."

"Lean back and enjoy the ride."

"That's a good one, take it all in."

"Never trip alone."

When getting Addiction:

"You feel as bad as you look?"

"Wow, how much did you take?"

"'ay, you should slow down, and that's ME saying that"

When not responding while talking with him:

"Did I say something wrong?"

"You wanna talk? Make me a little nervous over here."

"What gives? I thought we were talking."

"Did your chems just kick in or something?"

"Like talking to a brick wall."

"Hmm, lights are on but no one's home."

"What? Mole rat got your tongue?"

"Uhm... You alright?"

"You check out on me?"

"Anybody in there?"

"That's right. Take it all in

After committing to a close relationship

"Words don't begin to do it justice. You, you're the best thing I got."

"Guess you're the piece I'd always missing...that and that toe I still can't find..."

"It's like I found a part of myself I never realized was missing... which happens sometimes when you're a ghoul."

"Nothing to lose but each other."

"Moments like this, I know all that karma stuff is bull. Because no one like me should be this lucky."

"You sure you wanna be stuck with this ugly mug?"

When Lover's Embrace is activated:

"Morning, sunshine."

"Well look at you. I must still be dreamin'..."

"Don't mind me... just enjoying the view."

Upon picking up junk:

"Careful! You don't know where that's been."

"That actually worth something?"

"If anybody could find a use for that."

Upon looting a corpse:

"Time to collect."

"To the living, go the spoils."

When the Brotherhood of Steel arrives in the Commonwealth:

"Holy shit." – When witnessing the Prydwen's arrival.

"Brotherhood knows how to make an entrance. I'll give 'em that." – When commenting on the Brotherhood

Cooper Howard VS John Hancock quotes these two has some good quotes it's hard to pick one for me I say both anyways you can use these for Headcannons, Edits, Memes, and so on I just put these here so it's easier for some people to use them I also tag people if your interested talk in the messages there open I have so many things I want to make but the next one is going to get Cooper Howard and John Hancock with Serena I was thinking doing a Picture Edit with some quotes and yes I do requests too.

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 6

Prompt - N42 - it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife

AO3 or read below:

Is The Chosen One Choosing Marriage? 

As famous witch and occasional novelist Jane Austen said, ‘it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife’, and today it appears even the Wizarding World’s most eligible saviour is not exempt from the basic laws of nature as Ginny Weasley, Holyhead Harpies star Chaser, and long-time girlfriend of Harry Potter, Auror and defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, steps out bearing a new, and rather eye-catching piece of jewellery. 

Weasley, 20, set tongues wagging as she left the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade late last night accompanied by longtime friends, esteemed Auror, Neville Longbottom, and lauded Magizoologist, Luna Lovegood; sporting a ruby and diamond ring which could be seen from across the street, and left none but the most oblivious in any doubt as to the size of Potter’s fortune [pictures page 4]. 

Sources from within the Hogsmeade establishment say that Weasley and friends were seen enjoying a round of drinks, over which she flaunted the ring for the admiration of her companions, accepting enthusiastic congratulations, and a hug from Longbottom that some suggest may have been too familiar. 

There was no sign of the illustrious Mr Potter in attendance, but this can come as no surprise as sightings of the couple together outside of Weasley’s matches are rare, leading many rather optimistic readers, to speculate on several occasions previously that the pair had parted ways.  

In an interview with popular wireless host, Lee Jordan, last year Weasley stated, “we’re not concerned with the headlines. As I’ve said to my brothers on many occasions, mine and Harry’s relationship is between us, and it’s no one else’s business… Now, let’s talk about Quidditch.”

Potter and Weasley were first officially spotted together in the Summer of 1998 [pictures page 5], though sources from their Hogwarts days advise the relationship has been going much longer than that [full relationship timeline, page 6]. 

“Weasley got her claws in him back in our fifth year,” said Romilda Vane, former classmate of Ginny Weasley. “She still had a boyfriend when she snogged Potter in front of the whole common room. It was quite pathetic actually.” 

Other sources have debunked the suggestion that there was overlap between the beginning of Potter and Weasley’s relationship, and any of her previous romantic partners, of which there were apparently many. 

Dean Thomas, up-and-coming artist, and one such conquest, has stated, “I’m only going to answer this once, Ginny and I were over before anything happened with her and Harry. We weren’t right for each other, we both knew it, and we’re both now with the people we’re meant to be with. We remain good friends, and, for the love of Merlin, I would like to be excluded from this narrative.” 

We will, of course, let our readers draw their own conclusions. 

Despite the rumours that abound about the couple's sordid past, the future apparently looks bright for Potter and Weasley, though no official statement has been forthcoming from the supposedly happy couple. When asked for comment, both Weasley’s and Potter’s representation declined to give one, leaving us here at Witch Weekly no choice but to speculate on if, and when, the pair will make it down the aisle. 

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Goal

okay this is basically a companion piece to yesterday’s update and not the “next” update. i realized it would be better to post now. next update is the really long one and the one ive been referencing. this is more stream of conscious.

(Content: concussion mention, angst, guilt, wound care)

The grass of the field was no more than polyethylene. She knew this well when she was pinned against it. The scent of it was harsh and chemical — and without the pressure at her back, without the yelling, and still without being allowed to move — it was all she had to focus on.

Back home she had felt safe enough to sleep anywhere, though rarely was she ever tired enough to. She had liked the long days of summer most, where the heat would get to her and she had let it. She cost fall asleep dead in the middle of the pasture and wake up with a calf’s head resting right on top of her chest, no other disturbance.

She was nearly deafened as the ship took off. But it only lasted for a second. She laid there a few seconds more before she slid her hands up beneath her, pushing her body up into an arch. All fragile. Dead alone. Somewhere in the distance, the low thrum of the cicadas. Sometimes it seemed like all the planets were the same.

Lorelai walked back however many blocks it took to reach the ship, however many minutes that must have been, she really wasn’t sure. The phone screen hurt her eyes. All the light wielded ghost trails against her vision. She thought to call Paris. Her first instinct was to call Paris. But if he even had his phone on him when he was taken, setting the ringer off wouldn’t do him any favors. She’d have to wait.

The phone rang.

VI: Hello?

LORELAI: I have a concussion.

VI: Okay.

LORELAI: Did you hear I got your message delivered?

VI: Oh, yeah. I heard all about it. 

VI: They like you a lot, you know. They think you’re funny.

VI: Made a fucking mess of things though.

VI: The royal thing — that would’ve been important information.

LORELAI: You knew it just from looking at me.

VI: It’s different if it’s you. He doesn’t get a pass.

LORELAI: Well, he did. I didn’t think he was going to. I thought your folks were gonna shoot him right there on the concrete.

VI: That’s more your style than ours.

LORELAI: I’m not like that.

VI: But you want to be.

LORELAI: I want to be like you.

LORELAI: I have a concussion. I’m drunk.

VI: Where are you?

LORELAI: Saturnalia, I think.

VI: Oh, honey, I’m not even close.

LORELAI: I’m scared.

VI: Send me your coordinates. I’ll send someone. It’s a wide net, someone has to be close.

LORELAI: Where are you?

VI: Other side of seven solar systems. You’re gonna be fine.

LORELAI: But where are you?

VI: Juliiet. It’s nice. It’s only morning here, it’s still dark. I was in the cafe when you called. Now I’m outside of it. Where are you?

LORELAI: In the parked ship.

VI: Oh, you still have it?

LORELAI: Yeah. I don’t think I can drive.

VI: Don’t. What happened? Did he run out on you?

VI: If he touched you-

LORELAI: Taken. Again. 

VI: What happened to your head?

LORELAI: Pistol-whipped. Never had that before. Doesn’t even hurt, really. I don’t feel it.

VI: Oh boy.

LORELAI: Did I mess up?

VI: What?

LORELAI: Do you think I made the wrong choice?

VI: What choice is that?

LORELAI: Coming here. I could be home right now. I miss my parents. I miss home. I can’t go back now. They’re under investigation, I mean, I can’t even go. It's my fault.

VI: Fuck, what did you tell them? 

LORELAI: I told them that I was fine. They knew I wanted to go.

LORELAI: And now they tell the cops that I was kidnapped, that he put a gun in my face and that I had no other choice. Colorful things. I didn’t know my dad had a mind like that, the shit he came up with.

LORELAI: It’s all the same to Paris. In for a penny, in for a pound. But it still makes me feel bad.

VI: You never would’ve been happy at home.

VI: But I think there were more than two options, probably. It didn’t have to be like this either.

LORELAI: Do you think I’m stupid?

VI: No. I think you’re fucking weird.

LORELAI: You think I’m an idiot. I-

LORELAI: Hang on.

LORELAI: Ew.

VI: Okay, honey?

LORELAI: Nauseous. I drank too much. I’m sorry.

VI: Someone’s coming to get you.

LORELAI: Can I bring the ship?

VI: Yeah. I don’t think you’re stupid. Just weird. I wouldn’t have done it. Not in a million fucking years would I have done it. But I’m not like you.

LORELAI: I really love him, you know?

LORELAI: I’m scared. I don’t know.

LORELAI: I really feel like. I don’t know. I’m scared. I don’t think he’s coming back this time.

VI: He’s slippery. He’s survived everything else. Arrow through the heart. The reckoning. I think if you’ve made it this far, you’ll make it through anything.

LORELAI: I don’t think so. I don’t know.

LORELAI: I don’t feel well.

LORELAI: I love you.

VI: …

LORELAI: I love everyone.

LORELAI: I wish I could protect them.

VI: You can’t.

LORELAI: Why not?

LORELAI: What else am I doing? All I’ve done this year is get fucked up and play pretend. I want to be like you. I even want to be like him, sometimes.

VI: No you fucking don’t.

LORELAI: His problems are real. All mine feel…imagined, sometimes. Just a listlessness.

LORELAI: I want to be a sword.

LORELAI: I want to be useful, you know that? I want to be like you. I want to do what you do.

VI: What is it that you think I do?

LORELAI: I don’t know. You help people. 

VI: You met me at a nightclub in a half-sunken city.

LORELAI: I just want to be useful. I think I fucked up.

LORELAI: Everything feels so cruel.

VI: Well, it is.

LORELAI: It doesn’t have to be. I wanted to help him, Vi. I’m scared.

VI: Someone’s coming for you now. You’re going to be alright.

LORELAI: I feel like you’re not listening to me.

VI: No. I am.

VI: She says she can see you.

LORELAI: Oh.

LORELAI: I think I see her too.

When the new ship finally did pull up, they would extend one hand gingerly to where she’d curled herself up in the passenger seat. The transfer was all gentleness. Drunk as she was, and walking lopsided, they treated her with all the precious fragility of a newborn foal. Like the mess she had made of things might’ve endeared her to them.

They masked their surprise when she bared her neck to them, like there was never any question but to trust in them. Like there was never any doubt.

She was right, this time. The new girl combed Lorelai’s hair back in careful strokes to keep the blood from the curls and the curls from the blood. She washed the dirt away from her face with a wet cloth, careful to avoid the rhinestone halo at its center, certain it must have been sensitive. Lorelai didn’t flinch or correct her. She stripped her own shirt off to show the ring of cuts the cleats had left in her back. She hissed when the antiseptic seeped into the wound, but otherwise made no sound. No matter how softly the engine purred, she could not bring herself to sleep.

[anthurak]

Okay so about a week ago, I did this somewhat unhinged ramble about ARC-V Alexis Rhodes getting a Cyber Angel/Herald/Drytron deck and generally getting to be the badass she deserved to be. Instead of being shackled with the fate of basically any cool girl in a shonen anime; getting nerfed to all hell and subsequently beaten by a massively plot-armored generic hero guy or edgy villain dude.

And as something of a follow-up/companion-piece to that, I have found myself doing something I frankly would never have seen myself doing two weeks ago:

Workshopping an alternate scenario for a Yugioh duel.

Sooo… here’s my version of how Alexis vs. Yuri in Yu-Gi-Oh ARC-V SHOULD have ended:

On her last turn after swiping Yuri’s Ancient Gear Reactor Dragon with Cyber Angel Natasha, instead of playing Fusion Destruction, Alexis sets two ominous facedown cards.

Yuri does his big, dramatic reveal that he plot-contrivanced GX’s most OP card; Super-Polymerization into his deck, steals back his Reactor Dragon and fuses it off to make Ultimate Ancient Gear Golem, just like he did originally.

At which point, Alexis reveals one of her facedowns…

Drytron Asterism, which Alexis activates by burning 1000 ATK off her Natasha (being a Ritual monster) to immediately blow up Yuri’s new Golem. Which also just so happens to be represented by a pair of mysterious, shadowy figures flying around in the sky above firing laser blasts into UAGG.

Though while Yuri might be questioning what just happened and what the hell a ‘Drytron’ is supposed to be, he is still able to use Ultimate AGG’s effect to bring out an original Ancient Gear Golem when it’s destroyed.

Which in turn is exactly when Alexis triggers her other facedown,

Drytron Meteor Shower, which immediately bounces Yuri’s AGG back into the deck, and happens to be represented by another mysterious figure flying high above raining down the meteor burst.

Thus begins Alexis’s reveal that Cyber Angels aren’t the ONLY Ritual monsters she’s packing, and the proper introduction of her new Drytron monsters. With Alexis spending her turn popping off a combo of cycling through multiple Drytron modules to get her ritual spell, materials and monster. All culminating with Alexis bringing out her new boss monster:

Drytron Meteonis Draconids.

Which Alexis has also powered up with Cyber Angel Idaten, showcasing just how well her new monsters synchronize with her existing Cyber Angels. While perhaps also subtly hinting at a third group of monsters she’s using when she negates a trap Yuri tries to counter with using Herald of Purple Light.

Now perhaps Yuri somehow managed to bring his Ultimate Ancient Gear Golem back, which while it might not be able to beat the now-5000 ATK Draconids, will at least soak up enough of the attack to let him survive to the next turn.

At which point right as she’s starting her Battle Phase, Alexis drops Limiter Removal.

And so, facing down a giant angry mechanical space dragon now sporting ten THOUSAND attack points, Yuri is now, for the first time in the show, completely FUCKING terrified.

In fact, Yuri is only saved by the timely arrival of the Obelisk Force and other elite Academy duelists to rescue Yuri and challenge Alexis. Yuri does manage to escape, but it is clear that Alexis was ABSOLUTELY the winner of this duel.

Speaking of Alexis, she is now facing down basically an ARMY of Ancient Gear Hunting Hound fusions and Chaos Ancient Gear Giants, buuuttt she still has her 10,000-ATK Drytron Meteonis Draconids. Which also has the ability to attack ALL of her opponents’ Special Summoned monsters.

So Alexis and her dragon proceed to utterly ANNHILATE the ENTIRE army of Academy duelists with ludicrous amounts of beam-spam.

Heck, even when the time limit for Limiter Removal runs out, Alexis is able to use the Machine Angel Ritual she played earlier to keep Draconids from being destroyed.

Thus, Alexis and her Ritual Monsters cement themselves as the true secret weapon of the heroes against all the increasingly ridiculous Extra Deck-focused nonsense of the villains, and probably even Zarc himself.

Meanwhile Yuri spends the rest of the show desperately trying to convince everyone, and himself that he isn’t completely fucking TERRIFIED of Alexis now.

[emcandon]

oooooh I'd love to hear your thoughts about DAV if you do ever feeling like writing them out. I personally have been pretty disappointed with how disneyfied the morality of the game has been.

i'm hoping to finish my first run through of the game in the next week or so! and am going to reserve anything longer until then. but in a broad preliminary sense:

i do have positive thoughts and feelings about the game -- they may even be the majority of my thoughts and feelings! imo, structurally and quest-wise, veilguard is possibly the best dragon age has ever been. the overarching plot is legible and tangible, the sidequests are dramatically driven, and the game does a lot of work to make sure your companions are both visible and meaningfully involved

the big set-piece story missions have also by and large really worked for me--i've gasped out loud MULTIPLE times! vs. inquisition, when the only time i even really Felt anything about the plot was during the burning of Haven + finding of Skyhold. (i liked it! i had fun! but that was the only part of the game that had my FULL ATTENTION.) (also DA2 is the best game overall, followed by DAO and DAI duking it out in the parking lot bc they both have positive qualities that the other emphatically lacks)

also as i'm starting to hit the big pivots in every veilguard companion's culmination arc, i've really liked that they don't feel like Obvious Choices (in fact, DA's usual Oppressed vs. Oppressors choice has been basically absent! hoorah!). i'm looking forward to making different choices next play through! (a liiiiittle afraid the choices won't have much material effect but on the other hand, i'm okay with that bc DA's choices are usually set dressing anyway.)

HOWEVER

Disneyfied, MCU-brained, Whedonesque -- whatever the name, we're all reaching for a way to describe that pervasive sense of flattened positivity. it's not just in the tonally off attempt to integrate modern takes into a fantasy setting (tho i would argue DA has been guilty of this before in different ways, and it was silly then too, if less...tiring), but in the way we're constantly tripping over Codex entries or conversations where the game is trying to like, paper over its own lore? basically the writing keeps putting a hat on the Problematic Tropes it's accidentally walked itself into to try and reconcile with its own past, but it's usually not a very interesting hat.

for ex: any time the lore tries to address having determined that the elven gods are 1) real, 2) just assholes, actually, and that because the elves have been alternatively an analogue for indigeneity and jewishness, that makes the evanuris both a colonial trope and an anti-semitic one. uh oh! uh oh!! probably there would be a more elegant and interesting way to unpack this in text, but it's not the majority of what the game is doing.

this has overall bummed me out bc i think dragon age was always at its best, lore-wise, when it was being creepy. and now it's kind of afraid to be creepy!

also i was tempted into playing the first one bc a friend described the mage situation to me bc they knew i'd love it! that i'd be so happy with a setting where all the magic users were walking time-bombs, and the crapsack world's crapsack strategy for dealing with that was to stick all the time-bombs in a box and SHAKE IT REPEATEDLY AND AT LENGTH. that's a bad solution! with some potent human emotional stupidity driving it! how fun!

anyway this is a lot more words than i intended but i just finished emmrich's last big quest (my man...i'm romancing him next run through i can't wait...i love grandpa...) and had to EXPEL THOUGHTS

more on the way at some point possibly? or more deets on specific elements once i've actually seen the ending.

[vintagelacerosette]

Art Tag 🖼🎨💕

I was tagged by these talented magnificent artist thanksss 💕

Molly @deathclassic Julissa @heymrspatel Deanna @deedala Ice @spookygingerr Ling @lingy910y

Have you always been interested in creating art? Yes, I was that kid in high school doodling anime girls throughout class lol

What's your favourite medium to use? I really like digital for the infinite undo button with my perfectionist ass lmao & I'm using Clip Studio. Paper art has been quite therapeutic for me too

Do you create outside of fandom? Yes

Share something you haven't finished and/or never got around to posting

I made a tribute to our Gallacrafts zine, but at the time, the mods had changed, so I was gonna create a companion piece. I didn't get around to it & then the mods had changed again 😅

Some OG crafting overlords Rhys @smokey-mickey Leah @whatwouldmickeydo Donna @sleepyfacetoughguy

I also have gallacrafts I haven't completed for really old themes, but I do still wanna post lol

Favourite piece you've made? Toss up between my gallacrafts Pride 2 piece (see piece that has most notes question) or my 2024 gallavich valentines/my icon

Draw your icon in a minute or less

You get the gist lmao

An underrated piece you've made in your opinion

A little bit to thus This collection of missing posters with the mixed media.

Do you do art in a professional setting? No, but I wanted to. I studied Visual Arts with a major in screen arts in university tho. Uni wasn't what I wanted my plan was to do animation, but, plans fell through

A piece you don't like but did really well on social media

This. The portions are wack basic background, Ian's face feels off & I rushed this

Post an old piece and compare it to your most recent, what are the similarites?

Wow pretty good that I get to compare these two lol. Still got the star motif & the way I'm drawing bodies is has improved yay! Look at that looooong squiggly pointing arm

Have you ever collaborated with another artist/s? Yes, with the lovely & super talented Ling @lingy910y I couldn't have as for a better first time collab partner 🫶🏼 Would love to collab more 🥰

What piece has the most notes? Are you surprised?

This one has the most notes for hand drawn art & the other is my most notes for art/crafts in general. I'm pretty proud these are top dogs & pleasantly surprised with the Deleted scenes one 😄

Who/What is your favourite subject matter? Our boys but also when I'm acrylic painting I'm loving painting clouds & sunset/sunrise skies hues

Show us something not from fandom you've made

I've been experimenting with acrylic paints after getting inspired by a sparkling water painting I saw on tumblr & here are some cute cows I drew for Leah

Where do you like to create? There's a table in the lounge room that's very spacious, has good light & a cart with a stash of my art supplies. But I wanna migrate back to my room bc I got a new big desk there to keep my mess away lol

Do you have a tag that you use to group your creations? Tell us so people can follow it. It's under Myn's art

Give yourself a shoutout, where can we commission/buy/follow you for more pieces? I don't sell my art or do commissions, but I kinda have some drawings I do love & toy with the idea of making postcards or have it on a mug

I'll tag sensational & inspiring artist if they wanna play 💖

@suzy-queued @tsuga-of-mars @samantitheos @burninface @darthvaders-wife @psychicskulldamage @michellemisfit @sgtmickeyslaughter @mickittotheman @y0itsbri @friend-bear @matt404b @takeyourpillsbitchh @michellemisfit @mikhailoisbaby @mikcrymilkovich

[ink-flavored]

Writing Share Tag

tagged by @noblebs, thank you!

The last thing I wrote before I went on vacation was an outline for one of my anthologies.... so I'll share part of that!

Gargoyle Adoption The carver is a middle-aged dwarf woman, with her beard braided back into her hair so it doesn’t interfere with her work. The adoption center looks like an eclectic curiosity shop or antique store, since all the “animals” are basically just living statues. All the gargoyles are loose around the store, but they don’t move until people get near them. The door is big enough for the biggest creatures with several smaller-sized doors within it. Begins with the dwarf carving a gargoyle that will go up for adoption in the shop; their personal pet gargoyle is bugging them—it’s noticeably decorated with gems and engravings. She waves it away, telling it to go eat its food that she set out for it Is forced to stop carving when a customer/potential adopter comes into the store (rings the bell at the counter?). The customer is a very serious-looking elf in fancy elf clothes. Can’t decide on gender. Dwarf asks what she can do for them. They ask if she’s open for Specially Commissioned Gargoyles. She says she is, but that her work doesn’t come cheap. They say no problem, I’m good for it. Elf produces a lovingly detailed sketch of the commission they want. It’s very complex, they’ve obviously thought a ton about this design. The dwarf looks over it, impressed, but not without misgivings. She compliments the drawing, but reminds the elf that a gargoyle is a living creature, as unpredictable as any animal. It may appear as though she can mold it to act however she wants, but the gargoyle has its own personality and preferences. If the gargoyle she carves doesn’t bond with them, she can’t help. She’ll refund the price of the adoption fee, but the commission money itself won’t be returned. The elf hesitates, but ultimately agrees to those terms. Payment is exchanged, the elf leaves, and the dwarf sets aside her first project to get started on the commission. Her office/workspace is a complete mess except for the spot where she carves the gargoyles. She has a specially organized set of tools, magnifying mirrors, magical and mundane light sources, etc. It’s very professional She starts with a solid block of the magical stone that all gargoyles are made of, chipping away at it once piece at a time. Her pet gargoyle hangs around. The more she carves the elf’s design, the more it seems like a kid’s drawing iterated upon by adult perspective, trying to make realistic something imagined from youth. This gargoyle design must be a childhood dream pet they’ve been aching to make a reality She can’t help but hope it likes them, even though she knows there’s no guarantee. Thinks about some of the gargoyle commissions she’s done where it hasn’t worked out. Starts talking to the in-progress gargoyle as she carves, which is something she normally does, but this time it’s more directly about how great it is to be someone’s companion animal. About all the things she and her gargoyle do. Her gargoyle lands on the desk and agrees (it can't speak but you know. animal sounds) with how great it is. She hopes this is enough to convince the magic in the stone to agree.

What happens next!!! A thrilling cliff hanger only to be answered whenever I write this thing for real!

Tagging: @foxys-fantasy-tales @noblebs @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @damageinkorporated @srjacksin @void-botanist @vacantgodling @duelistkingdom and anyone else who wants to share something!

[arealphrooblem]

Terms of Surrender Part 5

Synopsis: The queen of a doomed city makes the deal her husband refused to make with the conquering warlord outside her city's gates.

Part One Here

Part Four Here

CW: Ingrained, systematic sexism (not from the Warlord)

“I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

The warlord hovered his hand over a rook and then a pawn, considering his next move. The last few visits to the rooftop garden had shown nothing but a city peacefully rebuilding; even so, the queen felt her stomach clench in unease.

“Oh?” she said, keeping her voice light and curious.

The warlord settled on the pawn and moved it. “Yes. The king of Neighboring Country wants to meet and discuss new trade agreements. I had hoped to gain your insight and advice on his upcoming visit.”

“You want my advice?”

The warlord glanced up at her from the board. “Of course. Out of everyone I know, you would have the most experience and knowledge with this man and previous trade agreements.”

“And you would trust my advice?” she asked slowly, game forgotten.

The corner of his mouth lifted up. “Well I wouldn’t follow it blindly, but I don’t follow any advice blindly. It doesn’t make it any less valuable. Would you be willing to share it?”

She chose her words carefully. “I will share what I can. However, my husband did not include me in those kinds of negotiations.”

“What do you mean he didn’t include you?” The tiny smile dropped, replaced by an icy glint in his eyes. “You are his wife and a ruler of your country. Why would you not be included?”

The question took her aback, the answer so obvious to her that she didn’t understand his confusion. “I’m a woman,” she explained slowly. “Trade and the economy were not part of my duties. That’s the sphere of men.”

He stared at her as if she had just spoken gibberish, or in a language foreign to both of them. “I see,” he said after a long moment.

She felt as if she had just disappointed him and the guilt and embarrassment of it burned at her edges.

“I have met that king many times,” she said tentatively. “He was a friend of my father’s before I was married. I could advise you on his personality, his flaws and vices.”

“That would be very helpful,” he said, the coldness of his gaze melting. “Thank you.” He gestured at the chessboard. “It’s your turn, my lady.”

That afternoon, one of her guards delivered a rolled up piece of parchment to her, from the warlord.

“What is this?” she asked cautiously.

“The terms of trade my lord created,” said the guard. “He wanted you to look over them.”

Nerves fluttered in her gut but she did not let her face betray her. “I see. Thank you.”

She took it to her desk that faced a window to the garden, opened up the curtains,  and settled in. Reading it with her limited skills felt like deciphering a code. The slant of his beautiful handwriting often confused her, as did his long, winding sentences. She took in enough to get a basic idea of the terms he wanted; hopefully combined with her knowledge of the king in question she would be able to provide enough assistance to satisfy him and not enough to invite more this sort of advice.

Dinner was accompanied by the Warlord himself, who set them up at her breakfast table. She noticed that he preferred simple food, not multiple courses, and he had a sweet tooth. Tonight's dinner was seasoned, tender fish, spiced rice and soft flat bread. A small layered pastry sat on a separate plate.

“This is unexpected,” she said. “I haven’t had a dinner companion in quite some time.”

He paused, fork in hand. “Do you prefer to eat alone? I can return.”

“No, no. It was not a complaint.”

In truth she did enjoy his company, despite her reluctance to trust him. And though she’d grown more comfortable with a level of solitude unheard of for a member of the court, she often found herself lonely.

He gave her that tiny smile. “I thought we could discuss that trade contract after we eat. Meanwhile, what can you tell me about your experiences with this king?”

“He’s very manipulative,” she said immediately. “My father could see through much of his lies, but he ran circles around my husband and received many benefits as a result. I’m sure he expects to woo your ego enough to get those same benefits from you.”

The Warlord smirked. “I hope he gets used to disappointment.”

They discussed the king in more detail. The Queen regaled him with stories of the type of oily flattery that had won her husband’s fragile ego so quickly. She could tell just by the way the Warlord rolled his eyes or pursed his lips that such flattery would not work on him, that his ego was not fragile at all. It pleased her that the king would be greatly disappointed indeed but not brave or stupid enough to start a war over it. If only she could sit in on such a meeting to witness it herself.

She enjoyed their conversation so much that she forgot his expectation for after dinner. Once the plates were cleared away, the Warlord asked her to bring the scroll, and the bottom of her stomach dropped out. She obeyed regardless, trapped. The Warlord unrolled it out on the table between them.

“Considering the information you gave me, I see several loopholes this king will try to exploit. Which do you think is the worst offender?”

He gestured at the scroll, inviting her to look. The queen leaned over the table, a small knot forming in her stomach. To tell the truth that she could barely read and understand the first paragraph, let alone be able to skim the entire document.

She took a gamble, pointed vaguely at a paragraph in the middle. The Warlord peered down, brow furrowed.

“Forgive me, I must have gotten confused at what section you pointed at. This is a detail of my previous trade agreements in my country. What part did you refer to again?”

A hot flush crawled down her neck. “My apologies,” she said. “I meant this section right here.”

She pointed to a part two paragraphs below. The Warlord glanced down for a moment before looking back up, gaze suddenly cold.

“If you did not want to give your advice, you could have just told me. I gave you no obligation to comply. Did you even read this?”

The knot in her stomach twisted painfully. “Of course I read it,” she lied.

“And yet you point out the most useless parts of the contract that do not answer my concerns,” he retorted. “I will not be taken for a fool, not especially for asking for something that would only help your people.”

“I’m not trying to make you a fool!” she snapped. How did this conversation spiral so fast?

“Then answer my question!”

“I can’t!” she shouted.

Her voice echoed against the stone walls. The Warlord looked nonplussed.

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re not a stupid woman. Even if you could not be present for these types of discussions with your husband — which I find an utterly ridiculous practice — you would still have valuable insight. Unless, of course, watching me fail at this gives you some petty sense of revenge.”

Right now the Queen wanted nothing more than to throw herself out the window before she let him know the truth.

“I don’t care for petty revenge,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No, you don’t seem the type,” he agreed. “So why is this so difficult?”

That horrible, terrifying focus of his stare narrowed onto her and she watched the realization dawn on him in horrible, terrifying clarity.

“Please tell me you can read,” he said.

She jut her chin out. “I can read.” It technically was not a lie.

He tapped at one of the last paragraphs of the contract, the one closest to her end of the table. “Read that for me.”

She crossed her arm. “I’m not playing your game.”

His stare challenged her. “It’s not a game. Read it.”

She said nothing, holding his stare, keeping her arms crossed. The longer she refused the stormier his gaze became. But the fear of his anger was like a candle to the inferno of her shame. Finally he took up the scroll in disgust and rolled it back up. Victory tasted like ash on her tongue.

“Why were you never taught to read?” he demanded. “Was it because of your father? Did your mother know how to read? What sick bastard of a man keeps his daughters from literacy?”

“It wasn’t my father,” she snapped, unable to hear further slander of her family. “No woman knows how to read!”

“What?”

If anything, this made him even more furious. His face glowed red with it.

“You’re telling me half of your citizens can’t read? Half of your workforce can’t read?  Half of your royal court can’t read? The mothers of your children can’t read? Why?”

“Because we don’t need to read!” she shouted.

It was a mantra she had heard over and over again. Mothers did not need to read to cook or clean or raise children or love their husbands. Women of the court did not need to read to paint or embroider or manipulate the court for their husband’s favor. Women did not make decisions — their husbands and fathers did. What was the point of reading?

“Are you fucking serious?”

She stood up so suddenly the char behind her fell over. The lack of literacy was hard enough to swallow without the implication that it was somehow her fault, that she was culpable in it’s continuation. As if she could ever have the power to change an idea ingrained over hundreds of generations, Queen or not.

“I don’t care that I’m your prisoner,” she said shakily. Tears crowded in her throat and she refused to let him witness them. “I am not listening to this anymore. I am sorry my inadequacies have disappointed you.”

She strode over to her bedroom doors and slammed them shut behind her.

For three days she did not see or hear anything from the Warlord, which suited her just fine. A constant ember of shame glowed in her chest. He had thought so highly of her, in spite of their circumstances. It baffled her and warmed her. The Queen’s husband had seen her as a means to an end, a way to the throne, and her father had seen her as a failure for not being a son. No man had ever seen her as worthy of equal respect until the Warlord.

And now he thought she was nothing more than pathetic and  at fault for her own stupidity. She mourned the loss of his regard for her as much as she burned in fury at him for the whole cursed affair.

On the fourth day, the Warlord entered her sitting room. He held a book in his hand. The Queen glanced up at him from her embroidery and then pointedly ignored him. This did not stop him from taking a seat across from her.

Silence stretched out between them as fragile as a spider’s web. She refused to break it first just as she refused to look at him.

“I owe you an apology,” he said finally.

Her needle paused in surprise, but she kept her gaze firmly on her project.

“I humiliated you. It was not done intentionally; I truly had no idea the women here were illiterate. I became so angry because I see that practice as utterly barbaric and cruel. But I fear in my anger I only deepened your shame.”

The ice of her anger melted enough for her to respond.

“I have tried to teach myself,” she explained haltingly. “But my skills are very rudimentary at best. If I could have changed it, I would have.”

She dared a glance at his face and found herself shocked at the sorrow reflected in it.

“Back home, the women are not so powerless and at the mercy of their men,” he said. “It’s not a perfectly equal society by any means. But it is much different than here. You walked into my camp and delivered your surrender with such confidence, I had assumed you possessed much more power than you did.”

“I have more respect from you as a prisoner than I did from my husband as a Queen,” she admitted.

He looked pained. “That is unacceptable.”

She shrugged. “He was my father’s closest friend. I was his avenue to rule, and the bearer of his heir and nothing more.”

“You will never have to concern yourself with him again,” he said, a glint of his previous fury in his eyes.

The corner of her mouth tipped up. “No,” she agreed. “I will not.”

A relief she thanks God for every day.

“If you want it, I could arrange for a tutor for you,” he offered. “To teach you to read. I am already making plans to open up schools for the women here.”

And you wonder why I find you hard to believe she thought again.

“And until then, I thought I could read to you sometimes?” This offer came more hesitantly, as if afraid it would offend her.

She put her embroidery to the side. “I would like that very much.”

part 6 here

Taglist: @cesspitoflove@aprilraine@talesofurbania1@sarcasticlittlebook @hasel-anne @weaverofbrokenthreads @prismaticpizza

[riddleredcoats]

I just finished my first playthrough of Veilguard and boy oh boy, do i have thoughts.

but, TLDR:

Bros, this game is so fucking strange.

It literally giving me everything I wanted; every theory for the past 10 years I've had to speculate is bang on, they bring niche characters in a way that makes sense, they give us nice romances, they give us cool combat, EPIC set pieces and then [gestures].

Anyway, this is more for posterity than any real, coherent thoughts.

The Good:

I don't know what sort of wizardry the devs at Bioware made for this game, but this game runs smooth AF. Actually insane in the year of our lord 2024 that a AAA viddy game manages to do it. Kudos must be given.

The art-style grows on you really fast, actually. And considering what happens in the game, especially in the back half, I think making it more stylised was necessary to also compliment the aforementioned point of it running smoothly.

There is in fact, a lot of dark themes in this game. I don't know what game some reviewers played, but to say its basically a clean version of a DA game is... just wrong. I have a theory, in the Bad section, about why they believe that is the case, but Veilguard is filled with Dark Themes.

The set pieces of this game are fucking insane. Like, there is no comparison to any other Bioware game. Even ME3 with its bombastic set pieces isn't a match to Veilguard in the prologue. The Siege at Weisshaupt? Gagged the whole way through. That last 2-4hrs of game were amazing and while I have beef with it - further down - for what it is and what it is trying to be? They succeeded. Some of the best viddy game I have ever viddy gamed, frankly.

The lore drops are also insane. I basically watched all of Solas regrets back to back to back and basically it was confirmation upon confirmation upon confirmation. I'm still in the high of the Solas/Mythal confirmation and that happened like 3 days ago, lmao. And if you know me, you know why - it goes wayyy beyond Solas and Mythal for me, personally.

Morrigan's place in the narrative. Keeping it vague, but just [gestures to all of it].

Issenya... Just... Issenya, man.

The companions. Yeah, they're all great, I don't think there's really a dud one. Sure, I connected more with some than others, but man- these companion quests are involved and meaningful and progress the story. You do get to know them very well. Harding, Neve, Davrin and Emmerich will always have a place in my heart for their questlines, even though I love all the other companions too - but those really resonated with me.

Combat. Holy shit, a DA game with a fun combat system. That's all really.

The Middling

The music. I don't love it but I don't hate it. I can count on one hand the amount of times the music made me feel something - basically the last scene of the Harding questline and when The Main Theme came in during the final quests. Trevor Morris reigns supreme; I teared up more for The Lost Elf theme return than any other musical moment in the game.

The pacing of this game is... baffling. I'm not sure if its my own fault for basically trying to do everything in the first act, but Act 1 took me like 40 hours, while the remaining two acts took me 20. Weird. Will need to experiment because it might absolutely be on me, but yeah.

The Bad

It's basically one thing but honestly, every time it was brough up it was like a dagger piercing my heart while my stomach was stepped on by a bronto.

The lack of geopolitical talk both past and present.

Much as been said from the infamous 3 choices that Veilguard imports - and I will say, that even those 3 are laughably implemented imo - but never is it more felt than in this aspect. The past straight up does not matter. Worse; they actively disregard it imo. There is no difference between world states, no world leader talk, no nothing. It is just... nothing. And listen, the specifics deserve their own post eventually, but im just processing shit still.

The game is really fun, and the themes and characters that are there and the lore is fantastic and when im locked in, I'm REALLY locked in, but then when I try to put it in the context of the past games, what I loved about it - the politics, the disagreements, the sheer brutal way that history and prejudice can just fuck up a country, Veilguard just... it feels hollow, without any bite or flavour.

And this is the crux of all the problems, really, in the present in Veilguard.

The way people talked about the dark tone being gone? Yeah, I can see it here considering that there is no distinction between Dalish and City Elves anymore basically. The discrimination against elves is just... gone, apparently? Which is insane - because we are in Tevinter and it's just... abandoned? The way Rivain is all cool and shit about Magic and Spirits with like zero nuance or, more imporantly, any real consequences when [gestures to the past games] - it just makes the South Really Dumb because of course they are now ig. The Crows - these assassins that bought children to train, in what amounted to a sponsored slavery ring - are now freedom fighters and all the nuance of the assassinations is gone? The Wardens are fine mostly, really, but they are suddenly very above board all of the sudden.

And that's the whole thing here.

They have tried to make everyone stay so above board, to make everyone The Perfect Ally That No One In The Real World Can Criticise, that it retroactively sucked all the nuance and Flavour For Thedas At Large out of the story. It made the story worse because everyone is just so gosh dang nice and A Super Ally when in past games the conflict, the flavour of the Whatever Big Struggle was that everyone hated each other and was constantly in-fighting. Which made it fun and interesting to play.

Okay, sorry i forgot I had another one:

the fuck is that ending credit scene? with the executors implying they have been behind everything since DAO? Oh man, Bioware you can't do those types of stories - you tried in ME3 and [gestures]. Why can't Loghain just be a dude traumatized by Orlais which led to All The Things in DAO? Why can't Bartrand just be a greedy bastard whose actions bring about DA2 and DAI and basically informs Varric's character from then on?

What the hell.

Anyway.

Yeah, initial Veilguard thoughts.

Oh yeah, and Neve is hot and I love her.

[mothdogsart]

Putting the actual piece under a readmore just in case 🫤

My DnD character died today for the first time—a setting-specific spell instantly beheaded him after he met one of the conditions of the spell by attacking its caster. Thankfully our Druid was able to Revivify him straight after (and the DM handwaved the clause about Revivify not reattaching body parts.) So truly he was only dead for like 10 seconds. In a fantasy world where death can essentially be reversed for the price of 300 GP, I have to wonder what death truly feels like.

The instant he fell, his soulbonded dragon companion would have felt a great howling vortex at the loss of him, even though she was just recently hatched. His best friends would have had to watch his head fly through the air and skid to a stop on the rough stone of the throne room, his blood spattering onto them from feet away. The druid would have had to scoop it up and hold it in her hands, his eyes still open and staring at his last enemy, as she resurrected his body.

Did his soul have time to travel to the Underworld? Did he see the leering face of Lutheria, dark goddess of death and nightmares, before he was yanked backwards towards the light?

It’s still horrific despite the fact that it was basically undone in an instant.

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the fox

Chapter 5/21(?) - words 1996

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

The next day you go shopping. You manage to convince Noelle to go with you so she can help you pick some appropriate things.

Your husband had personal shoppers that chose what they thought would be best. Each garment was exquisite in its lines and execution, but they had definitely been more for show than comfort. It left you with a nonexistent fashion sense.

The mall is packed by the time the two of you get there. In hindsight, Saturday afternoon was not the best pick if you’d hoped for a calm first attempt and finding your style. Still, Noelle seemed completely unfazed by the prospect. If she noticed your hesitation, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she forged ahead, linking her arm with yours and charging into the fray.

You shop for basics first, picking up plain t-shirts and blue jeans. The generic stores are easy, find your size and leave. For the statement pieces, it was a little more challenging. You gave Noelle a budget and she ran with it, finding a diverse selection of things to bring to you in the changing room. You pinched and pulled at the various fabrics, trying to get them to fit in a way that you found comfortable and flattering. Every so often you’d show some to your companion in the same way the other girls in the shop were showing their mothers. Sometimes she nodded, other times she looked absolutely disgusted.

Ten stores in and it’s clear that neither of you could maintain the momentum much longer. You grab the mouse’s hand before she sets foot in a businesswear store that looks far too serious for your interview. She looks at you questioningly and you gesture towards the food court.

“Dinner on me?” You ask, already walking towards the pizza place across the hall.

“Absolutely.”

Noelle finds a long table to perch on the end of while you go and buy enough food for the two of you to share. The food area is just as packed as the rest of the mall. It’s difficult to weave through all of the bodies to find your way back to her without dropping your pizza box.

Just as you see her through the crowd, someone scrapes their chair back into you.

It happens almost in slow motion.

You tip forwards, twisting to try and stop the pizza from falling to the floor, forgetting to shield yourself from the hard concrete that was quickly becoming closer. Bracing yourself for the impact, you tense up. Only for it to never come. A steadying arm is behind your back preventing you from hitting down hard and someone else is supporting your food to keep it upright.

“Are you okay Y/N?”

You glance up into the eyes of your saviour only to find one of Jimin’s mates holding you up. Another stands at his side, now holding your tray. Blushing wildly, you stand up and immediately begin apologising to the pair.

Yoongi glares after the person that had knocked you over in the first place, grumbling about a lack of manners. Namjoon smiles wide and hands your tray back to you.

“I’m good, thanks.” You avoid eye contact by dusting yourself off, despite never having touched the floor.

“It’s good to run into you again Y/N, Jimin was talking about you again last night. He says you have an interview for a job now?” He makes friendly conversation as they escort you back to Noelle.

When you reach the table, Noelle welcomes the men and invites them to sit with you. It is clear that she must know them well, not a surprise knowing how much Jimin gushes about them to complete strangers, let alone his colleagues and friends.

“Yeah, at some office downtown, it’s a receptionist job. Should be really great experience. I don’t really have a lot else on my resume."

“Any job is better than no job at the minute,” Yoongi grumbles pessimistically.

Namjoon jabs the grumpy Jackal in the ribs.

The three of them start a conversation about the last time they met and you are more than happy to listen as you munch on the pizza in front of you. It seems to have been some kind of fundraiser put on by the shelter, a casino night where they dressed up in fancy clothes and pretended to be Highrollers for the evening.

“Wouldn’t that be fun Y/N?” Noelle asks, waving a hand in front of your eyes.

Your mind runs away from you then. You find yourself distracted by images of the men in 007 tuxes, hair slicked back as they moved from game to game all evening. Jimin’s hair a flame in the muted room, Namjoon’s laugh echoing across the hall, and Yoongi making jokes with the bartender. It would seem that none of them had met Jungkook back then.

You stop chewing, a string of cheese still connecting you to the slice in your hand as you try to work out what they possibly could’ve asked you while you were zoned out.

“Oh, yeah that would be cool. I’ve never been to anything like that before.” You smile, trying to seem invested.

“We were talking about having another benefit like that one soon.” Yoongi supplies helpfully.

The only benefits you had been to were beyond dull. Always in a stuffy museum, with art that never had emotion behind it. Each ticket had cost more than an average person’s salary, and the food had been the most pretentious concoctions ever imagined. You loathed attending each one, a fact your husband knew.

He just sighed and repeated how you only needed to attend to be seen. He would promise that you wouldn’t stay to late, and each time you would be amongst the last of the guests as he laughed along with yet another boring old man’s recount of a hunting trip. Hunting trips were common among your ex-husband’s crowd, they never seemed to see the irony in having hybrids within their homes and then hunting regular animals for sport.

Jungkook gets very bored when he gets left alone. So bored he often ends up doing weird shit until one of his mates walks through the door. Today isn’t too bad. Yoongi and Namjoon said they weren’t going to be gone long, just to the mall to get some things that they had been running low on. An errand that always goes much faster when they don’t have Jungkook with them to get distracted every five minutes ( A much cheaper trip without him needing a little treat too).

The men stayed with you while you ate. You mostly listened to them while they talked, occasionally muttering assurances to demonstrate that you were actually listening to them this time. When you finished your meal, they said goodbye and headed in the opposite direction to you, back towards the parking lot as you and Noelle continued on your mission to find clothes.

______________

He wraps himself in Jimin’s favourite blanket and lies upside down on the sofa so his hair dangles to the floor. The TV doesn’t make much sense this way up, but it does provide a fun new perspective.

He barely hears the door open two hours later. The blood rushing around his ears almost blocks out the sound.

The older man tilts his head to look at Jungkook upside down.

“Kookie? What the fuck?” Namjoon asks coming into Jungkook’s eye line.

“I dunno, got comfy.” He shrugs.

“How many people am I going to have to save from the floor today?” Yoongi shakes his head, bending to help Jungkook up.

The motion throws off his balance and he slides onto the floor at his hyung’s feet.

He’d so badly wanted to like you for Jimin’s sake but you just made him so uncomfortable so quickly. The only predator he had ever warmed to quickly had been Namjoon, so he wasn’t expecting miracles, none of them were. But you had been so rude.

Jungkook looks at the pair confused as they share a knowing glance, a joke from today that he isn’t privy to. That’s when he smells it on them. Smells you on them. He can’t help the whine building in the back of his throat as he nuzzles frantically into Yoongi to change the scent back to his own.

He finishes scenting Yoongi and turns to immediately do the same to Namjoon. The bear accepts the affection gladly, cuddling the bunny in close and dragging him back to the sofa.

“We weren’t gone that long bunny.” He shushes.

Jungkook continues to bury himself into Namjoon’s neck, barely pausing to listen to the other speak.

“She really isn’t that bad Kookie, and she barely touched us, we can’t smell of her that strongly.” He sighs, pulling the rabbit’s hair to make him back away.

“Smell wrong, not my Joonie.” He reasons, earning an eye roll from Yoongi.

Jungkook whines again but concedes because he can no longer smell you on them. He hoped it would be a long time before he had to see you again, but Jimin and fate seemed to have other plans...

_____________

By the time you arrive back at the shelter, most of the day staff have gone home. Noelle heads straight down the corridor and into her dorm room to set her bags down. Instead, you collapse straight into a chair in the common room without really thinking, feet too tired to keep moving.

You’re sat for less than five minutes when you are tipped on to the floor with a bump.

“What is your fucking problem??” You growl, standing quickly and backing the lioness into a corner before she has a chance to sit down.

Even standing up straight with your teeth bared you have nothing on the other woman. Naturally a much bigger breed, you never stood a chance as she swung for you. Her claws connected with your cheek, not giving you the chance to duck. Immediately six other predators descend, separating you from her.

You press hard against the scratches, blood dripping over your fingers. The others take Lyra into another room, management following quickly behind.

You’d shocked yourself when you’d rounded on the other predator. Violence had never been an option you took, you had frowned upon other predators that resorted to violence before their words.

A hand is on your shoulder, guiding you back to sit down in the chair again. Tears sting at your eyes as you finally start to feel the pain of the wound. With cloudy vision, you can make out the flame red-hair in front of you. He reaches up and peels your hand away from your face.

“This is going to hurt Y/N.” He warns.

“Can I change rooms tonight?” You sniffle.

Something warm and wet is smoothed along your cheek, stinging as he cleans the blood away.

“There is no way you are staying here tonight Y/N.” Jimin says.

“Oh, is it because I started a fight? I get it, I’ll find somewhere else to stay... thanks for all the help though.”

You try not to let any more tears fall at the prospect of getting kicked out. He rest a hand on your shoulder as you go to stand, preventing you from going anywhere.

“That fight wasn’t your fault, you didn’t start that, you just tried to finish it. Lyra will be getting kicked out, that’s her third strike... But she has friends here and I want you to be safe. You are coming home with me.” He states more like it’s a fact than a request.

You start to protest, the idea once again sounding ludicrous. But then he presses his hand to your cheek again, and the pain is bad enough to have you second-guessing your judgement.

Masterlist

He dresses the wound on your face and disappears to make Namjoon aware of the new arrival while you pack your things back into your bag and get ready to leave.

Next

Series masterlist

[sabraeal]

If the Mind Is Willing, Chapter 6

[Read on AO3]

Written for @claudeng80, who has been waiting longer than a month now for this birthday fic, and who has indeed beta'd this birthday fic as well, for we long ago passed the point where we pretend with each other that our final drafts are our first drafts. And though she cannot and will never see those first drafts because that is a layer of vulnerability on par with peeling off my skin to show off my bones, she can at least see my seconds drafts. Where she will then promptly tell me that I am missing a crucial word in a sentence, and maybe I should consider a comma or maybe a whole ass period, or possibly learn to spell words the way the god or at least the Oxford Dictionary intended. Because that is what friendship is all about 🤣

The problem is: it feels like too much.

The suitcase had been a given, of course; Chizuru only had the one, a gift from Father on her twelfth birthday, meant to be used on the single vacation he’d set aside time to take her on. Even after six years, the flower decals still looked like they’d been applied yesterday, pink a vibrant cherry blossom, only the dint on one corner to serve as proof it had ever been used. Disney World might have only lasted two days before a work emergency had them hopping the next flight back home, but at least the Orlando baggage carousel had left its mark. It’d been a happy reminder of better days when she’d been living out of it for those few weeks, unsure of where she would land— or whether she ever would.

It’s only— she hadn’t thought it would be full. Chizuru wouldn’t call herself a light packer by any means, but the event’s only three days, at a hotel that is possibly twenty minutes door-to-door, at least when school’s in session. It hardly seems like the sort of thing that calls for a suitcase filled to the brim. Above the brim even, if she were gutsy enough to take Kimigiku’s costume out of the garment bag— which she isn’t. It’d been heart-pounding enough putting Sen’s paper-wrapped kimono in there, let alone something with parts and pieces and things that could very easily scatter under her bed skirt and be lost for eternity.

Which brought her tally to one suitcase (over laden), one garment bag (to be treated with care), and the small travel pack she’d slung over her chest (overstuffed), gone over a half dozen times each, pared down to the barest bones, and still, still—

She can’t possibly take up this much space. Even in Shinpachi’s Range Rover, it’s too much. Maybe if she tried again, this time—?

3:15, her lock screen reads, a little snowflake sitting beside the 33°F below. Haah, with a four o’clock check in, there’s no chance of her whittling her luggage past the basics. Not unless she want to be late, and if she’s late, then—

Then everyone will be waiting for her. All of them clustered at the bottom of the stairs, watching the time tick down as she tries to decide if she really needs an extra pair of underwear or another package of hair ties. Just the thought threatens to have her break out in a full-body rash.

With a steeling breath, she adjusts her travel pack and rolls out to the hallway. A proposition that would be easier if not for the wall-to-wall carpets in the hall, but Chizuru manages to steer her suitcase competently enough, drawing up to the stairs with enough confidence to survive the six sets of eyes sure to turn her way—

Only to find two instead. Not waiting on her either— no, Yamazaki’s got his head bent close to Hajime, hands shaking with emphasis as he hisses, “I don’t care if he’s done hours before anyone else, I’m not getting in a car with him.”

“I was not insinuating that I would make you,” Hajime intones with weary patience. “I merely wanted to mention the likelihood of Souji being the first of our companions to finish with his preparations.”

“And I’m telling you that I’m not—”

It’s not on purpose; between fight or flight, Chizuru’s legs have chosen freeze, and she’s perfectly resigned to stand statue-still up here, silent and just out of sight. But her suitcase chooses to make it known to everyone in the major metropolitan area that one of its wheels is not perfectly situated on the landing. It tilts, the aggrieved wheel letting out a plaintive squeak— and that’s all it takes for Hajime’s eyes to narrow, slanting up to the top step.

“Good afternoon, Yukimura,” he says, oddly pointed. “It seems you are ready to head to the hotel.”

“Ah…” Her suitcase clunks down the next step with her, wheels spinning. “Yes. I just, um…”

Have to survive these stairs, she swallows down, gritting out a smile instead. She tries to lift her case and garment bag all together, but—

“Yukimura.” Long, well-clipped fingers wrap around the side handle, quite literally taking the weight out her hands. “Would it be alright if I handled this for you?”

“Oh.” Yamazaki’s not a tall man, not by any measure, but in the dim light of the stairway, he looms, and it— it flusters her, free hand fluttering uselessly between them. “I-I can’t possibly ask you to—”

“You’re not.” Hajime hovers at the bottom of the banister, a strange sort of lightness in his voice. If Chizuru didn’t know better she might call it…bubbly. “He is.”

“O-oh.” She stares down at the hand still clenched around a handle, willing each finger to release knuckle by knuckle, so slow it feels like someone else’s hand entirely. “Then…thank you, I guess.”

Yamazaki spares her a nod and a terse, “No problem,” right before he lifts her suitcase and—

And rams it right into the floral wallpaper.

“Nice,” Hajime hums, appreciative.

Yamazaki’s still flushed when he glares down, snapping, “I don’t see you helping.”

“And get between you and serving hime-sama?” Hajime’s not one to smirk— honestly, he’s not much on smiling either, save by millimeters— but a corner of his mouth trembles as Yamazaki tromps down the last few stairs, stormy as one of their winter squalls. “I would never.”

His jaw doesn’t so much open as fall, working, as if he needed a good running start to get his next words out. Chizuru simply slips around his side, asking brightly, “Have you been waiting long?”

“We were just discussing who we thought would be next in finishing their preparations,” Hajime tells her, not really answering her question. Experience tells her that means ‘a long time.’ “Although Shinpachi could fit the seven of us in his vehicle, we would more comfortably divide into three and four amongst two cars, and since I have a perfectly serviceable sedan”— Chizuru’s confusion must show her face, since one look at her has him hauling to a stop, coughing to clear his throat— “I mean to say, we were waiting for our third.”

“Oh.” She blinks, glancing between the two of them. “I guess that’s me?”

“So it seems.” There it is, that tremble at the corner of Hajime’s mouth, threatening to curl. For a moment, she’s certain it will, but he turns his head away, casting a speculative look down the hall. “Should we wait to take on another passenger, or—?”

“Better not risk it.” Hajime half-turns toward Yamazaki, disappointment palpable, and he adds, “Oh come on, Nagakura has the bigger car.”

“That doesn’t mean we should—”

Whatever Hajime means to say is lost in the tangle of boy and bag clattering down the stairs, the struggle so loud Chizuru’s ears still ring even after it’s over.

“Oh hey,” Heisuke says, cheerfully emerging from the tumble. “You guys haven’t left?”

Yamazaki blinks. “Not…yet…”

“We were just discussing if we should wait,” Hajime says. “Since Shinpachi’s vehicle might be preferable to the remaining passengers.”

“Nah, those guys are gonna take forever to get ready. Sano has a whole bag just for his freaking hair! And not only that, but him and Shinpachi have been fighting for the last ten minutes over who owns this styling gel or whatever, which like, who cares? But still” — Heisuke stops to catch his breath— “You got room for one more?”

Yamazaki and Hajime exchange looks. Just what exactly they’re saying, Chizuru can’t even begin to guess.

“Well,” Hajime hums, bemused. “That does handle one problem.”

“Fine.” Yamazaki sighs, hefting a bag over his shoulder. “Let’s just go already.”

*

Despite all her fretting, her suitcase fits easily into the back of Hajime’s Elantra, slotting into the last spot in the trunk with little more than a twist and a lift. It helps that all Heisuke has is a duffel, crammed into the corner with all the care of a dirty sock being returned to the hamper.

“Don’t you have costume parts in there?” Yamazaki manages around a grimace; one that only deepens at Heisuke’s shrug.

“It’s fine.” He gives the bag one last good shove, wedging it firmly against the side. “I just threw it together. And Sano says he’s gonna bring all the sticks or whatever—”

“They’re boffers,” Hajime interjects, “technically.”

“Yeah, that.” Heisuke claps him on the back. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Hotels have those iron thingies, don’t they?”

Both eyebrows hitch up to Hajime’s hairline. “You know how to use an iron?”

Heisuke’s face crumples in confusion. “Well, no. But how hard can it be?”

Plenty is the answer, though Chizuru’s in no mind to give it, not when she’s preoccupied with trying to hang her garment bag on the hook over the window. Yamazaki and Hajime had made it look easy, but hers just keeps sitting wrong, taking up too much space and—

“You can take the front.”

She blinks up, half spilled out of the back seat, right up into Yamazaki’s concerned frown. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if you wanted. It’s probably, er, nicer than having to share the back with—” his gazes darts over her head, to where Hajime patiently coaches Heisuke in the proper way to treat his personal items— “anyone.”

Her hands fly up, waving between them. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly! I can’t have you sit back here with my bag in your way.”

“We have bags back there too,” he reminds her, leaving the ‘and we’re definitely making Heisuke deal with it’ unspoken. “It’s only fair for me to make the offer.”

“Ah, I suppose…” She runs her fingers down the seam of her garment bag, considering. “But really, I’ll be fine. I’m sure Hajime would prefer to have you as his copilot!”

His mouth furrows, the perfect counterpoint to the storm brewing on his brow. “Yukimura—”

“All done!” Heisuke bursts onto the bench seat beside her, quivering with the same energy as a dog wagging his tail. “We gonna get this show on the road soon?”

Yamazaki’s mouth pulls too thin for a sigh to slip through; instead it all rushes out of his nose, coming to an abrupt halt when he glances down at her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to change seats?”

 “Hey! What’s up with this thing?” There’s not a lot of Heisuke, but what there is stretches across the seat, reaching out to give her garment bag one good tug. It’s like magic— one minute it’s shoving a shoulder across her seat, and the next it’s tucked into the handle, laying flat against where the door would be. “There, all set.”

He settles back, utterly nonchalant, as if he didn’t realize he’d done anything exceptional at all. Chizuru fails to stifle a laugh.

“Yes,” she says, giving Yamazaki one of her brightest smiles. “I think I'll get along just fine.”

*

“Woah? This is the place?” Heisuke jabs a finger toward the glass doors beneath the portico, duffel slung over his shoulder. “You sure?”

“Of course it is.” Yamazaki steps into the revolving door, suitcase clattering at his heels. “Haven’t you seen the campus hotel before?”

“Well, like, not up close,” he admits, following him through. “But this is nice. Like nice-nice. Are you sure they’re gonna give us discounts on a place this swanky?”

Chizuru has to admit, she’s thinking the same. From the outside, it didn’t seem like anything much— just another brutalist building squatting on campus, only with better parking access— but on the inside…

“Is this marble?” she murmurs faintly, nervously mincing across the floor. A hundred dollars for the weekend seemed like a steal when she’d thought it’d have the same level of amenities as a Holiday Inn Express. Now it’s practically highway robbery. “And the chandeliers…?”

“Satsuma Estates has been very kind to our organization since it started,” Saito informs them as he emerges from the door, his own suitcase coming to rest at his heels. “Most of their meeting spaces are influenced by traditional Japanese aesthetics, which meets our standards for a desirable location, and on their part, we are regular, respectful customers who—”

“We hold our biggest events during the part of the fiscal year where there isn’t much in the way of guests.” Yamazaki’s mouth slants, almost sly. “Spending New Year’s Eve on an empty campus in the middle of nowhere isn’t exactly on anyone’s bucket list.”

“So we get to have this place all to ourselves?” Heisuke eyes a vase that could have been just as at home in the Forbidden Palace as it was in a hotel lobby. “And they don’t have a problem with us running around in our costumes? I mean, with the swords and everything?”

“Boffers,” Hajime reminds him at the same time Yamazaki sighs, “They’re just foam.”

There’s a look that passes between them; a weary one, at least for Yamazaki’s part, though Hajime…well, Chizuru could hardly pretend to be an expert on the minute changes that marked a shift in his moods. But if she had to hazard a guess, she might say…amused.

“The more regular players typically bring foam or rubber replicas, with little intention to use them outside of aesthetic accuracy.” Hajime nods his chin toward a plastic pipe leaning against the front desk, both ends thickly padded and wrapped in what looked like duct tape. “New ones or the more…martially oriented roles usually elect to use boffers. Regardless, any weapon paraphernalia is inspected and registered at check-in.”

“They are also not allowed to be drawn outside the designated bounds of a scene,” Yamazaki adds, not a little stern as he surveys the crowd. “Personal combat sequences usually require advanced warning as well, since they have to prepare an area especially to accommodate—”

“Hold up. ‘Personal combat sequences?’”

“Duels,” Hajime clarifies.

Heisuke’s eyes pulse wide. “Duels? Really? We can have one of those?”

“As honor demands.”

“Woah.” There’s a new level of respect in Heisuke’s eyes as he scans the room. “And everyone follows the rules?”

“Yes,” Hajime says as Yamazaki grunts, “Mostly.”

Another look slings between them, though this time Chizuru doesn’t mistake the censure in Hajime’s stare.

“They say we’re better behaved than a regular convention,” Yamazaki allows, begrudgingly. “Or at least, we smell better.”

Heisuke blinks. “Smell better?”

He huffs out something in the neighborhood of a laugh. “You don’t want to know.”

“Should we get in line?” Chizuru eyes the crush creeping toward the front desk, barely contained by the black tape borders. “It seems like there’s already a bit of a wait to get through…”

“Jeez! That’s a lot of people!” Heisuke startles, like he’s only just noticed. “I thought this was supposed to be small?”

“Our usual group is around twenty to thirty members.” Hajime casts a speculative look over the lobby. “But for our weekend events, it can easily double.”

“Dude, this is definitely more than double—”

“Why don’t we check into the event first?” Yamazaki juts his chin toward the hall past the lobby, tightening his grip on his bags. “If everyone’s out here, then there can’t be much of a line there.”

Heisuke’s mouth clicks shut with a shrug. “Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

*

The event’s check-in is down the hall from the real one, just inside the first exhibit hall they come across— nearly empty, just like Yamazaki said, the number of people loitering around denser behind the tables than in front of them. For the two boys who are best known as the only ones in the roommate agreement who possess some sense of caution, there’s no hesitation, no moment for them to take in the currents of the room and pick the best course— both beeline straight for one of the tables, lining up with all the ease of habit. Chizuru follows after them, not on their heels, like Heisuke, but taking in the size of the room, in how there’s a few people clinging to the corners, their conversations hushed but curious as they pass.

There’s a mountain of a man in front of them, made larger for how the seams of his button down strain at the shoulders to contain his hunch, and she can’t shake the feeling that it’s familiar. Especially when he stands, unfurling head and shoulders taller than all of them and—

“Yamazaki.” The man doesn’t so much speak as rumble, like far away thunder, turning to them with a warm smile. “I see you did bring your friends after all.”

“M-Mr Shimada,” Chizuru gasps, heat flooding her cheeks. “I didn’t even—?”

Recognize you, she nearly says, but he’s wearing the same button down and slacks he does behind his desk, looking every inch like the professor he is. Or at least, will be, once he’s made the jump from adjunct.

Think you’d be here is more accurate, but the longer she considers the idea, the less improbable it seems. He’s a history professor after all— the kind that keeps replica swords mounted on his office wall, right above the pictures of his wife and kids. An active kendo instructor at the campus gym too, plus a dozen other martial arts she can only half remember the syllables of. She’d already seen him do demonstrations with live steel at the freshman orientation fair, dressed up in a kimono and hakama. And when she thinks about it like that, it’s honestly more surprising that he’s the only one from the department here.

A chill shivers up her spine. He’s the only member of the department she sees. That doesn’t mean he’s the only one in attendance. Her eyes skitter out over the hall, searching for stiff shoulders or the lingering scent of Marlboro—

“He’s brought quite a few friends this time.”

Chizuru startles, but it’s not an expletive that’s been dragged over gravel— no, it’s the reedy voice of the man behind the table, a wide smile pulled across a face as dainty and delicate as a doll’s. And yet when those large eyes fix on her— not the same shocking green of Souji’s, but something softer, mossier, more natural— there’s no innocence behind them, just the ceaseless churning of a great machine.

“Though I see not all of them have made it yet.” He rises, half out of his seat and hand outstretched. “I take it this is���?”

A narrow set of shoulders steps between them. “Heisuke!”

The man blinks, impossibly long eyelashes batting against porcelain pale cheeks, but his smile doesn’t lose any of its shine. “Ah, yes, of course, Heisuke. How nice that you’ve decided to join us. I’m Keisuke Ootori, one of the game masters.”

“Thanks for having me,” Heisuke says, so easy, and— and it would be nice to be like that, to be so confident of being welcome that pleasantries don’t turn oddly personal; that saying hello doesn’t come off as desperate. “It’s my first time doing this whole LARP thing!”

“You don’t say.” Keisuke’s mild gaze slants toward Yamazaki, mouth hitched at a corner. “Well, any friend of Hajime and Susumu’s is a friend of ours.”

“Su…Susu…?” Heisuke blinks, rolling his eyes to stare at Yamazaki. “…Mu..?”

“Don’t start.”

“Now, you were playing…?” A finger runs down the binder in front of him, stopping with a victorious tap. “Matsu Yoshitora, the beastmaster.”

“He’s lion clan!” Heisuke leans over the table, practically quivering without a tail to wag. “Because that’s my fursona.”

“Oh.” There it is again, that little wobble at the corner of his mouth, that dart of his eyes to where Yamazaki stands, hands clapped over his face. “Isn’t that nice.”

“I don’t know him,” Yamazaki says through his fingers, ears blazing bright red. “He just followed us in.”

“What Heisuke means,” Hajime interjects with beatific levels of patience, “it that the lion is his favorite animal. At least out of the options presented in the player’s guide.”

“Ah, I see.” Teeth peek through his smile when the game master turns back to Heisuke, fingers knitted over his binder. “You know, one of our other players has a whole functioning tengu suit. I think you might get along.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Yamazaki grumbles, but it’s too late, Heisuke’s already nodding his head, saying, “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds cool.”

“It sure is. Technically impressive too. Now, if you have weapons”—his hand sweeps out toward the table cozened up to his, and the girl behind it— “Marie can take care of their registration.”

“They’re not here yet,” Heisuke hurries to tell him— and as an afterthought, her. “They’re in the other car.”

“If you can describe it, we can get the process started.” The girl— Marie— smiles, but it doesn’t have the same warmth as Keisuke’s. It’s perfunctory, precise, and certainly satisfies Heisuke, since he slides right over and starts trying to gesture dimensions. But still, Chizuru can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s something cold beneath that polite smile, something pointed about the way her eyes avoid anything past the midline of the tables—

“Now, you”— Keisuke’s angles sharpen, teeth flashing behind his smile— “must be Hime-sama.”

Conversation careens to a halt, even the restless murmurs from the corners of the room pressed into silence.

“Ah…um…yes.” Chizuru shuffles a hesitant step closer. “Chizuru. I mean, I’m Chizuru”— he only smiles wider at her blush— “I’m playing Doji Kaoru.”

“Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Chizuru.” He presses a gallant hand to his chest, a sparkle lurking in the corners of his eyes. “And Kaoru. We’ve been waiting a long time to do something with Hime-sama…”

“O-oh! Really?” Her stomach knots itself before hurtling to her throat, bile sour on the back of her tongue. “I’m sorry— it must be so much trouble to— I can always play someone else if it’s going to ruin—”

“On the contrary, Chizuru! You saved us quite a bit of trouble. Especially poor Marie here.” He jerks a thumb toward where she sits, studiously ignoring their conversation. “But on that note— once we’ve wrapped up with check-in, I’d like to talk to the three of you.”

“U-us?” Every hair stands on end. “Are we in…in trouble?”

She could pass out just considering it. Her name’s barely gotten crossed off the list, and already she’s being called in to the principal’s office to explain herself. If only—

“No, no, not at all. In fact, the opposite”— he laughs as he leans in, lowering his voice to a stage whisper— “we’d like you to raise a little trouble.”

“O-oh.” She clasps her fingers to keep them from trembling. “Okay? I guess.”

“We’ll discuss it in a bit.” He settles back, tilting his chin toward the table next to him. “Now if you have any weapons to register, you can—”

“I don’t.”

His words grind to a halt. “You…don’t?”

“No.” She blinks, fingers clenching painfully tight. “Is that…bad?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, the warmth still radiating from his smile— but there’s a sharpness to it too. An edge an unwary finger could cut itself on. “That’s perfect.”

*

“Hey, Shinpachi! Sano!” Heisuke bolts like a dog let off his leash as they round the corner to the lobby. There’s more than a few people that stand head-and-shoulders above this crowd, but no-one besides Harada shines bright apple red under the light, hair so glossy and soft Chizuru wonders just what he uses for conditioner. “Look! I got this cool bracelet.”

His wrist thrusts out right under their noses, fluorescent green so close their eyes nearly cross just trying to look, but Shinpachi just pushes it out to a visible distance and grins. “Sweet, bro! Where do I get myself one of these babies?”

“Around the corner.” Heisuke puffs out his chest, free hand hooking onto his hip. “There’s a girl handing them out. Look, Chizuru’s got one too, and—”

“Do they really think I’m going wear that?” Souji doesn’t so much arrive as appear, gone one moment and holding her wrist the next, like the neighborhood cat that only winds itself around her ankles when she’s throwing out old chicken bones. One finger slips beneath the pink band, tugging like he hopes it’ll give. “I’d rather cut my wrist off.”

“If you’re not having fun,” Yamazaki sniffs, “you can just go home.”

Souji’s sneer hones to a point. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, nerd.”

Yamazaki’s jaw works, breath so heavy Chizuru’s half worried it might steam, but before he can manage to marshal anything beyond ‘you—’ Hajime replied, “Yes, the bracelet is required. It marks us out as participants in the event, as well as informs security at a glance that any weapons on our person have been registered and approved by the game masters.”

“Wow, really?” Shinpachi blinks, prodding at Heisuke’s band. “Is there some sort of chip in there or something? RFID or whatever?”

“Er, no.” Yamazaki scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s just the color. Green means he’s only got one registered.”

“Blue is two,” Hajime offers, flashing his own wrist. “As I wear both tachi and tanto.”

“Oh!” Chizuru blinks down at her pink band. “What about mine?”

“You do not possess any weaponry,” he tells her, tone taking a surprised lilt. “Either visible or concealed.”

“What?” Yamazaki catches her wrist up in one hand, long fingers feather-light across her pulse, and he blinks at the band like he’s never seen a red paler than fire engine. “You didn’t bring anything?”

“I…” hadn’t known that would be an option. “Is that bad?”

“Ah, no.” His eyes meet hers, pulling wide before his fingers flinch, both hands and gaze skittering away from her. “Just…unorthodox, maybe.”

“I just thought…Kaoru is a courtier.” She shies beneath a shrug, cheeks flushed. “That means that she would put more weight on her words rather than, er…”

Hajime nods. “A good character choice, Yukimura. One that may also have complicated consequences, depending on the sort of story the game masters would like to tell.”

“Oh.” Her throat squeezes, the first prickle of tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” A hand falls gently onto her shoulder, fingers tightening in the barest squeeze when she dares to glance up. Yamazaki may not be one for smiles either, but there’s a faint one clinging to the corners of his mouth now, both amused and— and something else. Fond, maybe. “You’re with us, Yukimura. Experienced players live for complications.”

It’s warm where his hand presses to her, even through her coat, and her tongue tangles trying to find the right word, to find the compromise between thank you and I’m sorry, but—

But Souji saunters right up between them, flicking the band at Yamazaki’s wrist. “Hey, if all these colors are supposed to have some meaning or whatever, what’s with the lame ass purple?”

Yamazaki snatches his hand off her shoulder, cradling it against his chest. “What if you just—?”

“It means that he keeps up to the event maximum,” Hajime informs him mildly. “Concealed.”

Harada frowns, considering the band. “And just how many is that?”

“Five.”

“Woah!” Shinpachi takes a half step back, Heisuke quick to follow suit. “That, uh….that’s pretty impressive. Do a, uh…lot of people do that, or…?”

“No, it’s special dispensation,” Hajime clarifies casually. “Only a handful of players ever display the responsibility and mastery of play to earn the right.”

“No way!” Heisuke suddenly no longer shrinks from but stretches toward Yamazaki, an eager grin tugging at his lips. “Dude, are you like, really cool?”

Souji sniffs. “Only if hell has frozen over.”

For once, Yamazaki doesn’t rise to his bait, merely shaking his head. “No, no. It’s really not that big a deal—”

“Uh-huh.” Harada crosses his arms, one corner of his mouth curling toward a smirk. “And just how many people have a band like yours?”

He hesitates— too long, since Hajime is quick to offer, “Three.”

Yamazaki flushes under the sudden spurt of attention turned his way. “Saito would have one too, if he wanted it! It’s just— shinobi carry knives!”

“Lots of ‘em, apparently,” Shinpachi mutters, impressed.

"That's not--!"

“Ah, hey, Chizuru…” Harada turns to her with a sheepish look, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You know, the bunch of us already checked in here, so uh, why don’t you guys go on up?”

“M-me?” She blinks, on hand resting against her chest. “B-but…”

It’s habit to turn to Yamazaki, to leave space for him to air his own thoughts, his own opinions drawn from forethought and experience, but—

But he’s too busy stumbling under the hand Shinpachi claps to his back, looking like he’d like the carpet to swallow him whole.

“Ah!” Her fingers squeeze tight. “Um, yes. Sure. I’ll…get on that.”

*

The line’s smaller than it was when they first arrived; no longer a crush of people and garment bags and boffers, but a more subdued queue. It’s in no way quick— it moves along, but there’s time to idle between their forays forward, Heisuke pressing Hajime about clans and combat and conspiracies while Yamazaki surreptitiously checks his phone. Never for long, just a click on and off of the screen, like he’s waiting for something, and—

“Next, please.”

“Yukimura,” Hajime intones, utterly serious. “It is your turn.”

She jolts up from her suitcase, eyeing the open desk. “O-oh! Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you all from—?”

“Next customer, please!” another clerk calls from further down as the cluster of people in front of her walk away, polite smile already tacked in place. “Please approach the desk when you’re ready to check in!”

“That’s us,” Yamazaki says, skirting his suitcase wide as he steps around her. “We’ll wait for you when you’re done.”

“Don’t look at me,” Heisuke says, even as she does. “I’m just here for the company. Sano and Shinpachi already handled my room.”

“A-alright.” Hand wrapped tight around her suitcase handle, she rolls forward, knees barely trembling. “H-hello. I have a reservation?”

The receptionist smiles down at her. “Can I have your name?”

“Chizuru Yukimura?” She rises onto her toes, neck craned to watch the woman key her name into their computer, as if that might somehow help her find it. “I should have a single—?”

“Single…? Oh, hm.” The receptionist sits back in her hips, stymied. “I’m actually seeing one of our queen suites?”

A chill races down her spine. “Ah, no, but I— it definitely was supposed to be a single.”

At least it was when she booked it; it was the only thing she could afford, even with the discount. And even then—

“Oh! I see.” A couple clacks across the keyboard brightens the receptionist’s smile by a couple of watts. “It seems you’ve been given a free upgrade to one of our deluxe suites!”

Nothing good comes for free, Father’s voice blares in her ear, they only want to hide a cost you would hesitate pay. Her stomach twists, cold seeping up her throat. “F-free? I don’t have to, er, sign up for anything, or…?”

The receptionist relaxes with clear relief. Chizuru wishes she could do the same. “Yes, completely for free, at no extra charge!”

It’s impossible to swallow past the lump in her throat. “W-why? Did I do something…?”

“It doesn’t say on the reservation.” Her shoulders offer up a scant shrug under her blazer. “We must have run out of single rooms.”

“But…” It’s worse this way, she wants to say, the words clawing in her throat. Because I didn’t earn it. “I…”

“Yukimura.” Yamazaki steps up beside her, furrowed brows already aimed over the counter. “Is everything all right?”

“A-ah, yes!” Chizuru drops her heels, shuffling back from the counter. “It was just…something with the room…?”

“Ms Yukimura received a free upgrade to her reservation,” the receptionist replies cheerily. “Give me one moment, I’ll activate your key.”

“Free upgrade?” He blinks down at her. “Is there something wrong, or—?”

“No!” It’s ridiculous how much of a scene she’s making— anyone else would have just received it with a smile, happy to have gotten the extra mile out of their money, but here she is, half faint, making a mountain out of a molehill. “It’s fine, really.”

The corners of his mouth bite deeper into his cheeks, unconvinced. “Are you sure? One of us could always—?”

“Here you go, ma’am— 1204.” The receptionist hands over a small envelope, two keys nestled inside. With one glance at Yamazaki, her smile slants, angle all-too knowing. “Enjoy your stay. Next customer, please?”

He frowns, knuckles blanching where they grip his bag. “Yukimura—”

“It’s fine!” Her teeth grit down in a smile. “Really, it is. Let’s just get settled in.”

*

The elevator doors ding in distress as Harada wraps his whole hand around one side of them, refusing to let them slide shut. “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to come with you? It’s not that far out of the way.”

It’s four floors at least— her twelve to their eight— and with how the halls stretch across this landing, the lobby central to the rest of the rooms, it’s impossible to say how far of a hike. “No no, it’s fine. I can handle finding it myself.”

“We’re not worried about your sense of direction, Chizu.” Shinpachi crosses his arms over his chest, forbidding. “But what if someone gets weird with you while you’re wandering around up there?”

“Of course that’s your problem with all this,” Souji snorts, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Chizuru gets an upgrade and suddenly you’re all acting like there’s lions trying to split the lame gazelle from the herd. What’s the problem, think someone’s going to make eyes at her getting ice if she doesn’t have at least three of you to scare ‘em off?”

“This is serious,” Shinpachi spits. “There’s a lot of people in this place right now—”

“A serious waste of my time.” With a desultory wave of his fingers, Souji stalks off down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Chizuru’s already said she’s fine. Call me when it’s time to eat.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Harada hums, his too-kind eyes looming over her. “If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s fine for one of us to—”

“No, I’m okay, really.” Chizuru lets her mouth pull wide, hoping her smile is more confident than she is. “You guys need to get your stuff settled. We can meet up later for dinner.”

Harada hesitates, struggling against another distressed ding. “I don’t know…”

“You have your phone, don’t you?” Yamazaki drags his glare from Souji’s back to where she stands, softening. “You’ll call if you need to?”

“Ah, yes!” It takes a moment to fish her phone from her bag, opening and closing zippers as Harada slowly, by inches, loses his struggle against the doors. “Right here!”

She waves it, lock screen bright in the car, and Harada loosens his grip. “As long as you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.” The words echo behind closed doors, her stomach rolling as the elevator lurches upward. She glances down at her screen, just in time to see it flash 20% at the corner before going black. “I think.”

*

It’s the toots that startle her as she creeps down the hall, suitcase wheels rattling across the close-textured carpet, the loudest noise she’s heard since the elevator doors closed behind her. Her grip tightens around her garment bag, weight shifting back on her heels, ready to turn tail and run, but—

But it’s her. The tooting, that is. Or rather, her phone. Embarrassing how long it takes her to think of it, really, but she does, slipping it right out of the pocket she’d tucked it into. 15% it reads now, but that’s not what draws her attention, not when there’s a notification with Sen’s smiling face beaming beside it. did you make it?

The breath rushes from her lungs, half-sigh, half-laugh. Two steps away. Thanks for asking.

It takes an improbable amount of minutes to manage those two-steps, however. Maybe Harada could have made it in one— or Shinpachi, even— baggage all happily come to heel, card in hand, but Chizuru has to trip over hers first, juggling garment bag and suitcase and half-unzipped travel pack until she realizes she can just put her phone away to free up that critical hand. Even still, there’s rustling and shuffling to trade one flat slip of plastic for another, the envelope half bobbling out of her hands before she manages to prise one of those little cards free.

And then, with a wave of her hand— well, a couple of waves, trying to figure out just how to place the card before she just presses it to the pad at the handle— she’s in. Except—

Except it’s not a bedroom. No, it’s a small living area, couch and TV and a half-wall of a kitchenette, a few chairs scattered around. Chizuru toes off her shoes, parking her suitcase neatly beside them, and peers into the next nearest door— bathroom, the glass enclosed shower tucked into one corner and a huge tub beside it, big enough to fit at least three of her inside without touching. She pads her way across, tiles cold even through her socks, and opens the other door, leading out into—

The bedroom, finally. The queen suite with what has to be the largest queen she’s ever seen.

Her fingers fumble her phone from its pocket, flicking past the lock screen straight to the camera—

Only for, anyone swallow their tongues yet?🤭 to flash right across the top of the screen.

There’s no costumes tonight, only a dinner! Tomorrow will be our first opportunity to be in character Though I don’t think anyone will be swallowing their tongues when I’m dressed as a boy 😅

Chizuru clicks back through to the camera, tapping the screen to focus, but—

“Are those leaves?” She blinks, first at the screen, and then, as she lowers it, the bed covers. Which, as she suspected, is littered with…some sort of nature. She steps close, pinching one velvety piece of detritus between her fingers and murmurs, “Petals?”

Well, she can’t have that.

boo have some confidence!!! you look super cute in that jinbei i bet *someone’s* heart will flutter at the very least

Her neck swivels, this way and that, trying to find someplace— anyplace— where it’s safe to put down her phone, hopefully close to hand, and— ah, there it is, the bedside table. She sets it down, turning back to the bed with a shake of her head. To think, in a hotel as nice as this one, they had just let someone track in half the outside with them.

It takes her a moment to find the trash can hidden beneath the table, but after that, it’s just a matter of goading all the plant stuff off the cover and into it. A bit more work than she thought she’d be putting into settling it, but it’s worth it to have a clean place to sit when Sen asks, is your room nice?

Very!!! I reserved a single, but it seems they had run out of them, so they gave me a free upgrade 😱 The room’s huge! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bed this big!

With a proud grin tugging at her lips, Chizuru takes a quick picture of her newly cleaned covers and sends it off.

omg LOOK at that 😱😱 a real princess bed for hime-sama

Ah, she hadn’t thought of that. Her heels hook around the bed frame, knees cradled up against her chest, and— and Yamazaki might find that funny too, wouldn’t he? Hime-sama having her own palatial accommodations. It’s nothing to flick open his thread and attach the picture, thumb hovering over send—

the only question is who is going to warm hime-sama’s bed 😏

Heat floods her cheeks. What do you mean?

i hear what happens in feudal japan stays in feudal japan you have any idea who you’d like to share with 😏😏😏

I thought princesses didn’t have to share beds

😩 you’re killing me

It’s not new, being teased like this— about this even, not when she lives in a house with six men and a solid half of them only begrudgingly allow themselves to be clothed. But Sen won’t be placated with a blush and stuttered denial— no, once she gets a whiff of romance, she doesn’t know how to give up until she’s got it clenched between her teeth. And unless she wants to pick out one of the guys as her, er, target, well…

It’s funny though! When I got here there was stuff all over the bed

Distraction is the only way out.

stuff?? like…fluids??? gross 🤮 pls tell me you called housekeeping

No, no fluids thankfully! Just some leaf stuff I handled it myself! It took me a while, but I finally got all those little petals off 💪

leaf stuff? petals??

A knock startles her, enough that she finally sees 8% hovering in the corner, her screen flicking over into power saver mode.

“One minute!” she calls out, rummaging through her bag until her fingers catch on the charger cord, tugging it out—

And half of her travel bag. The knock comes again, no more insistent, but Chizuru’s sure it sounds impatient.

“Ah, just another minute, I just have to”— miss the outlet at least twice before she gets it seated— “do this—”

Her screen lights up, the charging icon taking the place of the percentage, and it immediately toots with, where are you staying again?

She has just enough time to dash off, Satsuma Estates, before the knock comes again, and she yelps, “Coming!”

She hurries over, nearly tripping on the corner of her suitcase, but she gets the door open.

“Good evening, Chizuru,” Hajime says, once she does. “It’s time for dinner.”

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

how do you click into a characters ‘voice’ as well as you do? People are so consistently in characyer and I notice that as a unique standout of your writing

Advice for Writing Characters: Design, Arcs, and the Role of Plot

Warning: hella spoilers for my Doctor/Amy/Rory 'verse because that's what I'm using as examples for this writing breakdown of sorts.

First off, thank you so much for the compliment to my writing! I have worked so hard on my characterization over the years and it means a lot to hear that you liked it.

But onto the actual writing breakdown:

So I'm going to sound like every basic English teacher you've ever had to suffer through with this opening piece of advice, but it really is about practice making perfect. I wrote disastrous dialogue/characterization when I started out writing in 2014 (when I was 14). Looking back at my old characterization it's hot garbage. Dead awful.

But I have improved a lot over the years. A lot of that has to do with about my ability to sit down and re-watch episodes over and over again and find the right music to listen to, but a lot of it also has to do with the three things I always look to/think about when writing characters.

To be honest, I still have my weaknesses as a writer. I don't always like writing settings and I'm still improving on my action scenes and my intimacy scenes but my favorite things to write have always been a good extended metaphor and diving into character POVs. I write because I like exploring characters. There's a reason why the most popular additional tags on my ao3 account look like this:

I love writing character-driven stories. Plot comes as a secondary device to link the character moments for me and not vice-versa (though I'm not gonna lie, I can occasionally come up with a decent plot twist, ala the Master, Clara-River-Ytroswinasleen, or Bill/Clara reveals). Writing characters is about exploring what threads twist themselves together to compel the character/story forward, whether that be backstory, current stressors, or what their motivations are to go forward.

For example, with the Doctors it's easy to explain because they're divided by era. To talk about Eleven, you have backstory: the ENTIRETY of Ten's character arc hope from Rose -> guilt/grief from losing her -> Martha/Donna helping him believe in himself/find joy again -> grief from losing Donna -> Time Lord Victorious leading into Adelaide Kane/him finally doing one kind thing for Wilf. Then, as shown in the only good moment in Let's Kill Hitler, his guilt over everything he did to those three. Then you have current stressors: the sheer loneliness he feels after regenerating alone/isolating himself, the guilt he feels after "abandoning" Amy as a child/leading to Rory's death, and the ever-present knowledge he has with every companion that humans do have a tendency to die/leave him.

Backstory and current stressors tend to play off of each other to lead to future actions, aka: Eleven freaking out and assuming that Amy and Rory will leave him after the baby is born and trying to cut them loose before he can or later, after we establish the Martha&Jack&the Master of it all (and the guilt that he still feels after how Ten handled All That Shit), it makes sense that he might go a little Time Lord Victorious when you find out that the Master was behind River's kidnapping because the Doctor finally has a family to get protective over.

And this is all just from one character point of view! It's also about how characters bounce off of each other- my absolute most favorite part of writing. It's what creates the most interesting parts of the story. When you have Rory's desire for a family/desire to do-no-harm/loyalty hitting up against Amy's desire to keep her family safe/the established ferocity of her love/her willingness to face danger in the face and not blink hitting up against the Doctor's fury of a time lord/guilt over doing things wrong the last time/desire to make things right not just for Martha and Jack and himself, but for Amy and Rory and River, things are bound to get not just messy but satisfying when you have Rory look the Doctor in the eye and tell him that he can't take that choice out of people's hands in the end. That the Doctor has to give River and Amy the choice that the Doctor didn't give Martha and Jack regarding the Master before.

Characterization is as much about a satisfying arc as it is digging into a character's mindset. As much as I love writing "character studies," that's only half of the battle when it comes to writing. Yes, you need to know where your character's head is at. But you also need to understand where they were and where they are going. Learning to figure out a satisfying bend to that curve is one of the greatest tools in an author's toolbox. I am constantly aiming to create as satisfying an arc as I can for every character, and this is usually the bit that fumbles most writers. You can come up with the coolest character design and then make their arcs either boring (sadly the case with a lot of Thirteen's companions in canon) or unsatisfying as hell (the case with Rory, River, and Amy's canon character arcs) because you don't plan them out well enough or just start and stop them within a single episode (everything regarding Mel/River Song in Let's Kill Hitler is a fantastic example).

The great thing about fanfiction is that since there are no limits for number of words or length of installments, I can throw words on the page regarding insights I have and figure out the order or how/where they fall later. I can rearrange episodes and give myself plots to bounce off of to develop characters. Because this is where plot comes in: it can give you an opportunity to explore a character in not just how they see themselves, or how they react to each other, but how they react to being challenged by their circumstances. That's how you get great moments in this series like exploring Eleven/Thirteen's unresolved loneliness with the Planet Sanatorium arc or Amy figuring out how to stop the mummy because of her own experience with war or Rory responding to the poisonous hallucinations or Amy getting closure by Eleven popping up as the voice interface or Thirteen seeing Rose in the Solitract or Amy's slow Doctorification thanks to how she reacts to Solomon/the TARDIS-as-Idris/the mummy/the pocket universe in Hide/the prison break situation or Bill figuring out the flesh in the database. You can only go so far with character motivations/their relationships with each other when you don't see how they react to conflict/challenge/separation. You can, however, use the challenges to directly lead into character arcs.

As a final example of all three elements coming together (motivation/character design, character interaction, and plot as challenge), I'll use Thirteen/Amy/Rory's arc. You don't get Thirteen, Amy, and Rory making up at the New Year's wedding if you don't have the arc of trust between them. The Cybermen are used entirely and only as a device to show their characterization/development off as characters. When they first appear, you get a glimpse into how the hundred-year separation has affected Thirteen and how her anger/fear/protective instinct go just as deep as Eleven, if not further, but also how she isn't sure if she can trust Amy/Rory yet, while you also get to see Amy's faith in the Doctor contrasting Rory's doubt but also the nuances of his position (loving her but not trusting her because she has revealed that Eleven didn't trust them). This leads into the Chameleon Arch plot which gives you Bill (my beloved) but also a view into Rory's changing opinion, both Amy and Rory's own development and their ability to hold their own, and the fact that the Doctor trusts them with her life. Then we get It Takes You Away and the realization that the Doctor would stay with Amy and Rory over anything, even Rose, then the wedding scene (kisses! rings! comms! Dr. Pond!). But then the Judoon come back after the Cybermen issue, prompting the TARDIS crash/the multidoctor fic where you get a stark contrast between Eleven at his worst and Thirteen at her best (fantastic place to explore characterization) where you also get to see Rory finally get closure/see that that he really does trust Thirteen. Then Thirteen giving herself up to the Judoon to protect innocent people AND because for the first time in the entire series she completely and fully trusts Amy and Rory to save her. The Cybermen as a villain don't truly matter in the end, other than some really fun imagery and exploring a bit of the mind control angle/just how far Thirteen is willing to go for Amy and Rory. It's about how Thirteen running against them provides the structure of sorts for her, Amy, and Rory's developing characters (and, hell, Bill, for that matter, regarding the Chameleon Arch/prison break plot), just as the Master provided an obstacle/structure for Eleven/Amy/Rory working through their own arcs.

...Whoops. That was a lot of writing. I'm almost sorry for all of that. But I hope that the three-step process made sense! I also recommend reading analysises of characters (and for a show like Doctor Who, I read analysises from both pro-Moffat and Moffat-critical blogs, same as with Chibnall) and just rewatching the show! You don't necessarily have to take notes or anything, just kind of take in thoughts you might not have thought of otherwise! For example, I got a lot from @tenmartha, @orpheustwelve, and @variousqueerthings, all of whom had completely interesting and different takes on Eleven, Amy, and Rory as canon characters!

Hope this gave you a good view into the process or even some advice for your own writing, and I hope you continue to enjoy my writing! (Right now I'm currently working on a much shorter, five-chapter AU to the end of Season 3 where Riley from "42" travelled with the Doctor/Martha for the last six episodes of Season 3, using these same three rules to explore the growing dynamic between Ten, Martha, and Riley, if you're interested.)

Thanks once again for the compliment- the absolute greatest gift I can receive as an author is questions/compliments like that!